could snap her neck. Long, powerful fingers pressed into her windpipe, while scalding breath singed the side of her neck and cheek. But the thing that made her dizzy and ripped through her mind like a machete was the sensation of Kane Van Cleave’s inner beast.
“I can smell your fear.” His deep voice was a husky growl in her ear; then he bent closer and sniffed her.
“Guess you like the scent. That why you take innocent victims?” she managed to ask, though a maelstrom of sensations bombarded her, sending her mind reeling in all directions. His face was a hair’s breadth away from her, and she felt his thick beard stubble pricklingher cheek. Each of his hot breaths sent warning goose bumps down her spine.
“My victims, as you call them, never live long enough for me to enjoy their panic.”
Her breath quickened, partly from her growing terror and partly from his emotions darting into her thoughts, the onslaught too intense even for her seasoned mind. Loneliness, sorrow, self-condemnation, rage inundated her. She absorbed the depth of his physical pain, the wound in his shoulder and arm he tried to ignore when he moved. But worst of all was the aggressive and unpredictable stirrings of his predatory side, screaming at her from within his body, a force stronger and more visceral than his human emotions. She recalled the bloodshed and carnage she’d witnessed between his beast and the gleaner, and she knew Kane Van Cleave was capable of much more brutality than she could ever imagine. A shiver shook her even as the tidal wave of impressions banged against her mind, sucking her under. She felt disoriented, and her knees buckled.
He shook her a little and said, “Don’t faint on me.”
It wouldn’t hurt to let him think she was a simpering Cindy that had passed out from fear. The weak damsel-in-distress routine could give her an edge. She let her head fall forward and go limp. He used the hand around her neck to grab her beneath the arms.
She summoned the last of her will and strength to twist and grab his arm with both hands.
“I demand you sleep,” she ordered.
He continued to hold her.
Why didn’t he drop? “Sleep!” she shrieked, summoning all her mental powers.
“I’m not in the least tired.”
Why did he sound so smug? Why wasn’t her magic working on him? Something wasn’t right here.
“Any more tricks and demands?” He easily pinned her wrists at her sides. His burly arms were hot iron bands, one above her solar plexus, one across the top of her chest. If he exerted a little more pressure, he could break every one of her ribs.
She found it hard to breathe. She’d never felt so frantic, or trapped, or afraid of any creature in her life as she did of this shifter. She had devoted her whole life to her calling, communicating with any and all creatures, priding herself on being able to control shifters and their inner beings long enough to help them. But she’d never had her powers flunk out on her. And why now, when she was up against an alpha seniph and the discontented and angry beast inside of him? And if she lived through this, which she doubted at the moment, she hoped to never meet another one. She’d never felt so defenseless. Some situations in life could be humbling. She considered herself thoroughly humbled and at this seniph’s mercy—if he had any. Hear that, Koda! Okay, you were right. I shouldn’t have gone in that café. She hoped admitting he was right might go a long way in soothing his ego. Yes, spirit guides had egos, big ones.
“Your power in those little hands of yours, Miss Rainwater? It won’t help you.” Something in his voice sounded like he enjoyed her struggles, took pleasure intoying with her as a cat did with its victims before the kill. “What else can you do with those hands, hmm?”
“Evidently nothing at the moment,” she said, still feeling her mind connection to him, ripping through her thoughts.
He grunted in agreement at that observation,
“I can smell your fear.” His deep voice was a husky growl in her ear; then he bent closer and sniffed her.
“Guess you like the scent. That why you take innocent victims?” she managed to ask, though a maelstrom of sensations bombarded her, sending her mind reeling in all directions. His face was a hair’s breadth away from her, and she felt his thick beard stubble pricklingher cheek. Each of his hot breaths sent warning goose bumps down her spine.
“My victims, as you call them, never live long enough for me to enjoy their panic.”
Her breath quickened, partly from her growing terror and partly from his emotions darting into her thoughts, the onslaught too intense even for her seasoned mind. Loneliness, sorrow, self-condemnation, rage inundated her. She absorbed the depth of his physical pain, the wound in his shoulder and arm he tried to ignore when he moved. But worst of all was the aggressive and unpredictable stirrings of his predatory side, screaming at her from within his body, a force stronger and more visceral than his human emotions. She recalled the bloodshed and carnage she’d witnessed between his beast and the gleaner, and she knew Kane Van Cleave was capable of much more brutality than she could ever imagine. A shiver shook her even as the tidal wave of impressions banged against her mind, sucking her under. She felt disoriented, and her knees buckled.
He shook her a little and said, “Don’t faint on me.”
It wouldn’t hurt to let him think she was a simpering Cindy that had passed out from fear. The weak damsel-in-distress routine could give her an edge. She let her head fall forward and go limp. He used the hand around her neck to grab her beneath the arms.
She summoned the last of her will and strength to twist and grab his arm with both hands.
“I demand you sleep,” she ordered.
He continued to hold her.
Why didn’t he drop? “Sleep!” she shrieked, summoning all her mental powers.
“I’m not in the least tired.”
Why did he sound so smug? Why wasn’t her magic working on him? Something wasn’t right here.
“Any more tricks and demands?” He easily pinned her wrists at her sides. His burly arms were hot iron bands, one above her solar plexus, one across the top of her chest. If he exerted a little more pressure, he could break every one of her ribs.
She found it hard to breathe. She’d never felt so frantic, or trapped, or afraid of any creature in her life as she did of this shifter. She had devoted her whole life to her calling, communicating with any and all creatures, priding herself on being able to control shifters and their inner beings long enough to help them. But she’d never had her powers flunk out on her. And why now, when she was up against an alpha seniph and the discontented and angry beast inside of him? And if she lived through this, which she doubted at the moment, she hoped to never meet another one. She’d never felt so defenseless. Some situations in life could be humbling. She considered herself thoroughly humbled and at this seniph’s mercy—if he had any. Hear that, Koda! Okay, you were right. I shouldn’t have gone in that café. She hoped admitting he was right might go a long way in soothing his ego. Yes, spirit guides had egos, big ones.
“Your power in those little hands of yours, Miss Rainwater? It won’t help you.” Something in his voice sounded like he enjoyed her struggles, took pleasure intoying with her as a cat did with its victims before the kill. “What else can you do with those hands, hmm?”
“Evidently nothing at the moment,” she said, still feeling her mind connection to him, ripping through her thoughts.
He grunted in agreement at that observation,
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