“You can harness the energy though, can’t you?” Nicolas kept his voice very calm. They were running out of time. She had to get back in control so they could move fast. At least she was listening to him. It was most likely the shock and grief and the sheer surprise of finding someone who could contain the energy for her.
“Not when it’s like this. There’s too much energy, and it’s too powerful. It finds me—I don’t make it happen. It comes from an outside source. Actions. Emotions. Who even cares? I’ve studied meditation, Eastern philosophy. It can’t be controlled. It has to dissipate some way.” Why was she listening to him? Letting him touch her? She felt almost mesmerized by him. All the while the energy churned and boiled and waited, lurking like some terrible monster looking for a victim.
There was a strange push and pull effect on her with Nicolas Trevane. She never stayed long in anyone’s company, and already she needed her space. She was sick and dizzy and overwhelmed with grief and fearful of his safety. Yet he held the energy at bay. She recognized power in him. It was far subtler than her raw strength, but it was enormous for all its subtlety. And she couldn’t look away from the intensity of his gaze, no matter how hard she tried, or how much she wanted to.
“If you have to find a way to disperse the energy, Dahlia, we’ll do it together. Energy, even violent energy, can be directed.” Nicolas could see the signs of overload.
Grief was living and breathing in her. Taking her well past the point of thinking rationally for herself.
“Can you do that?” She didn’t altogether trust him. She didn’t trust anyone. Not Jesse, not even Milly and Bernadette, but that hadn’t stopped her from loving them. She felt lost and alone and had no idea what to do, but there was something solid about Trevane. Perhaps his calm. Or the power he so obviously was comfortable wielding.
“We can do it. Follow my lead.” Nicolas kept all anxiety from his voice. His skin was prickling, a sure sign of trouble. The hit team was probably dropping men back into the swamp and coming at them from all directions. There would be more violence and more death before he managed to get her away safely.
Dahlia did as he said simply because she couldn’t think of anything else to do. She concentrated on his breathing. Listened to the sound of his voice, the deep timbre, velvet soft and captivating, almost hypnotic. He built the picture of a deep, clear pool in her mind. The waves raged, wild and out of control, reaching endlessly to escape, but he kept building the walls of the pool higher and higher.
Dahlia felt better, less sick, but she knew he was fighting a losing battle. The energy was alive and looking for a target. Trevane was definitely holding the energy within the walls of the pool, but it was growing in strength, continually seeking a way to harm someone.
“No it isn’t. The energy isn’t alive, Dahlia. It may have the aftermath of violence within it, but it doesn’t have personality. It needs an escape, like water boiling in a kettle. We just have to provide it.”
“You’re reading my thoughts?” The idea was terrifying. She didn’t have the kind of thoughts fit for public reading.
“I’ll explain later.” Now the hair on the back of his neck was standing up. “We’re in trouble, Dahlia. We’re being hunted. If you want to live, you’re going to have to trust me to get us out of this.”
Her gaze moved over his face, assessing him. Assessing her choices. Slowly. A long inspection. “You’re a killer.”
She made the judgment just like that. Harsh, without any softening.
Nicolas refused to wince. Refused to look away. He met her steady gaze with one of his own. The ice was there. The distance between him and the rest of the world. He damn well wasn’t going to apologize for what he did. “Yes.” If she wanted to name him a killer, he would accept it. Let her deal with what he was if she wanted to live.