The Empath

“I did,” he said softly. Nicolas brushed away a lock of silky hair from her cheek. “It’s you, Maggie. I came here to seduce you.”

She drew in a deep breath, blue eyes darkening. “You’re very charming. Are you like this with all woman?”

“Just you. Only you, Maggie.” He cupped her chin, tilted her head up to meet his penetrating gaze. “You’re the only one for me.”

Her lush mouth parted. “It’s odd. I truly do feel like we know each other. As if it’s meant to be. Do you believe in destiny? One person, your missing half, destined to be with you? But what are the chances of it happening?”

“I do. You know what they say. You have to kiss a lot of wolves to find Mr. Right,” he murmured.

“I thought it was kiss a lot of frogs?”

He shot her a cocky grin. “Would you rather kiss a frog?”

“No,” she said, a little breathlessly. Nicolas watched the pulse beat at the base of her throat. Fast. Faster. “I’d rather … kiss you.”

Against the coconut tree’s rough bark, he braced his hands on either side of her, pressing her against the tree. “What do you want, Maggie? This?”

He lowered his head, and his mouth claimed hers.

It felt electric, hot, as if all his nerve endings centered on the contact between their lips. He savored the tangy taste of wine and her innocence. Her mouth was pliant, soft and silky beneath his. Nicolas cupped the back of her head, deepened the kiss. His tongue plunged into her parted mouth, thrust, imitating the sex act. She hesitated, reached out in turn, flicking her tongue over his.

He drank in her essence, her spice, tasting her life, all her hopes, dreams.

Passions.

Nicolas felt himself flowing into her, his internal essence trickling like water into her spirit. First contact … prelude to mating, when they’d exchange magick powers, and become fully one. Each lost half joined as in Old Times, before the Draicon split themselves in half to willingly lessen their powers before they became too powerful. Too dark. Too … evil.

Nicolas groaned as she writhed against him, pressing her hips against his. Maggie. His Maggie. His free hand stroked her body, teased, explored.

Sweetness. Spice. His hand delved between her thighs, cupped her in hard possessiveness. Nicolas rubbed, wanting to give her hot pleasure. She whimpered, twisted, ground her hips against him. Maggie pressed closer to him. As if she couldn’t wait to get inside him.

He withdrew his hand, his groin growing hard and heavy. Nicolas brought his fingers up, inhaled her delicious female scent. Bringing his index finger to his mouth, he gave it a long, slow lick. As if licking her.

Her wide gaze held his. Maggie moistened her kiss-swollen lips.

He gazed at her, dark, fierce. Wanting.

In minutes he’d have her, shorts stripped off, panties shredded, her slender legs spread open. Tasting her, bringing her to one shattering climax after another. Then, when she was wet and ready for him, he would sink his hard cock into her, sealing their bond of the flesh.

Every male instinct screamed yes. Nicolas reached for her again.

And caught a scent that rocked him back on his heels. Not delicious, aroused female spice.

Something dark, evil. Like a rotting corpse.

A Morph.

Trembling, Maggie fell back against the palm. One kiss. One soul-stopping press of his warm, wet mouth against hers. Feeling that hard, muscled body mold against her. In that moment, she went from guarded, slightly drunk but distant Maggie to Super Hormonal Woman. Able to leap his male body in a single bound.

She’d never been this sexual. Men interested her, but thought her too intelligent, too unapproachable. Too prudish when she refused to go to bed with them.

Now, dealing with a man she’d met barely an hour ago, her hormones were hopping like water drops on a hot skillet. The guy radiated sexuality like a beacon.

Practical to the bone, Maggie knew it was only nature dousing her with a flood of arousal to make up for the long months she’d avoided men while focusing on her work. Nature versus Overworked Single Businesswoman. Hormones on nature’s side. Score … tonight.

Maggie blinked as Nicolas lifted his head. He appeared to sniff the air. The dim yellow glow from her porch light revealed his expression shifting from fierce desire to wary speculation.

He moved so quickly she had no time to react. Strong fingers laced about her upper arm in an unyielding grip. “Get inside,” he urged, and steered her toward the front entrance.

Whoa. A bit fast. But wasn’t this what she wanted? Maggie, the practical, weighed the consequences of sleeping with Nicolas, a total stranger. Okay, a cute total stranger. Condoms?

She had none. Maybe he had some in his wallet. Right. New ones. She swiped a glance at his bulging crotch.

Her internal traffic light flashed yellow. Caution. Yet everything inside yearned to join with him. She felt caught in the helpless grip of sexual arousal. Why not sleep with him? She was a virgin, not out of moral principle, but sheer disinterest. No man had ever made her feel interested enough. Until now.

What was she waiting for? She’d been a virgin for twenty-seven years. If she waited any longer, they might as well bronze her and slap her on the shelf.

Green light. Go. Go. Go, her body urged.

Maggie gave up, and decided to cave in to her body’s insistent demands. They reached the front door. She fumbled for the key in her shorts pocket.

“Hurry, Maggie,” he ordered.

When the door was unlocked, Nicolas nearly ran inside, dragging her with him. Gently, but firmly, he put her behind him as he shut the door and clicked the dead bolt home.

Maggie flicked on the wall switch. Light splashed over his face, showing ruthless features hard as granite. He studied the living room. Suddenly shy, she fumbled with the buttons of her blouse. This seemed so effortless in movies and romance novels.

Nicolas turned back to her. Surprise flared as he watched her slowly part the halves of her blouse, revealing the lacy cups of her bra.

Surprise was not the emotion she’d hoped for. Maggie clapped the blouse shut.

“Ah, Maggie.” His unshaven jaw worked, as if he struggled for control. “Later. When there’s time,” he said softly.

Grim-faced, Nicolas strode over to the sliding glass doors and drew the blinds shut. Maggie followed, totally flummoxed.

Whump! Something launched itself with lightning speed against the slider. A low screech hurt her ears, raking against her nerves like fingernails against slate. Maggie winced, but Nicolas only splayed his hands against the wooden blinds.

“You’ll not get her, evil one,” he mused, nearly to himself. “You’ll have to kill me to get to her now. And Kane will not allow me to die.”

He glanced at her. “Stay away from the windows. They can eventually find a way in, but don’t make yourself a visible target. I’m going outside.” He started for the front door.

They? “Who are they? Nicolas, what’s going on? Nicolas!”

He halted, slowly turned.

“What’s wrong? What was that that hit my sliders?”

“You don’t want to know. Not now.”

Slowly, she understood. He’d dragged her inside to escape … something. But there couldn’t be anything outside. This was too weird. Logic said Nicolas was flaky. Surely he looked a bit dangerous, with that wild, searching look in his dark eyes, the grim set of his mouth.

An old college course in behavioral science surfaced. Maggie studied her would-be lover. “Is there something out there that can hurt me, Nicolas? What is it?”

He glanced right, as if searching in the distance. “It’s not something that can hurt you. It’s something that will hurt you. It can sneak up on you before you take a single step.”

“You’re telling the truth,” she realized. “But Nicolas, if there’s something out there …”

He kissed her lips—a brief, intense kiss. “It’s just a small problem I must take care of. Lock the door behind me. And avoid the windows.”

Maggie put a hand to her spinning head, watching in dumbstruck disbelief as he padded out the front door. She bolted it behind him, her thoughts a maelstrom.

Hormones forgotten, she hugged herself. Odd noises. Threats. Danger. A stranger in a bar who evoked a feeling of déjà vu, whom she wanted to sleep with almost instantly. It made no sense. Yet deep inside, it did.

Memories pushed to the surface, clamoring to be heard. No. I will not, she thought wildly. Cell mitosis. Division. Creation. Life.

Misha, dying.

Maggie went to check on Misha. The dog slept on her pillow in the corner by the china cabinet. She squatted down, stroked her pet. If only I could take away your pain, sweetheart, I would. I’d do anything to make you well again.

Misha’s breathing was labored. Grief gripped Maggie like an iron fist. Soon, she’d have to make the decision. Did she do the humane thing as Mark insisted and euthanize her beloved friend before the pain became too intense? Maggie pressed shaking hands to her temples. She needed more time for research.

Time was a luxury she lacked.

Maggie went into the living room to wait.

In minutes he returned, locking the door behind him. Three long, bloodied gashes furrowed his right cheek as if something with claws had swiped him. Staring, she lurched to her feet.

“Problem solved,” he announced.

“What was it?” Maggie went to him, her stomach lurching at the blood on his face. Blood, except for in her practice, always nauseated her. She could perform surgery on injured animals and treat the worst wounds, but on humans, it had always sickened her.

“Let me take care of this. I have a firstaid kit.”

Nicolas shook his head. “It’s nothing. I heal fast.”

Unable to tear her gaze away from his cheek, she couldn’t fight the sinking feeling something sinister had lurked outside. “What attacked you?”

“Just a little stray problem. I took care of it.”

She worried her bottom lip. “I’ve got questions….”

“And I have answers, which I’ll share, when the time is right.” He smiled, lifting the darkness from his expression.

She lifted her chin, met his gaze head-on. “No, Nicolas. I want answers. Right now.”

Chapter 4

Maggie wanted answers he could not give. Not now. Not in her present inebriated state. He needed her alert. Yet perhaps this was best. Her inhibitions gone, maybe she’d stop clinging to logic and believe. The Morph’s claws had sunk into his cheek, but he’d dispatched the enemy easily. Now the lacerations barely stung. By tomorrow they would vanish.

She folded her arms across her stomach. The move served to thrust her breasts at him in a delectable invitation. His gaze dropped to the inviting valley between the lacy cups.

Nicolas longed to run his tongue there. Chart new territory.

“Nicolas? What was out there?”

He raised his gaze to meet hers. He’d feed her some information, see how she reacted.

“Sit, Maggie.” He steered her over to the plush floral couch. She sat, rather unsteadily.

“What attacked your door, and what I took care of, was a creature called a Morph. A shape-shifter.”

She gave him a blank stare. He pressed on. “It uses dark magick to change into any kind of animal form and seeks to destroy. It feeds off the energy and fear of a dying victim. It needs constant energy to stay alive and work magick. The slower the victim dies, or the more fear the person produces, the richer the food source.”

He paused, studying the disbelief dawning in her eyes.

“It’s after you, Maggie.”

Maggie rubbed her temples. “I must be drunk. Did you say shape-shifters?”

“Morphs. They shift into different animal shapes.”

She laughed. “Shape-shifters who change into animals. Right. And they want me for, what? Free medical care since I’m a vet?”

“They want you because you’re the only one who can defeat and destroy them, Maggie. You’re extraordinary.”

“That’s me. Maggie the Super Destroyer of Shape-shifters!” Her blouse gaped open again, showing a delicious cleft of creamy skin. Nicolas felt his groin grow even heavier. He steeled against it. Control, control. Now was not the time.

“You don’t believe me. But you will, soon enough. Just as you sense we have something between us.” He took her hand, running his thumb lightly over her knuckles. She shivered at his touch. A pulse throbbed in her neck.

“I don’t believe in shape-shifters. Or magic. The sexual chemistry between us? Basic human biology.” Her mouth thinned as she yanked her hand away. “I’m a researcher, a doctor of veterinary medicine. So if you’re trying to convince me of anything as nonsensical as this Morph creature, it defies human logic. I need evidence.”

Nicolas remembered how the Morphs had torn the hunters to pieces. “Don’t underestimate them, Maggie. Morphs are far from nonsensical.”

Maggie, the scientist, the unbeliever. If he revealed more, she’d grow even more wary. She wanted empirical evidence.

He wanted to pick her up, and run off with her. Get her out of danger before the Morphs attacked. Not yet. She was still safe. Since she hadn’t displayed any empath powers, the Morphs lacked proof she was the Draicon destined to destroy them.

He gauged his plan. Tell her to pack now, get the dog in the car and run, and she’d not only balk, but put up such a fuss she’d attract unwanted attention.

She needed to see to believe.

He’d dispatched the Morph scout easily, killing him before he cloned. Scouts worked in pairs. In the morning, when it was supposed to check in, another would appear. After intense study of their patterns, he knew what to expect.

Chances were a Morph wouldn’t appear before morning. But he wouldn’t leave her alone.

He could mate with her now. But their first time together, he wanted all night. Take it long and slow, not fast and hurried, with the threat of a Morph appearing at her door.

Besides, Maggie needed evidence that the Morphs existed. Nicolas smiled grimly.

She’d see plenty tomorrow morning. He felt certain of it.

Maggie’s swimming head couldn’t process everything. First, the raging desire stripped away all coherent thought, leaving nothing but the urgent need to rub her naked body against this man. Then there was the odd feeling of danger and Nicolas’s mysterious vanishing act.

Now his assertion that a creature stalked her?

It was too fantastic. Yet a tiny part of her warned he told the truth. She ignored that voice. If he were truthful, everything she’d built for herself would collapse into rubble. Her life was ordinary, organized and carefully planned. It allowed no room for the whimsical and mysterious.

No room for childish beliefs such as magic. Magic with a C, not a K, she thought.

Maggie clenched her fists. No, she said silently. It’s not possible. I only believe in what I can control, or accept that which is beyond my control.

Some diseases were beyond her control. Death. Misha, dying.

A small whimpering drew her attention. Maggie jumped from the couch, and staggered into the kitchen. Nicolas followed as she bent down, stroked the newly awakened Misha with a trembling hand. The dog raised her head, regarded Nicolas. Her tail beat the air like a metronome as she licked his hand.

“She doesn’t take well to strangers lately,” Maggie said, her heart leaping for joy. This was the most life Misha had shown in days.

“I’m a dog person,” Nicolas murmured, rubbing behind Misha’s ears.

Maybe now she could finally coax Misha into eating. From the refrigerator, she fished out a plastic tub and tore off the lid. She squatted before the dog, holding out a small piece of cooked chicken. “Look, Misha, your favorite. Please, eat for me. Please, baby. You can do it.”

The dog reached for the chicken. Wild hope arose. Then a strong male hand seized Maggie’s wrist, pulling the food away. Anger flooded her. “What are you doing?”

Nicolas was studying Misha with an intent look.

“Don’t.”

Maggie’s mouth flattened. “She’s very ill. This is the first food she’s shown interest in.”

He stroked Misha’s head. “What are you feeding her?”

What business was it of his? Yet Misha acted animated, continuing to wag her tail as he rubbed behind her ears. Certainly he had a way with animals.

“Protein. The … mass acts like a cancer. Cancer doesn’t feed well on protein, so I have her on a diet of eggs, meat, poultry, white fish, with raw vegetables and …”

“Stop feeding her. It’s not cancer.”

Maggie stared. “What?”

Nicolas leaned forward as Misha licked his hand. “The disease is different. It feeds off energy. Any food provides Misha with energy, which the diseased cells use to multiply and spread. She’s literally starving to death when she eats and feeding her makes the disease spread.”

She slapped the food container on the floor. Misha whined. Nicolas arched a brow.

“Starving to death when I feed her? What do you propose I do, let her not eat and hope that will help? She’s dying, dammit! She’s dying and there’s not a damn thing I can do. All my research has been useless. I’m a vet and I can cure other people’s animals, but not my own dog.”

Maggie pressed a trembling hand to her face. No more tears. The gentle pressure of a hand squeezing her shoulder made her look up. Nicolas’s expression softened.

“Maggie, I’m sure you’ve done everything for her. I can tell how much you love her. Don’t give up. Modern science can’t fight ancient, dark magick. Hasn’t your research shown this disease to behave abnormally, unlike anything you’ve ever seen?”

She remembered how the cells divided when she added a drop of healthy dog blood. How they seemed to almost …

Eat it.

Maggie closed her eyes in disbelief. It made no sense. None. Science demanded logic, answers, evaluation. What Nicolas proposed was pure nonsense.

Her eyes flew open. She jerked away from him and went to the fridge, shoving the container back inside. “If Misha has a new type of disease, there’s a perfectly logical explanation for it.”

Nicolas stood and parked a lean hip against the arched doorway. “You trusted I was telling the truth before when the Morph was outside. Trust me now, Maggie. Go with your instincts.”

A bitter laugh escaped. “That wasn’t instinct. It was pure behavioral science. You looked right when I asked you if there was something out there that could hurt me. That indicates you were remembering. If you had looked left, it would have told me you were making up a lie. The eyes reveal more than most people realize.”

“And so does what’s deep inside a person.” Nicolas advanced. “Don’t look to science, Maggie. Look inside. Stop being logical. Logic has nothing to do with it.”

He ran a thumb across her cheek. “Logic has nothing to do with this. These feelings we shared toward each other when we met. I know you have them. Don’t fear them. They’re perfectly natural and expected. Just like your parents shared.”

Maggie studied him, obliquely noticing the lacerations on his face had shrunk. I must be drunk, she rationalized. Wounds didn’t heal that fast. Instead, she focused on the swirling caramel of his brown eyes. Faint memories tugged. Parents. Forest and mountains. Familiar warmth of friends, love, strong bonds. Her father affectionately licking her mother …

Licking?

“It’s plain, simple biology,” she asserted, struggling with her emotions as he swept his thumb over her jawline. “Sexual attraction, nature’s means of propagating the species.”

His eyes darkened. “Have you ever wanted to propagate like this?”

Maggie put a hand to her swimming head. “No,” she admitted. “It’s the wine. Alcohol lowers inhibitions. Which is why women sleep with men they just met.”

Nicolas bent his head toward her. With one hand, he caught her curls, swept them back from her ear. Warm breath feathered over her cheek. Maggie caught his very male, woodsy scent, reminding her of pine forests and wildness. “Is that why you kissed me? Why you began removing your blouse? Two glasses of pinot noir?”

His mouth nuzzled her neck. Maggie moaned as he nipped it, then delivered a soothing lick. Her hands anchored on his shoulders. Thoughts of magic, strange creatures and danger evaporated like raindrops on a hot Florida blacktop.

Nicolas set her back. His gaze burned into hers. “Not wine, Maggie. We both know it.”

“Yes,” she breathed.

Nicolas cupped her face, bent his head as if to kiss her. Then he uttered almost a growl, and jerked away.

“No. Not now,” he muttered.

His dark brows pulled together in a frown. Her body left aching and yearning, Maggie shouldered her pride and buttoned the blouse.

“I think you should go. I’m tired.” Maggie managed to force the words out.

“I think I should stay,” he said quietly, his gaze searching hers. “You shouldn’t be alone now. It’s too dangerous here.”

“From whatever was outside? How do you expect me to believe in something I can’t see?” She collapsed onto the couch.

“Do you think I was lying, Maggie? Do you think something wasn’t trying to get inside?”

The little hairs on the back of her neck rose. “I believe you believe that there are such creatures, Nicolas. But asking me to swallow a story about a magical creature that shape-shifts …? You might as well ask me to believe in something as silly as werewolves. Maybe it’s them I need to fear. It’s nearly a full moon.” She threw back her head, gave a short, fake howl.

One dark brow lifted again. “Not bad,” he drawled. “But in time, you’ll do better.”

He paced over to the door, checked the locks. Next he checked the windows, shut the curtains. Maggie rubbed her arms, her confused, muzzy emotions raging. “Nicolas, what are you doing?”

He shot her a hooded look from beneath long, dark lashes. “I need to secure your house.”

“Against what?”

“Against anything needing to get inside. I’m staying the night, Maggie.”

“You don’t act … interested.”

In answer he cupped her face, drew her toward him. Nicolas kissed her, a warm authoritative kiss. His tongue swept over her lips, danced inside as she opened to him. He groaned and tore himself away. Breathing ragged, eyes dark and wild, he visibly fought to control himself.

Elated, yet confused, she licked her lips and touched his arm. “Then why not?”

“Now isn’t a good time, Maggie.” Nicolas drew in a deep breath. “I want … time. I want to make love to you more than I want my next breath. All night long. When I know it’s safe.”

“I feel perfectly safe.”

He shot her a level look. “You’re also intoxicated.”

Disappointment mingled with newfound respect. Another man would simply take advantage of her being drunk, and happily walk off without caring he might have left behind a package awaiting delivery in nine months.

“Go to sleep, Maggie. I’ll protect you.”

From what? Whatever mythical creature that attacked him? Or against himself?

Maggie curled up with a yawn. Something warm and soft fell over her a minute later. A blanket.

“Good night, Mags,” he murmured. He shot her a faintly exasperated look. “I told you not to remove the bracelet. But you didn’t listen. Perhaps you will now.”

Confusion at his words faded with the tender kiss he pressed against her cheek. Maggie yawned and snuggled into the couch, pulling the blanket over her. Just a minute’s rest, then she’d escort him out. She closed her eyes to the image of Nicolas, silently standing guard by the sliding glass doors, as if keeping watch.

Sunlight speared the white tile floor the next morning as she slowly awakened. Maggie stared at the small clock radio on the bedside table in bleary confusion. How could she have slept until ten o’clock? Jackhammers slammed into her skull. Damn. No wonder she had no inclination to drink. Hangovers were a bitch. She sat up slowly, gritting her teeth against the nausea, then headed for the bathroom.