Designed to Love (32 page)

***

I have no idea how long Zane has been
standing there watching me when I awake from a dream that I had
been fighting to stay in. It was a dream that included Ronan and we
were kayaking down a river, surrounded by a landscape of beauty.
The trees, rock formations and even the water were vibrant with a
prismatic display of color, and the energy emanated around us like
a spider web. Ronan sat topless in front of me, his muscles
rippling as his torso rotated side to side, paddling and propelling
us through the water. His color screening was pure white, and there
was no distinction between where his aura ended and mine began. We
were connected, not just to each other, but with the natural
elements surrounding us. It's the type of dream that you don't want
to see end, and when I look up and see Zane standing there, I moan
out loud.

"You're free to come out now," Zane says
quietly, watching me as I struggle to sit up.

The movement aggravates the wounds on my
lower back sending sharp pains up my spine. When I wince, he offers
a hand to help me up, and looks surprised when I take it. His blue
color screening once again shows promising twinkles of orange. At
some point during the night, I had an epiphany and made up my mind
that no matter what happened, I would never react to Zane with an
emotion that would cause me to relinquish my power. It required a
new way of thinking and a new way of responding. Since the
beginning of time, man has been fighting battles with hatred, anger
and physical force. Now I was going to embark on a new kind of
battle—a battle of the minds, using the energies of the universe to
elicit responses that favored something better than whips and
concrete floors.

Zane looks down at my blouse which is
unbuttoned at the bottom and tied in a knot below my breasts,
exposing my belly.

"It was sticking to my wounds," I mumble as
I limp out the door ahead of him, letting him get a glimpse of his
handiwork on my backside. I know he won't feel any remorse for such
a heinous act, but I figure it won't hurt to try.

"Sophia sent some things for you, and you
can shower in your guest room," he says motioning me down the west
wing, and stopping at the end of the hall to open one of the
rooms.

"Is that what I am Zane, a guest? I thought
I was a prisoner," I say evenly.

"I guess that all depends on you," he
responds, pausing outside the bedroom door and staring down at me.
I say nothing, and instead surround him with a wave of my energy
that seems surprisingly pronounced in his mixture of blue.
Love and kindness,
I suggest
mentally. I hold my breath when he reaches up and brushes his hand
across my cheek. Judging by the look of confusion in his eyes, the
spontaneous gesture is unintentional. He pulls his hand away
quickly, shoving it in his pocket.

***

The plaque on the guestroom door says 'Sweet
Violets' which in and of itself seems odd, but when Zane opens the
door, and I enter a room playfully decorated with green and purple
violets and bunny paraphernalia everywhere, I am speechless.

"If you don't like it, there are ten others
to choose from," he says.

"Do you have kids?" I ask suddenly,
terrified that he might say yes.

"No. My mom loved violets and rabbits. This
used to be her room when she would come and visit."

"Used to be?"

"She passed away a few years ago," he
says.

"And your dad...?" I push.

"My dad is very much alive," he says wryly,
the aura around him darkening.

"We have a meeting scheduled for eleven
o'clock sharp. The kitchen is well stocked. You can fix yourself
something to eat when you are ready. I will be in my office if you
need anything," he says, abruptly turning to leave before I have a
chance to ask any other questions.

***

I am glad Zane is occupied for the rest of
the morning. He seems confident that his punishment last night was
enough to discourage any misconduct because he didn't throw any
boundaries at me regarding where I could and couldn't go. I suppose
he thought the dogs were enough to keep me inside, not knowing that
I feared him more than the pack. I don't waste any time slipping
through the back door, stopping only in the kitchen to grab a few
pieces of fruit on my way out. I figure I only have a few hours at
the most before he will start looking for me. I want to scout out
as much of the property as I can for future reference, however even
if the opportunity arises, escaping at this point isn't an option.
I have no idea who the guests are that Zane said I would be meeting
today, but something told me, it was important that I stick around
to find out.

Across the expansive, perfectly manicured
lawn sits the dog kennel with the gate wide open and not a dog in
sight. I make a beeline for the trees where they disappeared last
night and am almost under the protective cover of the forest when I
hear Zane call my name. Pretending like I don't hear him, I
continue walking until I'm sure I'm out of his sight. Only then do
I take off in a sprint, involuntarily letting out a howl that
sounds realistically wolf-like and feels surprisingly natural for
me. Within a few seconds, the alpha male hybrid appears in front of
me, followed by the rest of the pack; an intimidating army of
canines trained to kill on command.

"Don't let him follow me," I whisper out
loud, looking directly at the pack leader, not questioning whether
the order will be obeyed. He shakes his big gray coat and sits on
his haunches, slightly lifting his right paw off the ground. The
rest of the dogs scatter in the direction of the house, but he
doesn't take his eyes off of me. I now understand how Claire is
able to communicate with animals and why she finds it difficult to
explain the ability to the rest of us. It is all energy related.
Simply put, I am tuned into their specific radio frequency making
it possible to interact in an unspoken way; intuitively. When I
take off running, he trots loyally at my side.

My first thought about being immersed deeply
in the forest, is how incredibly, spectacularly, beautiful it is.
My second thought is how good it makes me feel being here. Lawrence
assured me that it would. "Spend as much time as you can in nature.
There's no better place in the world to increase your vibrational
energy than the forest," he claimed. I am almost giddy now as I run
faster and faster, jumping over tree stumps and patches of snow
like a deer. Even the stinging pain across my lower back, as the
skin stretches beneath the crusted wounds, doesn't prevent me from
enjoying my few moments of freedom.

"I'm free!" I squeal, unable to resist after
being confined for so long. The dog running by my side seems to wag
his tail in response.

I knew there was an airstrip adjacent to the
house, but I wasn't sure if it was on the east or west side, so
when he veers off to my right, I figure I have nothing to lose by
following and we make a big arc towards the east side of the house.
Only when I see a break in the trees with sunlight pouring through,
do I stop to catch my breath and make my first of several attempts
to connect with Ronan. His failure to respond only adds to my
growing apprehension about whatever meeting Zane has planned.

CAT

Something inside tells me that leaving the
cover of the trees is a big mistake, but I can't resist
investigating the area around the private airstrip and hangar. It
wasn't the Lear jet sitting in the open hangar, or the snow covered
172 Cessna (my possible mode of escape), sitting next to the runway
that interests me. It is the odd looking dome-shaped building just
beyond the runway that I am headed for. Partially nestled in the
trees, it looks like a UFO with its spherical aluminum and glass
shell construction. A snow-filled irrigation ditch is all that
separates me from the road that would lead me to it.

"Stay here," I order my canine companion as
I get a running start and dart out of the tree line, trying to gain
enough speed to scale the irrigation ditch. Unfortunately, I
underestimate the distance by about two feet and end up landing on
the muddy up slope side of the ditch. The earth slides beneath me,
and I feel my right ankle twist beneath my weight, sending me
flying backwards into the slushy trench just as a vehicle comes
speeding up the road, skidding to a stop above me.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" I
hear Zane growl angrily as he makes his way down to me. The boots
he's wearing must have much better traction then my tennis shoes
because he barely even slides, making it down the muddy slope in
three long strides.

"Taking a mud bath," I reply curtly.

I attempt to stand up, but the pain in my
ankle makes it impossible to bear any weight on it, and I stumble
forward, falling directly into Zane's outstretched arms which fold
around me as I teeter on one leg.

"Do you have any idea how much danger you
are in with the dogs on the loose?" he hisses.

His question makes me smirk.
Words spoken by a man who beat me with a whip and has
threatened to kill me more than once
, I think to myself.
When his arms tighten around me, I fight the urge to slug him in
the belly.

With my cheek pressed against his chest, I
can't see his color screening, but judging by how fast his heart's
beating, it probably wasn't looking too good for me.

Respond differently
Cat—your family's life depends on it,
I inwardly remind
myself.

"I'm sorry I gave you cause for concern,
Zane," I force myself to say and I feel his body slightly
relax.

"Can you bear weight on that foot?" he asks,
sighing deeply.

"No. I think I sprained it."

"Hold on," he says, scooping me up in his
arms to carry me out.

"Whoa buddy. You don't need to carry me. I
can walk," I say, squirming to get out of his arms. His grip
tightens.

"Okay, how about I tie you to the bumper of
the car and drag you out," he says snidely.

"Put me down!" I demand, freeing one of my
legs from his grip and swinging it to the ground, an action that
causes him to lose his own balance. Both of us reach for each other
in an attempt to stay upright but in the end, he falls backwards,
taking me with him and making a loud "Oomph!" when I land on top of
him.

"Oops," I whisper, looking down at him after
an awkward moment of silence. The distinguished Brit, who's
probably never had a speck of mud on him in his life, looks
vulnerable as he brushes his arm across his face, smearing a large
streak across his cheek. I smile unintentionally—a reaction as
inappropriate as laughing at a funeral, which judging by the look
on his face he thinks so too.

He sits up and pulls a handkerchief out of
his pocket to wipe the mud off of his face. "Seriously—you think
this is funny?"

Apparently I
do.
I bite on my lower lip to keep from laughing out
loud. When he smears mud across his other cheek, I am helpless not
to giggle, even though I'm fully aware of the potential
consequences. To my surprise and relief, a faint smile plays at the
corner of his mouth and comforting flecks of orange highlight his
color screening of blue.

"You don't look much better," he says
reaching down to wipe some mud off the side of my face. For the
briefest moment, he looks almost friendly.

"We need to get back. They're going to be
here soon," he says, suddenly standing up and reaching down to give
me a hand. Like turning on a light switch, his color brightens to a
solid orange the minute I take his hand and remains that way until
he lets go, leaving me in the front passenger seat of his
vehicle.

***

"Cataryn, I'm going to warn you not do
anything stupid today. A beating is nothing compared to what
they'll do," Zane says, staring dispassionately at the road ahead
on the drive back to his house.

"Yeah, I know—people like you don't have any
boundaries when it comes to hurting innocent people. Is it an anger
thing, or do you get some sort of pleasure from it? Or maybe it's
about control. Yeah that's it—control and power. Am I right?" I
say, studying his color screening which shows a peculiar mixture of
orange, blue and gray.

He stops his truck in the middle of the road
and turns to look at me, his eyes narrowing.

"This might surprise you, but I don't get a
lot of enjoyment out of punishing people. It's part of my job. I
only do what's necessary to get people to cooperate. And to answer
your questions...you're about to find out," he says quietly.

I am about to ask what he means when I
notice a change in his energy field that catches me off guard.
Absent of my touch he has a solid aura of orange surrounding him,
and my heart catches in my throat when our eyes lock.

"You were by far the hardest," he says
barely above a whisper.

"The hardest...?"

"The hardest to hurt. It was easier to tune
out the cries of the others, but there's something about
you..."

His sentence is cut short by the sound of
his cell phone and the orange quickly dissipates leaving a dull
blue that matches the change in his demeanor. Speaking in a foreign
dialect that sounds Arabic, he exchanges a brief conversation with
the caller that doesn't appear to be social in nature. He glances
at me out of the corner of his eye, when he raises his voice at the
caller, and a moment later, he tosses the cell phone on the seat
and pushes down hard on the gas pedal, causing the tires to squeal
as he speeds down the road.

***

I'll never understand the saying "lick your
wounds," because if it's anything like the warm water running over
mine, it's far from soothing. Between the crusting wounds on my
lower back and the noticeably swollen ankle that protests loudly
any time I put weight on it, I am not gleaming much enjoyment from
the warm shower I had been looking forward to. I have less than an
hour to get ready and I'm not about to keep Zane waiting after the
small breakthrough we had earlier. He never did finish his
sentence, but more important to me than his words, was the change
in his color as he said them. It was an indicator that somewhere
buried deep inside; he had the potential to be something good,
independent of the influence of my energy.