Magick Rising (34 page)

She’d only wanted answers.

But the only answer she found was that the parts of David Worth that

had been a loving husband, a kind and generous man—that those parts had

died in the accident and what remained made him a callous, uncaring man

who didn’t want the responsibilities of a job, the burden of a house, or the

love of a wife.

It was a tough decision, but she made it.

“Just a second.” She freed the chain and opened the door wider.

The big man entered and deposited David on the couch. Stalking back

to the door, the cabbie paused, perhaps debating whether he should stick his

hand out for a tip or not. Instead, he shrugged, emitted a gruff “Good luck,”

and exited, closing the door behind him.

Serenity secured the chain, both protecting herself from dangers

lurking outside and locking David inside until he could sign the papers.

Right now, she doubted if he could say his name, much less write it.

She stood as close to him as she dared. Despite his radical changes in

personality, it’d been hard to walk away from the past, even if the immediate

present and foreseeable future had held no promise. Could she mourn her

loss without reopening old wounds?

He groaned, the sound slicing through her resolve. She moved closer to

the couch where he sprawled. “Are you awake?”

He groaned again.

“Are you all right?”

A fit of coughing interrupted his attempt to speak. By the time he

caught his breath, she’d dropped to her knees beside him. The moment she

touched him, she felt an odd, familiar ache, one of longing and desire but

now, not for the man, but for what they’d shared once upon a time. She

maintained the contact for a few more seconds as if to prove she could

withstand old memories. And to her surprise, she did. She felt different,

more able to compartmentalize their history and keep it in the past.

He coughed again and then looked at her as if only just recognizing her.

“Is it really you this t-time?” he stuttered.

“Yes, it’s me.”

He grimaced as he rose up, propping on his elbows. “Where am I?”

She almost said “Home,” but that was no longer true for him. “You’re

at the apartment.” She resisted saying “our apartment.”

David glanced around as if he’d never seen the place before, never lived

there, never made love to her there.

Never broke her heart there.

She shifted back, putting some distance between them. “What

happened? Who did this to you?”

“Not sure,” he said, trying to sit up but failing. “I was at the club, talked

to a woman. She took me to a backroom and changed into—”

“Stop. I don’t need the details.” The last thing she wanted was another

of his conquest confessions, something he did often in the waning days of

the marriage. “You’re hurt. Let me . . .” She reached to unbutton his shirt,

but he feebly batted her hand away. She sighed in exasperation. “I’m just

trying to see how bad it is. It’s not like I haven’t seen”—
You
—”a man

before.”

He relented.

When Serenity peeled back his sodden shirt, the transformation almost

mesmerized her. During their marriage, he’d always battled that extra ten

pounds, never having the discipline to sweat it off in a gym. She hadn’t seen

him unclothed in a while, but evidently not only had his mental state

changed, but his physical one as well.

His open shirt revealed sculpted chest muscles, verging on a classic

six-pack. Although at the moment he wore a sickly pallor, she could see

evidence of a tan on the man who used to hide from the sun at all costs.

Life goes on
had become her motto concerning her own recovery from

divorce and the changes she made, but she’d never contemplated that David

might have done so, too.

He was leaner, tougher, with broader shoulders and muscles that

tapered to a narrow waist. Arms that had done little beyond push a

lawnmower had been exercised until they were rock hard. He’d never

looked this good even during his college athlete days when they first fell in

love.

She swallowed hard, hoping to rid herself of unacceptable thoughts.

Survival meant never allowing yesterday’s fond memories to blot out today’s

harsh realities. She could never forget that her sweet husband had

transformed into a monster after the accident.

The simple answer was to nurse his wounds, get his signature, and then

banish him from her life.

Forever.

Armed with resolution, Serenity Worth became all business, again.

Unable to distinguish the bruises from the grime, she marched to the

kitchen, where she filled a bowl with warm water, and to the bathroom,

where she retrieved several towels. With care, she was able to wash the dirt

from his chest without coming into actual contact with him, skin to skin.

She maintained her disconnection during the task until she touched his

cheek.

David reached up, wrapping his fingers gently around her wrist. The

resulting sensation sent a shockwave through her then caused her to freeze

in fear. At least, she told herself it was fear. He graced her with David’s old

smile, a forgotten relic from bygone days, reminding her of the last picture

of them—the one she’d given the investigator.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “But you don’t have to do this. I shouldn’t

be here.”

“Shut up.” She pulled out of his grasp and continued to daub at his

face, careful to not actually touch him. “It’s my fault that you’re like this.”

Confusion erased the last of his smile. “What do you mean?”

“I sent someone to find you. I didn’t ask him to do this.” The ugly

bruise on his chest had a shape suspiciously similar to a shoe.

“I don’t understand. Why would you send someone to find me?”

She withdrew her hand, fearing his touch. “We have some unfinished

business, and I couldn’t find you myself, David.”

He stared at her in shock. “What did you say?”

She sat back on her heels, crossing her arms. “You wouldn’t return my

calls. The people at the club acted like you didn’t exist. I sure as hell wasn’t

going to step foot in there. I had to hire a private investigator to find you and

bring you here.” She thought of the underhanded manner Craft had used

and blushed. “And evidently, he misunderstood the scope of his job.” She

met his gaze. “I never asked him to hit you, David. I’m sorry.”

“D-David . . . ?” He braced his hands on the couch and pushed up to

an upright position. “I need a mirror.”

Panic pooled at the pit of her stomach. The David she’d left always

started his tirades with unreasonable demands like this. “What?”

“A mirror. I need a mirror. Now.” He struggled to rise, pushing away

her concern as well as her helping hand. He appeared to have a single

mission in mind. “Where’s the bathroom?”

Her panic transformed itself into protective indignation, and she

tapped the same strength that had allowed her to leave him. “Where it’s

always been, David.”

He staggered toward the hallway, and Serenity trailed closely behind,

watching him glance into each room before staggering into the hall

bathroom. He fumbled on the wrong wall for the light switch.

Once the light flared, he stumbled toward the lavatory and stared at the

mirror as if he’d never seen himself before. After bracing both hands on the

sink, he closed his eyes and hunched forward as if in great pain.

She watched from the safety of the hallway. “David?”

He remained there, muscles taut with strain. Then after a prolonged

moment, he relaxed, opened his eyes, and looked in the mirror. He sagged to

one knee. “It didn’t work,” he gasped.

Fearing he was about to pass out, Serenity reached for him.

“Don’t touch me!” He pulled away and leaned toward the mirror,

glaring at his pale reflection. Bracing against the counter, he arched his back,

and his grunt of pain turned into an almost primal scream.

Having never seen him like this before, Serenity allowed fear to take

over. “I’m going to call the paramedics. You need help.”

“Don’t.”

“It’s obvious you’ve been injured.”

He turned toward her, the effort making a sweat break out across his

forehead. “I’m n-not . . .” His voice trailed off, but his grip tightened to a

painful level.

“Stop.” She jerked her hand free. “I won’t let you hurt me.”

Shock filled his pale features, and he instantly released her. “I’d

never . . . I’m not . . .” He struggled to straighten but collapsed against the

counter again, whispering something that Serenity didn’t quite catch.

Against her better instincts, she moved closer. “What?”

He splayed his fingers across his face. “I’m not”—he struggled for

breath—”I’m not . . . him.”

“Not what, David? You’re not what?” Her worst fears supplied the

answer:
Not going to make it.

His lips moved, producing only the slightest sound.

“David?”

His eyes opened, and his gaze bore into hers. “I’m not David.”

Serenity stared at him in full agreement.
Her
David died in the accident,

and someone else emerged, using his name, his memories, and his body.

But she played along. “So if you’re not David, who are you?”

He didn’t move, and she couldn’t tell if he had passed out or was

playing possum to gain her sympathy. She nudged him. “I repeat—who are

you?”

He cracked open one eye and tried to speak but was interrupted by a

barrage of painful coughing that couldn’t be faked. Blood splattered into the

sink. She braced him for a moment, hoping to ease his struggle for breath.

“I don’t care what you call yourself, now. You need to see a doctor.”

She took a step toward the door. “I’m calling 911.”

“No.”

When he reached out, she slapped away his hand. “If you try to stop

me, I won’t be calling the paramedics, but the cops. Technically, you’re

violating a restraining order.”

“Sorry. I can’t go to the hospital. They wouldn’t understand.
You
don’t

understand.”

Serenity stiffened. Was he trying to stall her with calculatingly cryptic

remarks, or was there really some big, dark secret he needed to spill? She

inched toward the hallway. “You have one minute to tell me what’s going

on, or I’ll drag you to the door and throw you out myself.”

He nodded as if she’d supplied the perfect answer. “Good idea.” He

turned and lurched toward her.

She allowed instincts honed from experience to keep her out of his

reach, but he made no efforts to touch her as he staggered down the hallway.

However, when he reached the living room, he lost balance and fell.

She grabbed her cell phone and dropped down beside him. “I’m calling

for help. Just hang in there.” He didn’t move. She placed her hand on his

chest, discovering a heartbeat. At least he wasn’t dead.

She fumbled with the cell, her fingers shaking too much to hit the right

keys the first time. Taking a deep breath, she managed to hit 9-1-1.

A shudder tore through his body, and the face she’d once considered

handsome contorted in pain. When he reached toward her she tried to

dodge him, but he grabbed her wrist with a strength that made her drop the

phone.

“Watch,” he commanded, pulling her closer.

Another wave of agony twisted his features, and he arched his back in

what looked like excruciating pain. Was she watching her ex-husband die

before her very eyes?

Then something happened.

After each palpable wave of agony, something seemed different about

his face. His features were changing. Not radically, but still . . .

After one wave, he opened his eyes, and instead of being blue eyes, they

were now brown. When his body arched again in agony, David’s dimple

disappeared. With the next attack, his hair began to darken and shorten.

Serenity pushed away from him, her heart thundering in her ears,

almost drowning out the terrifying sounds of his distress.

He shuddered, and then his head lolled to the side. “It’s not working.

I’m still him, aren’t I?”

“N-not quite,” she responded.

“But I’m still not me.”

She fought to draw a breath and said the words that were eating a hole

through her. “I don’t know who ‘me’ is,” she whispered.

His body jerked, and his gasp interrupted his answer. Serenity couldn’t

help herself. She reached out and touched his cheek. Her hands tingled from

the electrifying sensation that passed from his heated skin to her trembling

fingertips.

Familiar . . .

She forced the words out in a hoarse whisper. “Who are you?”

“J-Jon.”

She searched her memory for a John.

He drew in a shaky breath. “Jonathan Craft.”

SHE BELIEVES ME. God help me, she believes.

Jon wanted to allow the blackness to swim over him, but he could still