Circle Of Fire

Chapter Five

Fear surrounded him, an acid cloud that stung his mind and forced him awake. Jon jerked upright and, for an instant, wondered where he was.

The morning sun peeped around the outer edges of the curtains, gilding the framed painting opposite the bed. He half smiled. He had to be at the inn—there couldn't be many paintings around that used such appalling colors to depict a farmyard setting. Or many places that would hang it on their walls.

So why was Maddie in his room? And why was she so afraid?

He shoved the blankets aside and swung his feet out of the bed, then stopped, staring down at his legs.

Speaking of appalling colors, why in hell was he wearing these sweat pants? They were Maddie's—he could smell the lingering scent of roses. But what had happened to his clothes?

He couldn't recall much about the last half of last night, and what he did remember was a blurred nightmare he never wanted to repeat.

The fear swirled around him again. He rose too quickly and had to grab at the bedpost to remain upright. Although fast healing was a gift of his heritage, it would be a day or two yet before he would recover fully from the wound and the resulting blood loss. He took a deep breath, then padded quietly across the room.

"The room's a shambles—can't you come back later to fix the window, Mr. Stewart?"

Maddie's voice stopped him near the bedroom door. There was nothing in her soft tones to indicate the fear he could almost taste.

"Hank," the stranger replied. "And I'm afraid not. It's either now, or it won't get done for several days.

Last night's storm caused a bit of damage, I'm afraid."

There was an underlying threat in the man's tone, one that told him the stranger wouldn't take no for an answer. But why was the man so determined to get into his room? And why didn't he seem surprised to find Maddie here?

Maddie's fear jumped a notch. Maybe she could sense the unspoken menace in the stranger's voice. She cleared her throat softly, then said, "Okay then."

Until he knew who was responsible for shooting him, he couldn't risk being seen with her. He'd put her into enough danger by simply asking her to rescue him. He walked across to the wardrobe and edged the door closed, only leaving a minute gap to see through.

Maddie walked in a second later. Her gaze went to the bed, then swept quickly to the wardrobe. She smiled tightly and continued on to the window. Her hair was a tangled mess of ringlets that bounced along with every movement. He'd been wrong about the color being chestnut. It was more a rich, red gold that hung down her back like a river of flame. The fluffy white sweater she wore hung to her thighs, and did nothing for the slender figure that had brushed against him last night and haunted his dreams. But at least her legs were clad in dark green leggings, not baggy old sweat pants—probably because he was wearing them.

She was, he thought with a slight smile, all color and energy and warmth, despite the fear that hung like a storm all around her.

The only outward sign of this was her hands, clenched by her side. Jon hoped she kept her gaze well away from the stranger. Her eyes were too expressive. One look into the amber flame of her gaze, and the stranger would know she was hiding something—or someone.

The man who followed her into the room was big. Not tall, just built like a man who'd spent half his life lifting weights.

And he wasn't the same Hank Stewart that Jon had seen pictures of several days before, although they looked enough alike to be brothers.

Maddie opened the blinds, and sunlight streamed in. The stranger winced and stepped back into the living room. A second man brushed past him, carrying a toolbox and a small pane of glass.

Jon studied the man now passing himself off as the night manager. Was he merely light sensitive, or did he have a more sinister reason for hiding from the sun? Was he dealing with something as simple as a vampire?

The big man shifted, moving back to the doorway. The sunlight touched him and, for an instant, revealed a gaunt, weathered face and muddy-brown eyes that were as dead as stone. Jon blinked, and the image was gone, replaced by the open, friendly face of Hank Stewart.

The man wasn't a vampire. Only the very ancient vampires could stand the touch of the sun, and the stranger certainly didn't have the presence of something old and powerful that was evident in ancient bloodsuckers.

Yet a faint wisp of dark magic told him that the stranger wasn't entirely human, either. He frowned.

Scattered images ran through his mind, erratic memories of last night's events. This man had been in his room then, too, and with him had been a shapeshifter. Could it have been the same shifter he'd seen in the forest? Surely a town as small as Taurin Bay couldn't have more than one in the area?

The minutes ticked by slowly. Eventually, the repairman came out of the bathroom and gave Maddie a smile. "All mended and cleaned up."

She nodded and crossed her arms, staring at the night manager. The man posing as Hank Stewart was frowning at the wardrobe. There was no real indication he suspected Jon was hiding there, nothing more than a deepening of his frown before he turned away. Maddie followed the two men out of the room.

He stepped from the wardrobe and walked to the bed. Maddie came back into the room and stopped, her eyes showing the uncertainty he sensed in her.

"How are you feeling this morning?"

Her voice was soft and slightly husky, and as warm as a whiskey on a cold night. A sound any man could get used to. He wondered if it was natural, or caused by fear.

"Better," he said. "Though I would like to know how I got into these… pants."

Her gaze ran down his body then danced away, and he had to stop himself from smiling when he saw the blush creep across her cheeks.

"Your clothes were soaked, and I didn't want you running around naked."

After the flight here last night, he wouldn't have been able to run anywhere. And she still hadn't explained why she'd dressed him in her clothes instead of his own. "So why didn't you just get something out of my bags?"

The look she gave him was both wary and confused. "This is my room. Your clothes aren't here."

He glanced across at the painting. "This is the Captain's suite, isn't it?"

"Yes." She hesitated, and a flash of understanding ran through her eyes. "You were staying here, too—before someone took that potshot at you?"

Potshot. What a quaint way of putting the attempt on his life. "Yes. Looks as though someone didn't expect me back, either."

She shifted from one foot to the other then crossed her arms. He wondered if her uneasiness stemmed from the situation or his presence in her bedroom. "Someone obviously suspects you're still alive, though," she said softly.

The only thing obvious was that she was in serious danger. The night manager, or the man now masquerading as him, wouldn't have been acting so suspiciously if he didn't suspect her somehow. For her own safety, she had to leave.

But something told him that getting her to leave wasn't going to be an easy task.

His thoughts stilled… were the things he'd hidden behind the bathroom vent still there? Christ, he hoped so. He'd hate to have to tell his old man that he'd lost the ring. It was a family heirloom and had survived five generations of Barnett males. He wanted to pass it on to his own son one day. Not that that looked likely, given his present job.

He resisted the urge to get up and check. If it was gone, there was nothing he could do about it now. It was more important to sort out what was going on and find the missing kid before the next new moon.

"You're right. Someone does suspect I'm alive, which means you'll have to leave, Madeline."

"Please don't call me that. I prefer Maddie."

She wouldn't meet his gaze, but he caught her flash of pain anyway. Who had hurt her so badly that she now hated her given name? "Maddie, did you hear what I said?"

"Yes. But I'm not leaving."

"You have to—" "I don't have to do anything!"

He raised his eyebrows at the vehemence in her voice. Pain ran through the swirl of emotions coloring her aura, a river of tears she would never shed. Her gaze was determined when it met his, and anger stained her cheeks a pretty pink.

"My nephew disappeared two nights ago. I want you to help me find him."

Damn.He ran a hand through his hair. Two teenagers this time, and only five days to the new moon. "I'll find him, but you have to go back home. I can't protect you twenty-four hours a day, and someone must suspect you're somehow connected with me." Why else would the stranger be so interested in the room?

She clenched her hands and glared at him. Even half-closed and full of anger, her almond-shaped eyes were lovely.

"I don't expect you to protect me. I can look after myself, thank you."

"Don't be ridiculous. These people have already tried to kill me. I don't want you hurt."

"I don't want me hurt, either, but I'm not going anywhere until I find Evan."

Her determined expression told him arguing was useless. Still, he had to try. "Damn it Maddie, be reasonable. This is my job. Let me do it without having to worry about you getting hurt—or getting in the way."

He rose from the bed and stepped towards her. Terror flashed through her eyes, and she backed away quickly. He stopped in surprise. It was almost as if she were afraid he was going to hit her.

The thought shook him. There had been women in his past who'd called him uncaring and arrogant, but usually they had wanted more from the relationship than he'd ever been prepared to give. But never had he been accused of violence towards a woman, not by word or deed.

There was no way for her to know this, of course. They were virtual strangers, brought together by unusual circumstances. But what had he done to make her fear he was one of those morons who lashed out?

He raised his hands and sat back down. After a minute, the tension seemed to leave her body, and a slight flush invaded her cheeks. It wasn't him she was frightened of, he realized. Her reaction had been automatic.

"You saw the arrow. You saw the damage it did. I was lucky, but you might not be."

She raised her chin slightly, as if denying the fear he could almost taste.

"I can take care of myself," she repeated softly.

A flicker ran through her eyes—an emotion too fast for him to identify. He frowned. With her clenched hands almost lost in the sleeves of her oversized sweater, she looked absurdly young. Yet her reactions—and her fear—told him she was no stranger to pain and death. He had no doubt that she could take care of herself under normal circumstances. But this situation was far from normal.

"You're a fool if you believe that," he said harshly, wincing inside even as he did so. "And I won't be held responsible for your safety."

She'd no doubt saved his life, and while he had no wish to hurt her, if she wouldn't listen to reason, he had little other choice. His job, and his life, made him a dangerous person to be around. Hell, wasn't that one of the major reasons he'd cut himself off from his family?

"Just keep out of my way. The last thing I need right now is an amateur detective screwing up the clues."

"I'll get in your way if I feel it's damn well necessary," she snapped back, then blushed again and took a deep breath.

Someone knocked at the door, and she glanced at her watch. "That's probably the late breakfast I ordered. Your clothes are dry and hidden under the towels in the bathroom. Why don't you take a much-needed shower and meet me in the living room?"

So, not only would he not be obeyed, but he also stunk. He suppressed a grin, liking the sudden hint of fire. She studied him a moment longer, gaze narrowing, then she spun and walked away, her flame red hair and white fluff sweater flouncing along with every movement. He shook his head and headed for the shower. It wasn't going to be easy to get rid of her, especially if she kept making him smile.

Maddie kicked the door shut and carried the large tray over to the table. The smell of bacon and eggs turned her stomach slightly, but she'd figured Jon was more a traditional type when it came to breakfast.

Just in case she was wrong, she'd ordered cereal, as well as a yogurt for herself.

Grabbing the yogurt and a spoon, she dragged out the nearest chair and sat down. How could she tell Jon about her visions of Evan and his captor without having him think her strange? Though that was something she should be well used to. So many times in the past she'd been called weird, or worse, when the trancelike state of the dreams hit her.

Her dad had even hauled her through dozens of psychiatrist's offices in the vague hope they'd cure her

'illness'.

She grimaced. Fat lot of good it had done him or her.

She scooped up some yogurt and stared at the small fire she'd lit in the hearth earlier. It was hard to judge how Jon would react, because it was hard to put him in one particular type of box. In the brief time she'd known him he'd been caring and gentle and funny, and yet he had switched so easily to being an ungrateful bastard.

Would he think her a freak, as Brian had? Probably. It was a thought that scared her more than it should have.

And yet, he'd somehow appeared in her home, asking for help and warning her about Evan. She wasn't sure if it was astral travel, some form of telepathy, or something else entirely—and in the end, it didn't really matter. If he could do that, then surely he would understand when she explained about the visions.

He walked into the room several minutes later, and she almost choked on her yogurt. How could any man manage to walk when his jeans were so tight? Not that she was complaining… there was nothing nicer than a set of well-defined thighs in tight jeans. Except, maybe, a well-defined rear, and, to her disappointment, his shirttails covered that.

He glanced at her, a hint of a smile dancing across his lips and touching the bright depths of his eyes.

Heat invaded her cheeks again. Good lord, I really do hope he can't read my thoughts.

She quickly averted her gaze and took another spoonful of yogurt, only looking up after he sat down.

"I gather most of this is for me," he said in amusement.

"Wasn't sure what you'd want, so I ordered a mix."

He nodded, sending shimmers of gold running through his damp hair. Maddie watched him reach for the plate of bacon and eggs, and she smiled. Right the first time. The smell wafted across the table, and she wrinkled her nose.

"I gather from your expression you don't like bacon."

She glanced up. From the way he arched his eyebrow, she gathered she'd scored another point against herself. Not that it matters. He doesn't have to like me to help me find Evan. "No. I had a pet pig when I was a kid that became a family meal when it was big enough. Haven't been able to eat pork since."

"Ah, I see."

She wondered if he did. His easygoing manner told her he'd never wanted for friendship—that he'd never been forced to find companionship from a pet because he couldn't find it anywhere else.

"I noticed an incense burner on the mantle," he said. "Would you like me to light it?"

She nodded, surprised he'd even noticed the burner, let alone offer to light it, especially given his earlier hostility.

He walked to the mantle, and she resisted the temptation to watch him, only looking up when he sat back down. He placed the burner between them and flashed her a smile that made her heart do an odd flip-flop.

She obviously needed to sleep. She had to be exhausted if a simple smile sent her over the edge. She glanced away from the warmth of his gaze and found herself staring instead at his long, strong hands. For the first time since she'd first met him, she noticed he was wearing a ring. She was oddly relieved to see it was on his right hand, not his left.

Maybe she should get another room. Being confined with this man for any length of time was not a good idea. Especially if he keeps wearing those damn jeans.

She ran the spoon around the edge of the container, collecting the last of the yogurt. The small candle flickered and danced, and the smell of incense wafted towards her. She put the empty container on the table and sniffed the fragrance.

The pit of her stomach suddenly fell. Citrus smoke—the same sweet smell that had been in Evan's room.

Darkness swept around her. She gripped the edge of the table fiercely, fighting the desire to follow wherever the dream might lead. Please, don't let this happen to me now. Why couldn't it hit when she was alone? As much as she wanted to find Evan, she didn't want Jon to see her trapped in a vision.

"Maddie? Are you okay?"

No, I'm not! Can't you see that? I've never been all right.But she couldn't speak as the darkness encased her, sweeping her along for the ride…

Smoke coiled around the cabin, a dark plume that filled the twilight with the rich scent of citrus. In the far corner lay Evan and the other teenager, the mounds of their bodies almost lost amongst the heavy blankets covering them.

But her dream was not here for them this time. It swirled away, centering on the opposite side of the cabin. Two figures were silhouetted against the dancing light of a bright fire. Though she could see no features or clothing, it was obvious from their size and shape that one was male, the other female.

"Maddie."

The soft voice broke through the dream. For an instant, the vision wavered, shimmering like a pond whose shiny surface is disturbed by a stone.

"Maddie, tell me what you see."

Jon's hand slid over hers, warm and strong. Maddie wished she could let go of the table and hold his hand, hold him, but the dream held her in its grip. She couldn't move.

"What do you see?" he repeated softly.

"Evan." She licked her lips. For the first time in her life she forced herself to concentrate on her vision.

Despite the fire, the cabin was cold. The breath of the two figures condensed as they spoke, hanging in the air like smoke. Beyond the cabin confines, the wind howled, rattling windows she couldn't see.

"Tell me what else you see."

"It feels like snow." Chill fingers of air crept around her, and she shivered.

"Do you see any people?"

"Two. Male, female." The woman had long hair that she brushed away with a cat's paw. "She has claws.

Cat's claws."

"Are they talking? Can you hear what they're saying?"

"Only the woman speaks." And though her voice was soft, its mellow sound stung Maddie's ears, as grating as fingernails across a blackboard.

"What is she saying?"

"I don't know."

"Listen harder. Concentrate on the sound of her voice."

Jon squeezed her hand, running warmth through her body. She licked her lips, trying to do as he asked.

Like a radio suddenly tuned, the woman's voice leapt into focus, and she told Jon, "She plans an attack.

Tonight."

"Who does she plan to attack?"

"I don't know—" She hesitated.

The woman turned. There was malice on her face, malice in the air, so thick Maddie suddenly struggled to breathe. Jon called her name urgently, but he sounded so very far away. She stared at the woman with the vibrant green eyes until they all but filled her vision, became a turbulent ocean awash with venom.

"You are mine," the woman spat. "Mine."

Maddie screamed, and the dream disintegrated into darkness.

"Maddie, come back to me."

She didn't respond, didn't move. She breathed rapid gasps that shuddered through her body, and sweat trickled down her cheeks. Jon thumbed the droplets away. Her skin was cold, despite the room's heat.

He frowned and glanced at the fireplace. Flames flickered, slowly catching the small logs she must have placed there earlier. But the temperature in the room seemed to have jumped ten degrees in the last few minutes, and the fire certainly couldn't account for it. Imagination, or something else?

She suddenly pushed his hand away, her eyes wide and unfocused like a dreamer fighting a dream. Her fear smothered him, making it difficult to breathe, to concentrate. He wondered why he was so open to her when he'd spent most of his life perfecting the art of blocking other people's emotions—and his own.

She pushed her fingers through her hair, her hands shaking. He sat back on his heels, watching her carefully. Something had frightened her enough to rip her from the vision, but she was not yet aware of him or their surroundings. Her mind was still caught in the backwash of the trance.

Which meant her gift was raw. Few trained clairvoyants were unable to pull out of a vision cleanly. He wondered how strong her gift was, how true. And how long she'd gone without seeking help. He suddenly wished he could call his mother. She was a strong clairvoyant and would know how to handle this situation.

"Maddie," he said softly.

The amber fire in her eyes began to burn more brightly as her awareness returned. She blinked rapidly, then took a deep, shuddering breath. The blanket of fear intensified.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. She pushed the chair backwards and scrambled to her feet, every movement frantic, as if desperate to escape.

He reached out to caress her hand, but she jerked her fingers away from his touch. He frowned and rubbed his fingertips together. Now her skin was burning hot. What the hell was going on?

She stopped in front of the fire, her back to him, her stance withdrawn. She looked isolated and very, very frightened. The firelight ran through her hair, making it burn a vibrant, molten gold. Such a pretty color, he thought, and so at odds with the darkness that seemed to haunt her.

He had no real experience in dealing with untrained talents, and no real time to help her. Not with only five days to find the missing kids. But any information, however small, might provide the breakthrough he needed. She'd definitely seen something in that dream, and that something just might make his task of rescuing the kids easier.

He sat astride the chair. Though she made no sound, her shoulders tensed. She was ready for a blow, whether verbally or physically. Anger uncoiled in his belly, and for an instant, he was very glad he'd only just met her. Otherwise, he might have been tempted to seek out the fool who'd hurt her so badly.

He leaned his forearms against the wooden backrest and fully opened the gate to his empathic abilities.

He needed her to talk to him, and he had a feeling he'd require all his resources. One wrong word and she'd retreat further, mentally if not physically.

"Your gift is nothing unusual, Maddie," he said softly.

She laughed. It's harshness made him wince. "What do you know about it? Have you ever suffered these dreams, or the endless taunts of your friends?"

He held back a slightly bitter smile. In the ten years he'd worked for the Damask Circle, he'd seen and suffered more than she could ever imagine. "Clairvoyance is not so bad once you learn to control it."

Her fingers clenched by her side. "But I can't control it. I can't control any of it."

He had an odd feeling she wasn't talking about clairvoyance when she spoke of control. Did she have another gift she couldn't contain? "Didn't anyone try to teach you? Your mother, perhaps?"

Again she laughed bitterly. "No."

That one word spoke volumes. Obviously, she'd been left on her own to cope with her gift. Why?

Abilities like this usually ran through generations, so surely there had been someone to guide her.

"Did your parents even know you were gifted?"

"They thought I was deranged." Though her voice was bitter, her confusion washed over him, along with a hint of guilt.

He wondered why. "Did they seek outside help, then?"

"Only in the form of psychiatrists." She snorted softly. "I lived a small town, Jon, with small town fears. I was an oddity, a freak. My parents tried very hard to make me appear normal, but people knew."

The horror of her childhood was evident in the dark swirl through her aura. He silently cursed the fools who had brought her up to fear, even loathe, her gift.

"Then tell me about your gifts." It was evident from the way she stood that he wouldn't get much more about her past until she trusted him more.

"There's nothing to tell. I'm just a freak."

If she was a freak, then what was he? What would she say if she ever saw him change? Not that she ever would. That was one secret he shared with the very few people whom he trusted completely.

"Maddie, you have a gift that can be valuable if you want to save your nephew. It doesn't make you a freak."

Only the attitude of uncaring people could do that. And someone in her past, someone other than her parents, had obviously torn her to shreds over her gift. He sensed that much.

He flexed the tension from his fingers and glanced at the clock on the wall. Ten o'clock. Time was running out. If he didn't get moving soon, another day would be wasted. "Tell me about the people you saw."

Her shoulders tensed again. "I told you what I saw. It doesn't make sense."

To her, it wouldn't. She didn't know the woman was a shapeshifter, and he had no intention of telling her. It would only lead to questions he didn't want to answer. "The clairvoyant image isn't always clear, especially if you haven't been trained. Sometimes you have to interpret."

Finally, she turned around and looked at him. He was pleased to see the fear in her eyes had retreated slightly.

"How do you know so much about clairvoyants?"

He smiled. "My mother and three of my sisters are clairvoyants."

She raised a pale eyebrow, the ghost of a smile touching her lips. "Three of your sisters? Just how many do you have?"

"Five sisters and two brothers. You?"

The warm light in her eyes faded, to be replaced by ice. "A sister," she muttered, looking away. "My brother died when I was young."

And Maddie felt guilty about it. He wanted to ask why, but knew he'd pushed enough for one day. "Tell me about the cabin you saw."

She shivered and rubbed her arms. "It was an old log cabin. I could see the gaps between the logs, so it wasn't insulated or anything."

"There are probably dozens of cabins fitting that description, but at least it gives me somewhere to start."

She frowned at him. "Gives us, you mean."

He really did admire her determination, even if it also annoyed him. "I don't intend to argue about this—" "Good, because I'm going."

Jon swore softly, but knew he couldn't afford to say any more—at least not here at the inn where his voice might be heard.

The heat in the room was quickly abating. Maddie pushed warm strands of hair from her eyes then crossed her arms. It was more a defensive action than an attempt to stave off the rising chill in the air. The fire, he noted, definitely wasn't the source of the earlier warmth.

"How are you going to get out of the inn without being seen?" she said "Same way I got in—via a window."

He could manage a brief flight to the heavily treed park just down the road from the shops. He hoped.

His first priority was to replace his missing clothes. He might not feel the cold that much, but walking around in short sleeves would only draw unwanted attention. That was something he certainly didn't need right now. Then he'd go retrieve his truck—which had, no doubt, been towed away from the three hour parking zone where he'd left it. With a bit of luck, the weapons he'd stashed in the specially built compartment would still be there.

She raised an eyebrow. "And where will I meet you?"

He scratched his head but knew there was no getting rid of her. Not this time. "There's a small cafe called Emerson's near the bridge." He'd heard it mentioned the night he disappeared. There was an odd chance he still might find a clue there. Besides, the breakfast she'd ordered had to be cold by now, and he was hungry. "Get us a table, and I'll meet you there in an hour."

She nodded and grabbed her old coat off the nearby sofa as she walked towards the door. Then she stopped and turned around, her amber eyes searching his. "You won't leave me sitting there, will you?"

"No," he said, and wondered who had.

She hesitated, her gaze still searching his. After a moment, she gave a small nod and continued on towards the door. He wondered what she'd seen in his eyes that made her trust him when she obviously trusted so very few.

He listened to the sound of her steps fading down the hall, then tugged his father's ring from his finger once again and walked into the bathroom. He wished he could take it with him, but it was made of silver and wouldn't change. He placed it back behind the vent then slid open the window. The wind whistled in, but he ignored its chill touch and leaned out. No one was near. Good.

He reached down, deep within his soul and called to the wildness. It came in a rush of power that filled his vision with gold and dulled his senses as it shaped and changed his body. Then the freedom of the sky was his, and he leapt towards it on golden-brown wings.