Kindle Edition
Amazon
Harley M Cranston
Amazon
Category:
Romance
Type: Fiction
Copyright: Oct 27, 2016
ISBN-13: 9781539731566
Price: $5.99 (eBook)
Beaten and left for dead on the beach during a raging thunderstorm, Jordan Sinclair finds himself rescued by the very healer was sent to bring back to Sanctuary, Irene Ryan. Irene Ryan, after healing and dragging the nearly dead stranger into her home, finds herself fleeing with Jordan from a psychic assassin intent on hauling her, dead or alive, to Psychorp. As they flee for their lives, Irene and Jordan fight the intense attraction building between them, a desire neither can escape. Will they live to love or end up in the clutches of Psychorp, tools in a demented program to breed more super Psychics.
Excerpt
Irene Ryan stared out the plate glass window in her living room as the storm rolled toward her. Clouds boiled on the horizon, curling over the choppy gray sea. In the distance, lightening flared in sporadic bursts, arcing across the sky in jagged lines or flashing behind a wall of clouds.
A stone and glass structure blending into the stark, wild surroundings, the small two-bedroom cottage sat back from the edge of the cliff, facing the drama played out over the ocean. She shivered. The air seems so heavy tonight. Smothering. The walls seemed to close in on her. Longing for the wild freedom of the storm, blood rushed through her veins. With a soft sigh, she surrendered.
Foregoing shoes, she made her way down into the basement and wedged open the door into the tunnel leading to the beach. Her father had installed it when she moved here, calling it her back door, but it had a bad habit of locking itself behind her. She moved with quick expertise through absolute darkness, the winding path as familiar as her heart beat. Finally the cold stone gave way to the strip of sand and gravel that made up the beach.
The storm slashed rain in every direction, lightning streaking the sky as thunder boomed in the distance. Electricity charged the clean, cold air, something more than the storm provided, prickling over her skin. It filled her, heightening senses both normal and supernatural. Irene threw out her arms, embracing the untamed freedom of the moment.
Face to the sky, she spun in circles as rain plastered strands of hair to her cheeks and soaked through her sweater. To be free again. The sensation ripped through her and she laughed in the face of nature’s dramatic rage. Thank you, Dad, for giving me this haven.
Her foot caught on something firm but yielding and she leaped away, joy lost as she stared down at the man lying prone on the wet sand at her feet. Oh god, is he dead? Hands shaking, she tangled them in the hem of her sweater, strangely reluctant to touch him. On a low groan, he rolled onto his back. Rain pounded his face. For a moment, his eyes opened and then closed as he lapsed once more unconscious. Irene let out a relieved breath, her gaze never leaving the stranger’s face.
Rain drops slid over sculpted cheekbones, dampening thick, dark eyelashes to spikes against the stark pallor of his skin. Wet, equally dark hair clung to his skull. Dropping to her knees beside him, she pressed two fingers to his throat, ignoring tiny rocks and seashells digging into her knees through drenched denim. His pulse throbbed, strong and steady.
Cold rain splattered her face and soaked through her clothes. She splayed her hands over his chest…and hesitated, wary of the intimacy engendered by her healing skills. The feverish heat of his skin scorched her palms and her fingers tingled. Freak! Weirdo! Long ago taunts slithered into her mind, echoing in her ears. A low groan escaped, swallowed by the raging wind and rain.
Don’t stop. No one will know and you can’t leave him like this. Scolded by her conscience, she sucked in a deep breath and closed her eyes. On her knees, body swaying in the storm, her spirit drifted for a moment and then entered the stranger’s body as pure energy focused only by her mind. Merging with the intricacies of his body, a sense of intimacy swept through her, stronger than other healing she’d done. Ignoring the sensation, she explored interior anatomy.
She found a broken rib stuck in soft tissue, forced it back in place and sparked the healing process so the bone began to knit at a more rapid pace than she’d ever seen. Ignoring that for the moment, and after healing the ragged hole in the lung, she investigated further, repairing bruised kidneys and other organs. Danger tugged at her, danger to him rather than herself, and she discovered the swelling in the brain, the fractures in his skull from a severe beating.
Probing deeper, her spirit slid into the cold radiating from his shrouded mind. She countered with healing warmth, pushing out the chill by slow degrees. The swelling receded, blood flowing through veins and capillaries as the skull bones began to mend, knitting together once more. Restless, his body shifted in the aftermath of adrenaline overload. After flooding him with endorphins, she started to withdraw. Sliding over something unusual, she halted, examining the base of his skull. Embedded in soft tissue, a small piece of plastic radiated tendrils straight to every nerve chain, many leading into the brain.
The object didn’t appear to do anything. Why a non-functioning implant? She studied it for a moment and seeing no easy way to remove it, left it alone. It presented no danger and he needed to get out of the storm.
Pulling back into her own body, she opened her eyes to check on him. Tremors wracked her, a side effect of using astral projection for extreme healing. Under other circumstances, she might have called an ambulance, but he didn’t have time. Nearly dead, lashed by the raw power of the storm, he needed her. She sank her butt onto the wet sand, feet sliding in the rocky mud, and rested her hand on his shoulder. Firm flesh and hard muscle yielded under her touch and she found herself watching him. Her gaze roamed over his lean length, long legs encased in wet denim, and back to his face.
His eyes opened to narrow slits, a sheen of hazel gold against the black of his lashes. Leonine. The eyes of a hunter. Her heart thudded in her chest and a strange warmth crept through her. She snatched her hand away and tried to compose herself.
“We have to get you out of this storm. You have to help me. I don’t think I can get you off the beach by myself.” Her breathless words seemed to fall on deaf ears, yet he had no such injury.
He blinked, no comprehension in his gaze, no recognition of her as a person. Sucking in a deep breath, he choked, doubling over in a fit of coughing that strained already damaged lungs. Irene rubbed his back, struggling to ignore the heat radiating from him and scorching her palm. Must be fever, she decided. The coughing fit passed and he rested, face in her lap, to simply breathe.
“Come on,” she reiterated, a sense of urgency rising inside her. “We have to get you out of this weather.” Don’t make me try to carry you. I don’t think I can, not all the way through the tunnel to the house.
As she waited, willing him to at least try, he shifted, attempting to push himself upright. Irene wedged her shoulder under his and shoved. He lurched to his feet, swaying and barely conscious. I’ll take what I can get, she decided and slipped an arm around his waist, accepting most of his weight.
It took her almost forty minutes to make it back through the tunnel with him. He managed to move his feet but leaned more and more of his weight on her, forcing her to stop often to catch her breath. Gasping, pushing him, she got him up the steps to the main floor. They staggered down the hall like a four-legged drunk, careening off the walls. Stumbling over the threshold of her bedroom, she almost lost her grip. Eyes glazed, he staggered over the carpet. Already losing his fragile grip on consciousness, he fell across her bed.
Oh god, now what? Teeth clamped on her lower lip, she eyed him as though watching a snake slither through the grass. He lay on his back, arms flung at his sides, on top of the pristine sheet she’d put on the bed just that afternoon. The blankets lay at his feet. A shiver raced through her and she lurched toward the bed. Can’t leave him in cold, wet clothes.
Ignoring the mocking laughter of her libido, she sat on the edge of the bed and reached for him. It took a bit of work to get the drenched shirt and jeans off his long, lean body, as well as a bit of resolve to ignore the impact of such male perfection. After throwing a blanket over him, she fetched an herbal candle and set it on the dresser, lighting the wick with matches kept for just that purpose. She cast a last glance over him and eased out of the room, leaving the door open. Long night ahead, she thought on her way to the living room.
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