bothering to hide the machete, he walked out the front door.
Eleisha stood frozen in the warehouse as a figure moved from the shadows of the back wall and out into view, and he kept coming closer. Her eyes had adjusted somewhat, and she just stood there, watching him. He was not quite six feet tall, with a solid bone structure and muscular chest. His head was almost shaved, with just a shadow of light brown hair, like a soldier. His face was lean, and his nose had a slight bump in the bridge as if it had once been broken. He wore jeans, boots, and a loose flannel shirt. His eyes struck Eleisha the most. They were almost clear, with a hint of blue.
He was dragging a sword with his right hand.
“This?” he spat, looking Eleisha up and down. “This is your champion, Rose?”
His accent was British, not Russian.
Rose looked at his sword. “Robert, you don’t need that.”
Eleisha felt sick. She’d walked right into a trap. The contempt in the man’s eyes was so thick she almost backed up.
From the moment Wade had fallen unconscious, the night had taken on a surreal quality, and she realized she was still dressed in his old sweatpants and her Hello Kitty tank top . . . with her hair a mess.
It didn’t matter.
She’d had enough of this, and she let her gift seep out, slowly for a few seconds, and then in stronger and stronger waves, sinking it into both their minds.
She would have preferred a straight psychic invasion, as she had used on Julian, but she didn’t know this man, and if he was telepathic, he could block her, and she’d lose any advantage. That was the drawback in fighting unknown members of her own kind. Anyone with telepathy could just block her entry—working with Wade had taught her that much. Instead, she called on reserves inside herself that she’d never sought before, twisting her gift with her newfound psychic ability, weaving subtle illusions inside their perceptions.
They saw her as helpless, frightened, in need of protection, only to a greater degree. She was someone to kill for. Someone to die for.
Rose turned around, her lips parted, her eyes wide.
But Eleisha ignored her and moved toward the man. What had Rose called him? Robert?
Pitching her voice to a near whisper, Eleisha murmured, “Swords frighten me. Please, put it down.”
It fell from his hand instantly, clanging to the floor. She didn’t know how to use it herself and wanted to kick it across the floor, but she feared breaking her connection to him. His eyes were locked on her face.
“I am so afraid,” she whispered. “I need to run. You stay here and protect my way.”
He shifted his weight to his right foot, wavered slightly, and repeated, “Protect your way.”
But then . . . she felt something inside her mind, something pushing back. Robert stumbled forward, and he made a sound like a mortal trying to suck in breath. She could feel him pushing her out.
“Turn it off,” he gasped.
She stepped closer, trying to hold on, wrapping her thoughts around his, making him see her as helpless, frightened, someone he must let run away.
I won’t hurt you, he flashed into mind. Turn it off.
His verbal thoughts were so clear—even clearer than Wade’s—that she felt truth behind them. Who was he?
Still doubting herself, beginning to doubt her own instincts, she shut off her gift.
Rose staggered a few feet back, nearing the staircase.
Robert dropped to one knee as if released from some physical hold, and he placed his palm against the floor. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” he said, looking up at Eleisha, the contempt on his face fading slightly. “Who taught you to do that?”
She just looked at him, studying his lean face and his nearly clear eyes.
“You’re of the wild generation,” he said, his tone growing more demanding. “Who taught you to do that?”
Wild generation? What did he mean?
Rose was gaining control of herself and hurried forward, holding her long green skirt in one hand. “Eleisha, this is Robert Brighton. Forgive me for not telling you anything before, but I swore I would not expose him. He has no reason to trust any of us . . . any more than we have to trust each other.” She paused, standing close to Eleisha, “He agreed to see only you.”
Eleisha looked at her, thoroughly confused now. Rose had not led her into a trap? Could it be that Rose was so determined, so desperate, to bring