Protector(36)

At first it penetrated his sleep-fogged brain like the distant wail of an air-raid siren, a shrill noise that definitely had no place in his house. Then he blinked, his eyes opening as he realized it wasn’t a siren at all, but Caitlin, screaming as if she was being axe-murdered.

He didn’t stop to think, or worry that he’d been sleeping in his underwear and nothing else. No, he pushed back the covers and was bolting from his room within seconds, tearing down the hallway as he brought the protective dome around him, just in case there were any armed intruders in Caitlin’s room.

But when he flung open the door and switched on the light, he saw nothing except the McAllister witch herself, huddled into a corner of the daybed frame, arms clutched around her as she rocked back and forth and let out a series of despairing cries that sounded like a litter of kittens being run over by a truck.

“Caitlin!” he said sharply, hoping the sound of his voice calling her name would be enough to snap her out of whatever state she was in.

No response, only that terrible rocking motion as her eyes seemed to stare at something only she could see.

He had no experience with someone being in a trance, or whatever was currently possessing her. However, he also knew that he couldn’t let her remain in this state. She was obviously terrified.

Since they were clearly alone, he dropped the shield and went to her, grasping her by the arms. “Caitlin! Caitlin, please — you’re here. You’re safe.”

Those last words seemed to penetrate when merely saying her name hadn’t. The wild look began to leave her eyes, and then she blinked and looked around the room before returning her gaze to him. She drew in a shuddering breath and burst into tears.

Oh, hell. Dealing with crying women had never been his strong suit. But because she was so obviously in pain, he let go of her arms and pulled her close to him, holding her so she’d know she wasn’t alone, that there was someone here to protect her. At the same time, he was doing everything in his power not to focus on the way her breasts were pushed up against him, separated from the bare skin of his chest by only a thin tank top. That loose-fitting peasant blouse she’d been wearing earlier had concealed some of the shape of her body, but now he could tell how rounded and full those breasts actually were.

Despite his best efforts to tell his body this was absolutely the wrong time, he could feel himself begin to stiffen. Great. It was a lot easier to hide that sort of thing in a pair of jeans than a pair of boxer-briefs.

Don’t…just don’t, he told himself, and his erection subsided a little. He could only imagine Caitlin’s reaction if she noticed that he’d managed to give himself a boner when he was trying to comfort her.

“What was it?” he asked. “A vision?”

She nodded and pulled away from him slightly. Her eyes and nose were red, but he found he didn’t care too much. She still looked so damn beautiful.

“I’m guessing it wasn’t a good one.”

That remark earned him a rusty chuckle. After wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand, she said, “I saw Danica.”

“Was she — ” He didn’t complete the sentence, but he figured Caitlin would know what he was driving at. Surely nothing besides seeing her friend’s death would have made her act like that.

“No,” she whispered. A shudder passed through her, and she looked away from him, at the wooden blinds that concealed the window. “She was with him.”

“Matías?”

Another nod. She drew in a breath, then expelled it. Her body was still shaking, and he forced himself to keep his attention fixed on her face. “They were…they were in bed. You know.”

Yes, he did know, although it had been a while. But he could understand why Caitlin would be so upset, seeing her friend having sex with the man who had kidnapped her. “Was she being forced?” That would explain the screams, especially if Caitlin had experienced the scene with the sort of immediacy that sometimes came with visions.

“No.” The word was hardly more than a whisper. She cleared her throat, then went on, “I mean, I think he was still controlling her. She certainly wasn’t trying to fight back. She looked like she was enjoying it. She — ” The syllable seemed to choke her, and Alex saw her visibly swallow. “He had her share a joint with him. Danica doesn’t do drugs. Ever. She hardly even drinks that much. That one margarita she had at the restaurant would’ve been it for her.”

It definitely did sound as if Danica was still under Matías’ influence, although Alex wasn’t sure whether the warlock had cast an actual spell, or whether this was his gift — the ability to make those around him bend to his will. If so, that was an even more frightening prospect. No one in the de la Paz clan had that sort of talent, and although there were dark rumors of such things existing once upon a time, they hadn’t been around for generations. Until now, it seemed.