Chapter 17

Caro woke up in bed, throat blocked by a silent scream and hands gripping her belly. She hadn’t had this nightmare in a long time, but the piercing pain as the knives slid through her and the warm, wet feeling of her blood as it pooled around her dying body were as vivid as if it had just happened. In tonight’s dream, she had lifted her eyes, vision already dimmed, and saw Franz Iverson, wearing the same clothes as the man who had caught her attention from the balcony earlier that day.

Switching on the lamp flooded the room with light but not even the cheery brightness calmed her racing heart. The terror weighed her down. Frantically, she tried to remember what her therapist had said about regaining calm, but her mind was a scattered mess. She couldn’t concentrate. She couldn’t breathe. Air. Caro wheezed and choked, huddled on the bed with her hands balled into tight fists. All she could do was feel and react.

She didn’t know how long it was until she began to fall back down from her peak. The therapist’s words ran through her head. Concentrate on her breath. Be in the moment. Let thoughts come unbidden if they must, then gently refocus on the breath. In. Out. The feeling of the cooler air on her sweaty skin. Breathe, Caro. Breathe.

Finally, she was calm enough to open her eyes again. It was four in the morning and there would be no more sleep for her that night. After a last deep and shuddering breath, she pulled herself out of bed. Small tasks would help her, like changing her sweat-soaked pajamas. She made a face as she peeled them off and wiped down with a towel before grabbing a new pair. Her whole body ached and her skin felt sensitive. Maybe she was coming down with the flu. Figures it would happen right at the end of her week off.

Cold water. Some cold water on her face would help. Wanting to chase away the night’s shadows from the apartment, Caro flipped on every lamp and switch on her way to the bathroom until the entire apartment was bathed in bright light. She blinked against it, her eyes tearing. Definitely the flu. After washing her face, she’d make some chamomile tea and lie on the couch. The bed was soaked with sweat and she was in no mood to change the sheets.

At least, that was her plan until she looked in the mirror and saw a stranger staring out. No, not a stranger. Her mother, in one of her favorite masques.

Caro screamed and scrambled backward, clawing at her face. Instead of a thirty-year-old with tanned skin, dark wavy hair and brown eyes, a pale forty-year-old blonde with bright blue eyes had been reflected back. She stared at her hands. They at least looked the same. Looking down, she was relieved to see that the rest of her appeared as it should.

It was the anxiety. It must be pulling a number on her to make her see things. A hallucination. She touched her face more gently. It felt like her face, but how would she know? She’d never paid attention to what her own face felt like before. Maybe the nose was a bit bigger. She couldn’t tell. Who the hell knows what their own nose feels like?

Caro steeled herself and turned back to the mirror. This time she tried to subdue the visceral shock that pulsed through her entire system at the sight of the unexpected face. Caro touched her lips gently, then ran her fingers over the thinly plucked eyebrows. The woman in the mirror copied her every motion.

Fine. That’s fine. The room began to spin and Caro groped her way over to the edge of the bathtub and sat. It wasn’t fine. It was definitely not a hallucination. She was wearing one of her mother’s faces and she had no idea of how to get rid of it.

That was, she didn’t know how but she knew someone who did. To her relief, anger began to take up the space around the anxiety and fear, pushing them until they receded into the background.

Eric fucking Kelton. None of this happened until he came into her life. This was his fault. That damned masquerada. What had he done to her while she was in his mind? God, did that even happen? Maybe he’d drugged her and she was enough of a simpleton to go along with his crazy explanation. Oh, yes, Caro, I almost died, then you came into my mind and fucked me back to life. As a thank you, let me humiliate you in front of your apparently jealous boss, get you so turned on you can hardly breathe, then transform you into a different person. Good times!

What an idiot she was. She ran her fingers through the blond hair, shuddering at the fine, silky feel of it. Disgusting. Like having a wig growing out of her head. How dare he force her to shift against her will? It was as horrible and terrifying as she knew it would be. Suddenly, her skin went cold. What if she could never turn back? Masquerada took on masques, not just changed faces. They became the other. Was her entire personality going to change? Her mother had been happy in this masque, she remembered. Would she begin to feel that same joy? A brief surge of connection rose, followed by an intense and surprising longing for her mother’s long-gone touch. She beat it down. Now was not the time to revisit old hurts, not when she had this crisis to deal with.

Tears welled up in her eyes but she dashed them away before they could fall. Stay like this forever? Not going to happen. She hated having to ask him for help—hated asking anyone for anything—but it looked as though she was going to be paying a visit to Eric Kelton. As soon as the sun came up.

* * * *

“We’ve got an intruder held in the detention cells,” Stephan said from the doorway. “It’s a woman.”

The alarms finally stilled. Eric had come instantly awake minutes ago when they began to sound and he still held the gun that he kept within easy reach. Knowing his security team would go insane if he didn’t stick with the protocol rankled, but he’d reluctantly agreed when Tom told him that he’d be putting more lives at risk if he didn’t let his people do their job. Eric had remained in his room, alert, fully dressed and staring at the door as he monitored the situation.

“One of Iverson’s?”

“There’s something weird about this one.” Stephan looked troubled. “She keeps demanding to see you, but it seems personal. She was unarmed and definitely not dressed for a fight.”

“I’m going to see her.” Eric holstered the gun.

“Tom won’t like it. He’s prepping her for transport to our main facility.”

“Not until I see her.”

Security closed in as Stephan led the way to the basement. They’d had to use the cells only a few times over the years but Tom was constantly upgrading them until they were the rival of any maximum-security prison.

The woman’s voice drifted out from the main door of the detention area when the guards opened it. “What the fuck is wrong with you people? You, Tom, you are going let me out of this thing or I will kick your ass until you beg for mercy. Do you understand that? Now where is that son of a bitch?”

Eric smothered a smile at the idea of anyone grappling with his security chief. She must be delusional.

Amusement turned to shock as a tremendous cracking noise reverberated through the room, along with the unmistakable sound of the safeties being thrown off five guns.

“Move the Hierarch out,” Stephan snapped as he moved in front of Eric.

Tom’s voice cut through the chaos. “You, get back or we’ll shoot.”

To Eric’s astonishment, the woman burst out laughing. “Holy shit, how was I even able to do that? Okay, you know what, asshole? Go ahead and shoot because that would make this the most perfect night. Absolutely freaking perfect.” Her laugh was tinged with hysteria.

That voice. It was huskier than before but he knew that rhythm, those intonations. “Caro?” Eric asked in disbelief. “Is that you?” He pushed Stephan aside and stepped into the main room.

The woman froze, then glared at him. “You bastard. What did you do to me?” Then, as though overwhelmed by what was happening, she sank down to her knees by the destroyed bars of the cell. “What did you do to me?” She began to sob in earnest. He could barely understand her.

“That’s Caro?” Stephan asked, shocked. “Caro Yeats?”

“Yes, it’s fucking me,” she said furiously, dashing the tears away. “You can’t tell, thanks to your asshole boss.”

“Stand down,” Eric ordered. “All of you.”

Stephan was still staring at the blond woman. “What the hell are you doing? That’s not Caro.” Realization dawned. “Jesus. She’s a masquerada. Of course.”

Tom moved forward, stopping only when Eric gestured him back. The security chief’s eyes were narrow with mistrust.

Eric walked slowly to Caro. “Listen to me. You need to tell me what happened. I can help, but you need to talk to me.”

“Make this stop.” Her voice was muffled under the hands she held over her face. “I can’t do it.”

“It’s okay, Caro, it’s okay.” He kept his voice gentle. “I can help you but you need to trust me. You need to trust me.”

When she finally raised her head, Eric felt the pain he could see in her eyes jab into him. Her entire face was swollen and puffy, the masque that of an older blond woman with striking features. What had happened to her? He wrestled back his emotion. That wasn’t going to help Caro. He needed to be strong.

“Caro, you need to come upstairs.”

She rose unsteadily to her feet, her fear gradually turning back into rage. She turned and he tensed, ready for an attack. He’d seen what she’d done to that cell.

Tom’s voice came down the hall, cold with purpose.

“Eric, I don’t…”

“Tom, Stephan, I’ve got this.” He glanced at the room. “You worry about reinforcing these cells. Those bars shouldn’t bend.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Tom mumbled. “How strong is she?”

Caro bared her teeth. “Come and see, jerkwad.”

“Caro. Enough.” Eric pointed her up the stairs to his room. Prudently, he left a good distance between them as he followed. He was fully armed, but he’d rather let her attack than hurt her. From her expression, it was clear that she was not only angry, but moments away from losing it completely.

The walk to his bedroom felt endless. Caro stumbled along, obeying Eric’s directions but not replying. When they arrived, Eric shut the door while Caro stood in the center of the room, hugging herself with shaking arms. He looked over at her cautiously. “What happened?” he asked.

“What happened? What happened is that I looked in the mirror and saw this.” She motioned at her face, which he now saw had scratch marks on it. His throat ached. She must have been ripping at what to her was a stranger’s flesh.

“Why don’t you lie down on the bed?” he asked. “Get comfortable.”

She glared at him. “Why don’t you go fuck yourself?”

This wasn’t going well. Eric sighed and pulled out a chair. “Fine, then go sit on the chaise.”

Caro looked mutinous, then shrugged and walked stiffly to the chaise. She was dressed in tight yoga pants and a loose, long-sleeve shirt that kept drifting down over one shoulder, revealing the subtle curve of the top of her breast. He swallowed hard and jerked his eyes up. This is about Caro, remember? Helping Caro. She’s having a traumatic experience and needs help. Also, she ripped apart a state-of-the-art detention cell. With her bare hands.

Right. He cleared his throat then sat down.

Caro’s eyes were closed and she took deep breaths. When her eyes fluttered open, Eric could see that she’d managed to discipline herself. Good. He wouldn’t blame her for being in full hysterics, but it would make it almost impossible to help her shift back.

“You didn’t say you were a masquerada,” he said in as neutral a voice as he could manage, as though he hadn’t known. It seemed a mistake to challenge her with her omission at this moment.

“I’m only half. It’s nothing in my life.” Her voice was steady now, and although the intonations were Caro’s, the voice was lower and rough as gravel.

Not part of her life? He’d ask her about that later. “Is this the first time you’ve shifted? Do you recognize the face? The first time we shift it’s usually into a masque similar to someone we know.”

She met his eyes and he was shocked to see her cold fury. “I never wanted to take on a masque,” she hissed. “Ever.”

Eric leaned back and regarded her. She was doing well at covering it, but she must be petrified. He felt an overwhelming sympathy for her. The first shift was unimaginably disturbing. For born masquerada, the shift happened during a traditional ceremony when the ability manifested itself in the teenage years. An older masquerada would prepare and guide the younger through the entire process, calming fears and offering constant reassurance. Ideally, months of training would have occurred beforehand. Even he, as one who had been turned instead of born, had received some knowledge of what was going to happen, enough to buffer the terror.

Caro had been totally alone.

He stood and walked over to her. Her fists were squeezed tightly but she let him sit down beside her. “This is your fault,” she said in a low voice. “It was because of your convergence. What happened with us.” She paused. “If it even happened.”

He was struck by the bitterness in her voice. “It happened, and I’ve been thinking about it almost every minute since,” he said softly, noticing how she stiffened beside him. “That’s a discussion for later, when you’ve returned to your normal state. Tell me what you remember.”

“I looked in the mirror and I was like this.”

“Nothing happened before?” he pressed. “Were you upset?”

“I had a nightmare.” Her pale lips thinned into a tight line.

He didn’t ask for details. “That could have done it.”

“Done what?” She sounded curious despite herself, and Eric hid a grin under the seriousness of the moment. Caro couldn’t not ask questions any more than she could stop breathing.

“For those with latent abilities, a triggering incident such as a trauma sometimes forces an unanticipated shift. You’re lucky it happened at home.”

“Right. I’m going to buy a lottery ticket after this, I’m feeling so fucking lucky.”

He ignored that. “I’m going to take you through a visualization that will return you to your normal, core self. Give me your hand.”

There was a long pause as Eric waited patiently with his hand out. He kept his face calm although his heart hammered with fear that she would reject him. The idea that she would come to him for help—it made him feel…good. Wanted. Needed.

Finally, she laid her hand hesitatingly in his. An electric shock passed through him and he breathed deep even at this simple touch.

“Has your body changed?” he asked neutrally.

“No. At least, I don’t think so.” She sounded puzzled. “Strange. You think you know your own body but then, when you think about it, it’s gone. You don’t know yourself at all.” A vivid flash of her curvy hips and slender waist rose in Eric’s mind as Caro ran her other hand slowly over her neck and throat.

Concentrate. “Caro, think about your natural hair. The color. How it feels against your neck. How thick it is when you brush it. The smell of it.”

She nodded and closed her eyes, frowning as she concentrated. Eric found himself recalling the soft, tangled cloud that spread over his chest as she lay against him, flushed and sated. He cursed inwardly. Maybe he should go in less detail. “Now think of your eyes. Your skin when you touch it. Let those memories flow over you.”

Caro’s face trembled and for a brief moment, her own features were superimposed over that of the masque she had created.

Then her coffee-brown eyes peered out at him.