VISIONS OF HEAT

There was no vulnerability in her tone, nothing that gave away her emotional temperature. Then again, she was Psy—she had no feelings. Frowning at the jaguar’s demand to continue holding her, he allowed her to sit up on his lap. When she pushed at his arm, he dropped it so she could stand.

She rubbed her hands over her pants. “Where’s Sascha?”

“I’m here.” Coming out of the kitchen, Sascha handed Faith a glass of water. “Drink.”

Faith did so without argument, then put the glass on the table in front of the sofa. Vaughn watched and waited as she looked around for a place to sit. Lucas had already claimed the armchair and now pulled Sascha to sit across his thighs. Faith was left with the option of sitting beside him or in an armchair on the far side of the room. She took the sensible alternative, but tried to put as much distance between them as she could.

“How’re you feeling?” Sascha asked.

“Fine. But please tell your pack members not to touch me. I have no capacity to process the stimulation.”

Vaughn ran a finger down her cheek. She whipped around to pin him with a look. “I said don’t touch me.”

“When we first met, you’d have threatened to go to pieces with that one touch.” He raised an eyebrow. “Now you can deal.”

She looked at him. “You’re saying you’re desensitizing me.”

“No, Red. I’m sensitizing you.”

Faith looked into those cat eyes and wondered at the intent in them. “I don’t understand you.”

A curve to his mouth, Vaughn leaned back and slung his arm around the back of the sofa. She realized that if she rested her head against the seat, his fingers would brush her hair. It should’ve made no difference to her, but she found herself leaning forward as she began to speak. “I need to learn to stop the visions.”

“Why do you think we can help you?” Sascha asked.

Faith tried to think past her awareness of the changeling beside her. He might’ve decided to act civilized, but that could change at any moment—she had to complete her self-appointed task before he went cat on her. “I don’t. All I know is what I said before—that you won’t turn me in to the Council.”

“How long have you been having the visions?”

“About three months. They’ve been coming on little by little. At first it felt like . . . a heavy weight pressing down on me.” It had crushed her until she’d taken to sleeping in her bed and not the monitored chair. “I began waking up with night sweats, my heartbeat racing so fast I should’ve called the M-Psy, but I didn’t.” Fingers whispered along her hair and she realized she’d somehow leaned backward without being aware of it.

“Sounds like fear to me,” Vaughn said.

“I’m Psy. I don’t feel fear.” Pulling away, she angled her head to face him.

His focus on her was so intense, she felt stripped bare. “Then what would you call it?”

“A physiological reaction to unknown stress factors.”

The slightest hint of a smile played about his lips. “So, what other physiological reactions did you experience?”

She thought he might be laughing at her but had no way of judging the veracity of that conclusion. He was completely unlike any other creature she’d ever come into contact with. “The night sweats deteriorated into what are termed night terrors. I would wake on the verge of screaming, convinced the dark visions had followed me into my waking life.”

When she felt Vaughn’s fingertips threading through her hair once again, she didn’t shift and break the contact. He might be dangerous, but right this second, he seemed to be on her side. And she thought he might be dangerous enough to hold off the visions, unreasonable as that was.

“I don’t know what you see normally. Were these different in more than content?” Sascha rested her head on her mate’s shoulder, lines of concentration creasing her forehead.

Faith nodded. “Usually, my visions are very focused. Even if they don’t start out that way, I can fine-tune them. But these . . . I couldn’t do anything. I would compare it to being in a vehicle with someone else at the wheel.” That had been the most disturbing part. “They were out of my control, but not chaotic.”

Vaughn’s hand slid under her hair to cover her nape. She jerked, but didn’t move away. He was right—she might not be able to beat back the visions, but she could strengthen her capacity to withstand physical stimulation. “But no more,” she said very, very quietly, meeting his gaze.

She was practical enough to realize that she was far from being able to handle everything. For all she knew, her current immunity to the heavy heat of Vaughn’s hand was being fueled by adrenaline. When the inevitable crash came, she could seize worse than she might’ve done if she hadn’t pushed herself.