Chapter 3

This was insane. Drake pulled in a deep, steadying breath, but only managed to fill his lungs with her scent. Lilacs. She smelled like lilacs.

Drake didn't have a freaking chance of resisting her. He was a goner, completely over-the-edge insane. He leaned down until his nose was tucked into the curve of her neck, and breathed her in. There was nothing he could have done to stop himself, and the fact that she didn't flinch away only made him that much crazier.

The silky strands of her braid teased his nose and the supple band of the luceria around his neck hummed happily, sending a shiver shooting down his back. He felt something shift inside him. Deep and hard, almost painful. This woman had changed him somehow, with her mere presence, and he would never be the same again.

Whoever she was, he was keeping her.

Helen didn't dare move. Not with Vision Man standing so close, nearly touching her. She felt his warm breath spread out over her neck, swirl up around her ear.

He was purring—a low, deep sound of satisfaction—and that purr resonated inside her.

All she could see was the side of his thick neck where it joined his shoulder, the curl of his dark hair, and a section of the necklace he wore—some sort of iridescent choker about a quarter inch wide. Every color imaginable swirled inside the supple band as the lights of the diner played off its surface. She felt the urge to touch it to see if it was as slippery as it looked, if it was warm from his skin.

Instead, she hugged her purse more tightly against her chest, holding still, praying he'd move away from her before she lost her head and stroked her finger over the band.

She was breathing too fast, making herself dizzy. She closed her eyes to block out the sight of him so she could calm herself, but instead the vision flashed in her head, driving everything else away.

He was standing a few feet away. It was dark all around them and the only reason she could even see his face was that the fire that consumed her body reflected off the sharp angles of his cheeks, the shadowed ledge of his jaw, the strong tendons in his neck, the wide span of his shoulders. Mirrored flames danced in his golden brown eyes and a proud half smile tilted his mouth. She could smell her flesh burning, could feel the heat consume her. The pain of her blistered skin as it blackened was too much to bear. She screamed, begging death to come claim her.

Reality snapped back into place, washing the vision away. Helen sucked in a desperate breath. She wasn't dead. At least not yet. The bright lights of the diner seared her retinas, and the smell of burning flesh was replaced by that of onions and french fries. A draft from the air vent overhead cooled her skin, making her shiver.

She forced her body to relax, to remember where she was. Just breathe.

Her lungs expanded, pulling in the scent of the man who had her trapped. Soap. Coffee. Clean male skin. He smelled nice. Safe. And if that wasn't the most ridiculous thing she'd ever thought, then she didn't know what was. If there was one person on the planet who wasn't safe for her to be near, it was him, no matter how he smelled.

He was still only a scant inch away, giving off that low purr that resonated in her chest. Helen wasn't sure if she wanted to push him away or stroke her finger over the intriguing curve of that choker he wore. Something about it tugged at her memories, though she was sure she'd never seen anything like it before.

He hadn't been wearing it in her vision. The realization dawned on her. His throat had been bare. His shirt had been different—not the black cotton he wore now, but lighter. Tan. With some kind of tree printed on it.

The details of her vision didn't match what was happening right now, which meant she was safe, at least for the moment.

Some of the panic drained out of her, making her feel weak, boneless. She knew she should push him away or scream or do something. Even if he wasn't here to watch her die tonight, he was still too damn close.

He leaned a fraction of an inch closer and wrapped his long fingers around one of her braids. On his finger he wore a ring that matched his necklace and it flashed in an intriguing pattern of swirling colors that made her want to stare. An insistent tug on her braid tipped her head back and she was sure she'd felt his lips brush along her neck, her cheek.

Helen shivered and heard a small moan lift from her mouth. Every cell in her body stood at attention from that one little touch. Her skin grew warm and her abdomen tightened against a jolt of heat. She wanted something she couldn't name. Needed it. It wasn't just desire. It went deeper than that. Bone deep. Soul deep. He had something that belonged to her and she wanted it. Even if it killed her.

His lips slid over her cheek, barely touching. Maybe not even touching, just stirring the fine hairs along her skin. Whatever he was doing, it was wonderful, fear or not. She felt as if she was being filled up with energy. She felt more alive than she ever had before. All from a barely there touch from the man who would watch her die.

Freaking irony.

From somewhere far off, Drake heard the old woman gasp in shock and he struggled to pull himself back to reality. By the time he'd made the long, long journey to the here-and-now, his fingers had wrapped themselves around one of the brunette's braids so that her head was tilted back to the optimum angle for a slow, deep kiss. Perfect.

He would have done just that if it hadn't been for the way she was clutching her purse against her chest like a shield. She was still afraid of him. Shit.

"Give me your name," he ordered her, not caring how rough his voice sounded. He needed her name. Hell, he needed a lot more of her than just that, but with the audience they had, he was going to have to settle for that small piece.

"Helen Day."

God, he loved the sound of her voice, so soft and sweet. He closed his eyes again, letting the sound of her, the smell of her, sink into him. He could spend half a year just listening to her talk, letting the gentle sweep of her voice soothe him.

He was way too wrapped up in how he could make the small space between them even smaller when he heard a warning shout from Thomas half a second too late. Miss Mabel's walker slammed down over his head, sending pain screaming over his skull.

"Go back to your wife, you . . . you man-whore!" shouted the old woman, raising her walker for another strike.

Whore? Wife? Drake had no idea what she was talking about, but he didn't stand there long enough to ask. He could already feel a lump swelling up on the back of his skull. The old woman might look frail, but she packed one heck of a wallop.

Drake reached for Miss Mabel, intending to carefully take the aluminum weapon from her hands before she hurt herself. Or him.

He was too late. Thomas was already on the case and had taken the old lady into his burly arms, holding her carefully despite her struggles.

Helen stood up, pushing her way around Drake to get to the old lady. "Let her go!"

Thomas ignored her, still holding on to the old woman, trying to calm her down with soothing words. "I'm not going to hurt you, ma'am. None of us are going to hurt any of you. Isn't that right, Zach?"

Five feet away, Zach had Lexi pinned against the countertop by the cash register, nearly bent over backward. She was fighting him, pounding and clawing at him, but Zach accepted her blows, grinning like they tickled.

"Hey, she's the one trying to hurt me. I just want to talk." Zach's voice dipped lower and his grin widened. "But I'm willing to play if you want, honey. I don't mind if you like it rough."

Lexi growled and lashed out at Zach with her fists.

From the corner of his eye, Drake saw Helen start to make a dash toward Thomas and the old woman, but Drake was faster. He snagged her by looping an arm around her waist and pulling her up against his chest. It was a mistake. As soon as he had her soft, curvy body against his, his brain started to shut down. From a vague, fuzzy distance, he could feel her fighting to free herself, pushing and pulling at his arm. He could hear her frightened voice calling her friends' names. He could sense the panic inside her, the frantic strength that increased with every swift beat of her heart. He just couldn't seem to figure out what it all meant or what he should do. All he knew was he couldn't let her go. He needed her.

This whole situation had gone completely out of control, but he just didn't care. He had Helen in his arms, reluctant as she was, and he didn't hurt anymore. For the first time in decades, he felt good. It was such a shock that it left him reeling, staring stupidly at the part between her silky, dark braids. He wanted to bend down and kiss the smooth skin at the nape of her neck so bad it made him shake.