The Empath Read online

  “I feel perfectly safe.”

  He shot her a level look. “You’re also intoxicated.”

  Disappointment mingled with newfound respect. Another man would simply take advantage of her being drunk, and happily walk off without caring he might have left behind a package awaiting delivery in nine months.

  “Go to sleep, Maggie. I’ll protect you.”

  From what? Whatever mythical creature that attacked him? Or against himself?

  Maggie curled up with a yawn. Something warm and soft fell over her a minute later. A blanket.

  “Good night, Mags,” he murmured. He shot her a faintly exasperated look. “I told you not to remove the bracelet. But you didn’t listen. Perhaps you will now.”

  Confusion at his words faded with the tender kiss he pressed against her cheek. Maggie yawned and snuggled into the couch, pulling the blanket over her. Just a minute’s rest, then she’d escort him out. She closed her eyes to the image of Nicolas, silently standing guard by the sliding glass doors, as if keeping watch.

  ———

  Sunlight speared the white tile floor the next morning as she slowly awakened. Maggie stared at the small clock radio on the bedside table in bleary confusion. How could she have slept until ten o’clock? Jackhammers slammed into her skull. Damn. No wonder she had no inclination to drink. Hangovers were a bitch. She sat up slowly, gritting her teeth against the nausea, then headed for the bathroom.

  When she emerged, memories of last night surfaced. A low groan rippled from her lips. What a fool she’d been.

  No sign of Nicolas. He must have carried her upstairs and then left. The blinds, closed last night, now were open, the windows uncovered.

  Just as well. Never before had she been so edgy, wanting, ready to leap into bed with a stranger. One she’d met at a bar! Maggie rubbed her face, wincing at her aching head. No more alcohol. Not even a thimble of sherry.

  Still, she couldn’t erase his strong, impassioned face from her thoughts. He remained embedded there like fingerprints.

  She went into the kitchen, checked on Misha. The dog greeted her with a wagging tail and ambled outside as Maggie opened the sliding glass doors. No trouble walking, more energy than she’d exhibited. When Misha returned, she lay down on the cool tile.

  Troubled, Maggie measured out coffee and poured it into her automatic coffeemaker. Misha hadn’t eaten yesterday and acted livelier.

  Nicolas had warned feeding Misha would spread the disease.

  Ridiculous. A disease that fed off the energy produced by food? Maggie headed for the bathroom for a shower to clear her muzzy brain.

  To her amazement, Misha followed her up the stairs. The dog wagged her tail, lay down by the bathroom door. Maggie’s spirits lifted.

  Half an hour later, she emerged from the bathroom, her hair damp and curly. She coaxed Misha into her lab and drew another sample of blood. Misha watched with large brown eyes as Maggie studied the sample underneath the microscope.

  There were fewer black cells in the blood sample than the previous day. Maggie glanced down at her dog. “Nicolas can’t be right. This is just a coincidence.”

  Misha yawned and laid her head down.

  “Okay, sweetie, stay there. I think you deserve a nap after climbing those stairs.”

  Downstairs, Maggie poured coffee into a china mug, added sugar and pulled open the sliders. She stepped out onto the patio. The mirrored surface of the gulf rippled seablue this morning, reflecting the cloudless sky. On the milewide beach, green and royal blue umbrellas blossomed to greet the day. People walked along the surf, some jogging, others ambling or shell hunting.

  The air smelled briny. No breeze rustled the spindly palm trees. Musing over last night’s strange events, and the odd findings in Misha’s blood this morning, Maggie stared out at the beach. Something caught her eye.

  She squatted down and studied the white sugar sand. A man’s large footprints, slightly scuffed as if he’d been tussling with something. Other tracks caught her attention.

  Deep gouges in the sand. Large sinister prints, clearly reptilian. Alligators inhabited the freshwater marshes to the west. The tracks were distinctly reptilian.

  Turning around she studied her sliding doors. Gooseflesh erupted along her bare arms.

  Deep slashes scored the glass, as if a creature with razor sharp claws raked over her door. A creature clamoring to get inside.

  “Nothing around here could have made these marks,” she mused aloud.

  “Only the Morphs.”

  Maggie jumped, spilling hot coffee on the concrete.

  Clad in jeans and a gray T-shirt, Nicolas stood on the sand a few feet away. “Sorry I startled you.” The smooth, even features looked apologetic. His full, chiseled mouth twisted.

  Suddenly shy because of her brazen behavior last night, Maggie stole a glance at him. His dark hair was slightly mussed. A hank of it fell over his forehead, giving him a boyish look.

  “Good morning, Maggie. I trust you slept well.”

  Feeling awkward, she studied her coffee cup as if it contained all the answers in the world. “I woke this morning and you were gone. I thought you’d gone….”

  “Left for good?” Nicolas ran a finger along the tracks. “I went back to my room to pack.”

  “So you’re leaving.” An odd pang filled her. At least he’d returned to say goodbye, more than most men would offer after spending the night. What irony. The first man to spend the night and he didn’t even sleep with her.

  “Not yet. I had to come back and see you.”

  His genuine smile lifted her spirits. Warmth infused her as she drank in the sight of him. She gestured with her cup.

  “Want some coffee? Freshly made.”

  “I don’t drink coffee. But thanks.”

  He flashed another friendly smile.

  Sorry we couldn’t mate last night. I couldn’t take the chance with the Morphs endangering you.

  Maggie studied him, puzzled. That voice inside her head again. She’d felt the distinct, faint invasion. Post-alcoholic hangover. The voice from yesterday, her overactive imagination sprouting up. She studied his heavily muscled body, the way his faded jeans hugged his hard thighs, the shadow of stubble on his lean jaw. A thought crossed her own mind.

  Oh, yeah. I’d jump your bones in a minute. Drunk or not.

  Now a huge grin spread over his face. As if he were reading her mind. Impossible. Something else was wrong. Maggie looked at his cheek.

  The wounds from last night were gone. Another impossibility. He rubbed his cheek. “I told you, I heal fast.” Probably some amazing liquid healing solvent.

  Maggie shrugged it off and gestured to the sand. “I was just examining the tracks. Some animal was roaming around here last night.”

  “No creature from around here made these,” he observed. Nicolas squatted down, studied the odd tracks. Maggie set down her mug on a glass-topped table. Staring at the marks, she felt a touch of unease crawl up her spine. “Alligators. That’s all. Unusual, but not impossible.”

  “Alligators didn’t claw your glass.” Nicolas traced the outline of one track. “Morph. It shifted into another form for the attack, a much larger and more powerful predator capable of clawing its way through. The window must not be ordinary.”

  “It’s hurricane-proof, so the manufacturer said. Can withstand one-hundred-twenty-mile-per-hour winds.” She examined the jagged marks, tracing the gouges on the glass. Shifting? Hammers pounded her skull. Maggie pressed clammy fingers to her head.

  Nicolas went behind her and gently laid his hands on her throbbing temples. He began a steady massage. She stiffened as he nestled behind her.

  “Relax,” he murmured. “I’ll take good care of you.” Tension fled. Maggie leaned back, relishing his soothing touch. He’s leaving, her disappointed hormones reminded.

  She jerked away. “If you’re leaving, Nicolas, you should go. I appreciate your returning to say goodbye, but it wasn’t necessary. I have a lot of
work to do.”

  “I didn’t return to say goodbye.” Nicolas nodded toward the tracks. “Another Morph tried getting inside your home, Maggie. Look at the signs. The tracks, the glass. Whatever comes into contact with them faces danger. Look at the grass.”

  Maggie never tended the landscaping, but this morning the tough Bermuda grass appeared blackened and shriveled, as if seared with flame.

  “Dragon’s breath,” Nicolas said softly.

  Maggie laughed. “And I thought I was the one drinking too much last night.”

  He aimed her a level look. “We must leave, before it returns.”

  This was too sudden, too intense. “You want me to leave, Nicolas? With you? Why?”

  His ebony gaze sought hers. “It’s not safe here for you. Not now. Their magick is too powerful and potent and you’re too vulnerable right now.”

  Magic. Mystery. Not for her, the practical and analytical. “Nicolas, I don’t believe in magic. I’ll call the authorities, let them know something tried to break in.” Maggie shrugged. “This house has withstood hurricanes. I think it can resist other elements of nature. Whatever you think they are.”

  Nicolas shoved a hand through his thick, dark locks. “The Morphs aren’t an element of nature. They will find a way inside. The one this morning was testing your defenses, discovering the best way to gain access. Do you see that ant?”

  Maggie watched a red ant the size of a dime march across the aluminum railing separating her porch from the sand. Shocked, she leaned closer.

  “Is that what I think it is?” she mused aloud.

  “What do you think it is?”

  “Wow. It can’t be…but it is. Not native. How did it get here?” Fascinated, she studied the insect, which went still. “Hey there, fellow. I’ve seen these in books, but never this close.”

  Nicolas gave a blank stare as Maggie picked up a pen on the nearby glass-topped table. Using it as a pointer, she directed it at the ant’s head. “Hmm. Massive pincers, must be a soldier. The females are the largest in the world. They can colonize in numbers up to twenty-two million. Hunt mainly at night, by sensing the carbon dioxide that their prey breathes. Dorylus helvolus.”

  Her mouth curved into a sheepish grin.

  “Sorry. I studied entomology. It’s a driver, or army ant. Native to Africa. The only ants recorded to have eaten people. What is he doing here? Maybe he came on a shipment.”

  Maggie frowned, thinking. “I need to alert the Florida department of agriculture. I’ll keep him alive until they arrive and conduct an investigation, determine if…”

  Nicolas moved with blinding speed, his palm slamming down on the ant. Maggie’s jaw dropped in astonishment.

  “What did you do that for?” she cried out.

  Nicolas lifted his palm. Horrified, she stared. On the flat of his palm was a quarter-sized burn. Blackish blood from the crushed ant dripped to the concrete. It sizzled as it hit.

  “Morph blood turns to acid. That’s what makes killing them difficult.” Nicolas grimaced.

  He was injured. Instantly Maggie rushed over to him, clucked anxiously over his hand. Instinct welled deep inside her. Must remove the pain, the hurt, the injury. She placed her palm over the ugly burn mark. She closed her eyes, drawing from a force deep inside. Heal. Heal.

  Maggie screamed as searing pain like hot coals sank into her palm. She staggered, nearly losing contact. Something forced her to hold on. Gritting her teeth, she drew in air, riding through the waves of pain. Ancient chants sang in her mind.

  The pain eased, then stopped. Maggie’s eyes opened as Nicolas yanked his hand away. He led her over to a lounge chair. She fell onto it, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

  Never had she felt so weak, so stricken. Nicolas sank down beside her. “It’s true,” he said softly. “The legend is true. You are the empath.”

  Chapter 5

  Memories flickered like movie images. Small palms on deep wounds gushing blood from her father’s chest…please, Daddy, please live… Maggie forced them away. Nightmare images culled from a dark past. It didn’t matter. What mattered was here and now.

  Nicolas took her palm and turned it over. There was a quarter-sized burn marking it. As her astounded eyes watched, it slowly faded, then vanished.

  He pulled her upward. “We must leave. The Morphs will know you’re the one.”

  She put the now healed hand to her temple. It couldn’t be possible. It wasn’t really happening, was it? Like Misha’s illness. Blood absorbed by blackened cells.

  Maybe I do believe in witches.

  “Nicolas, what happened to me?”

  He caressed her cheek, his touch gentle and soothing. “What should have happened long ago, had you not suppressed it. Probably a defense mechanism until recently, and then it became too strong to suppress. Have you ever noticed some of the animals you’ve healed have recovered remarkably? Or had their pain cease? It would probably be a dog.”

  “It’s hard to tell. Animals, especially dogs, are very good at hiding pain.” She searched her memory. “Yes,” she breathed. “A dog, with cancer. He was on chemo. I put my hands on him and wanted to take away his pain so bad that I felt like I was actually bonding with the dog, like I could see the disease inside me. It hurt, deep inside, but I just thought it was emotional.”

  He gathered both of her hands into his, studying them, rubbing his thumbs over her knuckles. “Your touch, Maggie. It heals, when you want it to. You take the pain and injury and disease inside you and eradicate it. Did the dog heal?”

  “It seemed almost…like magic.”

  “It was you, Maggie.” Nicolas’s mouth flattened. “But it could have been the chemotherapy, so the Morphs weren’t sure. They’ve been watching, waiting for a moment like this.” His grip tightened on her hands as he stood, pulling her with him. “Get inside, pack your things. We’re leaving.”

  “I’ve just discovered this new skill and you want to bolt….”

  “Before they come back. And kill you.”

  A rill of fear seized her. Maggie fought it. It made no sense that someone wanted to kill her for healing.

  “I’m not running, Nicolas. There’s no danger. No one knows about this but you and me and nothing’s coming for me.”

  He released her, his dark eyes stormy as he gazed out onto the sand. “You’re wrong. They know. And they’re already here.”

  Maggie craned her neck, saw two large brownish specks against the blinding white sand. Bull ants? Maybe. “Nicolas, those are probably bull ants, they’re native to Florida….”

  Her voice trailed off as he wrapped his fingers about her wrist, tugging her inside. Nicolas closed and locked the sliding glass doors. He shut the blinds. “Where are your car keys?”

  Her gaze flicked toward the kitchen. He ran there, returned, pocketing the keys to her SUV. “Go upstairs. Hurry. Pack only your research materials and anything essential. Forget clothing,” he said, his voice a whiplash of command.

  Panic welled up. She quelled it, resorting to rationalizations. Fine, get a few things together, give herself a chance to think, stall him. Her world was tilting crazily. She felt caught between ecstasy at her newfound ability to heal and the feeling that everything was sliding out from beneath her. Trailed by Nicolas, Maggie went upstairs to her office as he helped her gather notebooks and research materials. He carried a carton downstairs, past the polished oak table in the hallway.

  “I’ll take these out to your SUV,” Nicolas said.

  This was insane. A stranger she’d just met had commandeered her life. She’d healed his palm. More study was needed on this fascinating revelation of her healing abilities. What threat was there? She saw nothing, felt no danger.

  Maybe she could heal Misha. With one touch. She needed more time. Maggie rubbed her temples.

  Nicolas came inside, his jaw tight. “Are you almost ready?”

  Maggie folded her arms across her chest. “I’m not leaving. If I have this unique ability to heal, the
n let’s use it. I can test it out, try different things. And how can these…things be dangerous? Maybe you had a severe allergic reaction to them. I’m a vet, Nicolas. I treat animals. I’m not afraid of any animal.”

  His gaze narrowed. “You should be.”

  “Nicolas, maybe there is something different about me. But honestly, telling me there are creatures after me, wanting to kill me? It’s insane!”

  Maggie shrieked as he scooped her up, deposited her firmly over one broad shoulder.

  “Put me down! Nicolas! Don’t be irrational. There’s nothing out there that can hurt me.”

  “Oh. You want evidence. Empirical evidence.”

  She bounced against the hard muscle of his body as he trotted over to the sliding glass doors. The blinds were shut. “If you see proof, will you come with me willingly?”

  “Killer ants? Yes,” she muttered.

  Nicolas opened the blinds. Upside down on his shoulder she couldn’t see anything but the outline of his firm buttocks encased in the worn jeans. “Here’s your proof. They’ve found you and they’re trying to get inside. And soon, they will.”

  He slowly lowered her to her feet. Maggie faced the window. Her heart dropped to her stomach. “Oh, God. Oh, God.”

  The two large glass sliding windows previously had shown a serene vista of blue gulf waters, beachgoers and white sugar sands. But now the view was totally blocked.

  The sliding windows were covered with a red, crawling mass of army ants.

  She couldn’t move.

  As she watched in horror, one ant squeezed through a small crack where the glass met the sliding frame. It dropped to the floor, marched toward her with military precision.

  Suddenly it stopped. It began twisting, writhing.

  Growing.

  “Dammit Maggie, it’s shifting! Kill it before it gets too big,” Nicolas roared.

  The ant grew to the size of a quarter. Then a silver dollar. Immobilized by her long-ago vow to never hurt another living creature, she stared. Nicolas made an impatient sound, picked up a nearby phone book. It slammed on the ant with a loud thwack.