Twelve

SHE WASN’T FRIGHTENED. Okay. She stared at the front door where she’d wedged one of the wingback chairs. She was a little scared, but she realized some of that fear had turned into anger.

She paced the living room rug. The fire had faded, but she no longer needed the heat. Her anger and the pacing kept her plenty warm.

David had lied to her. He’d said they were safe here, that the dreams couldn’t reach her. While she admitted she hadn’t had any dreams or visions, and she’d gotten a decent sleep, he hadn’t.

And now she was fairly sure he was out in the woods, possibly hurt. Making her worry. What should she do? Should she go looking for him? Should she wait for him to come back? What if he never came back? What if even now he was dead or dying, alone and out in the cold night?

She couldn’t call the police. She wouldn’t even know what to tell them. Mac had accepted her explanations that fit into some semblance of reality. She wouldn’t even know what to tell him to look for—a horse or a man? Or something else?

What if he’d simply gone over to Dove’s Place for a cup of coffee and her imagination was in overdrive?

The hollow thud of footsteps startled her. She ran to the door and nearly yanked it open. She stopped herself just before she turned the doorknob. What if it wasn’t David?

Who else would it be?

The cold metal turned against her palm, and she squealed, pulling her hand back and shuffling behind the chair. Thankfully, she’d locked the deadbolt before shoving the chair in front of the door.

Silence stretched tight, and then several sharp raps broke it. “Clarissa,” David called, his voice sounding strained.

“David?” Was it really him? Or someone—something—else? She didn’t have a window or peephole to look out.

“It’s me. Honest.”

A loud thud rattled the door. She heard something scrape down the length of the wood, landing with a muffled thump on the floor.

He was hurt. She thought for an instant that she felt his pain and she remembered the horse’s blood. What was happening to her? She hurried to the fireplace and grabbed the metal poker he’d used to stir the fire earlier. It slid in her damp palm and she wiped her hand down the cotton shirt before grabbing it again. She had to see if it really was him, but she was prepared to fight if he or anyone else meant to hurt her.

She returned to the door and pushed the chair back far enough to open the door a crack. At first she didn’t see anything. But then she looked down and saw him sitting against the doorframe.

His feet were bare and looked blue in the pale light. He wore only jeans, no shirt—obviously, she realized, since she wore it. His breath was shallow and rough. The long strands of his hair hung loose, almost to his shoulders. His eyes were closed, but he opened them slowly when she stepped into the doorway. “I—” He licked his dry lips. “Sorry.”

She knelt beside him, looking at the pain masking his face. “What happened?”

He laughed, a sound that abruptly changed into a groan. “Guess I shouldn’t have believed I was safe. I tried to stop it.” He tried to get up, groaning as he did. “Damned barbed wire.” He nearly pitched forward, but caught himself on the edge of the doorframe.

“What happ—” Words failed her when he turned, exposing his back to the light. A bloody gash ran from his right shoulder to the top of his left hip. Blood smeared across his back and continued to trickle down his skin. The jeans were blood-soaked in back.

He tried to go inside, but stumbled. The back of the chair caught him and though the air rushed out of his lungs, he didn’t fall.

“You’re going to the hospital,” she ordered, her voice only shaking a little.

“Not a chance. I was stupid to leave the grounds once. I’m not doing that again.”

“What do you mean?”

“Help me to the sink and I’ll explain. Grab the flashlight.”

The struggle to get him into the tiny bathroom took longer than either of them expected. He slipped an arm around her shoulders and leaned on her. While she knew she wasn’t carrying his full weight, his height and weakness made it nearly impossible for them to walk. It took several tries before they figured out the rhythm. “I never was good at the three-legged race,” he admitted as he finally rested against the counter by the sink.

Clarissa set the flashlight on the vanity, the light bouncing off the ceiling barely bright enough to see. “What do you want me to do?”

“Just clean it. The water’s ice cold but it will have to do.”

“Shouldn’t we heat it?”

“Probably, but I’m not up to waiting. It’ll do for now.”

The old pipes moaned and groaned as he twisted the spigot. “There are some towels on those shelves over there.”

She fumbled around in the semi-light. She found the towels and turned back to the sink. She soaked one, her fingers aching with the icy water. He leaned on the counter, his arms straight, his eyes closed.

“This is gonna hurt,” she warned him.

“It already does. Go ahead.” He swallowed hard.

She felt him resist the urge to jerk away as she put the freezing towel on his skin. The cold seemed to help numb the pain and slow the bleeding. It made cleaning it harder, but she took her time, trying not to hurt him any more than necessary. Soon they were both shivering, but at least his breathing had returned to normal and his skin wasn’t as pale.

“So when were you going to tell me all you had was cold water? That I would have to take an ice cold shower tomorrow?” she asked to break the tension.

He laughed softly. “I hadn’t really thought about it. Sorry.”

“Are you going to fill me in on what happened?”

He was silent for so long she thought he wasn’t going to answer her. “I couldn’t sleep so I went out for a walk. I wasn’t really paying attention where I was going.”

“How far did you go?”

“Not far, but Dove’s Hollow doesn’t extend too far west.”

“How far does it go?”

“About half a mile. Then it butts up against the back of my estate.”

“What?” She stepped back and leaned around to look at him. Despite the shadows, she could see the pain on his features and it tore at her heart. “I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?”

“No.” He shook his head, his hair falling down to hide his face. “Is it still bleeding?”

“A little. We need to bandage it.”

“I don’t think we have anything.”

“You need stitches. Why don’t we run over to the emergency room? It won’t take long.”

“No!” He stood up straight, grimacing with pain. The only thing keeping her from looking to see if he’d started bleeding again was his anger. “I was fine walking around, I could control the shift. But the instant I stepped over the line, it hit me. I couldn’t stop the change.”

Relief shot through her and she smiled at him. He hadn’t lied to her. They were safe here. “Okay. We’ll stay here, but I’m calling for some help. You have to have that looked at.”

He didn’t argue, which was probably as close as he’d get to agreeing.

Carrying the flashlight, she followed him out to the living room. His steps were slow, but at least he was able to walk under his own power. He turned a metal chair around and sat leaning his arms across the back.

The room had cooled, and she fed the dying flames with a fresh log. The dry wood caught quickly, and soon the room was bright enough that she could see his wound better. It wasn’t as deep as she’d thought, though it still looked painful. “Did you say something about barbed wire?”

“Yeah. I guess horses need to know about those things. I hadn’t a clue.”

“So, you do know what’s going on after you’ve changed? Your thoughts are the same?”

“Sort of. They’re simpler. It’s hard to explain. I remember seeing you outside. What were you doing out there, anyway?”

“Looking for you.” She settled onto the couch and watched him. “Don’t change the subject. You still think like David when you’re in a different form? Is that why you came back here?”

He nodded. “I thought if I could, I’d change back sooner.

His logic made sense. “Okay. I’m going to call Faith and see if she can bring us some bandages.”

He frowned. “What’ll you tell her?”

She hesitated. “Enough. She knows about my abilities. She won’t be as suspicious as other people might be.”

He nodded and turned to stare into the fire. Clarissa paused to watch him as she called Faith and woke her out of a sound sleep. She only briefly wondered what excuse Faith would give her husband for running out in the middle of the night. She knew curiosity, if nothing else, would ensure Faith came to help them.

DAVID SAT SILENT as Clarissa and the pretty redhead who’d just arrived discussed his injury. He felt like a specimen under a microscope as they verbally dissected him.

He shivered at the thought. If anyone found out about his changing, the medical community would want to dissect him for real. With the shiver came a spasm of pain. Damn, it stung. The cut wasn’t as severe as he’d first thought, but now that his skin had warmed, the stinging had returned.

“So, am I going to live?” he asked, gritting his teeth, more from frustration than pain.

“I’m sorry.” Clarissa quickly moved to his side, and he resisted the urge to touch her and smile. That would kill her concern, and he was definitely enjoying her sweet ministrations. Despite the pain, the touch of her hands on his skin tormented him. It hadn’t been that long ago that they’d made love, and his body was telling him he wanted her again in no uncertain terms.

Why do I still need her so badly? With an effort, he shut those thoughts off. Not good. Not good at all. Her dream hadn’t come true last time. He wasn’t sure if he could guarantee it again.

“I brought antibiotic cream,” Faith said. She rummaged around in the sack she’d brought and handed a wicked-looking tube to Clarissa.

“That should help.” Clarissa leaned over his shoulder, her hair brushing his bare skin.

He gritted his teeth again, sure she was trying to drive him crazy.

“This might hurt.” She moved back, and he heard her rummaging through the bag.

At least the pain took his mind off her nearness. He closed his eyes and nodded, not trusting himself to speak. She’d think he was dying from the wound, when it was actually desire that threatened his sanity.

He felt the soft edge of cotton rub along the cut. He flinched and heard her gasp. He vowed to keep his reactions to himself after that, even when she gave up on the cotton and used her fingertips to smooth out the cream. It almost felt like her touch when she’d been in his arms and he’d been inside her.

“Hell,” he cursed and abruptly stood up. “Just put the bandages on.”

“I will,” she crooned. “Just sit back down.”

Thankfully, she stopped touching him, and he heard the sound of tearing paper. The two women had decided on the butterfly bandages so he presumed that was what she opened. He sat rigid as her hands returned to his skin, her touch soft and gentle as she put the bandages in place.

“Finished,” she whispered.

He didn’t turn around to look at her. He didn’t dare. Instead, he stood and strode to his bag to pull out a clean shirt. He struggled to put it on without pulling the bandages loose.

Finally dressed again, he turned around to face them as he sat carefully on the edge of the bed.

The fire was bright and lit the room. Clarissa finished cleaning up, and Faith sat in the wingback chair. After a long minute, she fidgeted, her feet crossing and uncrossing.

Still no one spoke. The fire popped, and Clarissa dropped the bag. Its plastic rustle sounded incredibly loud in the following silence.

Faith broke the silence first. “Do I get to know what’s going on, or should I just let my imagination fill in the blanks?”

Clarissa groaned. She turned and looked at him before she spoke. “You know who David is, don’t you?”

Faith nodded. “I know.”

The silence returned.

“And Clarissa says you know about her visions,” he said.

Again, she nodded. “Yeah. Including the one about you getting shot. That’s not a bullet wound, so what happened?”

Her gaze was direct, and David sighed, feeling the tendrils of exhaustion reach out for him. He didn’t have the time or the inclination for all this. He didn’t owe her anything; he didn’t owe anyone explanations. He’d stopped doing that years ago. Clarissa, on the other hand . . . He looked over at her again and his heart twisted.

“Before you say anything, you should know Faith is a reporter.” Clarissa’s words sounded rushed, and she rolled up the bag slowly, carefully, as if to stretch out time. She moved over to stand by the fire. “But I trust her.”

He looked hard at Faith who returned his stare. “Should I? The press doesn’t exactly trust me.”

“I don’t necessarily agree or disagree with my colleagues. Clarissa is my friend.”

He noted that she didn’t extend that friendship to him. He knew he had to explain something, but he had to be careful. “On the record, or off?”

“Off,” she assured him. “This is personal. I know what the press did to Clarissa.”

“You do?” Clarissa turned suddenly, clearly surprised.

“The whole country heard about those little boys. I know what it must have been like. I read the wire stories of your trial. I work with those sharks, remember?”

Clarissa turned away, and David fought the urge to go to her. She’d been through too much. Damn but he couldn’t lie to her and say he’d protect her, but . . . he wanted to. Even if he didn’t say the words, his actions would imply it. He knew he couldn’t protect her when what he needed to protect her from the most was himself.

“I didn’t think anyone out here knew about that,” Clarissa whispered.

“Not many people do anymore,” Faith said, her eyes meeting David’s as if to ask him for help.

“No, they’ve been too busy worrying about my family’s dirty laundry.” He pointed the finger at himself to take some of the pressure off her.

“Unfortunately, he’s right.” Faith stood and walked over to her friend. “Look, I don’t need to know anything. I just want to know you’re safe.” Her gaze returned to David, warning him. “And you’ll stay that way.”

“I’ll be fine here.” Clarissa smiled and hugged her friend. “It’s late. Thank you for your help. I promise I’ll keep in touch.”

“I’ll hold you to that. If you don’t, I’ll . . . I’ll write something scandalous and sell it to the tabloids.” Even to his unfamiliar ears the threat sounded like a friendly tease.

“You can’t write fiction,” Clarissa teased back and led Faith to the door. “Go home and get some sleep. I’m sure Cord’s wondering where you are. I’ll call you. Soon. I promise.”

Faith hesitated, as if deciding if she really should leave. “Yeah, I’m sure he’s sound asleep, but you have a point.” Faith grabbed her purse and then hastily left.

David admired their friendship. It was comfortable and easy, something he’d never had with anyone. Not with his family. Never with a friend. Certainly not in his marriage.

Keeping her back to him, Clarissa stood in the open doorway until Faith’s taillights vanished around the block. “You can trust her. She won’t say anything to anyone.”

“If you trust her, I do.” It was hard for him to say it, but once the words were out, he realized they were true.

She turned to face him then, staring with eyes that looked suspiciously damp. “Thank you.”

“For what? Putting you in danger? Bringing you close to insanity? Taking away your life?

She laughed and shook her head. “You really don’t know, do you?”

He shook his head. She walked toward him, stopping just inches away from him. “Since my trial, no one has trusted me or my judgment.” Her voice shook and she took a deep breath. “You came to me when you were hurt. You let me take care of you. Now you believe me about Faith. Thank you.”

She’d sucker-punched him. He stared at her, shocked by the power she had over him. The intensity of what he felt for her surprised him. He’d shut his emotions off for so long, and now they all rushed forward, swamping him. He couldn’t sort them out. All he knew was the taste of her lips as she leaned close and kissed him.

He pulled her into his arms, barely noticing how carefully she touched him. The pain faded, and he held her tight, never wanting to let her go.

And knowing he had to.

But not quite yet.