I’d never been so aroused, so on the edge but unable to fall just from the touch of a man’s mouth on mine. I wondered if he’d been in the desert making magic beneath the moon, casting a spell over this house, over him and me, over us.
He lifted his head. The slight light of the moon glinted in his eyes, sparkled off his moistened lips, leached the color from his face so he seemed poised like a sepia photograph, something out of the distant past, frozen in time, surreal despite the burning heat of his body. Then he closed his eyes, shutting me out even as he joined us together.
The orgasm was immediate and intense; I cried out. Not his name, I wasn’t that far gone, but a sound both shocked and satisfied, pure woman touched by man in the darkest part of herself.
Out there something answered. Something wild and free. Something other. And Sawyer lifted his head and cried out too, as he spilled himself into me again and again and again.
I was still shuddering with reaction, still hot both inside and out, when he rolled free, got up and walked away. I was so surprised, I didn’t follow at first. Had I really expected him to cuddle?
He wasn’t the type. However, pretending for a few minutes was usually considered mandatory. Not that Sawyer had ever cared about rules or common decency.
Annoyed now, I jumped up and went to the door, but he was gone.
I crossed to the hogan, yanked back the woven mat, and stared at the empty room as a long, low, lonely howl rose from the mountain.
I expected a visit from Ruthie but none came. Maybe because I had such a hard time falling asleep. Without sleep, there are no dreams and so far without dreams there’d been no Ruthie.
I kept listening for Sawyer, drifting off, jerking awake at every brush of the wind, every chitter of a squirrel, each creak of the house or a tree. When dawn arrived I was more exhausted than I’d been the night before, and no further along in my quest for a vision.
I was a failure at this seer gig. Not that I’d wanted it in the first place, but since I appeared to be stuck it would certainly be nice not to be the worst seer in the history of the world.
“Come on,” I muttered. “Let me have it. I’m ready and I’m willing.” But was I able?
I sat up, and the room flickered. Dizziness hit me so hard I wanted to retch. I closed my eyes and—bam—I saw a man.
Or maybe man wasn’t quite the right word.
Strega, Ruthie whispered.
I could see his face—handsome enough, but thin, the bones of his cheeks and nose prominent, the olive-toned skin stretched tightly so he had few wrinkles, yet his seemingly bottomless onyx eyes were ancient.
His hair spilled back from his forehead and down to his shoulders, ebony waves that reflected golden nickers of candlelight. Wisps of smoke trailed here and there before vanishing on the currents of air.
He passed his hands, long-fingered and supple, familiar somehow, over a bowl of liquid on the table in front of him. His lips moved in the rhythm of a chant, though no sound reached me. The liquid rippled—dark and ruby red in the half-light. It looked suspiciously like—
“Blood.”
He glanced up at the word, cocked his head. Had he heard me?
My heart thundered at the idea of this… Strega— whatever that was—seeing me as I saw him. He seemed to be casting a spell, which made him some kind of witch. I’d find out just what kind when the vision ended.
I tried to see everything the vision afforded me. He wore a business suit—black, with an equally black shirt and tie. The effect should have been funereal, but was instead elegant. Probably because of the strong, straight line of his body, the sense that beneath the clothes someone— something—powerful lurked. He appeared both ancient and modern—the candlelight and bowl of blood in contrast to the fashionable suit and silk tie.
The room was modern too, the decor slick chrome and glass. Some kind of office, since I could see a desk with neat stacks of papers and a telephone; the table he stood at was long with chairs positioned every few feet.
Suddenly the Strega dropped his hands and moved toward the curtains, yanking them aside. Sunlight spilled in through the wall of windows beyond which a booming metropolis loomed.
I knew this place. I’d seen it on the television for days on end one September in 2001. From this window I could see the hole in the buildings where the towers had tumbled down. And if that wasn’t a big enough hint, the Empire State Building rose up just to the right on the opposite side of the street.
The Strega was in New York City, and so was Jimmy.
Chapter 29
I came out of the vision with a jerk, tumbling from the edge of the bed and barely catching myself before my face slammed into the floor. Then I lay there, trembling with reaction. Visions kind of sucked.
I managed to get up. I had no time to waste. I needed to call Jimmy. Except my cell phone didn’t have a battery.
I threw on whatever clothes were handy and headed out the door. I ran right into Sawyer.
“I need my phone battery. Now.”
His gaze sharpened. “You had a vision. What did you see?”
“Strega.”