Sensitive (6 page)

“Harper,” he said.

“Yes?”

Alex looked at me and I felt exposed and adored all at once. He shook his head.

“Just saying your name. I like the sound of it.” His hands stroked the sides of my breasts until my skin erupted in sympathetic goose bumps. “I like the feel of it on my mouth.”

My pussy gripped at him so tightly the friction was maddening. I moved faster, taking him as far as I could, my fingers skimming his warm skin, his eyebrows, the stubble on his jaw. “I like how it sounds coming out of your mouth,” I said and kissed that mouth.

His hands clamped down on my hips and now he did move me. He tugged me to him tighter on each descent I made. Held me close for a beat so that his cock was high and hard inside me, nudging my G-spot so that the warmth that flooded through me was overwhelming. My bones felt leaden but soft, my blood hot and slow. A constant lazy eddy under my skin.

“Harper, I—”

I shook my head. “Hush,” I said. Whatever he was about to say, I didn’t want to hear it yet. I wanted to be right in the moment, locked body to body with this beautiful man who wasn’t a man. I wanted to feel his cock inside me, his lips on my skin and his fingers tugging at my hips to anchor me so I wouldn’t float away. I wanted to shun the fear for a few more moments and then go deal with it.

I could feel by the restless tug in my solar plexus that whatever Alex Church wanted to say would distract me—maybe in a good way, but no distraction was good when a veill of evil and negativity had settled over what should be mostly a spiritual way station on the road to the afterlife. “Kiss me,” I demanded.

And he did. He kissed me hard, holding me still finally. Holding my flanks in his incredibly strong hands, he fucked me, slamming up from under me so that he controlled the speed with which he entered me. I came around his cock, the slickness of my orgasm quickening his way to his own. I rested my forehead to his, felt his heart pound under my fingers as he came. His breath on my cheek, his hands on my back, moving restlessly like he wanted to feel every inch of me. In case at some point he couldn’t anymore.

Some little piece of my heart broke right then. I remembered that if he wasn’t stark raving mad—which I knew he wasn’t—Alex Church was an angel and he wouldn’t be staying. No matter how attached I’d become to him. I shoved the thought away and laughed, “Boy, howdy, I’m going to be sore when this is over,” I said. “When it all wears off.”

“When will it wear off?” he asked, rubbing the sharp edge of my cheekbone with the edge of his thumb.

Never
. “I don’t know,” I said. But never was what I felt intuitively. I would never not crave Alex.

As long as he was around, and maybe when he wasn’t.

* * * * *

“How the hell are we going to do this?” I asked, the actual logistics of the whole mess finally permeating the sex-fog of the last few hours. “I mean, god, with Molly all I had to do was a parlor trick.

Your daughter told me you are doing X,Y, and Z. Now believe me that she’s telling you to stop and
poof!

all done. No problem. This…this is a whole train station worth of souls, and visitors. And a murderer!” I yelped.

“We’ll figure it out. Have faith,” Alex said.

“Have faith. Look who’s talking. You’re hardwired for faith.”

“Not so much,” he said. “We are created in faith, but plenty of us go rogue. Fall, walk off, or worse, become numb to their calling. They simply go through the motions.”

“So, you’re basically humans with special magical powers and maybe wings and you can manifest condoms if need be?” I laughed.

Alex smiled, leading me through the maw of two automatic doors. They opened, allowed us entrance and then shut behind us. “Sort of.”

“I feel like the building just swallowed us,” I admitted.

Alex glanced around, the flutter of his pulse visible below the shadow of beard growth on his throat. Even angels needed a shave, apparently. “Me, too,” he said, softly.

“Oh, well that helps! Nothing to worry about there! That a heavenly creature feels insecure and…eaten!”

“Sorry. Honesty isn’t good?” He was dead serious.

I fought the urge to kick him. Or hit him. Or cry. “No, that is not good! You are supposed to be all strong and not worried and guiding me and stuff.”

“Sorry,” he said again, frowning. His eyes, still as blue as the flickering flame on my brand new oven range, roamed the walls and he seemed to be gauging the spiritual energy of the building. “There is a lot of sorrow here. And not from the passing on.

From this person who seems to be holding souls already in a state of transition hostage.”

I closed my eyes and stilled my pounding heart. I breathed and focused only on my breath and my impressions. I felt sure that if not for my natural-born psychic filter, this building would look like a crush of lost souls to my sensitive’s eyes. I would not just see a hospice, I’d see a waiting room of ghosts in need of my attention. Thank goodness for natural talents because when I opened my eyes to confirm my feelings of the same, the only ghost I saw was Walter. Waiting patiently for me to get my bearings and see him despite his obvious worry. Then he turned and led us to the bank of elevators.

Other human visitors flitted around us, most of them quiet and reserved. A hospice is usually a quiet respectful place. And this one was no exception. But for the crushing feel of dread and sadness that the flesh and blood visitors weren’t tuned in to, Cherry Grove Hospice was a peaceful building run by folks full of love. But for one. And that one was the reason for the swirling chaos of black negativity around the crown of the building.

We loaded into an elevator with some others and I tuned into Walter’s energy.

When the elevator doors closed, I said simply, “Three,” to Alex and he pressed the button.

A young woman with long dark hair was exiting the room facing the elevator when we arrived.

“Walter’s daughter,” I whispered to Alex. She looked a few years my senior, so mid-thirties. Her pretty face was pinched with sadness and worry. Her mother was in that room. Walter’s wife. And from the freakydeaky vibe coming off that room, his daughter—
Sheila
—had just left the angel of death in the room.

“I’m a bit offended that everyone refers to him as an angel. He’s a monster,” Alex said, his lips pressed to my ear so only I could hear him.

“I hear ya. Call him whatever you like. Asshole works for me,” I said. We peeked into the room and there a male nurse was whistling a jaunty tune, tidying and wiping down the tray table. Biding his time to make sure Sheila didn’t return, I was sure. “I don’t know what to do! What do I do?” Panic swelled in my chest and I twisted the hem of my cardigan around my fingers in a way that drove my mother mad when I still lived at home.

Alex grabbed me hard by the arms, so hard I felt the blood flow pinched off from that flesh, and kissed me. His mouth rough and hard on mine, not tender the way I was used to with him. My breath stalled and I settled a bit, just enough to think. Alex pulled back. “Better?”

“Wow, yes. I still don’t know what the fuck to do but I’m much, much calmer about it.”

“You need to distract him for a few moments. I will talk to the daughter,” he said, pointing to a small balcony that looked out over the grounds and the city below. I shivered to think of unsuspecting Sheila standing underneath the dark cloud of badness above the hospice, trapping the traveling souls the way dense smog would ground flights that needed to take off. But Sheila had no idea what was above her and I had no intention of telling her.

“Okay, okay. I can do that. I’ll go pretend to be visiting…” I tuned in to Walter, who was quietly and ethereally taking all this in from the doorway.
Mary
. “I’ll pretend I’m visiting Mary and then the ang—I mean the monster—won’t be able to do anything until I leave. Which will be…” I stared at Alex willing him to help me.

He did, “When you hear me—can you hear me?” A small tinkling sound filled my head and I nodded. The sounds of small bells I heard when I was near psychic energy or otherworldly things. It varied in degrees depending on the source. Sometimes it sounded like wind chimes, sometimes like church bells. Alex’s chimes were soft and soothing and calm, like him.

“I can. I can hear you.” I reached out and took his hand, the feel of him grounding me more. He made me feel tethered to earth like I wouldn’t zoom into space. Funny, what with him being an angel and all.

“When you hear me, take off. Because that means she’ll be coming soon and you need to leave time for the monster,” he smiled at the new term, “to make his move.”

“Got it,” I said a little overzealously. I was practically vibrating with nerves and the severity of the situation was almost paralyzing. “My god, I think I might throw up.”

Alex kissed me again, hard, with teeth and I sighed into his mouth. “Don’t do that,”

he said.

“Okay,” I agreed. I touched his face, his hair, and finally said, “If we don’t move now, then we won’t and we’ll end up doing something like have sex in the hallway surrounded by grieving people. And Walter…” I looked at him and he frowned.

“Walter wouldn’t like that, I don’t think.”

“I’ll go out there and you go in there. And be careful,” he said, pulling me in tight.

His hard chest crushed against me and the smell of him swirled around my head.

Nirvana.

“I will. One more,” I said and he gave me one more kiss. This one long and soft and toe curling.

* * * * *

“Hi there!” I practically screamed. The angel of death, aka the monster, barely flinched. Working in a docile environment but dealing with distraught families had helped him modulate his reactions. Or he was just a flat line of a person.

“Ma’am,” he said, softly. I did catch a small glimmer of what appeared to be disappointment. I had interrupted his fun, poor thing.

“How is she, the dear?” I asked, making like I had ever in my whole life seen the woman in the bed. Walter lounged in the corner, his eyes glued to his Mary. It was touching to see that love did survive the barrier between life and death. One would think Walter would be eager for Mary to join him.

Her time was short most likely, it was a hospice, after all. He didn’t seem to want to be reunited with his wife this way, though.

“She’s doing rather well. She’s stabilized. There’s talk of moving her to a lower floor if she improves further.” He smiled. His nametag read
Kenny
. Kenny the killer.

“That’s good.”

“You don’t have a tag,” he said, eyeing me.

Shit. There was a tag? Damn. My eyes darted to the door to the balcony where I could see Alex talking to Sheila, his long duster flapping in the autumn wind like a cowboy in a movie.
Come on, Alex.

Come on…
”I flew right past the desk,” I said, rushing my words. “Sorry. I know that’s bad, I should have checked in. I was just trying to see if Shelly was still here.”

Shelly? Shit! Sheila.

His mouth turned down but his eyes seemed to light with a slight predatory glow.

He was on to me, he just wasn’t sure how yet. But I had set off his warning bells and whistles.

“Um…”

“Sheila! My cousin. Aunt Mary’s daughter. The one who should be here somewhere. I’m her cousin. This is my aunt. And I have hardly ever called her Shelia,” I rambled on. “I call her Shelly. Old childhood nickname. You know how kids are,” I babbled.

He was nodding but reaching for his walkie-talkie. “You really do need to check in, I’ll just call down and…”

Tinkle-tinkle-tinkle…

Thank god! That was Alex. “I’ll go right now,” I blurted. “Okay? How’s that? I’ll go there and get the thing, then I’ll be back. Maybe I’ll find Shelly, I mean Sheila, while I’m out there.” I was backing out of the room, slowly but surely as the monster man eyed me warily. He was smiling slightly and it was an entirely creepy and unsettling.

My fingers brushed the doorjamb as I left. I could feel Walter’s concern and Kenny’s glee and it made me shake like I was dying. I felt horrible leaving Mary in there with a killer, but wasn’t sure what else to do but put my trust in Alex.

I waited behind a huge potted fake palm. I held my breath and my ears buzzed from the oxygen deprivation. I could see him just barely as he moved forward toward the bed with a spare pillow in his hand. I saw him settle it over Mary and told myself,
If
they are not here by the count of five I’m going in.

I’m going in and save Mary and we’ll
regroup. One…two…

I thought I would scream or cry but it didn’t get to that because Sheila came rushing through, swift but silent in her fashionable sneakers. She moved like an athlete and by the time she hit the main hall she was running. Thank goodness. She rushed in and saw Kenny and that’s when all the yelling started.

I rushed in right on her heels in time to see Kenny take a swing at Mary’s daughter.

“Hey! Hey!” I shouted, not knowing why. Alex was right on my heels but by then Kenny was taking a wild and desperate swing at me. It caught me off guard, though I did manage to dodge it and he clocked poor Alex in the forehead. Alex went down like a heavenly sack of potatoes and I grabbed Kenny’s arm. I didn’t see the needle he held until the last moment.

I am needle phobic. I am hospital phobic, also, if you must know. I hate everything related to doctors, nurses, needles, hospitals, death or healing. Part of it is the whole sensitive thing where I pick up every damn feeling that I come across if I’m not careful.

The needle glanced off one of the oversized brass buttons on my cardigan swing sweater and I sent up a prayer of thanks to the fashion gods. “Asshoooooole!” I screamed and then Sheila rammed Kenny with the fresh tray table that he’d brought in.

In a blink Kenny was down on the ground and I was covered in food. Applesauce, gelatin, soup, milk, lots and lots and lots of fluids. God, I thought this woman was unconscious. They were being a bit optimistic weren’t they? But that was neither here nor there because security was rushing in and I was dripping. Everywhere.