Electric Storm(92)

Faster than she could register, his hand rose to cradle her head. His fingers sank into her hair, and she shivered at the demand as he angled her face down to his. He twisted until he lay over her, his hard body surrounding hers, and she lost her breath. Delicious heat enveloped her as he ravaged her mouth. The wolf at the center of her took that moment to charge.

Like on a rollercoaster, her stomach jumped in her throat, the beast ready to burst through her chest. Pain riveted her, searing her insides, tearing a groan from her.

“Raven!”

Her eyes snapped open to see him reach for her. “No!”

But it was too late. The instant his hand touched her skin, the power of her wolf raced up his arms. Seconds took an eternity to pass. Then his eyes rolled up in his head, and he collapsed.

His weight crushed her. Frantic with worry, she touched his back, running her hands over him, but couldn’t detect any injuries. “Jackson?”

No response.

Terrified she’d really hurt him, she allowed what little power she managed to save to rise up in her. Strands crawled over every inch of him, wrapping around him as if picking up on her concern.

And found nothing wrong.

The connection abruptly died, taking the last of her power with it. She wiggled out from Jackson’s weight. She paced, wondering if she should tell someone, but knew Jackson would hate to have their privacy exposed. And what could they do, anyway?

He looked so vulnerable she covered him with a blanket, unable to bear leaving him so exposed. When she went to smooth back his hair, a tremor shook her naked hand, and she pulled away, afraid the contact would hurt him worse. She backed up another step.

She knew better than to touch someone. She should count herself lucky that she hadn’t actually killed him. Deeply buried doubts rose. Who’s to say what would happen next time? They got off lucky.

What made her think she could ever be normal?

But there was one thing she could do.

Quickly opening the drawers, she grabbed the first set of gloves that met her fingers and yanked them on over her hands. She pocketed her cell and hurried across the room, giving the bed a wide berth. She stepped onto the balcony then leapt over the side, landing on the balls of her feet in the grass. She cradled her ribs as her bruised body protested. As she entered the woods, she dialed Ross.

“I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” Jackson would be fine, she assured herself, but she couldn’t resist the urge to gaze back at the house one last time.

* * *

The morgue was empty when she arrived. The guard, Chuck, was nowhere to be found. Her steps slowed, but she didn’t wait for him to return. Observation room one, two and three were glaringly empty.

“Ah, there you are.” A voice said from behind her.

“Shit.” She whirled to face Ross, unnerved not to have noticed him sneak up on her. Her heartbeat skyrocketed. Power hovered under her skin, eager for a confrontation.

“Ross.” She tried to smile, but feared it came out as more of a grimace. There was no danger, but the power refused to dissipate back into her body, fighting her for control. Dying had a way of screwing with her system.

“Jumpy.” Ross smiled pleasantly, already dressed in the paper scrubs. “This place has that effect on people.”

He reached into his pocket and removed two masks. “Here, you’ll need this. It’s another bad one.”

She hesitated, glancing at the door with a grimace of distaste and gingerly accepted his offer. “I hope you don’t get into trouble with Scotts for bringing me down here.” She slipped the mask over her face, coughing slightly at the dust of powder.

“Oh, I don’t think we have to worry about him anymore.”

The room spun, and it took her a while for his words to register.

“Excuse me?” She glanced at him, nearly dropping to her knees when dizziness assailed her. His expression appeared detached as he observed her. A horrible realization sank deep in her gut. Her gaze slid past his shoulder and landed on the empty autopsy table. She clawed at the powdery mask and threw it away, disgusted at being so stupid.

“It was you.” The words were slurred, her lips growing numb. She should’ve connected it sooner. How he knew too much about the paranormal world, how things worked, how he called them shifters instead of weres like most normals. The strength went out of her legs, and her knees cracked against the tile floor when she fell. “You sell shifters to the hunters.”

He took Taggert.

And she was next.

“Nothing so barbaric. I turn the shifters over to the hunters once I’ve learned everything I can from them. I couldn’t let them free afterwards. They knew too much.”

She took a deep, calming breath, hoping that the fresh air trickling into her lungs would clear her head. “You’ve been dosing me with poison.” Chemicals had been rousing her animals, not Jackson or Taggert like she’d originally thought.