'As most talents do.' He carefully pulled the edges of her shirt away from the wound on her shoulder.
Though the cut looked red and vicious against the creaminess of her skin, it wasn't deep. The sylphs had obviously been sent to scare more than harm her. He gently applied some of the antiseptic cream, his fingers skimming across her soft skin. Lord, she smelled good…
He quickly withdrew his hand and sat back down on his heels. His matter-of-fact tone seemed to be relaxing her, and the last thing he needed to do was something that would jeopardize that.
'Did someone get hurt?'
She nodded, still avoiding his gaze. 'I don't really want to talk about this.'
'You must. You have to be able to understand your abilities and what they can do before you can have any hope of truly controlling them.'
'I know only too well what my damn gifts can do.' Her gaze flashed to his. Anger burned deep in the amber depths, as did old hurt. 'That's why I—' Retreated, he thought when she hesitated. But what monster had made her lash out with her abilities?
Who had hurt her so badly that she'd had no option but to kill?
And if Eleanor and Hank, or whoever had sent the sylphs after her attacked again, would she be able to control her gifts? Or would she lose it and kill them all?
He clasped her hand and rubbed his fingers lightly across her palm. Her skin was slightly callused, not smooth, as he'd expected. 'Maybe it would be better if you left the area.'
She wrenched her hand from his and stood up abruptly. He rose slowly, watching her warily. The street light caught the gold in her wild red hair and illuminated the slenderness of her figure under her thin shirt.
She looked so young and frightened and alone that he wanted to take her in his arms and protect her.
He stepped away instead. He barely knew her, and he certainly couldn't afford to get more involved with her. His work was too important.
She clenched her hands and glared at him. 'I won't run away. Not this time.'
He thrust a hand through his hair. How could he make her understand it was better for them all if she simply left?
'Maddie, you're a loose cannon. You can't control any of your abilities, and someone obviously suspects you're helping me. What will you do if they attack you again?'
'I'll control it,' she said tightly.
'And if you can't?'
'I'm not leaving.'
'You need help with your gifts. I can't give you that help.'
'I'm not asking you to.'
No, she wasn't. She wasn't asking anyone for help, and that was the problem. 'Don't you realize there are people who could help you, people who would understand what you're going through, because they've faced the same fears themselves?'
'And who will help Evan?' She clenched her fists again and glared at him. 'I'm not abandoning him, Jon.'
'No one is asking you to. But pyrokinesis is a dangerous gift, and it must be brought under control.' He hesitated, and met her anguished gaze. 'How many more people have to die before you admit you need help?'
She blinked back tears. 'Damn you,' she said through clenched lips. 'You could never understand what it's like to be a freak of nature.'
He sighed. 'I understand more than you could ever guess.'
It was time she faced up to the fact that she had a responsibility to understand and control her gifts.
Neither of them could change what had happened in her past. The future was a different matter. If she didn't want the destruction to continue, she would have to learn to restrain and use her psychic abilities.
But to do that, maybe she had to learn she wasn't the only one in the world with unusual talents.
He ignored the pain in her eyes and glanced at his watch. He had a meeting with Eleanor to get to, and he couldn't afford to miss it. Not when the lives of two children were at stake. They were more important than Maddie's fragile emotions—or his own need to help her.
'I'm a shapeshifter,' he said softly. 'I can take on the shape of a hawk and fly. How's that for being a freak?'
Maddie stared him. 'You can't be serious.' Shapeshifters didn't exist. He was making fun her—just as Brian always had.
She bit her lip against a stab of pain. Up until a few moments ago she would have sworn that ghosts didn't exist, either—especially those who could use a wisp of smoke to lash your shoulders and draw blood.
He sighed. 'There are stranger things in this world than you could ever imagine. As far as freaks go, you don't even make the list.'
There was something in his voice that suggested he'd seen more than his fair share of those freaks. Had seen them, and maybe even killed them. She crossed her arms and shivered. 'And that's supposed to comfort me, I suppose?'
'Yes.' He glanced at his watch again. 'I haven't the time to discuss this now. I have a meeting to get to.'
Eleanor, she thought. 'But you're soaking wet.'
He shrugged. 'I'd get wet walking there, anyway.'
'Well, then, you'd better get going, hadn't you?' she said more tartly than she'd intended.
'Maddie—' He lightly touched her cheek. His fingers were like fire against her skin, his touch stirring something deep inside. 'Eleanor means nothing to me. She's just a lead.'
She snorted. How could he say that? She'd seen them together. If it was all an act, then he should win an Academy Award.
He dropped his hand, and a hard light replaced the warmth in his eyes. 'I have to go. We'll continue this discussion later.'
Memories rose to haunt her. In a more appropriate manner, Brian would have added. She shivered again. Jon frowned slightly, then thrust a hand through his hair and walked away toward the inn.
She watched him go. He was nothing like her husband. There was gentle strength in him, a confidence in every action that made him appear so much taller than he was. Brian had been tall—a mountain who had once made a frightened eighteen-year-old feel secure, and later terrified a twenty-year-old.
So why did she keep drawing comparisons between them? Why did the things Jon said or did remind her constantly of Brian? It wasn't as if they even looked the same—only the blue of their eyes was similar, and she'd seen more emotion in Jon's gaze in the last five minutes than she'd ever seen in Brian's during their six-year marriage.
Oh God, why couldn't she just take Jon's advice and leave this town and all the memories it raised?
She bit her lip. She might have done nothing to save Brian or her brother, but she'd be damned if she'd run this time.
A bitter laugh escaped her at the thought. She was already damned. No one could save her, not even Jon.
She touched her cheek. Her skin still tingled from the slight brush of his fingers. Moisture seeped from one edge of the cut. She wiped it away, then stared at the blood on her fingertips. The ghosts had been real. She had the wounds to prove it. So why couldn't shapeshifters be real as well?
She watched Jon disappear inside the inn. Anger surged through her. It wasn't fair. All her life, people had walked away from her. Or run, in some cases. And just when she thought she'd found someone who might at least understand, he too, had walked away—to be with another woman.
Would a few more minutes really have mattered? She needed to talk to him, needed someone to understand her pain and guilt. Needed him to hold her, touch her, and tell her everything would be all right. Even if she knew it was all just a lie.
She had a sudden vision of Evan lying cold and still on the cabin floor, and took a deep breath.
She was being selfish. Her nephew was the important one here. He was all that mattered. What she wanted—needed—didn't count.
The fire engine pulled up next to the curb, and the other guests milled toward it. The red flashing lights
