Metawars: The Complete Series: Trance, Changeling, Tempest, Chimera (23 page)

“Forget it.”

“Trance—”

“Never in a million years, Doctor,” I snapped. “I will not be put into a tube and frozen on the off chance you can even defrost me in a year and fix what’s wrong. I was not given these abilities so I could be put in cold storage. I have them for a reason.”

“You really believe that?”

“Yes.”
Stay the course.
“Stasis is not an option.”

“It’s okay,” Gage said. His arm slipped around my shoulders, and I leaned against him. “We’ll figure out something else, Teresa.”

“We need some time to study your test results,” Dr. Seward said. “We have more information to work with this time than we did before. If there’s an answer in all of this, we’ll find it.”

“What do I do in the meantime?” I asked. “I can’t find Specter like this. I can’t even find the toilet like this.”

“The others will be awake again in a few hours,” Gage said. “We’ll talk about it then, okay? We’ll figure something out as a team.”

Team. “Is Ethan resting better? He was worried before, about getting taken over.”

“He seems to be resting comfortably now,” Seward said. “He’s very strong, Trance, and there’s a great chance that with enough time, he’ll fully recover.”

I snorted. “Time is something we seem to be in short supply of lately.” But relief tempered my annoyance.

“He’s alive, Teresa,” Gage said. “That’s what matters.”

I wanted to take comfort in the simple thought. We were still alive and able to fight another day. Nevertheless, what
good did that do when you couldn’t anticipate the next battle in an undeclared war? Hours were ticking away. If Specter attacked before my eyesight returned, I’d be useless. Helpless, just like when I was a kid. We didn’t know where Specter was or who he would possess next. The others couldn’t confront him alone.

The door hinge squeaked. Footsteps whispered over the linoleum. Papers rustled, and then the door closed again. No one spoke.

“Who was that?” I asked.

“One of my assistants with a test result I asked for,” Dr. Seward said. “And I think I have moderately good news for you.”

“Moderately?”

“The test confirms something about your powers I had suspected from the start, and I think it may help us figure out a way to stop these overloads.”

“What is that, exactly?”

“Have you ever changed an air filter?”

I blinked, frowned. “Yeah, a few times. The maintenance staff for the hole I used to live in was nonexistent, so I had to do a lot on my own. Why?”

“Your powers don’t come from nowhere, Trance. When you create the orbs, as you call them, you draw energy from around you and sometimes from yourself.”

That explained the warmth and sudden appetite after power bursts. So far, I was following his logic. Still didn’t know what air filters had to do with it.

“Your body draws in the energy and converts it,” Seward
continued. “It takes what it needs, just like an air conditioner sucking in air through its filter. It blows the cool air back out, just as you manipulate the orbs. An air filter traps dirt and pollen, and over time, it builds up.”

His analogy hit with perfect clarity. “My body can’t filter out everything it draws in. It builds up like gunk in a lint trap, disrupts my vision, and affects my bodily functions. Right?”

“Yes. The disrupted vision is simply a symptom of a building problem, just like the cramps you experienced the day before yesterday.”

Gage cleared his throat. “So what was that thing she did outside? When she exploded and collapsed?”

“Her body figured out a way to expel the buildup on its own. However, it was an extremely traumatic, violent eruption, and it could have killed her. If we can’t help you dispel the buildup from yesterday morning’s activities in some other manner, it could happen again, a worse eruption, that could have any number of side effects, including heart attack, stroke—”

I held up one hand, palm out. “Okay, I got the list the first two times. Your people figured this much out. How hard can a cure be?”

No answer. Great.

“Can I go back to my room now?” I asked.

“You really should stay here,” Seward said. “But I can’t stop you from leaving.”

“Thank you.”

“If your symptoms change, you’ll come back.” It wasn’t phrased as a question, so I nodded an affirmation.

Gage kept his arm around my waist as I stood up. I wobbled; his grip tightened. The trembling spell was over, but my legs felt like gelatin. With Gage’s support, we left.

“I guess this is my body’s subtle way of saying ‘Get some damned sleep,’ huh?” I asked.

“Something like that.”

“You have any pet dander allergies?

The muscles in his arm rippled. I could only imagine the look on his face. “No, why?”

I smiled in his general direction. “Because if these spells keep up, I may need to invest in a Seeing Eye dog.”

He didn’t reply.

It seemed funnier in my head. As usual.

G
age never let me go, and on the elevator ride up to our floor, I noticed something: I reeked. Really reeked. I hadn’t showered in … well, days. Between the grime and stagnant water from the construction site and the battle sweat of the previous evening, I needed a shower badly. Fresh clothes couldn’t hurt, either. Keeping me so close to his side when I had to look like hell and smell like crap warmed my heart. I would have pushed me away a long time ago.

The elevator stopped. The doors swished open, and Gage led me out. Instead of hanging a left as I expected, we immediately turned right. I recognized the tangy scent of the bathroom—soap and hard water and tile cleaner.

“You read my mind,” I said.

“I thought you could use a shower.”

My heart tripped, and I couldn’t stop from asking, “Together?”

He stopped walking, his hold on my hand loosening. “No. I figured I’d get you there and help you get started. I can find Renee if you’d be more comfortable.”

Having no sight gave my ears a little extra oomph, but I detected no hidden inflections, no disappointment draped over his matter-of-fact statement. I desperately wanted to see his face. Conversation with Renee aside, I couldn’t deny my attraction to Gage, but sex complicated everything, and it would really complicate us. Married Rangers hadn’t been allowed in the same units. Burgeoning relationships were split up quickly so as not to complicate unit dynamics.

“I think Renee is too occupied right now to bother bathing me,” I said.

“Yeah.” More silence. “I didn’t bring you here to seduce you, Teresa.”

“I know, Gage.” I just wanted him near me while I couldn’t see. Protecting me. “Are you angry with William about something?” The words slipped out, voicing something that had been bothering me all night. The timing seemed both awful and perfect—Gage would never walk away and leave me stranded in the bathroom. Would he?

“I’m not angry with William,” he said, his voice firm. Almost amused. “I was frustrated with myself, and I misdirected. I’m sorry.”

“Frustrated how?”

The hand holding mine tensed, but he didn’t let go. He cleared his throat—I imagined his face shuttering, ready to stop a conversation he didn’t want to have, and I wanted to scream. “Would you like me to leave, Teresa?”

“Stay.” I squeezed his hand firmly. “Can’t have me slipping and banging my head on the shower faucet, can we?”

“No, we can’t.” He placed my hand on the tiled wall. “Hang here for a minute, while I get some towels and soap.”

“Okay.”

The warmth of his arm left. His footsteps receded. The instinct to flee warred with the unfamiliar nugget of attraction that I’d been nursing since Bakersfield, the desire I felt each time he touched me or kissed me. Standing in the bathroom, blinded by my mysterious powers, and unsure if we’d even survive against Specter, I decided I didn’t want to think about the consequences of where this could take us. I wasn’t a leader. I didn’t choose to be. I was a scared, lonely young woman who wanted more than anything to feel alive. Really alive.

I needed this, but when Gage returned, who did I want him to be? The friend I adored would offer a platonic shower, help me get dressed, and shuttle me off to bed. The man I’d crushed on as a child and whose gentle, teasing and passionate kisses lit flames in my belly would offer something more—something that scared me as much as it thrilled me.

I unlaced my sneakers and shed them both without losing my balance. The material was tacky, gritty. They needed to be washed as badly as I did. I shrugged out of a light jacket and let it fall to the floor, and my belt quickly joined it. Barefoot in my jeans and T-shirt, I used the wall for guidance and found a sink.

My fingers traced over the smooth porcelain basin, around the stainless steel faucet and knobs, everything so cool to the touch. The world seemed so much larger as I explored it blindly, linked solely through the tips of my fingers
and the scents in my nose. Every flaw in the finish, every layer of soap scum brushed against my skin, as detailed as if I were looking at it.

Cool air whispered across my arms as the bathroom door opened, and then closed. A lock turned with a gentle snap. Footsteps walked toward me. Then the rustle of fabric and the thump of plastic bottles.

“It’s me,” Gage said.

I waited silently, listening to him move around the room. Behind the row of sinks was a line of toilet stalls, just like any public restroom. Somewhere to my right was a curtained door, and behind it, more curtained changing rooms. Through one more entrance were the showers. Twelve heads, six on each side, with a waist-high tiled wall between each one and down the center for moderate privacy.

The curtains rustled a few times before Gage returned to my side. He took my hand and drew me forward. I took small steps, the tiny square tiles cool and dry under my bare feet. Through the curtain and then to the left. I judged our stopping point in front of one of the changing stalls.

“Your hair is tangled,” he said. “May I brush it for you?”

My knees wobbled, and not from fatigue. No man had ever offered to do such a thing. Men rarely noticed my hair at all, except to comment on its length. One rather rude club drunkard had whispered in my ear about how he’d like to wrap it around his hand and yank on it while he fucked me. He got my drink in his face and an elbow in his stomach. I got kicked out of the joint. But that jerk and those grubby bars
were a lifetime ago, and I knew as long as I had the Rangers, I would never go back.

“Yes, you may,” I said. “Did you bring one?”

He laughed, and the sound rumbled through the room like spring thunder. “Of course.”

Fabric swished, and I felt him move from in front of me to behind. He started at the bottom, gently holding the ends and working out the tangles before proceeding higher. I never once felt an awkward or painful tug. The brush whispered, plastic-coated tines massaging my scalp with each pass. Fingers and brush worked their magic until my head tingled and my hair felt light, airy.

The brush disappeared. One hand swept hair away from the right side of my neck, and his fingers skimmed my throat. A tremor danced up my spine. His left hand curled around my waist and splayed across my stomach. I turned my head, craning up.

The kiss sent me spinning. I twisted around to face him, my arms going around his neck and shoulders. His tongue thrust gently into my mouth and slid across my teeth. I pressed my hips against him and felt his growing arousal against my belly. I wanted him—this possessive man who’d diligently protected me, been by my side almost every minute since Bakersfield. If I couldn’t see, then I damned well wanted to feel.

He broke the kiss, but kept his head close. Hot breath puffed across my moist lips. “Teresa, I didn’t plan—”

“I know.” I amazed myself by successfully placing my fingertips across his lips to shush him. “I need this, Gage. Please.”
Our world was standing still only for this moment. I couldn’t waste it knowing it might never come again.

His breath hitched, and then his hands slipped down my back and under the hem of my tee. He pulled it up and off, freeing my breasts, and then found my mouth again. I took the silent cue and tugged at the button on his jeans, but I couldn’t work the belt buckle.

Gage separated us. I heard the clink of metal and rustle of fabric, the soft snick of a zipper, the gentle whisper of clothing falling to the floor. His fingertips tickled my waist, hooked around the band of my jeans, and carefully tugged down. Hot breath caressed my thighs as he stooped to help me step out of my clothing. He didn’t stand right away, and I imagined the way he might be looking at me. A surge of heat coiled in my abdomen.

A whisper of air told me that he stood up. “Your purple is spreading, I think.”

My chin quivered. “Show me.”

Fingers danced featherlight down my left arm and gently urged it to rise. I relaxed, letting him lift my arm, and was surprised when he kissed my elbow. “There’s a small spot here.” He repeated the motion with my right arm. The second kiss sent butterflies spinning through my stomach. “And here.”

He was behind me, both hands massaging my shoulders and drifting down my spine. They stopped on the uppermost curve of my buttocks, and then his lips planted a quiet kiss in the small of my back. Warmth flooded my sex; my muscles clenched. The eroticism of those kisses, across skin that
hadn’t been washed in days, said so many things he hadn’t put into words.

“Here.” His warm breath sent more shivers up my spine.

Down he went, planting more sensual kisses on the backs of my knees. He shifted around to the front. I held my breath, waiting to feel where he touched first. He kissed my right knee. I giggled—my one ticklish spot. The left knee earned the same reaction.

“Note to self,” he said.

“Don’t you dare.”

His hot mouth circled my belly button. My stomach tightened. He made no indication of purple skin on my belly, and I wondered if the exploration was over. Then he brushed his lips across the valley between my breasts. My nipples pearled. Another kiss in the hollow between my throat and sternum. Chin, both cheeks, forehead, everywhere except my mouth. No other part of him touched me, even though his body radiated heat. Need.