Murder Game (GhostWalkers, #7)(30)

“I’m all right.” The words were mumbled, and twice she pressed her hand to her head.

“The headache’s coming.”

She nodded, swallowing hard. “I’m used to them. I have pills somewhere.” She looked around a little helplessly. Her body jerked again and her eyes stared.

“Damn it, Tansy, you’re having seizures.” He lifted her, cradling her close, holding her there for a moment, dropping his head against hers briefly, before laying her down on the makeshift bed.

“I know. It happens. The headache is worse.” She rolled away from him and curled up in a tight ball. “I have to cover my eyes.”

“Where are your sunglasses?” He was already up and looking for them, rummaging through the bags he’d packed, looking for her prescription.

She didn’t answer, but started to rock, one hand shielding her sensitive eyes.

“This happened every time you chased a killer?”

She mumbled her reply, the words unintelligible, but he felt the assent in his mind.

“And people think I’m crazy.”

Kadan settled down beside her, supporting her head with his palm, pushing the pills into her mouth and then holding the water bottle for her. She groaned softly at the movement, but obediently swallowed the medicine.

You don’t have to stay with me. She wanted him gone, hating to have anyone see her this way. Vulnerable. Mind gone. Nearly insane. Hurting. It hurt so bad.

Kadan stroked back her wild hair, his fingers lingering in the silky strands. “Don’t talk. Don’t use telepathy, it only makes the headache worse. Go to sleep, Tansy.”

She’d done this since she was thirteen. No training. No exercises to help her form barriers between the violent energy and her wide open brain. What possible reason could Whitney have had, allowing her to suffer? Was it another of his insane experiments? He had obviously documented each incident, insisting on examining and debriefing her each time she used her ability to track a serial killer. Had he wanted to see how long it took to break her?

She shivered, her body trembling as the overload fully hit. Swearing, he stretched out beside her, using his body heat to warm her. Her skin was cold, her eyes nearly opaque. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her tight against him, curling so that his body protected hers. She fit. She was made for him. Whitney couldn’t have done that. Kadan chose not to believe it was the pheromones. Pheromones couldn’t make him feel anything but physical attraction, which he had in spades, but there was so much more.

He had long since ceased to be emotional, yet he was now—with her. Alone, with her falling into a fitful sleep, he could allow himself a little emotion. And his mission wasn’t worth destroying her completely. He would find another way. There was always another way.

Her body jerked and she cried out, pressing both hands to her head.

His hands went to her shoulders, massaging gently, then moved to her neck in an attempt to ease the tension out of her. “Shh, baby, just sleep. I’m not going to make you do this. I’ll find a way around all this. Just go to sleep for me.”

She settled a little. He couldn’t be certain if it was his reassurance, or the massage, but she seemed quieter. He moved her hair aside and bent his head to kiss the nape of her neck. “I’m going to tell them you’ve lost your abilities, but then you need to stay out of sight until I wrap this up.” He spoke aloud more for himself than for her.

He felt her body stiffen. Her long, wet lashes fluttered, lifted, and she looked at him, her eyes so light they appeared violet.

“I mean it, Tansy, you’re off the hook. You need to just sleep and not worry about anything anymore.” He stroked his hand through her hair.

She closed her eyes again and relaxed beneath his hands.

Kadan sighed. How was he going to find the strength to give her up? He’d never thought in terms of a woman or a home. He’d been a loner since he was eight years old. His friends were all GhostWalkers, men who understood what it was like to be different. They were warriors, born in the wrong century maybe, men with honor and codes and a way of life that was politically incorrect. Women should never live with men like him, and he had no business staking his claim on one.

His fingers rubbed at the silky hair. He wanted her. Desperately. This woman brought sunlight to his soul. She made him believe again. Hope. Feel there was a chance at a future. Maybe a home and children. He’d been in her mind and he knew her more intimately than a man could know a woman after fifty years of living together. There was strength and determination. Independence. Compassion. She was soft where he was hard.

The sun began to climb higher into the sky, and he let himself doze while he could. He hadn’t gotten that much sleep the night before. Her body had been too tempting, and he’d been starving and addicted after the first taste. Being a soldier meant you slept when you could. He woke with Tansy moaning softly, moving against him, her hand brushing his face.

He could wake up to that touch forever. A million mornings. He caught her hand and pressed a kiss into her palm. “Are you feeling better?”

“Yes. I’m a little afraid to let you out of my head. I’m not good at keeping the voices out.” She brushed his hair from his forehead, her fingers tracing his scar. “I’m going to miss being able to touch you. I never touch anyone.”

She didn’t think she’d ever be able to touch anyone again. He should have felt bad. Instead he wanted to be the only one she could touch. Selfish bastard. He mentally kicked himself.