He shifted the gun, pointed it at the son of a bitch responsible.
A blinding pain tore through his brain as he squeezed the trigger. It increased. Swearing, he screamed, “You can’t have her!”
* * *
CROUCHED on top of the stone fence, hidden by the low-hanging branches, Tucker fought against the pull of his power. On a day like this, it was even harder than normal. Overcast, the thunderheads piling up overhead, and every now and then, lightning would flicker. He could feel it calling out to him . . . play with me, Tucker . . . play with me . . .
It was tempting, so tempting, and here he was, with no time to play, no time to toy with the lure of all that crazy, crazy power. So seductively sweet.
Once the rain hit, all that lovely, lovely energy would be gone. It was a high like nothing else, and even more powerful than normal because of how dry it had been . . . the air was charged, charged and ready for him. So tempting, too easy to give in to it completely, feeling along the line of life and giving in to the urge to play . . . his kind of playing could lead to death. He was already playing with death. Life.
He could feel all of them. Every person around him. All of their energy. All of their lives . . . they called to him like a siren’s song.
But that wasn’t where he needed to go. He couldn’t pull their energy into him. He needed to shove it out.
Bit by bit. He bounced from one mind to another. The most powerful mind wasn’t the one he needed to fuck with. No, the mind he gravitated toward screeched and twisted, black with ugliness. Automatically, Tucker wanted to pull away but he didn’t.
He jabbed at the man’s mind. Hard.
Felt him flinch. Not enough, not enough. Tucker had a way of knowing when he’d pushed hard enough, if he needed to go a little harder . . . and he needed to go a little harder.
“What are you doing?”
The woman’s voice cut into the silence he’d wrapped around himself.
Hissing, he tore his attention away from the task at hand. If he had been anybody important, he wouldn’t have been so careless.
As it was, he heard a harsh, panicked scream—male—coming from the big-ass mansion, one that ended too abruptly, and he didn’t have to guess who it was. Snarling, he looked down, saw her standing on the ground just under the stone wall where he crouched.
It was the beautiful blonde he’d seen just days ago.
Back when this was supposed to just be a favor he was doing for Dru.
Now she had her head tipped back as she studied him, a curious look in her eyes, a smile on her lips.
She was so damned beautiful, Tucker thought, a little dazed.
So damned beautiful.
Something he hadn’t felt in too long burned through his veins.
It wasn’t the fiery burn of his gift. Wasn’t the lure of electricity crackling through the wires or snapping inside the mind of some unsuspecting victim.
Lust. Plain and simple.
Tucker couldn’t even remember the last time he’d felt lust.
It almost laid him low.
As she reached up to lay a hand on his ankle, he jerked his foot away.
“Don’t,” he said shortly.
He couldn’t do contact unprepared. And he suspected if he did contact with her, it wouldn’t matter if he was prepared or not, not considering the way his blood was already buzzing in his veins.
“What are you doing?” she asked again.
Drawing his leg up to his chest, he focused back on the house. That one mind, so loud and chaotic with its rage, had stumbled to a halt after Tucker had clumsily severed his link. “In the market to buy a house,” he said flippantly. “Since I figure this one will be on the market soon, I’m taking a look-see.”
She was quiet. Then, blowing out a sigh, she moved over and leaned against the stone wall, staring toward the house. “You know, it won’t be long before he has agents and cops and shit crawling all over this place. If you don’t want to get caught up in that, you might want to do your house hunting at a later time.” She angled a look up at him, tucking those dense, exotic braids back and studying him with a queer little smile.