A Mermaid's Ransom (19 page)

No image in her mind explained that, so he simply studied the enigma that was her. "Do you want to see my home?" she asked, a note of desperation in her voice.

"Yes."

Since he stood by the dresser at the stairs out of the loft, she had to draw closer. When she looked up into his face, touching his arm, it made the nerves under his skin ripple, his body tighten. But because she seemed determined to take him somewhere else, and he was curious to see more, he tried to mute his lust so she would relax.

"I won't take you to places with lots of people, not until you're used to them. And remember, you don't have to see and do everything at once. Whenever you get overloaded, or tired, just tell me, if I don't sense it up front. You're harder for me to read than most people."

She was still wondering if that was because of the interference of her own feelings, or something else. Since he had no answer for her and his mind was elsewhere, he put his hands on her hips, drew her closer to him. Her palms settled naturally on his chest as his fingers curved into the shirt, finding the tempting give of her body beneath. Her forefinger moved in a single stroke over the base of his neck. "It's going to be okay," she said.

"Alexis, I am not a child you need to reassure. Do you understand this?"

She frowned. "Now you sound like my father."

"Perhaps he and I agree on one thing, then. If something happens out there, and I feel threatened, you will not be wise to get between me and that threat."

"It may not be wise, but I'll do it, because nothing you're going to see today is a threat. I don't want you hurt by that collar rebounding, or have you accidentally hurt someone else. You have to trust me." Her fingers dug in a little, with insistence and sharp edges. The sudden set of her jaw was matched by the determination thrusting forward in her mind. "So if you're wise, you'll pull your punches."

"You will not command me," he said testily.

"It's not a command." She blew out a breath. "Geez, the testosterone factor. You do realize how much my father wants an excuse to obliterate you, right? We have to show him, prove to him, you can get along in this world without maiming, blowing away or ripping anyone's head off. I know you hate that. I know you're very proud, and you think by trying to get along you're somehow becoming a slave again."

He stepped back from her then. "Because you know my emotions, do not think you can dictate to me."

"I'm not trying to do that. Dante, it's going to take time for you to understand." Her fingers curled into tense balls at her side. He saw the jumble of thoughts in her mind, her struggle to describe what was beyond his immediate understanding. "You can be what you want to be here, as long as you don't harm others to be that."

He hooked the collar with two fingers. "You put this on me, which keeps me from being what I am."

"You let me," she said, though she flinched at the accusation. "Dante, you remember how you set up the circle shield to keep me in the chamber, until I understood why I couldn't leave it? To protect me when the Dark Ones came in?"

He nodded, reluctantly. "You want me to believe this is like that."

"It is." She stepped to him again and the return of her closeness was welcome, despite the discomfort her words were causing. Stopping between his boots, she tilted her head. "I understand about the collar. I know that pain won't stop you. It breaks my heart, knowing why that is. What you've endured. Those emotions are a well inside of you, and that well is way too deep and dark to go all the way to the bottom, even for me. But you worked so hard and long getting here. Can you have enough patience left to trust me a little, enough to get through today? That's not so bad, right?"

He looked down at her. Pulling those sticks out, he made her hair tumble down onto her shoulders. He framed her face and brushed his mouth over hers, a brief taste. "I like your hair better like this."

"Then that's how I'll wear it." Her fingers made another shy pass near the base of his throat, a stroking. "Are you ready to go?"

"I am ready."

Sixteen

AFTER classes that day, Clara went to Lex's place, letting herself in with her key. It had become a daily ritual, hoping she was there, and embracing the tactile comfort of being among her things when she wasn't. The clothes they'd picked out together, the ugly footrest shaped like a huggable sea urchin. Lex had fallen in love with it at a dorm yard sale. The food in her cupboards included candy bars she kept specifically for when Clara came, as well as her favorite soda. She got one of each now and wandered back to Lex's bedroom, to the waiting pile of stuffed animals.

Clara desperately wished Lex had a cell phone so she could call and find out what kind of family emergency she'd had. Lex had always had a habit of disappearing for a few days at a time with no real explanation coming or going, so it wasn't the absence that had caused Clara's worry. Things felt okay now, but for the first several days she'd been gone, Clara had experienced such cold fear, she'd nearly lost her mind. Knowing that the police didn't look for an adult until forty-eight hours had passed, particularly one with a habit of disappearing, she'd had to settle for checking out all of Lex's normal haunts, asking who had seen her and who hadn't. Branson at the Conservancy hadn't, but again, Lex rarely kept a set schedule with them. When she was around, she was as regular as clockwork and immensely useful, so they'd adjusted to her periodic, unexplained absences the way everyone else who knew her did.

"I don't want to lie to you," Lex told her once. "You know my life is different from most. Please don't ask me to explain what I can't. I'll understand if that means you can't be my friend, but I hope that won't be the case, because I really need you to be."

The friendship had become a permanent bond, because Clara knew Lex meant to say "want," but "need" was closer to the truth. A lot of people considered themselves Lex's friends because of that vibe she projected, but they were too dazzled by the light to delve below the surface to find out what Lex truly liked or needed.

Before Lex, Clara herself had made a conscious decision not to be true, heart-to-heart friends with anyone because of her clairvoyance. It was too difficult, seeing things about another, their present and future, in stereo simulcast with their spoken hopes and dreams, the things that made them laugh or cry. But she could only read vague things from Lex, no clear pictures of her present and future. It was like the reassuring hum of a radio turned down low, instead of blasting music all the time. If she probed, Clara hit a wall. She'd accepted that block, and they'd been close friends since, even though Lex's aura was unclassifiable, and that light . . . well, it wasn't exactly human.

On the third day, when she was determined to go to the police, the cold feeling ebbed and she received a phone message from a woman who said Lex had a family emergency. Though Lex's psychic signature was strong, her mother's surpassed it, leaving no doubt in Clara's mind the woman was who she said she was.

Something bad had gone down, she was sure of it. It might be over now, but as her friend, she wanted to see Alexis, wouldn't feel comfortable until she did. Which might be why she found herself at Lex's town house, lying on her bed, staring up at the ceiling, thinking and dozing by turns when the sugar crash kicked in. Groggily, she turned her head, startled to see she'd been here for two hours. She'd dozed off longer than she'd expected. Best to get up, find her Chem-Lab book and do some work. Maybe she'd stay here tonight instead of walking across the green to her own town house. But she was so sleepy . . .

She let her eyes drift closed again, but a sense that something was not quite the same in the room made her open them again. She blinked, her lips curving in amazement. "Wow."

As dreams went, he was something else. Tall, winged, dark-haired and dark-eyed. The red silk half-tunic he wore stopped at midthigh and did a great job of not concealing the length of powerful leg, the bare chest and striated abdomen above the wide belt. A deep scar on his chest tweaked a thread of pain in her heart. Angels must be more mortal than advertised. He had gorgeous dark green wings that caught the sunlight filtering through the blinds. Though they were spread enough to frame his broad shoulders, they folded as they tapered down, crossing at the tips near his bare feet. He was studying her closely.

"This is a dream," he said. The power in his voice rolled over her, making nerves tingle all across her flesh.

"The best dream ever," she agreed, pushing herself to a sitting position. His eyes widened fractionally, as if that was unexpected, but it was her dream, wasn't it? She rose and walked toward him, through the bands of sunshine streaming through the slats of blinds. Though they briefly obscured her vision, she reached out anyway and encountered hard male flesh. Oh, a really real dream, and she had more vivid ones than most. She usually recognized the difference between a dream and a vision that might come to pass, her clairvoyance joining with a touch of the fortune-teller, but this seemed like both and neither, at once.

She'd almost say it was real, but of course it was an angel standing in Lex's bedroom, an angel with a strong, heated aura and a touch of darkness. That darkness was a small shadow on his soul, revealing a sadness there, but she could make it go away, all she had to do was touch his lips. She leaned into him, smiling at the idea of kissing away an angel's hurts in her dream.

But it would take more than that. As she gazed up into his eyes, she saw it. The physical scar went so deep, it had damaged the muscle, made it harder to fly. Not impossible, no, but he couldn't do it as well as he'd always done it, and that hurt his pride. The memory of the battle where he'd gotten it made her draw in a breath, seeing his fierceness, the flashing sword, the warrior light in his eyes as he spun and slashed, even after he was struck. Grazing her lips across it impulsively, she slid her hands over his ribs, palms coming to rest on the wide belt. Hooking her fingers there gave her the leverage to lift to her toes and raise her face for the kiss she wanted. But darn it, he was still too tall.

Leaning in to experience every delightful inch of his body, she pressed her thigh against his and shifted onto his foot. She slid one hand over the scar, following it to his shoulder. Tangling her fingers in his hair, she found his nape. His strong neck would give her the needed hitch to reach his lips. But if it was her dream, he should be a little more accommodating and bend down, meet her halfway. Shouldn't he?

"Marcellus? Clara?"

The angel touched her. He gripped her upper arms with a strength that was knee weakening, but not bruising. Easing her off his foot and back onto her own, he held her there as she blinked. Focused. That was Lex's voice, Lex's real voice.

She pivoted on her foot, slow and careful, and saw her standing in the doorway, eyes wide, brows raised. Clara shook her head, trying to figure out why she wasn't looking up at Lex from the bed, which was where she'd be if she'd just woken up. Of course, sometimes during her more powerful visions, she sleepwalked. Once she'd made her way to a flight of stairs and woke by tumbling down them. Since she'd been mostly asleep when it happened, she'd been limp, like a drunk, and had arrived at the bottom with nothing but bruises and rattled nerves.

"Lex," she said.
"Lex."
Her friend's instant, reassuring smile warmed her, inside and out. "You're okay."

Clara ran forward then, heedless of her groggy state, and threw her arms around the other girl, squeezing her close, breathing in the amazing vibrating energy that was Alexis. She'd always known Lex was glad for their friendship, that it made her feel less alone. She wondered if Lex knew she felt the same. She should really tell her that, but--

Something was still off. Clara frowned, easing back but still petting Alexis absently as she turned her head. And blanched. "Okay, I'm really awake, and he's still there. Lex?"

"You thought he was a dream?" It was the barely repressed laughter in Alexis's voice that brought Clara to a fully awakened state. "Well that explains it. I knew you were pretty forward, but I thought it was a little blatant, even for you."

Clara squeezed her once more for reassurance--
Lex was okay!
--then retraced her steps to the angel, whose dark eyes made it impossible to tell what he was thinking. Though if she had to guess, she'd say he was poised between agitated and . . . irritable. He
had
to be a dream. This was crazy. Putting out a hand, she touched his chest again and sucked in a gasp as he much more readily and quickly took hold of her wrist, stilling her. "Holy shit. He is real."

"Yes." He spoke in that distant thunder voice again, changing his attention to Lex. "I told her not to see me, to view me as a dream. She didn't."

"Clara has exceptional clairvoyance. Pyel knows, which is why he never comes around me when she's here. But I wasn't expecting her. I wasn't expecting you, either." There was fondness, but a mild reproof in the tone, and this time his brows drew together, his grip tightening perceptibly. But Clara was pleased that his grip was tightening on her, whether conscious or not.

"Your father asked me to watch you."

"I know. I'm sorry, Marcellus. I didn't mean to sound snappish." Alexis looked between her friend and the angel. She was receiving a curious mix from them both. Well, not so curious from Clara, because she knew her friend's irrepressible appreciation for men. Marcellus, however, seemed almost reluctant to let Clara go.

"So, if he's real"--Clara cleared her throat and attempted to look nonchalant, something Lex knew was entirely bogus, since her friend was bouncing between disbelief and amazement like a Ping-Pong ball--"did he show up in your bedroom because you're shamelessly using him? And if not, can I have him?"

Lex couldn't help it, she laughed out loud at the expression that crossed Marcellus's face. Oh, Goddess, this was why she'd missed Clara so much.

"
Er
, he's like an uncle to me, Clara. He and my father are very close. Which is why he's looking so horrified. Trust me, he's way too much trouble. Angels always are."

Marcellus stepped back then, releasing Clara, and gave a slight bow. "Where is Dante?"

"Right here." Dante stepped out of the shadows behind Alexis, where he'd obviously been gauging the situation. Lex knew he'd been prepared to counter the potential threat the angel posed, so it had been tricky there for a moment, coordinating between her conversation and the reassuring thoughts she was sending to him, filling him in on who Clara and Marcellus were.

All the blood left Clara's face and she backed up two steps, right into Marcellus, who put his hands on her shoulders. Whether to stop her from squashing him in the corner or as reassurance, Lex wasn't sure.

"He's . . . He was what was all over you that day, when your aura was strobing like Christmas lights. Who . . . what is he?"

"Clara, this is Dante. As far as what he is, I think maybe you and I need to talk some." Alexis shifted her glance to Marcellus. "I don't think there's really any choice but to tell her some of it now, right? I trust her."

"I trust your judgment regarding her." Though his tone said he found her judgment about Dante far more questionable.

Lex suppressed the urge to stick her tongue out at Marcellus as she had when she was younger and he was being too overbearing. It didn't matter, because she was being ignored, the two males eying one another with mutual dislike.

Despite that, Alexis discovered something unexpected. Marcellus didn't have the same vibe toward Dante that her father did. Not that Marcellus trusted Dante, but she felt more of a wait-and-see than obliterate-him-now attitude. He brought his attention back to her before she could digest that. "Tread carefully, Alexis. I will inform your father of this new development with your friend, if you are truly fine."

"I am," she promised. "Thank you, Marcellus, for checking on us."

"You," he corrected. "I was checking on you."

Okay, so he wasn't entirely different from her father. She bit back a sigh and nodded. "Tell Pyel we're doing fine."

Marcellus nodded, and then he was gone. Alexis knew angels moved quickly enough that they appeared to dematerialize. From the way Dante stepped to the right, clearing the doorway, she knew he had seen him, but Clara swayed at the sudden lack of support. Lex leaped forward and caught her hands.

"Come and sit down," she said. "We'll talk."

AS she and Dante had discussed, humans had difficulty processing drastic changes to their reality. Clara was more attuned than most, but Lex still proceeded cautiously, knowing part of it was her own selfish desire not to lose Clara's friendship by forcing a direct confrontation with Alexis's "otherness."

After she'd told her the basics--what she was, where she'd been the past week, Dante's presence--she subsided, waiting for questions or reaction. Clara had remained quiet throughout, her large eyes fastened on Alexis's face. During that time, Dante had prowled the town house, but now he returned to her bedroom and settled on her incongruous vanity chair. It felt like a show of support, an acknowledgment of how difficult this moment might become. She hadn't had to ask him to give her the uninterrupted time with Clara, either. Was it mind reading, or just chance? If it was the former, he was actually being considerate, which was intriguing on its own.