Marked by Passion (17 page)

"It's not for lack of her trying." I frowned at Carrie. "You're pretty and smart and talented, too."

"I'm pretty in a Midwestern kind of way. She doesn't aspire to look innocently corn-fed, she strives to be exotic and sexy. Like you. Only like I said before, you don't have to try, because you're that way innately." She held a finger up. "And there's one last important thing."

"What's that?"

"The hunks don't fawn all over me like they do you. Like that British guy."

At Rhys's mention, my palm tingled as if feeling his mark all over again. "He wasn't that hunky."

"Liar. I thought my heart was going to explode with excitement when he took his shirt off."

I rolled my eyes. "I told you he just unbuttoned it a little."

"Even I'd make time for him if he asked me out. Except between school and work, I'd have to stop sleeping to fit him in." She grinned. "I bet he'd be worth it."

Against my will, I felt a surge of warmth through my body, almost as if he were next to me. I remembered how I'd reacted to his whisper of a kiss and silently agreed. Hell, he hadn't even really kissed me yet—not in the soul-deep way I wanted. "If you think that, you need to get out more."

Carrie shrugged as she put a bottle of vodka back in the well. "There's the time thing. And I haven't met any guy that's more interesting than the historical heroes I research for my thesis."

"That's just sad."

"Don't knock it. Some of those historical figures were studs. But I'll take those guys just the same." She nodded at the two who walked in, her smile impish. "There's always time to flirt with a cute guy."

I shook my head and turned to serve the four women waiting at my end of the bar. The first three were easy orders—a glass of wine and a couple gin and tonics. The fourth wanted a Kissin' Candy.

Luckily, I was good at mixing fancy drinks and knew a lot of them by heart, including a Kissin' Candy (which was disgusting, by the way—like a liquefied chocolate-covered cherry). Johnny's tutelage. I couldn't count how many hours he spent teaching me all these obscure drinks no one ever ordered.

When I passed her the glass, she took one sip and grimaced. "This is
terrible."

Was the cream bad? Possible—we didn't make many drinks with cream. "I'll mix you another."

"Of course you will." She pushed the glass back across the counter and tossed her hair behind her shoulders.

I frowned but took the drink. I sniffed at it—it didn't smell off. I would have tasted it, but she seemed like someone who'd have cooties.

Opening a new carton of cream and making sure it was fresh, I mixed another one. "Here you go."

She grabbed it off the counter and took a tentative sip. This time she gagged. "What
is
this? It's certainly not a Kissin' Candy."

"Yes, it is," I said firmly.

"Trust me, it's not. I had one at the resort in Indiana where it was created, and this is nothing like what they served me there. This has amaretto or something in it."

"Right." I nodded. "Because that's what a Kissin' Candy calls for."

"It does not."

I glanced at her friends. To their credit, they appeared embarrassed. It told me they'd seen her act like this before.

Still, I was here to make her satisfied. "Would you like me to make you something else?"

"No." She smacked the counter with the glass. "I want you to make this right."

"It is right," I said through gritted teeth.

"Are you arguing with me? Because I'm in customer relations, and you
never
argue with a customer. At my company—"

Tu ch’i
bubbled up as if it felt my blood boiling and wanted to join in on the party. It shot up through me, filling me, empowering me. It drowned all the ambient noise from the bar, and my tension melted.

But then the woman's whiny voice amplified until it was all I could hear. My shoulders scrunched up toward my ears in an effort to block the noise—it didn't help. If anything, her voice grated even more.

My eyes narrowed as I stared at her.
I want her to stop.
I braced my hands on the bar, ready to tell her to get out, when the entire bar started to shake. Violently.

"Earthquake," someone yelled.

The shout pierced my thoughts, like a bright light cutting through a hazy fog. Suddenly I could see— well enough to know it wasn't really an earthquake. It was me.

I reeled it in, but not before the light fixture overhead broke and fell right on the annoying woman.

"No." I gasped, rushing to the other side of the bar.

She lay there, out cold. Her expression was strangely peaceful, at odds with the large, violent gash on her head. I gaped in shock, unable to breathe, watching the blood flow steadily out of her.

One of her friends knelt beside her. "I can feel her pulse. I think. Someone call 911."

Frozen, I couldn't do anything but stare. The only part of me that wasn't paralyzed was my stomach. It twisted sickeningly, only partially due to residual
tu ch’i.

Minutes later, the paramedics arrived. I watched them do their thing. As they carted her off, I couldn't help myself any longer. I grabbed one of their arms. "Is she going to be okay?"

"She'll live." He frowned. "But it's tricky with head injuries, you know? There may be internal damage."

I nodded, stepping back. I stood there, a hand covering my mouth as they took her away.

Carrie stepped in next to me and half hugged my waist. "Pretty crazy, huh? Are you okay?"

"Peachy," I managed to say as I slipped out from her hug. "Excuse me."

Walking woodenly, I went to the office and scrounged my jacket's pockets. My hands trembled so badly it took several tries before I could extract the cell phone from the pocket. Flipping my phone open, I searched until I found the number I needed.

He answered on the third ring. "Gabby?"

Tii ch'i
rumbled softly, as though protesting my decision.

"Gabby? Are you there?" Concern shadowed his words.

"Yeah, I'm here." Better Paul—the one person I could trust—than Rhys. Yeah, this was best for everyone. "Paul, the scroll is yours."

I
magine my surprise when, an hour later, I looked up from wiping the bar to see Paul walk in.

The moment I saw him,
tu ch’i
struck, doubling me over with the effort not to bring the building down. Still I felt it slipping from my fingertips, so I pressed my fists into my belly. If I let it loose, at least it'd be aimed at me and not anyone else.

"Gabe."
Carrie knelt on the floor next to me, her hand on my back. "Are you in pain? Should I call another ambulance?"

"
No
." I wanted to shake her hand off me—I would
not
hurt her, too—but I was afraid to move. Maybe if I just concentrated.

But I heard her gasp. I managed to lift my head enough to see her hand several inches away from me, pressing against an invisible barrier.

Her eyes were impossibly wide as she tested it. "What is...?"

I had to suck it up. By the sheer force of my will I retracted
tu ch’i
until it was contained back inside me. Just.

Carrie's hand shot forward, knocking my shoulder.

"Ow." I rubbed it. Damn, she had a heavy hand for being so slight.

"What the heck's going on?" She waved around me, her brow furrowed in confusion. "I swear a second ago you were surrounded by some kind of force field."

"Don't say that too loud. They'll come for you with a straitjacket." Using the counter, I hefted myself to standing.

"Yeah, you're right." She took another swipe at the air. "Maybe I've been studying too hard."

"That's probably it," I said, feeling bad about misleading her.

"Gabby?"

I turned to find Paul standing at the bar, worry lines wrinkling the space between his eyebrows. "I didn't expect to see you tonight," I said.

He studied me, his frown deepening. Stretching across the counter, he felt my face. "Do you have a fever? You're pale and sweaty."

Something inside melted at the apprehension in his voice. "I'm okay. I was just overwhelmed for a second." I reached out to Carrie, but I stopped short of contact, afraid I wasn't safe yet. "Can you keep things under control? I need a quick break."

"Of course." She shooed me with both hands. "Go. I've got it covered."

"Thanks." I untied my apron and stumbled out from behind the bar.

Paul took my arm to steady me. "Did something happen?" he asked in a low voice.

"Um, you could say that."

"Then it's good that I came." He led me to the table in the dark corner, the one Rhys preferred. "I'll take the scroll off your hands and you won't have to worry about it anymore."

"I don't have it on me."

"My car is waiting outside. After you get off work, we'll stop by your place and pick it up."

Shaking my head, I blinked away the sudden tears. "You're so good to me."

"I'm your big brother," he said as if that explained everything.

He was, and he was really good at protecting me. But I was his sister, too, and how well would I be protecting him if I let him have the scroll? Rule number four stated whoever possessed the scroll also possessed its power. I couldn't control it, and I was marked. How would he be able to deal? Even if he just locked it up in a safe, he'd be susceptible to its pull—I was certain of that with every throbbing molecule in my body.

I needed to rethink this. I pressed my hand to my forehead. Hard to think when your head was about to split open.

"Gabby." Paul reached across the table and took my other hand. "I'm really worried about you. Maybe we should go pick it up now."

"
I need to think."
I closed my eyes. "Tomorrow. Let's talk about this tomorrow."

"Tomorrow may be too late." He took hold of my hand in both of his, his eyes warm with serious concern. "This is really taking its toll on you. I can't lose you to this, too, Gabby."

I couldn't lose him, either, and if I surrendered the scroll and its power to him, I was afraid that was exactly what would happen.

I
wouldn't
lose him. Which meant I'd have to find another solution for the scroll. "No."

"No what?"

"No, I can't give you the scroll."

He frowned. "Are you sure that's a good idea? You look like you're falling apart."

"Yes, I'm positive."

Squeezing my hand, he leaned across the table. "You're exhausted, Gabby. Sleep on this and we'll talk tomorrow. If you still feel strongly about keeping it, fine, but right now you're not in the right space to make such an important decision."

Fair enough. I nodded. "But I'm telling you I doubt I'll change my mind again."

"I only want what's best for you, Gabby." He squeezed my hand and stood up. "Are you up to working tonight? I can give you a ride home."

"No, I'm better now." I got up and hugged him tight. "I—Thank you."

He held me for a long moment and then released me slowly. "Take care of yourself. Call me if you need me, whatever time of day."

"Okay."

A tug of my ponytail was his good-bye. I watched him leave, wishing I'd told him how much I loved him. Those three words just didn't come easily to my tongue.

I dragged my carcass back behind the bar. Carrie looked at me in question, and before she could ask I said, "I'm fine. Really."

She reached around me for a bottle of Grey Goose. "You don't look fine."

"How do I look?"

"Like you were run over by a truck."

I nodded. Accurate analogy.

"You aren't dating the rich guy, are you?" she asked, returning the bottle back to the shelf.

At first I thought she meant Rhys, but then I realized she was talking about Paul. "No. Of course not."

"Oh, good. Can you hand me a Bud from the fridge?"

"Why?"

"Because a customer ordered one."

I would have rolled my eyes if I'd had it in me. As it was, bending for the beer was more effort than I was capable of. "No, I mean why is it good I'm not dating Paul?"

She shrugged as she began mixing another drink. "Something about him rubs me wrong."

"He's my brother," I admitted as I slid the beer toward her.

"Oh, crap." She stopped mid-shake, turning red from her chest all the way to her hairline. "I didn't mean—"

"It's okay." I smiled reassuringly at her. "I've noticed he can be overbearing to the help. Normally, he—"

"Normally, he gets what he wants. At least that's how he looks." Carrie frowned as she poured the drink into a glass. She gave me a pointed look as she wiped the counter. "Be careful not to get between him and whatever that is."

It was on my tongue to defend him, but Carrie went to deliver the drinks before I had the chance. It was okay. I could understand how she'd get that impression of him. I just knew him better.

My birthmark pricked in warning, and
tu ch’i
surged again—not as strongly as before, but given my depleted state, it was more than I could handle. I mumbled a quick excuse to Carrie as I rushed out of the bar to the alley in back.

I was doubled up against a wall when I heard the back door open. Figuring it was Carrie checking up on me, I waved blindly. "Go away."

Strong hands hauled me up. Muffling a cry, I bit my lip to keep the energy contained inside me.

"Shite." He propped me between the wall and his body, freeing a hand to lift my face. "How long have you been this way?"

Rhys. I whimpered with relief. If anyone could help, it'd be him.

He cursed under his breath and tipped my head back. I was about to protest that his grip was too firm, but he covered my mouth with his before I could utter a syllable.

My hold on
tu ch’i
dissolved. I panicked, mentally flailing to keep it together, but then I felt reassuring heat and the cocoon Rhys wove around us.

Safe. I let go a little more, opening to him, drawing his warmth into me. But something widened between us, a chasm that scared me, and I started to step back.

Only he didn't let me. His hold on me tightened, and with a moan he deepened the kiss and pushed us both into the uncharted territory. But he must have sensed how freaked out I was, because just as abruptly he pulled us back to the present.