Chapter 3 #2
Ash dragged a shaky breath, rubbing her hot face in a vain attempt to calm down. Nothing worked. She lowered her hand, and those eerie eyes locked on hers, unblinking. Everything inside her went tight.
Right now, he didn’t even look human. All her instincts screamed, Run.
Not human?
God, she bit back a groan. The smoke’s clearly messing with my head.
“Think, little vixen.” His gaze drifted over her face, slow and deliberate. “You possess psychic abilities. How else would I get you from the Himalayas to the Tatra in seconds flat?”
Ugh. He just had to point that out.
Her grip tightened on the glass. So he had some kind of abilities, as well? Still, she wasn’t admitting to anything. “I’m stuck with a stark-raving madman.”
“I beg to differ, vixen. This here…” he waved a hand over himself, his smile pure taunt, “is no man.”
Grr. “Stop calling me that!”
“Then you know what to do.”
Damn man—male—whatever bloody noun he was!
Ash gritted her teeth. It was far too early in the morning to be dealing with him. She pivoted, taking in the looming building before her. The abbey soared skyward through the hovering mist, its dome and spires like ancient sentinels.
To her left, a concrete balustrade boxed in the courtyard.
She marched across to the balustrade and peered over, her breath puffing white in the frigid air, but she couldn’t see a thing with all the thick wafts of mist sailing past.
“Be careful, vixen, you don’t want to fall over.”
Oh, for heaven’s sake! She wheeled back, shoving away the mist-dampened tendrils of hair sticking to her face. “My name is Ash—Ashaya James!”
He didn’t react or offer his name. Just watched her with a stillness that somehow rattled her more.
“God. I need tea. A vat of it.”
“I doubt He can give you any, but there might be some inside.” He nodded to the somber building.
Did he take everything literally? She raised an eyebrow. “So, I’m just supposed to walk in? What about the monks?”
“Long gone.”
She frowned, her attention shifting back to the towering abbey. “It’s abandoned?”
“I didn’t say that.” He opened the worn, black-domed door, and it squeaked open, revealing an eerie gloom through its gaping maw. He stood aside and waited.
She eyed it warily. “You first.”
“The distrust I get for saving her life,” he grumbled, stalking inside.
Ash rolled her eyes and followed. Soft sconce lights came on in the foyer, revealing a crack that fissured the corridor floor, leading to an enormous circular living room. Faint morning light seeped in through the domed windows.
Then the soft wall sconces came on, revealing a split-level room, and she stopped dead, her gaze rushing up the towering walls to a faded biblical fresco arching over the dome above, weathered and water-damaged in places.
Oh, wow.
So tragically beautiful and left to neglect.
Her gaze lowered, and she blinked. Arcade machines sat next to a narrow staircase, and an air hockey and foosball table waited on the far side.
Was this his place?
“Kitchen’s in here.” He palmed open a door, and she followed, her gaze betraying her before she could stop herself—sweeping over the hard, muscled lines of his leather-clad thighs and tight backside, up the lean curve of his back, to the long braid of silver hair trailing between his powerful shoulders to his hips.
Under the dim light, it gleamed like spun metal, rich and untamed against his light tan skin.
Some people, it seemed, won the genetic draw.
Ash tore her gaze away, gulped down the rest of her water, and slipped past him into a wide, stone-walled kitchen. A large, scarred wooden table sat in the middle, surrounded by mismatched chairs. Faded cabinets lined one wall, with a coffee machine on the counter beneath open shelves.
A fridge occupied space near the outer door, and a sink sat beneath the window overlooking a backyard.
He remained near the door and glanced around as if he hadn’t seen the place before. “Tea’s…somewhere I’m sure.”
Ash raised an eyebrow, which was totally wasted on him since he wasn’t looking at her. “Don’t you live here?”
“No.”
Heck, talking to him was like trying to wish her new powers away.
“Fine. I’ll look.” Ash set her empty glass on the table before turning to the cupboards.
She rummaged through them and found a box of tea bags. Mum would absolutely shudder that these weren’t loose leaves. But Ash wasn’t fussy. Living in the States for several years had mellowed her somewhat. Tea was tea.
With no kettle in sight, she got a mug from the cupboard, topped it with water, and slid it into the microwave. She hit the timer, but nothing happened.
Several more stabs at the start button, and still nothing. Ugh.
“Your microwave doesn’t work,” she muttered with another jab.
He strolled over, the scent of burnt ember edged with ice teasing her senses.
Her gaze snagged on the flex of his biceps as he fiddled with the microwave.
A ding sounded, and Ash hastily stepped back before he bumped into her—or caught her staring like some drooling teen at those big, strong, sexy arms and the even broader shoulders.
“The switch was off,” he drawled, starting the microwave.
Oh, man. Determined to lock away those wayward thoughts in a metal box and throw away the key, Ash crossed to the fridge and found an open box of long-life milk inside.
She hip-bumped the door closed, grabbed a spoon from the dishrack, and turned to find him leaning lazily against the table, watching her with an intensity that made her pulse trip all over again.
What? Did she have soot on her face?
Probably. Smoke, grime, near-death—a real sexy combination, but she wasn’t about to clean up for him.
And he still hadn’t granted her the courtesy of his name—the swine.
Well, she wasn’t going to ask.
Ash set the milk and spoon on the counter when what he’d said earlier struck her. She pivoted. “Wait—the Tatra Mountains? In Romania?” She shook her head. “It’s the Carpathians that run through Romania.”
“Indeed, they do,” he drawled, rubbing his biceps as if she needed the reminder of how sinful they were. “It’s been so long. The abbey took its name from monks who’d fled the Tatras. Around here, locals still use the name for this place.”
“Regardless,” she shot back. “You brought me to another country? How the bloody hell did you do that?”
He removed his mobile from his pocket. “I opened a portal.”
Ash gaped at him. “You did what?”
“What I said.” His fingers flew over the display as he typed.
“Portal opening is a bloody myth,” she snapped, ignoring the microwave dinging. “Just tell me!”
He looked up. “The same way you command rain and lightning—with powers.”
“This crap that roils through me suddenly happened out of the blue,” she bit out. “The same thing happened to you, is that it?”
He watched her for a second, then glanced back at his mobile. “You got me there. I was born this way—water’s ready.”
Ash kneaded her sore temple, feeling as if she were trapped in a bad dream. “What?”
“Your tea water’s hot,” he murmured, still texting.
With a deep breath, Ash removed the steaming mug from the microwave, dropped in the tea bag, added a splash of milk, and stirred, watching it swirl into a muddy cloud. The familiar ritual and herbal aroma brought a small measure of comfort.
Well then, she had powers, and he did too. Who was she to argue when she, herself, couldn’t explain this phenomenon to anyone?
Ash set the spoon down, picked up her mug, and sipped the steaming liquid. “After I finish this, you’re taking me back.”
He slipped his mobile back into his pocket, his focus back on her. “Not yet.”
“Why not?”
A hint of that irrepressible smile appeared. “Maybe I like your company.”
“Oh, sure.” With a mental eye roll, she snorted and sipped more tea. “You strike me as someone who always gets his way. Probably spoiled rotten as a child—”
“Sullen.”
Ash lowered her cup. “What?”
“Grumpy.”
Oh. She bit her lip to keep from smiling. “I don’t believe that.”
He shrugged. “You must have been a fairy child. Perfect.”
“Hardly. Quieter. More unnoticed.” She really wished her adult life were the same as well. “Animals liked me better. Less judgmental.”
A soft chuckle, like he found some private amusement in her words. Ugh. He was having far too much fun at her expense. Her gaze slipped to his smiling mouth—
Oh shit! Her breath tangled in her throat.
Fangs!
“Your teeth,” she rasped, taking a step back. “What the hell are you?”
“Not a vamp, for sure.”
That ridiculous taunt made her hesitate, but didn’t stop her mouth. “You’ve certainly got the teeth!”
“And you’ve got quite the temper.” He stepped closer, his presence filling the tiny space between them. “Dangerous combination with those powers of yours.”
“Says the man who apparently opens portals between countries,” she countered, fighting the heat rising in her face.
“I’m no—”
“Oh, for God’s sake, I know your bloody nouns,” she bit out. “So, what are you? A sage with a love of arcade games, hiding out in this forgotten abbey and meditating your life away? How does that even work?”
A smirk appeared. He was too darn close—too darn hot—and apparently, didn’t understand what personal space meant? She scowled.
“If you want to find out,” he said softly, “stay awhile, and maybe I’ll tell you.”
“Yeah, that won’t work with me.” She rolled her taut shoulders. He might be maddeningly good-looking, but she wasn’t interested in a quickie or whatever he was after. “I have things to do. Now that this little tête-à-tête is over, I insist that you take me back.”
“Oh?” His eyebrow lifted in challenge. “You’re that eager to be burned, I see?”
“No, you bloody pumpkin head! I need to find someone.”
He blinked, then asked, “Who?”
She bit back a groan. He refused to tell her anything about himself, while she was fair game? “It’s none of your business.”
“Oh.” His shoulders slumped, that sexy mouth turning down. “The thanks I get after rescuing you from a blazing pyre.”
Seriously?
“You should get an award for your acting,” she grumbled. “I was in the process of freeing myself when you strode in on your invisible horse and played knight in shining armor.”
He laughed, and damn it if it didn’t make him even more tempting. The swine.
Ash marched to the sink, finished her tea, and rinsed the mug. She set it on the two-tier draining rack, hitting her wrist on the top rack—
“Ow!” That bloody hurt.
“What is it?”
She pivoted. He was already there, his gaze skimming over her, his presence a tangible force that seemed to drag her closer. Uneasy, she stepped back and tucked her hair behind her ear. “I’m fine—”
He caught her hand, and her heart tripped. Oh, no, no!
While she sort of liked him—only a blind woman wouldn’t—she wasn’t interested in anything so soon after Paul. She’d learned the hard way what powerful men did when things got difficult. They stepped back and let you shatter.
Even if this one did look like sin sculpted in skin and muscle.
“I said I’m fine.” She tried to tug free.
“I disagree.” His grip tightened marginally as he pushed up her parka sleeve. “So, the fire did get a piece of you.”
“What?” Then her eyes widened, and she grimaced at the bruises and slight burn on her wrist—likely from her own damn lightning. Bumping it now had drawn a bit of blood.
“By the way,” he said casually, “since you’re so interested in me, and asked a thousand times already, I am Race.” His head lowered, and he licked the lesions on her wrist.
Her breath caught, her jaw unhinging.
Then, cool as hell, as if he hadn’t just shattered her entire composure with his tongue stroking her injury, he said, “There, that should do it.”
“Do what?” she breathed, then gaped as her skin healed before her eyes.
“Magic saliva.” He smirked, casually checking her other wrist. Then, with a shrug, he licked the bruises there, too.
Christ! She must still be asleep in the cold guest house, because all of this felt utterly surreal. She yanked free and rubbed her healed, tingling wrists against her jacket, trying to shake off the sensation.
His actions might have been innocent, but her body sure as hell had different ideas—gah!
He raised an eyebrow. “What?”
Pretending to be unaffected, she said coolly, “Thanks for the tea, now take me back.”
He let her go. “Soon. I’m waiting for a message. Work—”
He went motionless, then his eyes hardened to ruby stones, every muscle in his body tensing. Without another word, he turned and strode out, his voice cutting through the air like a whip. “Stay here.”
Oh, hell no. He wasn’t leaving her alone in this bloody mausoleum of an abbey. Ash took off after him, through the living room, down the corridor, and out the front door, only to pull up short.
Race stood in the courtyard, facing three men as tall and enormous as he was, each with massive swords strapped on their backs.
One’s hair burned like dark fire. Another’s gleamed like sunlight—and the last was cold pewter, the color of forged steel.
They all looked like death had come calling, carved from the merciless stone. The air tightened, humming with peril. The fine hairs on Ash’s nape rose as she took a step back.
Whatever this was, it wasn’t a reunion.
And these weren’t friends.