Immortal Flame (7 page)

His thigh muscles bunched under the denim as he sat, the sight making her mouth go dry. A spicy, masculine scent mixed with his still-damp hair. She wanted to bury her nose at the nape of his neck and inhale.

Damn it, keep it professional
.

With a deep sigh, she pulled on gloves and refused to think of anything besides removing the staples. She couldn't even come up with small talk, so the staples clinked too loudly as they dropped into the metal basin.

“Interesting,” she murmured.

Peter turned his head and glanced up at her.

“You've healed extremely fast. You can barely tell there was ever a laceration.”

Clink, clink.

When she finished, she circled around and peered at his face. “And your bruises are gone, too. I don't understand; that's too quick to heal.” Allison frowned as she brushed his cheekbone with her gloved hand.

Seizing her hand with a deep growl, he lurched to his feet, knocking over the metal tray in the process. He held her with a firm grip, but he didn't hurt her.

She struggled for air, her fingertips tingling, even through the gloves. Eyes level with his collarbone, she leaned back, desperate for personal space.

Damn it. Not another vision. It's too soon
.

She tugged at her hand, but he held fast, dragging her to within mere inches of his chest. Waves of heat washed over her until sweat prickled between her breasts.

A muscle in his jaw jumped. “What did you see the other day when I was here?” The tense, desperate tone of his voice caught her off-guard.

She studied his broad chest where the buttons on his shirt strained against his rapid breaths. Gulping, she glanced up at him. “I saw a man who should've been dead, or at least critically injured, in a car accident wake up and walk out of here like nothing had happened.”

“That's not what I meant,” he said, tightening his grip. “When you touched my arm, what did you see?”

She licked her lips and froze while he stared at her mouth. “I saw death.” She met his dark brown gaze. “And it was awful.”

Peter dropped her hand as though he'd been scalded.

She staggered back a step.

His mouth compressed into an angry line. “I need to talk with you.” He glanced around the room. “Not here.”

“I'm not sure that's—”

“Please.” The word seemed torn from him.

An ache twisted in her chest as compassion overcame her fear.

His intense, dark gaze bore into her eyes. “I know what you are.”

Her heart flopped. “What did you say?” Heck, even she didn't know
what
she was. Or what was wrong with her. She simply saw things. How could he know more about her abilities than she did?

“I think I can help you stop seeing these ... images.”

Allison rocked back on her heels. He could stop her visions? How was that even possible? All the heartache she'd endured, predicting people's deaths. That constant, paralyzing terror that she would predict more of her family members' deaths. How could she pass up the chance to be normal?

She considered his strong face, the warmth of his body reaching across the space between them. She didn't know this man. Could she trust him? Her chart told her there was something fundamentally different about him. Her non-clinical instincts insisted that he was a decent guy.

When she boiled it all down, who the hell cared? She was toxic to her fellow human beings the way things stood now. If someone could fix her twisted gift, she couldn't pass up that opportunity.

Bottom line: if he could help her, she had to trust this man.

“All right, I'll talk with you. As long as you can make all of this stop.” She gestured toward her head. “I work twenty-four-hour shifts, so I'll be done after eight tomorrow morning.”

He watched her for a moment, then cleared his throat. “Until tomorrow. Thank you for taking out the staples.” The door swung closed behind him.

As the silence enveloped her, she stood in the exam room, feeling bereft. And fascinated. And horrified.

Peter Blackstone knew her secret.

A strange echo of him pinged in the back of her mind, the sensation reassuring, like someone else was on her side.

With a shake of her head, she washed her hands and headed back out to continue her shift.

Leaning against the wall outside the ER, Peter turned his head as the doors slid open and Allie emerged. The air caught in his chest. He hadn't realized how much he'd anticipated seeing her again. Excitement percolated. Or was it that whisper of her in his mind? No matter. This wasn't the time to have any personal interest in a woman. Not for something like him.

“Did my ‘Q' word cause problems last night?”

He kept pace as she walked slowly across the parking lot. She clutched her jacket closed against the cool morning air.

“Thankfully, for your sake, no problems.” She paused at her driver's side door and smiled.

He hadn't seen a smile like that for too many years to count. Something twisted in a bittersweet way in his heart until he had to clear his throat. “I'd like to go somewhere and talk. If that's still okay with you.”

She slowly unwrapped her hands from the jacket and took a deep breath.

He held his own breath.

After a minute, she let out a sigh. It sounded like sweet music to his ears.

“Okay.”

Trying to strike a balance between friend and stalker, he said, “If we're going to discuss your special powers, we should be somewhere no one can see or hear us.”

“Agreed.” Her brow furrowed as she peered up at the cool morning sky.

He clenched his jaw, willing patience.

Her small hands clutched a satchel which triggered unbidden images of those hands on him. Primal craving shocked him as it erupted with unexpected force. He wanted Allie in his arms. Badly. The mere thought was completely inappropriate, magical even, given his occupation and his bizarre existence. How could he be with anyone in his current state? With effort, he focused on what she was saying.

“If you want to follow me, we can talk at my place.” Her pulse jumped at the base of her throat.

He wanted his lips there.

Not now
.
Focus
. “I'll be right behind you.”

Despite his flaming desire, he refused to betray the trust she'd placed in him. He strode back to his truck. Glancing around the parking lot, he spied a man in a sedan near the far entrance. Peter looked down to put the key in the ignition, and when he raised his head, the vehicle was gone.

The beauty of the low mountains that rose parallel to the county road on the way to Allie's soothed his wretched soul. He followed her vehicle onto a dirt lane that ended at a one-story house, surrounded by pine trees and tucked into the base of the mountain. When he got out of his truck, he turned in a circle and breathed in the fresh scent of the evergreens. The view of the valley and snow-capped Wallowa Mountains turned something heavy in his chest. All this—the house, the trees, the view, the woman—he could never have.

Her welcoming front porch, adorned with a swing and bamboo wind chimes, all but folded him in in a warm embrace. He could almost see the white curtains of his first house fluttering in the light summer breeze from the open windows. He could hear echoes of children playing hoops and hopscotch on the sidewalk in the warm evening air. His wife, Claire, waved through the front window as he returned home. When he worked to make out the details of her face, panic flooded him. Damn it, he'd lost the memory of Claire's face.

He slammed the truck door and followed Allie into the garage.

“Coming?” She had her hand on the garage door switch.

Shaking his head to free memories of a life long gone, he trailed after her into the kitchen. When she flipped on the lights and put her bag down on the counter, a barking hulk launched itself at her.

Peter stepped in to intervene, but she put one foot back and braced for impact with perfect timing. Her smile improved even his cynical nature as she pointed to the floor. The dog dropped to Allie's feet, tongue lolling and tail thumping.

The beast focused on him, growled once, and sniffed his shoes and hands. The dog gave a single bark and then licked his hand, satisfied.

“Ivy likes you,” Allie said.

“Ivy?”

“Actually, it's I.V. I got her in med school. It was my own inside joke.” She shrugged. “Ivy doesn't realize how ginormous she's become. She thinks she's still a puppy.”

He didn't have to reach far to pet Ivy behind the ears. The dog rolled her eyes in ecstasy and the thumping on the floor increased in tempo.

“Oh, and be careful, she's got enough Great Dane in her to make her tail a lethal weapon.”

Ivy whacked him on the leg with said appendage.

Allie grinned. “Coffee?”

“Sounds great.” He petted Ivy while he inhaled the rich aroma of coffee and home, such a wonderful combination of scents.

“Where are you from?” she asked unexpectedly, her calm, green eyes pinning him.

“Ohio. Columbus area.”

“Lots of ice and snow there in wintertime.”

“Very true.” He'd shoveled out the front walkway many times. “Isn't it cold here, though?”

“Sure, but it's drier.”

When she handed him the coffee cup, he didn't miss how she pulled her hand back before he could come into contact with her skin.

He enjoyed a few sips and then cleared his throat. “Uh, could we sit down and talk?”

She led him into the living room and sat at the end of the couch. Ivy flopped at her feet. At Allie's gesture, he sank into a wingback chair with a sigh. For a moment, as he ran his hands over the curling armrests, he was transported back to his own living room years ago.

He forced himself back to the present. “These visions. What happens when you get them?”

She wrapped her hands around the steaming mug and took a sip. “It hurts.” When she paused, he nodded in encouragement. “I don't really know when they will come, but I apparently now will get a warning tingle in my fingers, like with you the other day.” She stared down into the cup. “Sometimes not, and then the vision hits out of the blue.”

“What does it feel like?”

“Imagine a million volts of electricity, mainlined.”

Allie in pain. Unacceptable. “What do you see?”

“Death. It's always about death.”

She reached down and petted Ivy's head. When a sad frown creased her fine features, he gripped the chair arm to keep his hand from smoothing her brow.

He placed his coffee mug on a coaster and leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “When did you start having these visions?”

“I was ten. My dad came home from work. When I went to hug him, it felt like I'd been sucker-punched in the stomach.” She stared blankly into space, rubbing her flat abdomen. “I had such an awful vision of him, withered, in pain, and dying. I ran to the bathroom to throw up. When Dad came to check on me, as soon as he touched me, the visions came back, even worse.”

Peter fought an overwhelming urge to pull her into his arms. The glistening in her eyes tore right through his chest, but he sat immobile.

Don't feel anything
.
Not with this woman
.

“Of course, I had no idea what happened. When Dad asked, I told him everything. I didn't know back then
not
to tell anyone what I saw. He and Mom were horrified. They probably figured I was bipolar or something.” Allie's jaw set and her lips thinned. “Dad was dead of pancreatic cancer three months later.”

“That's terrible.”

“Yes, it was. But what was worse was having my mother blame me for killing him.”

Peter rocked back in the chair. How could her mother say that? “You didn't kill him.”

“I didn't make him better, did I? What use are these stupid visions if I can't prevent what's coming?”

He had an idea of the pain her “gift” caused. “What happened after he died?”

“Mom had a nervous breakdown. Sarah, my older sister, and I took care of Mom ourselves.” She brushed a stray piece of hair away from her cheek.

“Where is your mom now?”

“She kept spiraling downward and got onto Xanax and Oxycontin for anxiety and pain. Then she started binge drinking. Sarah and I tried to help her, but I don't think Mom wanted to live. Every single day, she told me in no uncertain terms exactly how I had killed the love of her life, and how much she hated me.”

“You must have realized how unfair that was.” How had Allie kept from breaking down herself under that kind of emotional onslaught?

“Doesn't matter if it's fair. That's how it was.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Sarah went to college, I graduated high school and left home, and Mom killed herself on pills and alcohol.”

“Brutal.”

She brought her knees to her chest and rested her head on her knees. “Yep, but Sarah and I stuck together. At least she's never accused me of killing anyone. And she always tells me she's not scared that I'll have a vision of her one day.”

“But are
you
scared?” He refused to look away, trying to tear down a little of her wall. “Of seeing the death of someone you care for?”

“Wouldn't anyone be scared? How messed up is that?”

At the quiver in her voice, he fought another urge to haul her into his arms.

Tapping a finger on the rim of the coffee cup, she sighed. “You know, I even tried dating in college. Things were great until I got a vision of a boyfriend. I kept telling myself that seeing his death was ridiculous, that he was twenty-two years old and nothing would happen.”

“And?”

“Dead two weeks later, hit by a drunk driver.” She set down the mug and scrubbed her face with her hands. “The worst part now? I'm receiving more and more frequent visions, and they're becoming more intense. I'm scared to touch anyone, which is kind of inconvenient if you consider my occupation. I'm the angel of death.”