The Empath. Bonnie Vanak

of Shape-shifters!” Her blouse gaped open again, showing a delicious cleft of creamy skin. Nicolas felt his groin grow even heavier. He steeled against it. Control, control. Now was not the time.

      “You don’t believe me. But you will, soon enough. Just as you sense we have something between us.” He took her hand, running his thumb lightly over her knuckles. She shivered at his touch. A pulse throbbed in her neck.

      “I don’t believe in shape-shifters. Or magic. The sexual chemistry between us? Basic human biology.” Her mouth thinned as she yanked her hand away. “I’m a researcher, a doctor of veterinary medicine. So if you’re trying to convince me of anything as nonsensical as this Morph creature, it defies human logic. I need evidence.”

      Nicolas remembered how the Morphs had torn the hunters to pieces. “Don’t underestimate them, Maggie. Morphs are far from nonsensical.”

      Maggie, the scientist, the unbeliever. If he revealed more, she’d grow even more wary. She wanted empirical evidence.

      He wanted to pick her up, and run off with her. Get her out of danger before the Morphs attacked. Not yet. She was still safe. Since she hadn’t displayed any empath powers, the Morphs lacked proof she was the Draicon destined to destroy them.

      He gauged his plan. Tell her to pack now, get the dog in the car and run, and she’d not only balk, but put up such a fuss she’d attract unwanted attention.

      She needed to see to believe.

      He’d dispatched the Morph scout easily, killing him before he cloned. Scouts worked in pairs. In the morning, when it was supposed to check in, another would appear. After intense study of their patterns, he knew what to expect.

      Chances were a Morph wouldn’t appear before morning. But he wouldn’t leave her alone.

      He could mate with her now. But their first time together, he wanted all night. Take it long and slow, not fast and hurried, with the threat of a Morph appearing at her door.

      Besides, Maggie needed evidence that the Morphs existed. Nicolas smiled grimly.

      She’d see plenty tomorrow morning. He felt certain of it.

      Maggie’s swimming head couldn’t process everything. First, the raging desire stripped away all coherent thought, leaving nothing but the urgent need to rub her naked body against this man. Then there was the odd feeling of danger and Nicolas’s mysterious vanishing act.

      Now his assertion that a creature stalked her?

      It was too fantastic. Yet a tiny part of her warned he told the truth. She ignored that voice. If he were truthful, everything she’d built for herself would collapse into rubble. Her life was ordinary, organized and carefully planned. It allowed no room for the whimsical and mysterious.

      No room for childish beliefs such as magic. Magic with a C, not a K, she thought.

      Maggie clenched her fists. No, she said silently. It’s not possible. I only believe in what I can control, or accept that which is beyond my control.

      Some diseases were beyond her control. Death. Misha, dying.

      A small whimpering drew her attention. Maggie jumped from the couch, and staggered into the kitchen. Nicolas followed as she bent down, stroked the newly awakened Misha with a trembling hand. The dog raised her head, regarded Nicolas. Her tail beat the air like a metronome as she licked his hand.

      “She doesn’t take well to strangers lately,” Maggie said, her heart leaping for joy. This was the most life Misha had shown in days.

      “I’m a dog person,” Nicolas murmured, rubbing behind Misha’s ears.

      Maybe now she could finally coax Misha into eating. From the refrigerator, she fished out a plastic tub and tore off the lid. She squatted before the dog, holding out a small piece of cooked chicken. “Look, Misha, your favorite. Please, eat for me. Please, baby. You can do it.”

      The dog reached for the chicken. Wild hope arose. Then a strong male hand seized Maggie’s wrist, pulling the food away. Anger flooded her. “What are you doing?”

      Nicolas was studying Misha with an intent look.

      “Don’t.”

      Maggie’s mouth flattened. “She’s very ill. This is the first food she’s shown interest in.”

      He stroked Misha’s head. “What are you feeding her?”

      What business was it of his? Yet Misha acted animated, continuing to wag her tail as he rubbed behind her ears. Certainly he had a way with animals.

      “Protein. The … mass acts like a cancer. Cancer doesn’t feed well on protein, so I have her on a diet of eggs, meat, poultry, white fish, with raw vegetables and …”

      “Stop feeding her. It’s not cancer.”

      Maggie stared. “What?”

      Nicolas leaned forward as Misha licked his hand. “The disease is different. It feeds off energy. Any food provides Misha with energy, which the diseased cells use to multiply and spread. She’s literally starving to death when she eats and feeding her makes the disease spread.”

      She slapped the food container on the floor. Misha whined. Nicolas arched a brow.

      “Starving to death when I feed her? What do you propose I do, let her not eat and hope that will help? She’s dying, dammit! She’s dying and there’s not a damn thing I can do. All my research has been useless. I’m a vet and I can cure other people’s animals, but not my own dog.”

      Maggie pressed a trembling hand to her face. No more tears. The gentle pressure of a hand squeezing her shoulder made her look up. Nicolas’s expression softened.

      “Maggie, I’m sure you’ve done everything for her. I can tell how much you love her. Don’t give up. Modern science can’t fight ancient, dark magick. Hasn’t your research shown this disease to behave abnormally, unlike anything you’ve ever seen?”

      She remembered how the cells divided when she added a drop of healthy dog blood. How they seemed to almost …

      Eat it.

      Maggie closed her eyes in disbelief. It made no sense. None. Science demanded logic, answers, evaluation. What Nicolas proposed was pure nonsense.

      Her eyes flew open. She jerked away from him and went to the fridge, shoving the container back inside. “If Misha has a new type of disease, there’s a perfectly logical explanation for it.”

      Nicolas stood and parked a lean hip against the arched doorway. “You trusted I was telling the truth before when the Morph was outside. Trust me now, Maggie. Go with your instincts.”

      A bitter laugh escaped. “That wasn’t instinct. It was pure behavioral science. You looked right when I asked you if there was something out there that could hurt me. That indicates you were remembering. If you had looked left, it would have told me you were making up a lie. The eyes reveal more than most people realize.”

      “And so does what’s deep inside a person.” Nicolas advanced. “Don’t look to science, Maggie. Look inside. Stop being logical. Logic has nothing to do with it.”

      He ran a thumb across her cheek. “Logic has nothing to do with this. These feelings we shared toward each other when we met. I know you have them. Don’t fear them. They’re perfectly natural and expected. Just like your parents shared.”

      Maggie studied him, obliquely noticing the lacerations on his face had shrunk. I must be drunk, she rationalized. Wounds didn’t heal that fast. Instead, she focused on the swirling caramel of his brown eyes. Faint memories tugged. Parents. Forest and mountains. Familiar warmth of friends, love, strong bonds. Her father affectionately licking her mother …

      Licking?

      “It’s plain, simple biology,” she asserted, struggling with her emotions as he swept his thumb over