Guardian (The Protectors Series) (9 page)

Fuck
. He set his jaw and kicked the bag again, harder.

No matter how much he wanted to reach for her, touch her, restoke the fire between them that had always been ready to ignite in an instant, that wasn’t going to happen. The stupid lies between them had put that fire out for good. At least for her.

Stefan snorted. He’d thought those fires were out for him. Yet he couldn’t deny how nice it would be to recapture at least the good feelings toward each other, to conclude this case and then part on a positive note. But every lie he told made that less likely.

Balancing on his left foot again, he went for high-low roundhouse combinations,
thwack-thwack
, then triples.

His blood was hot, his breath coming hard. But no endorphins yet. Scowling, Stefan switched legs. He needed the practice anyway. Every mage who entered combat zones, including medics, had to maintain strength and proficiency.

Overhead, thunder boomed and rain poured down, the backwash of a hurricane rolling north through the Atlantic near the Georgia coast. If he were a weather mage, he’d go out and spar with the lightning. That would at least hold his attention on something besides a contrary, perceptive, damnably persistent Mundane woman.

A woman he would never see again once this case was solved. It was long past time he gave up caring what she thought. He’d believed he already had. Then she had to show up in Wayfarer. Too bad he hadn’t had enough power left last night to raise a screen when she knocked on the door, to simply hide himself and walk right past her.

Trying to get his mind off Mel, he returned to punching. He was staying in Griff and Val’s renovated barn, Griff’s old bachelor quarters. The open-plan living area below Griff’s studio provided plenty of room to rattle around in. With Griff and Val living in their mostly remodeled house, the barn offered far more privacy than any motel, not to mention proximity to the swamp and myriad plant and animal life for recharging.

It also had excellent workout facilities, a heavy bag, a speed bag, free weights, and a chin-up bar, with the bathroom and its superb shower handy. But being here reminded him of the role he’d played in his best friend’s disaster, no matter how much Griff disputed that. Six years earlier, a dying deputy reeve, Stefan’s patient, confessed to helping a traitor on the mage council who’d warned ghoul targets prior to a raid. The attacking mages had been slaughtered.

Stefan had summoned Griff, who was then the shire reeve, to hear what his deputy had to say. Enraged, Griff had accused the councilor, only to have the rest of the Council doubt his word. By the end of the night, Griff had been branded an outlaw.

Because of what Stefan had told him.

As of last month, Griff was no longer a fugitive, but he’d lost his powers in the fight he and Val waged to reveal the real traitor. Nothing Stefan tried so far had brought them back. The frustration, the fear, the failure echoed in his mind.

There was still magic in Griff. Stefan could sense it. But the damage to Griff’s third eye, the seat of mage power, rendered that energy inaccessible or inert or blocked it or something. Stefan hadn’t been able to figure out the exact problem. Neither had the Cherokee medicine woman he’d sent Griff to consult.

So Griff remained, for practical purposes, a Mundane, and guilt continued to eat at Stefan. Some great doctor he was. No wonder the dreams about Krista’s death, about the day he’d found her, came more often now. With time, he’d realized he couldn’t stop her from telling secrets to the guy she loved. But he should’ve done something—warned her about guys who threw the word
love
around whenever it was useful, spoken to her parents, his parents, someone. But he’d thought she would stick to the protocols, so he’d said nothing, and she’d died. He’d failed her, and now he was failing Griff.

Then there was Mel. She’d picked up on the magical energy in Wiley Boone’s room. Sooner or later, she would confront him about it. Then what would he say?

Stefan set his feet and switched to hook punches. As was often the case with creative people, she had a high degree of intuition, even though she didn’t want to admit it. Now that intuition was working against him.

Good thing she was so doggedly logical, so against anything that lacked a rational explanation. She could stare this particular truth in the face and not see it.

Yet part of him wished she would see it, would finally see
him
. That he could try step one again, try letting her into just a little of who he was. Surely her logic would then force her to believe, no matter how little she would like it.

Oh, he could never tell her the full truth. They had no future, and going beyond the initial few steps with any Mundane required Council approval. Before authorizing exposure of the mage world, the Council needed to know that the Mundane in question could be trusted with the secret. That was the part Krista had missed. She’d trusted the wrong guy, and everything had blown up in all their faces.

Stefan stepped back and kicked the bag again, hard.
Damned tabloids.

Nothing good came of sharing too much too soon. Still, every time he talked to Mel, looked into her clear gray eyes that had once held so much trust for him, he felt the urge, the need, for her to really know him, understand him, and most of all, believe that he hadn’t cheated on her.

Along with the urge to touch her, taste her, see if she would still melt for him.

Yeah. Good luck with that one.
He kicked the bag again, trying to work off his frustration, most of it sexual.

Someone knocked on the door.
In this weather?

Scowling, he grabbed the maroon towel he’d draped over the weight bench and headed for the door. When he opened it, still breathing hard, Mel’s eyes widened. Her gaze locked on his chest, dropped to his abs, then quickly shifted aside.

That flush in her cheeks was gratifying, but he had to play this cool. “Mel.” He raised one eyebrow. “Come in.”

“Uh, thanks.” She stepped inside and glanced around the space, doubtless noting the high shelving units in dark wood, placed in a staggered formation, that replaced walls as privacy dividers. The plank floor also helped to give the room a rustic, cozy feeling.

“Your friends have good taste.”

“Yep. When they finish the house, it’ll be just as amazing. Let me hang that wet coat in the bathroom.” She started to shrug out of it, but he caught her by the shoulders. He couldn’t stop himself from lightly caressing her upper arms as he tugged the garment free. Damn rotten timing for her to show up when he was half turned-on already, just from thinking about her.

He caught a whiff of her apple scent. Need slammed into him, and he longed to bury his face in her hair, inhale that sweet aroma, and let his hands roam.

Yeah. With her skill set, that’s a great way to end up sailing over her shoulder to crash into the wall.

Instead, he gestured to a wide, blue-and-maroon plaid sofa. “Have a seat.”

She chose the matching armchair as he headed down the hall.

Hanging her coat on the back of the bathroom door, he called, “Can I get you anything?”

“I’m good, thanks.”

Stefan took a minute to wipe the sweat off his face and torso before joining her. “Okay. I guess Dan Burton gave you the address.” He perched on the sofa’s edge. “This must be important to bring you out in a raging storm. What do you need?”

Watching his face, she said, “You have to tell me what you did in Wiley Boone’s room yesterday.”

Well, freaking hellfire.
“I went to see Mr. Boone, who was asleep. End of story. I told you that.”

“You’re the only visitor he had between the time Dr. Howe did rounds and our arrival. In that interval, his fever dropped, his respiration stabilized, and his sleep calmed.”

Stefan kept his face bland. “I’m glad he’s doing better. Were you able to talk to him?”

“Yes, and he remembers talking to you.” She leaned forward, her expression earnest. “If you helped him, why won’t you say so?”

“Of course he remembers me. I spoke to him while I was treating him in the ER.” His stare was bland, his tone flat.

 “Not then. Last night. You were in his room, reassuring him that he would be all right. You changed his bandages—”

“Mel, he’s confused. Given the shape he was in on admission and the fact we don’t know what that toxin in his blood does, it’s no wonder he’s addled.”

“He is not addled,” she insisted. “I know you helped him. Why would you deny doing something good?”

“Well, excuse me, Dr. Wray. Tell me how you would diagnose his symptoms, then.” Stefan stood and directed a hard stare at her.

Faint pink washed over her cheekbones, but her gaze held steady and keen on his face. “I’m not out to make trouble for you,” she insisted, “but if you can cure the effects of this toxin, clear it from the blood—”

“With what, exactly?” She looked so earnest, so concerned, that lying to her bit into his soul. Damn it, he hated this division, this deceit, between them. “What do you think, I took a magic wand and said some kind of abracadabra-voilà thing? Do you hear yourself?”

Probably unwilling to cede the height advantage, Mel stood, too. “There’s no reason for you to ridicule me. Of course I don’t think anything loony like that. But everyone knows doctors sometimes use experimental treatments. Admitting you helped him wouldn’t be bad, Stefan. This guy could hurt someone else before we catch him. The doctors at the hospital need to know how to treat these wounds.”

Why couldn’t she let it go? She was pushing him into more and more fucking lies. Crossing his arms, he said, “Even if you were right, what you’re asking would violate patient confidentiality.” He set his jaw and stared at her.

Mel shook her head. “Boone gave permission for Howe to talk to us. I’m sure he figures that extends to you, too. Don’t you see how important this is? What happened to the man who was so concerned that every patient have the best possible chance?”

That one smacked him in the heart, but her low opinion of him should be old news by now. More important was getting her to back off, even if he had to hurt her. Shit. “What I see is a dedicated officer who took a knock on the head and maybe isn’t thinking quite straight.”

“You know that’s not true.” Somehow, she’d gotten in his face. “You cleared me.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t have. You’re not making sense, Mel.” With grim patience, he continued, “I have staff privileges. I treated Boone at the scene and again in the ER, and I’m consulting on his case and a related criminal one. I checked him last night, as my notes in his chart show. There’s nothing ominous or clandestine, or whatever the hell else you’re going for, about my being in his room.”

“Except his account contradicts yours.”

Stefan shook his head. “If you put Boone and me on the witness stand, which of us would the court believe?” The suspicion in her eyes burned him, but he couldn’t waver.

Mel’s throat moved in a hard swallow. Her expression turned pleading, and he felt like the biggest bastard on the planet. “Stefan, we’re on the same side here. We used to be able to share…at least some things. When you wall yourself off, when you hide things—”

She bit her lip.

The loss in her eyes stabbed into his soul because he felt it, too. “Finish it,” he said, bracing for the emotional slap.

“Never mind,” she said, her voice not quite steady. “I can’t make you tell me.”

He could almost believe she, too, wanted to reconnect, to heal that old hurt. Longing welled in his chest, into his throat. But he couldn’t go there. Behind the longing came frustration and the beginnings of anger. Their estrangement wasn’t all his fault.

Stefan shrugged, schooling his face to indifference. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Pain flashed through her eyes, but Mel squared her shoulders. “I know you. Yes, we’ve been apart for a long time, but I still know when you’re hiding something. The look on your face when I walked into that room—”

“I probably looked tired. I’d had a damned long day, and this case is frustrating.” He turned away. “I’m not debating this with you.”

“Don’t try to sell me that crap.” Mel caught his arm, and his heart twisted at the familiar feel of her slim, warm fingers. “I know when you’re lying.”

She knew fucking nothing. If she’d been more open-minded, he would never have had to lie to her. Wouldn’t need to now. He turned, narrowing his eyes to underline his warning. “You do not want to go there.”

Her face paled, but she raised her chin. “We both know you lie as easily as you breathe.”

That tore it. Damned if he’d put up with this crap any longer. She hated him anyway, so why not give her a real reason?

He grabbed her shoulders, yanking her against him. “Bullshit,” he ground out, and kissed her.

S
hock flitted through Mel’s eyes in the instant before Stefan’s mouth took hers. Then blinding, searing pleasure wiped everything else from his mind.

When the fog in his brain started to lift, he and Mel were kissing as though they’d been starved for each other, tongues dueling, bodies pressed close. His erection rubbed her belly, and her breasts pressed into his chest. Whimpering, she rocked against him. Heat jolted through Stefan’s groin.

He struggled to think. Maybe they shouldn’t—

She gripped his ass and pulled him closer.

Her fresh, apple scent carried him back years. She had one hand in the hair at his nape as the other slid over his back. He tore his mouth from hers to press hard, hot kisses along her jaw.

 On a ragged breath, she said, “Ste—”

He sucked the tender spot at the hinge of her jaw, the spot that made her crazy. Mel gasped. When he cupped her breast, she made a choked sound, her body arching to press that firm, sensitive mound into his palm. Her hold on him tightened. Kissing her neck, Stefan stroked his thumb over her nipple, and she sagged against him.

He could lay her down, sheathe himself, and slake the heat in both of them. And remind her of the one thing between them that had always been perfect.

He brushed her shirt aside and kissed across her shoulder, down by her bra strap, as he backed her toward the couch. He turned and collapsed onto the sofa with her in his arms. With their mouths locked, she straddled him and rocked against his erection, driving him out of his mind. He tugged at her shirt buttons while her palms slid over his bare torso, ribs, abs, pecs, trailing heat and need. When her fingernails lightly scraped his nipples, he groaned, jolting upward.

He tried to form a coherent thought, to remember why they shouldn’t do this, why he should let go of her, but his body had put his mind on the bench, out of the game. He shoved her shirt open and unhooked her bra.

“I need to see you,” he muttered.

Mel stilled. Her head jerked up. “No,” she gasped, scrambling off of him. “No, we can’t!”

Her fingers fumbled with her bra clasp. With horror-stricken eyes, she looked down at herself and him.

Hellfire, what had he done?

“No,” she choked. “We can’t!”

Breathing hard, Stefan pushed to his feet as she refastened her buttons with shaky hands. He adjusted himself and tried to focus against the need roaring in his blood, to think with the brain in his actual head.

“Mel.” Struggling for words, he took a step toward her.

“Put your hands on me again, and I’ll hurt you.” Her voice shook. As she stepped back, her eyes were dark with pain and glassy with unshed tears.

“If you don’t want my hands on you,” he ground out, glaring, “don’t kiss me back.” He hadn’t been the only one fully engaged.

Mel’s lips trembled. She backed toward the door, not meeting his eyes. “You’re right. I’m sorry. It was my fault as much as yours.” After a shuddering breath, she added, “I shouldn’t have come here. We…can communicate by phone from now on.”

Shit, he’d totally blown this.

He reached for her arm. “Cami…Mel, I—”

“Good-bye, Stefan.” She bolted out the door and into the downpour.

Stefan’s heart still galloped, and his cock throbbed. What the hell had happened? One minute, he’d been angry enough to choke Mel, frustrated anew by her distrust him, hating the need to lie. Then she’d flung it in his face and…hellfire.

He couldn’t let her drive away like this.

Stefan yanked the door open as she dived into her car. Thunder boomed overhead, but he plunged into the storm. The rain pounding his bare skin didn’t matter. He had to reach her.

If she hadn’t stopped him, he would’ve been inside of her on the sofa.

She’d wanted him, too. That was some consolation, knowing the fire between them hadn’t gone out, but the freak-out was what mattered.

What could he say, though? He had always known, no matter how much he denied it, that she couldn’t handle the truth about his magic. Mel’s background made her hate the very thing that he was. If he told her everything and she reacted badly, she might be subjected to the same fate as Mack.

His heart paused and the truth smacked him in the gut. He could never let his fellow mages subject her to that, no matter what he had to do to prevent it.

The safest course was to keep his secrets. But he had to tell her something about what’d just happened.

He tapped on the driver’s window. “Mel.”

She jumped, then averted her face. “Go away.”

“I’m sorry.” God, he was an ass. “Come inside and let’s talk about this.”

“So you can lie to me again? No, thanks.”

She had a right to that bitterness, no matter how much he hated causing it. As he stood there with rain sheeting over him, he had an idea. The world and its view of magic had changed in the last nine years, maybe changed enough to give him a toehold. “You were right about Wiley Boone. Come back and let me explain.”

He’d had an idea back then, a way to see if he could be wrong about what she could accept. He’d never mustered the nerve to try it, but it might seem more plausible now.

After a long moment, she scrubbed at her face. “Explain what?” she shouted over a rolling peal of thunder.

That skeptical look meant he’d need all the persuasive ability he could muster. “I’ll tell you what I was doing in Boone’s room yesterday and why I didn’t want to admit it.” Stefan took a deep breath and dived in all the way. “I’ll also tell you the truth about nine years ago.”

Her head lifted. She directed a probing stare at him.

He met it straight on. Looking away would doom his chances of getting her to trust him. “We can’t leave things this way again.”

After a moment that seemed to drag beyond bearing, Mel reached for the door handle. Stefan stepped clear.

“Go ahead,” he said. “The door’s unlocked.”

She ran for the porch. He slammed the car door and followed.

Dripping, Mel reached the entry area’s tile floor a few steps ahead of Stefan and realized she’d left without her raincoat. Which said a lot about her state of mind, and how much of a liar she’d been when she told herself she’d closed the old wounds. That she no longer cared.

Her first sight of him shirtless had delivered a punch of lust straight to her gut. She’d had to force her eyes to stay on his instead of staring at that broad chest with its enticing swirls of dark hair. Then, when he’d kissed her…how could she have lost control so thoroughly? Much as she’d like to blame him, she’d been a full partner in what they’d done.
Idiot!

“I’m going to put on dry pants,” he said. “Can I grab a shirt for you?”

“No. Thanks.” Wearing his clothes, as she once had done, felt far too intimate now. Too trusting. She’d lost part of herself tonight and had to claw her way back to solid ground. “If I can have a towel, I’ll manage.”

“Sure.” He slogged toward the back of the living space, leaving a trail of puddles on the floor in his wake.

Mel rubbed her arms, shivering in the air-conditioning. What the hell had possessed her? When Stefan grabbed her, she’d almost punched him, and then his mouth had caught hers, and nothing else had existed. His fresh, earthy scent, like a spring forest, filled her nostrils and spiked a thousand intimate memories. His hands on her had felt even better than she’d remembered.

She knew how the erection she’d savored under her would feel within her, filling her. Fool that she was, she still ached for it, wanted his weight on top of her and her legs wrapped around him. How could she still want a man who’d betrayed her trust so completely? Why wouldn’t her body listen to her heart, to her head?

“Heads up.” Stefan tossed her a dark blue towel and retreated.

While she dried herself off, she studied the small painting by the foot of the stairs, a castle on a rocky hilltop. It looked sunny and warm.

The faint sounds of drawers opening and closing reached her, and then Stefan reappeared. Thank God he’d donned a faded red polo shirt and dry jeans, which couldn’t be comfortable with the state he was still in. But it had always been that way.

No, not quite, not the way you thought. He was the only one who did it for you, but there was somebody else who also did it for him.
The thought stung so sharply that she drew in a quick breath. She would finally hear the truth, maybe get closure for this god-awful, gut-aching pain she’d shoved away for nine years.

He turned into the kitchen across from the seating area. “Give me a second to get this water off the floor.”

“Sure.” Mel rubbed her dripping hair. Maybe he was stalling because she wouldn’t like what he planned to say.

Stefan dropped to his hands and knees to wipe the water from the hardwood floor. His position emphasized the snug fit of the denim over his taut butt.

Mel swallowed hard and went back to studying the castle painting while she squeezed water out of her shirt and slacks. “I like this picture.”

“Huh? Oh. Yeah.” He pushed to his feet and took the wad of paper towels into the kitchen. “Griff painted it. He and Val are in New York for his first gallery show there. It’s a big week for them.” Stefan flashed Mel a quick smile.

Griff and Val.
Sheriff Burton had mentioned a Griff. “You’re singing in their wedding.”

“That’s right.” Stefan filled the teakettle and set it on a burner. “This kind of day calls for tea. When it was just Griff living here, we’d have high-octane coffee, Coke, or beer to choose from. Or maybe sour milk.” He opened the cabinet to the left above the stove. “But Val likes tea, so they stock that, too. Ginger peach or Earl Grey?”

“I don’t need anything, Stefan.” Nothing except the truth, no matter how little she might like it. “Really. But thanks.”

When he turned to her, the concern in his eyes echoed earlier, happier times. They’d met on a rainy night, at the coffee station the folk music club set up for meetings, and he’d offered to pour for her. Now he was offering her tea, it was raining again, and they were history. Her throat closed.

“We’re both soaked, and we have a lot of ground to cover, Mel,” he said. “Ground we should’ve covered a long time ago. That’s my fault, and I want to put it right.” He looked so serious that she couldn’t help softening toward him. “I’m having tea,” he said. “Join me, huh?”

“Well, okay.” Tea would be warm, and shivering through the upcoming conversation would make Mel feel more vulnerable than she already did. “I’ll try the ginger peach.”

Her clothes weren’t dripping anymore, so she joined him in the kitchen while he set out mugs, put a tea bag in each one, and found a spoon. He took a couple of yellow packets out of a drawer and set them beside one of the mugs.

The little gesture jabbed at her heart. He’d remembered what she preferred after seeing it only once.

He took the towel she’d forgotten she held and hung it over the oven door handle. “I’ll put it away later.”

“You seem very much at home here,” she commented. “These must be good friends.”

“The best.” Stefan’s face softened. “Some of us from the institute volunteer at the local homeless shelter, so we bunk here sometimes. Especially since Griff and Val moved into the house. The only thing left to finish in there is the kitchen.”

“An important room.”

“Extremely. Val likes to cook.” With a grin that didn’t reach his eyes, he added, “She feeds us all well, and we’re hogs enough to take advantage.”

The teakettle whistled. Stefan lifted it off the burner.

The knots forming in Mel’s shoulders made her realize how tense she was, standing here and pretending to make conversation, talking to him as though he were any other friend. He’d never been just a friend, and he never would be.

He handed her a mug. “Okay.” He took a slow sip of tea, his brown eyes grave. “You’re not going to like what I have to say. Maybe you won’t believe me, but I’m telling you the truth, Mel.”

Finally. “Go ahead.”

“What I did for Wiley Boone is not a treatment other doctors can replicate. It isn’t even one that always works.” He glanced down into his mug and squared his shoulders before he looked at her again. “I used energy manipulation to clear the toxin from his bloodstream.”

“Excuse me?” The chill in her stomach deepened.

“Have you heard of Reiki therapy?”

“It’s some kind of New Age nons—thing.” The kind that had fed her mom’s delusions.

“That’s how it’s considered by some, yes, but energy healing has been around for centuries. It’s gone mainstream. More people are using it now, and some insurance policies even pay for it.”

“I’ve heard that theory.” The words came out clipped. Terse. Her stomach jittered as memories pushed to the fore. Jeers. Mockery. Was he as delusional as her mom?

Mel drew a painful breath. “So you’re telling me you used Reiki energy, or whatever, to cure Wiley Boone.”

“Something more advanced than Reiki but similar.” His glance flicked over her face, and resignation flicked through his eyes. “I knew you probably wouldn’t believe me.”

“You should’ve known I wouldn’t, and I should’ve known you would never come clean.” She set her mug on the counter, then started for the door. Around the pain, the disappointment tightening her chest and throat, she managed, “See you around.”

Stefan caught her arm in a gentle but firm hold.

She directed a pointed look at his hand, then up at his face. His miserable face.

He lifted his hand in a
no-foul
gesture. “Of course I knew how you would react. That’s why I didn’t want to tell you. Or anyone else. In particular, I don’t want it spread around the medical community. I can do without professional ridicule.”

As she would’ve preferred doing without playground ridicule. But she couldn’t afford to soften toward him. “So you treat people without their permission, you’re saying?”

“Only if their situations are urgent.” Bitterly, he added, “I realize you have a dim view of my ethics, but professional standards matter a lot to me. I wouldn’t cross the informed consent line without a compelling reason.”

“Like preserving your reputation.”