Chapter Four
Keely contacted West shortly after Skara Brae’s dinner hour. After a brief discussion with Maxwell, they contacted Pandora and arranged for the four of them to conduct the psychic equivalent of a conference call.
“Why not use an actual conference call?” West asked her when she met him at the door to Maxwell’s rooms.
“Pandora requested it,” she told him brusquely, then, registering her tone, gave him a smile. Or attempted to. It didn’t quite feel right on her mouth—it felt stiff and rictus-like rather than pleasant and encouraging. “There’s less likelihood of someone spying on our communications.” She’d been a bit surprised, too, since Pandora had only begun to make use of her long-range telepathic powers. This arrangement seemed likely to strain her, but she’d insisted.
“You’re tense,” West said, eyeing her. His look was shrewd.
“I am,” she admitted. “Come on in—let’s get this underway.”
Maxwell sat at a small, rough table in his kitchen area. Comfortable looking chairs surrounded the table, and Maxwell already looked relaxed, almost groggy. He would have spent at least an hour preparing for this—it was difficult work and required an intensely focused mental state. He looked up as West and Keely entered.
“Good,” he said simply. “You’re here.”
“Yes.” Keely took a seat at the table, gesturing for West to take the other. She felt unaccountably nervous, and it couldn’t all be attributed to the fact she’d never done anything like this before. There was more to it. Tension simmered in the air. She wasn’t certain of its source, but it made her skin prickle.
“Is everything all right?” Maxwell asked her, frowning.
Keely hesitated, not certain how to answer. “Yes. Yes, I think so.” To her surprise, West reached across the table and took her hand. She looked at him, but he only smiled and said nothing.
Maxwell reached out and took her other hand. His palm was warm and dry. West’s hold on her tightened a bit as Maxwell also took his free hand. West had reached out to Keely in comfort, and obviously hadn’t expected them to form a circle.
“It’s not a séance, is it?” West said, his voice unsteady with forced, nervy laughter.
Keely smiled at him. “Not exactly. The physical contact helps, though, when we need to merge our powers.”
“I’ve never done anything like this.”
Keely found herself sympathizing with his discomfort. He was trying hard to block it, hiding his honest trepidation from the others. Probably hoping to get it under control before they initiated communication with Pandora, when he would be unable to hide anything from anyone.
“It’ll be all right,” she reassured him.
Maxwell gave them both an odd look. “Let’s get on with it, then,” he said, his voice a bit gruff.
“Give him a minute to adjust,” Keely chastised, but West shook his head.
“No. It’s quite all right. I’m certain we don’t want to leave Pandora waiting.”
“Right, then. Drop those shields, boy—we’re none of us out to bugger your brain.”
“Right.” West’s face went a bit red, and he closed his eyes. Keely closed hers, too, and they began to build the connection.
She and Maxwell meshed immediately, mental patterns falling together like perfectly carved puzzle pieces. He was used to this sort of thing, of course; as a telepath it had been part of his basic training. West took a bit longer, as he gradually let his shields down, allowing Keely and Maxwell to draw him into the bond. Keely noticed he still held his deepest thoughts away from them, hidden behind a carefully constructed wall. Someone had trained him well.
And suddenly she realized who that someone had been, and snapped up a wall of her own. She sensed Maxwell’s attention shifting toward her, curiosity rising, but before he could form any sort of question, Pandora joined them.
“Greetings.” Her voice was powerful, but in its way restrained, like a brass instrument with a mute in its throat. “Are we all ready?”
“I believe we are.” Maxwell’s mental voice seemed deeper, darker than his speaking voice.
“Then tell me,” Pandora went on. “What have we learned? Is there anything new to report?”
“Whatever the danger is,” Keely began, “it has followed us –”
The thought just… dissolved. Flew apart, as if reduced somehow to its component parts. Keely gasped as needles of pain filled her head, as suddenly and violently as the thought had lost its substance.
Pandora screamed.
The sound penetrated Keely’s head like a knife tearing through her skull. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She could only stare blankly into the emptiness of Maxwell’s face, across the table from her.
“What the fuck?” This voice came inside her head, and she was fairly certain it was West’s. His hand tightened on hers almost brutally; she felt her bones slide against each other and another sort of pain slid up her arm, distracting her from the strange stilettos in her head.
Then West was just there, a solid, tangible presence inside her mind, an implacable and unbreachable wall. The lashing pain in her head lessened, leaving behind it the raw, broken feeling of violation. She gasped, dragging in as much air as she could, trying to steady herself.
West’s response to the attack had been only partially effective, but it had bought time after the initial shock, allowing Maxwell and Pandora to move in with a counter attack. There was a flurry of activity on the psychic plane, so furious and intense Keely couldn’t follow it. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the unexpected attack was over.
Keely gasped, still reeling, a high-pitched note keening in her head. She felt like she could never drag enough air back into her body. Her hands shook, and, strangely, her lips had gone numb.
“Report!” The word was a staccato burst in her head, like a hammer stroke behind her ear. It was Pandora.
“Here,” Keely shot back automatically, both aloud and through the psychic link. Maxwell’s voice echoed her.
Then silence.
“West?” Still disoriented, Keely wasn’t sure if she or Pandora had called the name. In either case, there was no answer.
“West…” Keely forced the word out, then made herself open her eyes. At first everything around her was a muddled blur, then her vision slowly refocused. She realized the warm grip of West’s hand on hers was gone. “West.”
She could see him now, slumped back in his chair, head hanging back, glassy eyes staring at the ceiling. Only his hands moved on the table; they flapped disconcertingly, like grounded fish.
“West…” Pure fear seized her, and she flung herself toward him, but she was drained and disoriented and the too-rapid movement sent her to the floor on her knees. Reaching for him again, this time psychically, she found herself rebuffed. Something powerful had lodged inside West’s mind. She couldn’t make out who or what it was. Everything was still muddled, unclear.
“Someone’s got him, someone’s got him…” She babbled the words, trying to regain her feet, to move toward him. Whoever had attacked them still held him in thrall, was still inside his head, prepared to kill him…
“It’s all right.” Maxwell’s deep voice found its way to her, calming her before she had quite registered what he’d said. “It’s all right. It’s Pandora.”
Drawing a slow breath, she steadied herself, managing to slide up to her knees. West calmed even as she watched, the crazed movement of his hands quieting, then going still. His head rose, his body straightened, and he opened his eyes. His expression remained blank, his eyes staring and empty.
She spoke his name again, quietly. Another contact brushed across her mind. She focused on it. “Pandora?”
“Yes.” Pandora’s mental voice sounded drained, tired. “Come in. He needs you.”
Keely reached out for West again, following the thread Pandora had thrown out for her. It seemed weak at first, difficult for her to tune into, but she found it, grabbed it, clung to it, and let Pandora draw her in.
The quiet settling over West’s body was belied by the turmoil still raging in his mind. He was in pain, ravaged, aching and torn open from his confrontation with whatever—whoever—had attacked them. Pandora had threaded her own presence through him, trying to hold the pieces together, but her talent alone wasn’t enough. Holding him forcefully together wouldn’t help him heal. In fact it was likely to cause him more pain.
“He needs you,” Pandora repeated, and with a nod Keely collected herself and focused on West.
Peace, she broadcast to him. Peace. You’re all right. We’re all right. You saved us. Rest.
She could feel him beginning to quiet at her efforts. Pieces of coherent thought flittered through his consciousness, touched hers, and as he became quieter and more coherent Pandora began to withdraw. She seemed tired, Keely thought—more than tired, as if the encounter had taxed even her considerable powers. She’d been using the long-range telepathic connection too long, pushing the limits of this newly discovered skill.
“Take care of him,” Pandora said, her voice weakening.
“I will,” Keely answered, and then Pandora was gone.
West opened his eyes and looked at her. “I’m fine,” he muttered, his voice barely audible.
Keely patted his shoulder, then took his arm and helped him to his feet. “I’m sure you are. Let’s get you back to your room.”
He rose unsteadily. She guided him out of the building, then let him lead her to his quarters. She would help him. Heal him. She focused on that, because then she wouldn’t think about how invasive the psychic attack had been, how deeply it had flayed her open. And how much the anonymous invader had taken from her.
* * *
West insisted he could walk on his own to his rooms, but when he got there, his face was ashen, his lips white. She hovered near him until he settled heavily onto the couch. Then she sat next to him and took his hand.
“Let me in,” she said gently.
“I’m fine.” He pulled his hand away from hers. “I’ll be fine.”
“You’re not fine. You took a hell of a hit.” Reaching for him, she took his hand again. “Pandora told me to take care of you.”
He started to draw away again, then stopped. She looked down at his hand in hers. His fingers were long and elegant, and there was a graceful curve to the bones in his wrist Keely hadn’t noticed before. His hand tightened on hers, the long, strong fingers gripping her. “How much did they get?”
“I don’t know.” Her voice was bleak, and she shook her head. “Everything, I’m afraid.”
“But you don’t know for sure?”
“There’s no way I can know for sure. But I felt them inside my head, crawling around…” She shuddered involuntarily as her mind revisited sensations she had no desire to experience again.
“I’m sorry.” His voice was quiet. “I didn’t protect you well enough. Didn’t block it fast enough.”
Keely pressed her lips together, fighting a stab of genuine anger. “Stop it. You did everything you could. Now let me help you.”
He shook his head, and she could feel him building a load of stubborn resistance. Just as she was about to press him again on the point, though, tears welled in his eyes and he nodded. “All right.”
She shifted a little closer on the couch, tightening her hand on his. Lifting her free hand, she touched her fingertips to his temple, closed her eyes, and began to gently evaluate.
He was unsteady, still shaken by the attack and its aftermath, and by the drain on his own power when he’d fought back. Many aberrants suffered negative effects from deliberate, concentrated use of their power, but in West the reaction seemed minimal. It still could do with tending, though. Carefully, she threaded into his mind, settling the fear, projecting calm. She considered alleviating his guilt, his apparent conviction that the incident had been his fault, but she couldn’t, no matter how much it might seem like the right thing to do. Instead she merely calmed him, released the fear.
His control surprised her. The level of structure inside his mind, the meticulousness of it, made her job easier, and at the same time provided a framework for him, a protective safety net of sorts to help him control the extensive power of his talent. She remembered the sudden flash of insight that had hit her just before they’d begun their conference with Pandora.
His hand tightened on hers. She opened her eyes and met his. The look on his face answered her question, but she asked it anyway.
“Who trained you?”
He rubbed his thumb across the back of her hand. By way of answer, he closed his eyes and let her come inside.
West had known John for two years, when John had come to Skara Brae to help with the community’s initial growing pains. He’d helped train many of the newer arrivals to the community, and West had been one of them.
West remembered John fondly, remembered his patience, his kindness. John had been the first to sense the potential in West’s elusive talent, and he had taught West the highly structured methods that had allowed him to control it when it finally manifested fully. Keely recognized the patterns now, as West had begun to recognize the structure in Keely’s mind that helped rein in and focus her own formidable powers. John had left his mark on them both.
“What was it like between you?” Keely couldn’t stop herself from asking the question, though she knew she might not want to know the answer.
“He was my mentor,” he said gently. “You know how it can be.”
She did know how it could be. He’d been her mentor, too, and they’d ended up in bed together. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence. The relationships rarely lasted longer than the mentorship—she and John had been a rare case.
“Were you…?” She trailed off. Part of her was certain she would have known if John and West had been physically involved. The dream would have reflected it, she thought. But she couldn’t be certain.
John gave her a gentle smile and moved her hair back from her face. “No. We came close, though.”
She nodded. She hadn’t expected this kind of wrinkle. “How close?”
He chuckled. “Do you really want to know?”
“I –” Her mouth snapped shut and she considered, starting to feel frantic. “I don’t know.”
Moving even closer to her, he let his lips brush over her forehead. “Let me show you.”
For the space of a breath, she hesitated, then nodded. West set his forehead softly against hers and closed his eyes.
John had always been careful when he trained. Careful not to get too close, too deep inside their minds. It was always risky, always a narrow line to walk. But sometimes there was no other way. When the talent to be controlled was very strong, or complicated, it took deep bonding to reach what needed to be accessed. Keely had experienced this, as well.
West’s talent had been not only strong and complicated, but partially latent. When John had begun working with him, they’d had only an inkling of what power lay within West’s mind, and what exactly he could do with it. It had taken a long time to work through all the layers to get to the power waiting within him.
After their first session, John had explained this to him, carefully and plainly. He’d sat in John’s office, thoroughly intimidated by the older man. He’d never had anyone move so deeply within his mind before, and it had been strange. Too intimate for comfort.
“It can be hard,” John said gently. “It might be the hardest thing you’ve ever done. But down the road, you’ll meet harder things, and this will make them easier.”
West nodded. He felt like a dumb kid, regardless of his actual age. John had a good ten years on him, and what felt like an eternity of experience. “I’ve heard… things can happen. That sometimes it’s like… like sex.”
John had nodded soberly. He had never been less than honest with West. Reliving the memory along with him, Keely acknowledged the truth of that. He’d been the same way with her, even as they’d fallen down the slippery slope into undeniable attraction, then love.
“It can be,” West remembered him saying. “And to help you get where you need to go, I’ll have to go deep. It’ll be intense.”
“What other choice do I have?”
“You’re mostly latent. You’re lucky. You can just walk away.”
“And if I don’t?”
“The power you hold… I’ve never seen anything like it.”
In the end, of course, he’d opted for the training. And it had been intense. It had, in fact, been the most intimate relationship he’d ever had. More than once, he’d ridden a wave of arousal out of the deep meditative states John had put him into. More than once, he’d climaxed on the couch while John held his hand. But they’d never had sex. West understood how it could happen with other people, knew it could easily have happened with them. It just hadn’t. John hadn’t withheld anything from West that West needed, but the intimacy between them had also made him aware that a physical relationship wouldn’t have helped his protégé. It would have done more harm than good for both of them in the long run.
With Keely, things had been different. As West eased back from his own memories, Keely’s moved in to fill the space.
Her own initial experience with John had been similar to West’s—the preliminary evaluation, when they’d gone into a shared meditation and he had gathered an initial impression of her abilities, followed by the careful, frank talk about what she could expect. But in her case, her abilities weren’t latent.
“What are my options?” she had asked him, looking at her hands clenched together in her lap, remembering the frightening intimacy of the evaluation. She couldn’t imagine how much more intense it could get, and the thought scared her. Her talent, he had explained, made her reaction that much more powerful.
He had leaned across the desk to regard her earnestly. “You have a powerful talent. It could be dangerous if not properly controlled. Do you understand that?”
She nodded, fighting inexplicable tears.
“I can help you, by organizing your mind so you can control it, or you can resort to drug treatments. Either will work, but training will leave you able to use the powers when you choose to. Drugs will simply keep them continuously under a leash.”
She eyed him defiantly. “I know people who control their powers with drugs, and they can still use them.”
“Different kinds of powers. Yours wouldn’t respond that way to a drug regimen. They’d be suffocated.”
Nodding, she clenched her hands in her lap, then slowly looked up at him. She could feel his emotions, knew his motivation. She also felt the stir of attraction in him, which even he might not be aware of yet on a conscious level. “All right. I’ll let you help me.”
His slow smile told her he was proud of her decision, even if her empathic skill hadn’t. And so it had begun.
They hadn’t been able to resist the attraction for long. It had just been too strong, too inevitable. And when it had happened, that day when they’d come out of the meditative trance and had rolled into each other’s arms, it had seemed so right, so perfect. They’d spend every moment together after that, until –
She broke the thought off there, unwilling to follow down the path where the rest of the story led. West knew what had happened, anyway. Her own memories floated up to join West’s, and they came together to form a warm, almost breathing picture of the man they had both cared for and respected. As the shared images came together, it was almost as if John were in the room with them, his large, solid, commanding presence filling the space. She could almost hear his voice, his breathing…
Certain he was there, Keely opened her eyes, her breath drawing in with a sharp sound of happy surprise. She could even smell him…
He wasn’t there. Only West was there. Tall, slim, handsome, his blue eyes shimmering with the loss he felt. It was genuine; Keely could sense this as easily as she could sense the slight chill in the room.
He clutched at her hand as she stared at him, and in a quiet, broken voice, said, “I’m sorry.”
Keely blinked. Suddenly she understood. His emotions lay bare to her, voluntarily exposed so she could feel what he felt, know what he had known. He had been cautious and withdrawn with her because he’d been afraid of stepping too far, of intruding on her grief and loss before she was ready. And, perhaps most of all, because it had felt wrong to him to express feelings for the lover of a man he’d been so close to.
And feelings there were. They’d been bared to each other during the psychic attack, and the emotions that had flashed through her from his mind, so quickly she hadn’t been sure she’d interpreted them correctly, now lay open, easy to see. He did care for her, was deeply attracted to her. But she was John’s, and even though John was gone this was a line West didn’t feel he could cross –
Keely kissed him. Deep and hard and long, drawing in the heat and taste of his mouth. She laid a hand flat against his chest, feeling his heartbeat under her palm. It was rapid already, and getting faster.
“Keely…” he murmured, and touched her shoulder, almost pushing her back but not quite. He knew as well as she did that these things happened sometimes, and under these circumstances, when they were so closely joined, often it did more harm than good to follow the instinctive, carnal pull. He was right to try to bring the situation back under control.
She didn’t care. She had felt so broken, so alone, for so long, and knowing this man cared for her, wanted her, made her feel hope for the first time since John had died. She touched his face, looked into his darkening sapphire eyes. “It’s okay.”
He still hesitated, so she kissed him again, tracing the seam of his lips with her tongue. Her fingertips slid inside his shirt, touching his warm skin. He let out a small sound.
His long, slim fingers found their way to her buttons, nimbly working them open until fingertips brushed over her breasts. The touch was so light, like feathers. She wanted more, wanted more surety in his passion.
Wanted him to take her.
“West…” She grabbed the plackets of his shirt and ripped it open, heedless of any sort of propriety. Or buttons. Her hands slid over his skin, smoothing the shirt back. She could feel his heart quicken under her fingers. It was fast and strong and growing faster. He said her name again, and she could tell by the tone of his voice that he was going to protest again, try to stop her.
“No,” she said, pressing her mouth against his, speaking the words against his lips. “No, West. Don’t stop. Please, God, don’t stop.”
He gave in. She felt the moment as a little, crumbling surrender that shivered in the air around him. Her mouth was full of his taste now, her hands full of the warmth of his skin. Her thumbs found his nipples and prodded them into erect attention. A moan formed on a warm breath in his mouth, moved into hers.
He pushed her back onto the couch cushions until she lay under him. Her legs parted for him, and he settled his hips between her thighs, a rock-hard erection rubbing against her as his hips began to thrust mindlessly. His long, thick cock stroked her through her jeans, and she felt flooded with wet arousal.
Though under normal circumstances she could sense some tremor of every emotion he experienced, somehow now he was a blank to her. It was almost as if his lust blocked out everything else. Subtler emotions simply couldn’t hold their own in the face of that onslaught.
But she knew he wanted her, knew he’d been fighting it, and had finally given up that fight. She tilted her hips under him, feeling her body weeping with its need, and rubbed her own sex against that straining, needy erection. She was so wet, so ready, she was certain he could feel it even through the layers of clothing separating them. How could he not?
He breathed out something that sounded vaguely like her name, then strong fingers jerked at her jeans, yanking open button and zipper. Then his hand was down inside, fingertips against her wet, hot folds. A sharp shock of arousal jolted through her, began to spread warm tendrils through her as he touched her.
He stopped, just there, fingertips not quite touching her clit, and she felt his breath shiver through him. She opened her eyes, met his gaze. His eyes had darkened. He was frowning, his lips set in a thin line of determination, but his expression held something like shock, anger at himself.
She lifted a hand to stroke his cheek. “Don’t. Don’t think about it like that. Don’t think about it at all. Just… please.”
Her fingers traced across his mouth, and that hard line softened, the fierceness fading from his eyes as his head tilted just a bit to the side and he regarded her with pained need. His obvious reluctance made her want him that much more. Shifting her hips, she brought him deeper against her, until his questing fingers slid against her clit, and she let out a soft sound of hunger.
His head came down and he kissed her again, more gently this time. His tongue stroked inside her mouth, tangling with hers. His hand made a subtle movement against her clit as he shifted his weight, and suddenly a warm, sweet orgasm moved through her, not quite expected but very welcome.
Her climax seemed to spur him farther out of his hesitation. He jerked again at her jeans. Shifting and wiggling under him, she helped him slide them down and off her. His own zipper rattled as he pushed that barrier away, too.
“Condom,” he muttered, and she answered, “Don’t bother—I’m protected,” and at her words he nodded and pushed deep inside her.
She let out a strangled near-yelp as he plunged in, hard, balls-deep in one slick movement. He paused, but began to move when she wrapped her legs around him and tipped her hips, bringing him in even deeper. He hadn’t hurt her—she was too wet for that—but the sudden, aggressive penetration had taken her by surprise.
As did his harsh, rapid thrusting now. He fucked her hard, pounding her back into the couch, and suddenly a little crack opened into his emotions and she could feel what he felt—anger, at himself for giving in, for betraying John –
“No!” she exclaimed, her body clenching down hard on him. She wanted him to stop, wanted him to never stop. “Don’t, West, don’t…” She could barely form words, but she needed him to understand, needed him to not be flagellating himself for this. Instinct made her start to reach for him with her power, to change the emotion, but that wasn’t want she wanted. He had to shift these feelings on his own.
Thankfully, he seemed to understand what she meant, tamping down the negative emotions trying to flood him. He stopped thrusting, high and deep inside her, then opened his eyes to look down into her face.
She clenched on him harder, wanting to hold him within her. She wanted this. Needed it. And looking into his blue eyes, she felt something open up next to her heart, in a place that had been pinched shut since John died.
And instinct made her use her power, but in a different way than she had in the past. She reached out to him, and let him share how she felt.
His expression shifted again, this time into realization and wonder. She saw moisture gather in his eyes, and he blinked it back. Gently, he kissed her forehead.
He began to pulse again, moving in her in a slow glide, then increasing the speed. He stared down into her face, and she held his gaze with hers. He was deep inside her, stroking her with hands and cock, making her feel like he’d turned her inside out, to cover every millimeter of her with the love she now felt pouring out of him.
Love. The word had come up in her mind, followed immediately by the soft feeling of the emotion itself, and it was too late to do anything about it. Had she not been so open to West, she could have brought it back, controlled it, made it not so raw and sudden. But it was too late. A tremor of fear followed the warm burst of that powerful, deadly emotion.
West stroked her hair back from her forehead, and he made a “sh” shape with his mouth, but no sound. Softly, he kissed her forehead. Between her open, trembling thighs, his hips thrust harder for a few seconds, then tightened. She felt the pulse of his release inside her. He made a sound, a satisfied purr unlike anything she’d ever heard from a man before.
He held her tight, his body shaking, then slowly relaxed. She reached for him again, cradled him. They said nothing else to each other; there was no need.
After a time, Keely slept.
See the full posting schedule of the Pandora’s People series here. (Subject to change due to Horrible Illness, excessive involvement in the Stanley Cup Finals, or deadlines from other publishers.)
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