“Got just what you wanted last night, Prince?”
Daz stood at the kitchen counter of their suite, drinking a mug of coffee. He was dressed for the day in jeans and a T-shirt, as usual.
“Got implies possession. Not it at all.” Richard poured a mug of coffee. “Why the hostility, Montoya?”
Montoya wanted his angel, of course. But Richard thought the interest was casual.
Daz shook his head. “Because I like her and I don’t trust you.”
Direct. “Then take the anger out on me before she gets here. She doesn’t deserve it.”
“You don’t deserve her!” Daz slammed his mug down on the counter.
Richard’s anger surged. He flexed his hand and the mug, full of steaming hot coffee, shattered in his hand.
Daz jumped back, avoiding the spray of liquid. “What the hell?”
“You lost your temper first.” Richard stared at his palm. Sliced by the mug’s shards, blood pooled in it. That didn’t bother him. The reappearance of his new strength at the loss of his temper did.
“Gonna explain that?” Daz asked. “You’re a self-healer, not Superman, and that was a sturdy mug.”
“Your explanation is as good as mine.” Richard stepped away from the mess, grabbed a cloth napkin and wrapped it around his hand to stem the blood as the cuts healed over. “You’ve worked with your firestarter for years. You know about these things. Perhaps you would care to guess what happened.”
“Me?” Daz kicked the remains of the mug into a pile and dropped paper towels on it. “Like you don’t know? C’mon. Marian was hiding the ghost stuff. I bet you were hiding this.”
“Only since visiting your Phoenix Institute. Before then, I’d never have been able to shatter a mug like that. Or toss monks around.”
“What do you mean?”
Richard thought the taunt would distract Daz. But instead, he’d hit home. Daz knew something. What?
“You know exactly what I’m talking about. Since I was fifteen, I’ve been able to heal my body. But only since I met with your people a few days ago has this new strength appeared. What did you do to me?”
“Huh.” Daz swept up the shards, wet paper towels and all, into the garbage can. “Maybe I might know something about it.”
“Do tell.” Richard grabbed one of the croissants from a cart obviously brought in by room service. Patience, not threats, bore more fruit. He’d learned that much from the ocean. “I have to know what’s going on, especially since I can’t control it properly yet.”
Montoya refilled his coffee and collapsed into the chair in the living area. He put his feet up on the table.
“You used this new strength when you tossed the monk against the wall at the abbey? And to open that hidden door last night?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me the exact moment when you first knew you had the strength.”
“I crushed an armrest with my fingertips in the limo on the ride to the airport.”
“What were you thinking right that moment? And the other moments, like with the monk and the door?”
“I was frustrated in the limo because I was thinking about who shot me. I was angry at the abbey at being deceived and set up. By the time I reached the hidden door, I knew I had added strength, so I was able to channel it. I wasn’t angry then.”
“You were angry just now, with the mug.”
“Abso-fucking-lutely.”
“So you Hulked out.” Montoya leaned forward. “No, that can’t be right. If the strength is psychic-based, like your healing, it’s not something with your muscles. It’s got to be some form of TK that channels strength to your muscles.”
“Yes, it would be a specific kind of telekinesis. I guessed that, especially as it responds to emotions. I’ve known telekinetics in the past whose abilities manifested according to their mood.”
“Sounds dangerous.”
“Like the Hulk you mentioned. Some telekinetics were even fond of making the earth shake when they became angry.”
“Damn. And I thought fire starting could be scary.” Montoya took a deep breath. “At least you’re not lobbing stuff all over the place with your mind, Prince. It seems to be focused on your regular movements.”
“Yes.” Richard nodded. “And you’re taking this very well, Montoya, for someone who was sniping at me a few minutes ago. You know or suspect the answer to my newfound strength.”
“Yeah.”
“And you’re going to tell me. Now. Because untrained psychic ability is dangerous to the person who has it and everyone around them. Including Marian.”
Montoya stared off into space as Richard consumed the croissant and poured a fresh cup of coffee.
“Your ability is dangerous to Marian, at the very least,” Daz finally said. “I’m not quite sure what happened but, at the institute, Beth went into your head for a bit, right?”
The telepath had done this? No telepath Richard had ever met could grant abilities like this. “And so?”
“Did Beth tell you to do anything?”
Richard frowned. He thought back to exactly what she had told him telepathically. “She said I was stronger than I knew and I must draw on that strength.”
“That must be what did it.”
Richard sat down. “Are you saying Beth Nakamora did this to me?”
“She’s a catalyst. She amps up psychic abilities. When she and Alec work together, they can do amazing things that he can’t do alone. And she jacked up Drake’s healing ability. Whatever she did made it stronger and put it under his conscious control. She didn’t even know she was doing it at first. With Alec, his ability started to go haywire until he figured out his contact with Beth was causing it.”
“That must make their lovemaking rather, ah, fiery.”
Montoya snorted.
“What about Drake?” Here was the answer to how Edward had been defeated.
“Drake was mortally injured some time back. Beth was really upset. She told him not to die, not knowing she’d able to make him literally not die. Since then, his healing is under his conscious control. But maybe that’s not so unusual. You supposedly have hundreds of years of experience. How unusual is Beth’s ability?”
“It’s extremely unusual.” Unprecedented, he thought. Huh. Drake had healing under his conscious control. Richard’s body healed as it healed. He knew how long it would take, but he could not rush the process. No wonder Edward had lost.
“After the fight with your brother, we discovered Drake had a severe concussion, a broken wrist, ripped tendons in his leg, and, for good measure, your brother sliced his arm half through. Nothing stopped Drake until he took a bullet to the chest. That’s how strong he is now.”
Beth Nakamora had meddled with Richard’s ability. She’d taken control of his very self and changed him. Violator. Richard took a deep breath through the haze of rage that engulfed him. Ride through it, he thought. Don’t let it throw him. He needed this information.
“Why did your telepath do this to me?”
“Don’t.” Montoya pointed at him. “Don’t use that tone about Beth. She’s not some sort of mind-control witch. She hates interfering in people’s heads. If she said what you said she said, she was probably trying to help you in some way, not amp up your powers. She’s still learning about her abilities. She’s not always conscious of doing stuff like this.”
Montoya, a normal human, liked Beth. He trusted a telepath. Also unprecedented. Richard closed his eyes and pictured a calm ocean.
“You believe this woman has good intentions?”
“She’s the nicest person I know.”
“That’s not my experience with telepaths.” In his experience, telepaths liked manipulating lesser humans, as much as firestarters liked to burn things with their fire.
“I hear you.” Richard held up a hand. “So she created this new TK strength from whole cloth for me?”
“No, that’s not how it works. Beth once told me she can’t give people any abilities they don’t already have. She told you to be stronger, you said. I’d guess you must have had a latent talent for this kind of TK.”
“Despite my anger, you could’ve remained silent about my newfound ability instead of telling me this. Why did you just tell me?”
“I told you, I’m watching out for my own skin, here. And Marian’s. I don’t want you Hulking out on us. Or for any innocents to be caught in the crossfire.”
His angel. For her, he could stay calm. “You offered your service, Montoya, and I accepted. That means I’m ultimately responsible for your welfare, at least for this mission. You’re mine to protect and keep safe. I won’t hurt either of you.”
“Uh, right.” Daz went for another cup of coffee. “Whatever.”
Richard stood and paced over to the window. He never expected Montoya to understand that part of their relationship, but Marshal had ingrained the royal obligation to protect his men-at-arms in Richard at a young age. He could manage his anger with Daz.
As for Beth Nakamora? He’d thought her words applied to his inner strength. Maybe that was what she expected as well. Yet what was inner strength but strength of mind? And psychic abilities came from the mind.
She might have truly wanted to help him.
“So, you’re going to be careful with Marian?” Daz asked.
“Why do you care so much about that?”
“What’s not to like? She holds it together, no fuss. And she’s damned attractive.”
“Thanks,” Marian said.
Marian stood in the doorway to her room. Her curls had been left loose and framed her face beautifully. Obviously, she’d overheard the whole conversation. He should have noticed her there. But perhaps she’d been spying on them in ghost form. More likely, holding in his rage had distracted him.
She smiled. “So you’re not just a handsome, immortal prince now. You’re Superman.”
“I can’t fly.”
“Not yet.”