The woman looked up again, the blue of her irises all but gone. She stood with exaggerated care. “Why are you here?”
Gods, that voice. It reeked of violent deeds done in the dark. He fought to squash the urge to claw at his skin and dislodge her words, words that stuck to his skin like poison-tipped cockleburs. Never had he heard anything like it.
Stepping closer, she smiled. “And now it seems I’ve asked you a question. Hesitation won’t be tolerated.”
Kemp reached for her, trying to pull her back.
“This is between the woman and me. It has nothing to do with you,” Dylan snapped. The man would back off or Dylan would be forced to divide his attentions, half on the woman and half on the Druidic arts to compel the man to leave. “If you have any sense of self-preservation, you’ll back off.”
“Back off, my ass.” Kemp put himself between them, the woman at his back. “She matters to me.”
May the gods save him from heroes. “More than your own life? Because if the answer’s ‘no’? Move. Now.” He shoved Kemp aside and stepped into the woman’s personal space. “I asked you to answer me, and more than once. I’m nigh done asking, woman.”
Sweat beaded along her upper lip. Shadows moved in her eyes. “Don’t...let me—” she bore down, panting through gritted teeth “—hurt anyone. Please.”
With that, her eyes rolled back in her head and she collapsed.
Well, shit.
* * *
Head resting on her forearms, a safari-esque drumbeat pounded through Kennedy’s brain over and over, her mental MP3 stuck on Repeat. Her head felt too full. Ethan rubbed her back, his warm hands turning her bones to Silly Putty. The mental drumming wound down to sporadic solo bursts when those magic hands slipped up her neck to massage her scalp. He chanted, voice so low she couldn’t understand what he said. Twisting, she looked up to find his eyes closed and face totally relaxed. She took his hands in hers. Their warmth hadn’t been imagined. Far from it. They were almost hot to the touch. How? Why?
“Better?” Ethan asked, interrupting her thoughts.
She settled back into his office chair. “Yeah.” Digging an elastic band from her scrub pocket, she pulled her hair up into a thick, sloppy topknot. Her hands froze midway through the act. “Where’s the Neanderthal?”
“Waiting outside.”
“Think we can sneak out? I...” Fear strangled her and made her breath wheeze. “I need to talk to you. About what’s been going on.”
Ethan’s gaze narrowed. “I’m up for a little spontaneous dissidence if you are. Put your head back down and give me a second to get rid of him.” He slipped out the door.
Alone, her mind wandered. Thoughts crowded in, layering one over the other to form a collage of memories, some clear, others clouded. She poked at the unfamiliar images, trying to paint clearer pictures of places she thought she’d been, things she believed she’d done and, worse, violence she’d probably carried out.
Velvet-clad fingers swept through her mind, as visceral and malicious as anything she’d ever experienced. The intimate violation made her stomach knot up. Her vision fractured. Reality was suddenly painted with diluted watercolors. Squeezing her eyes closed and clutching her head, she gasped. Not okay. Not even remotely okay. “Stop it.”
Low, angry hisses wicked along her skull. Her scalp tried to crawl down her face and escape the infinite voices trapped in the sound.
“Stop it,” she repeated through gritted teeth.
“Stop what?”
The room snapped into focus. Somewhere nearby, a phone rang, the noise hammering her eardrums.
Ethan stood across the desk from her, a deep V carved between his brows. “What’d I do?”
“Nothing.” She swallowed the bile that blistered her throat. “Is he gone?”
“Yeah. Off to get you a glass of water from the cafeteria.”
A shaky breath escaped. “Okay. Let’s get out of here.”
Ethan hesitated. “We’ll need to stay close. No way am I going to risk making this worse for you.”
“I can’t afford for things to get worse. We’ll just go across the street to The Daily Grind, talk there.”
“You’re not worried about being overheard?”
Absently working loose tendrils of hair into the topknot, Kennedy shook her head. “We’re regulars. I doubt anyone will pay us any attention.”
“Let’s go, then.” Ethan peered out into the hall before gesturing her forward.
They walked hand in hand through the lobby, out the front door and across the street. A rush of warm air brushed over them as they stepped inside the coffee shop favored by hospital staff. The smells of fresh bread, cinnamon and ground coffee beans swirled around them. Cashiers took orders and baristas called out names. Fire crackled in the fireplace. Conversation buzzed, giving the café a distinct hive feel.
Ethan pulled his wallet and handed her a few bills. “Get me my usual while I grab a sofa.” He took off, stalking the floor and looking for a group getting ready to bail. Kennedy watched him approach a couple packing their things. After a fast exchange, the couple left and Ethan flopped down on the leather seat. He sent her a thumbs-up and wide grin, making her smile absently in return.
“Lady, your order all ready?” The cashier, a small, short-tempered young woman cracked her gum as she waited on Kennedy to turn around.
“You’ll address me with respect,” Kennedy snarled.
The cashier popped her gum. “Your order, Your Highness.”
Peripheral vision diminishing, something foreign rose in her, shoving at her will. She raised a trembling hand to her temple and whispered, “Not right now.”
“Then step aside,” the cashier spat, leaning around Kennedy to motion forward the next person in line.
“Not you, you idiot.” The words were out before she could stop them. She lifted her gaze to the woman behind the counter and the woman gasped, stepping back a strong pace from the counter.
“I saw... I saw...” the woman sputtered.
“What? What did you see?” She ran her hands over her face, relieved to find nothing more than her own flesh and bone.
Still, the cashier kept backing away. She hit a rolling cart loaded with baked goods and sent it crashing into the wall. “Your eyes.”
Fear lashed Kennedy’s feet in place even as her pulse took flight. “Look, it was probably the light. Take my order and I’ll get out of your hair.” Kennedy’s gaze darted around the coffee shop. “I need two chocolate mocha lattes, heavy on the cream, topped with whipped cream, and two croissants, warmed, butter on the side.”
The cashier nodded and inched back to the register but still had to try three times to call the order as she rang it up.
Kennedy managed to pay without causing a scene, though the cashier refused to touch her when she handed over the money. Irrational anger flooded Kennedy. Who did the girl think she was to treat Kennedy like some type of pariah? She opened her mouth to demand an apology when the barista called her name. Spinning, she shouldered a stranger aside, grabbed the drinks and headed toward Ethan, desperation dogging her every step.
He’d understand. He’d help her get through this.
It seemed to take forever to reach him. Setting the cups on the little coffee table, she dropped onto the sofa and clutched her bag. The fine hairs on her neck stood up.