her attention. It was the sense of . . . familiarity she felt. As if she knew him. Had known him. His black hair hung to his shoulders, his broad chest was covered by a bloodred shirt and his faded black jeans clung to muscular thighs. His arms were folded across his chest and his pale gray eyes were fixed on her.
“It’s you,” she said, remembering now how the reflection of the flames engulfing her had danced in his eyes. That explained the familiarity, she told herself. “You were there. You got me away from that mob.”
“I did.”
“Why? Not that I’m not grateful, but why would you do that for a stranger?”
“You’re not a stranger,” he said, his deep voice rumbling through the room with all the power of the crashing waves below.
“But I don’t know you.”
He took a step toward her and Shea instinctively backed up until she felt the cold, damp balcony railing slam into the small of her back.
“You do,” he insisted, never taking his mesmerizing eyes off her. “Your body recognizes mine even if your mind is still closed to me.”
Shea was forced to admit that he was right about that much, anyway. The sense of recognition she felt toward him went deeper than just the incident from that afternoon. She couldn’t understand it. She was sure she’d never seen him before, and yet there was . . . something. The closer he came, the more her body practically hummed with anticipation. But she deliberately ignored it. Sex wasn’t the first thing on her mind at the moment. Terror was superseding everything else.
Shea swallowed hard and asked, “Who are you?”
“Torin.”
“That tells me nothing,” she said. “Your name doesn’t explain who you are or why and how I’m here.”
“You know how. I brought you here.”
“Yeah, you did,” she said, remembering the flames surrounding her. “But why?”
He shoved his hands into the back pockets of his jeans and shrugged. “It was that or let the crowd kill you. Would you have preferred that?”
“No. No, I wouldn’t.” Shea inhaled slowly and then let the air slide from her lungs. She remembered the mob circling her—and he was right. They would have killed her—with the blessing of the MPs. After all, a dead witch meant no paperwork.
“You have nothing to fear from me,” he said. “Surely you know that.”
“How would I know that?” She shook her head and concentrated on the chill dampness seeping into her body from the balcony railing. At least that was tangible. Real. Nothing else seemed that way at the moment. “One minute I’m about to get stoned to death or something and the next I’m standing in fire and you’re . . .” She scrubbed her hands up and down her upper arms in a futile attempt to rid herself of the bone-deep cold that permeated her body. “Oh, God. You were in that fire.”
“Yes.”
“So was I! But you’re not burned.” She looked down at her hands as if to reassure herself again that her skin wasn’t blistered and charred. “Neither am I. How is that possible?”
“Long story,” he said. “But we’ll have time for it all. Now that you’re here—”
“Wherever ‘here’ is,” she muttered.
“My home. You’re in Malibu. You’re safe.”
“And I should take your word for that?”
“I saved you, didn’t I?” His mouth tipped briefly to one side in a smile that lived and died in an instant. “I should get points for that.”
“If a hungry tiger saved me from a bear, should I be relieved?” Shaking her head, she said, “No, I don’t think so. And what happened to the man who grabbed me in the parking lot and—” Her memory dredged up the horrifying images. “I—I—”
“Set him on fire,” he finished for her.
“Oh, God, I did . . .” She caught her breath, then locked her gaze with his. “Like Aunt Mairi. But I didn’t mean to. Didn’t even try to. How could I have known that would happen?”
“You’ve had the dreams,” he said, moving closer still until she was no more than an arm’s reach away. “You felt changes rippling through your body. I know you have because the Awakening is on you.”
“Awakening?” She knew that word. But how? And was that really the most important consideration at the moment?
“The Awakening was foretold centuries ago. When the last great coven cast a spell of atonement.”
Atonement. She shivered as he spoke, his words creating images in her mind. Images that were at once foreign and familiar.
“Each witch was to live without magic