She bit her lip, confident that it would be gone soon. It was already dissipating, the last lingering sensation of sadness, of grief, before it was gone.
As she rounded the hallway, she stopped in shock.
She had been certain that one small event in her life meant nothing. A moment in time. A coincidence. Until the dream shifted and she looked
up and saw the bullet-ridden SUV in the gully and the young man at the wheel. The pictures from the computer flashed before her mind then.
Mark and Aimee. The same couple she had seen with Senator Cooley.
"Megan, God dammit, I said wake up."
Megan came awake with a gasp, shaking in Braden's grip as she realized she was standing in the middle of her bedroom floor, naked, shuddering with cold as she stared up at him in shock.
She breathed in harshly, great, gulping breaths, as though she were starved for oxygen. Her head bounced on her shoulders.
"Stop." She tried to raise her hands, pressing against his abdomen rather than his chest as the shaking stopped and she stared back at him in shock. "What are you doing?"
"What the hell were you doing?" He snarled down at her fiercely. "You get out of the bed muttering about training and exhaustion only to start jerking as though someone were stealing your breath. I barely caught you before you fell to the floor."
She shook her head, trying to remember. She had to remember the dream. She bit her lip as he dragged her back to the bed and wrapped the quilt around her shuddering body.
"What the hell were you dreaming about, Megan?"
Dreams. No, not a dream, a memory. She frowned as disjointed images flipped through her mind.
"I don't know." She shook her head, putting her hand to her forehead as the images tried to solidify. Faces. Closed. Eyes. Dead eyes. Without hope. Without freedom.
Remember me.
She flinched as the voice resonated through her head. The sensation, an animal's pain, a young woman's scream.
She raised her eyes to Braden, seeing the concern in his gaze as he hunched before her, his hands rubbing at her arms as she blinked in shock.
"I've seen them." She stared back at him in horror. "Oh my God, Braden. I have seen them." She stumbled to her feet, batting away his hands as she tripped on the blanket and fell against him.
"Megan, calm down." His harsh order, the whiplash of his voice had her stilling, but her mind was still in chaos.
"Let me go." She shook her head fiercely. "I have to dress. I have to see those pictures again. The ones you showed me before."
"Mark and Aimee? His tone was sharper now.
She nodded jerkily, her mind racing as she fought to pull together the dream. Most of it was still fuzzy, but she remembered faces.
"There were four. Where are the other two?" She jerked away from him as she moved to the chair and pulled on the soft, long flannel gown.
"There were four?" He was dressing as well. "Four what?"
"Breeds." She pushed her fingers through her tangled hair. "I was dreaming, but it wasn't a dream. It's so fuzzy_" Her voice was thick with the desperation raging through her, causing her to wince at the sound.
"Come here." He turned her around, pushing her gently to the chair as she realized he was fully dressed.
"Put your socks on, the floor is cold. You keep this place like a freezer."
She frowned as he pulled a pair of socks over her feet.
She felt frozen, but not from the air conditioner.
"Stop, Braden." This sudden intensity in him was making her head hurt. Or was it the dream? "I forgot to turn the air down, but I like it cold at night. That's all. I have to see those pictures of the Breeds who died again."
She remembered their faces now. High cheekbones, exotic eyes. Dead gazes. She swallowed tightly at the memory.
'Their eyes were dead, but something raged inside them, something so deep that it had nearly broken her when she had experienced it.
"They knew" she stated then. "Mark and Aimee, they were there at the Academy when I stumbled into the hallway. They were with someone" She fought to remember who. 'They knew I could sense them. As I turned to leave, it was in my head. I never hear thoughts. But I heard it in my head, someone telling me to remember them."
He straightened quickly, grabbing her hand as he helped her from the chair and led her from the bedroom.
"Tell me about the dream," he demanded as they started down the hall. His arm went around her back, steadying her despite the fact that she was now moving fine.
"I told you, it's fuzzy." She had to fight to hold back the snap in her
voice, the instinctive anger that was more a remnant of the dream than any real anger she was feeling.
"But I remembered Mark. He spoke; he was reminding someone of a flight. Someone who was angry with him.
There were three others with him. The girl that was killed with him, and another couple."
"Four Breeds?" He glanced down at her as they moved down the stairs.
'Two men, two women." She nodded. "I remember their faces. I remember someone's pain. It was horrible. A mix of rage and grief that made no sense. None of it made sense. I thought it was something else, because when they approached, it began to lessen. I thought I was just tired, weak, and that the thoughts and dreams of the Academy's recruits were stronger because of it. That happens when I'm tired."
"They would have been aware you were picking it up," he said grimly as they stepped into the kitchen.
"Can you handle making the coffee? I'll power up the laptop and call Jonas. We need to get you to Sanctuary immediately, until you can remember who they were with. We can't take any more chances."
She clenched her teeth at the thought of the Feline compound but said nothing as she made her way to the coffee pot. Maybe he was right. She
couldn't remember who had been with those Breeds, but she knew that the memory would return soon. She could feel it, just beyond her reach, but moving closer.
Who had she seen with them? She clenched her teeth as she fought to remember who had been there that night. She remembered the evil that touched her, the impression of depravity, of perverse lusts.
As she made the coffee, she heard Braden on the phone, his voice low, controlled.
Despite the shock the dream had delivered to her system, she felt a curl of warmth traveling through her body as she listened to him talk. It was disconcerting, this reaction she had to him. She wanted him, no, matter where they were or what they were doing. In the middle of a desperate race to safety or fighting him over his arrogance, it made no difference. And though she knew the hormone had added to the arousal that pulsed within her, she also knew she would have wanted him anyway.
She would have loved him anyway.
She stilled at the thought. She hadn't wanted to admit to loving him. He was arrogant, proud; he was larger than life at times and made her crazy with his deceptive laziness and dry humor. But he was growing on her. Hell, he had already grown on her, around her and inside her. She
couldn't imagine life without him.
"It will be later before Jonas can get here. The fucking jet is in Israel collecting information on several former Middle Eastern Labs. He has to call it back then head out."
"It's the only one?" She hated the sick feeling in the pit of her gut at the news.
"The only one on standby," he said roughly. "The others are on missions and farther away. They can't be called back. Besides, even waiting for it to return to Sanctuary before heading out, Jonas would be faster."
"What's their ETA?' She watched the coffee begin to drip into the pot.
"Almost midnight." He growled. "But, on the other hand, you slept most of the day away. We have three teams outside the house and plenty of protection until he arrives. We'll go through the pictures, get the information we need and be ready by the time the jet gets here. No problem."
No problem.
She pressed her hand to her stomach, hoping to still the instinctive fear rising inside her. Sometimes it meant nothing. Absolutely nothing. Other times She couldn't think about the other times. She wouldn't think
about them. She couldn't afford to lose her cool now. Not when they were so close. Not when she could feel the answers moving inside her head.
Her hand rose to her hair, her fingers clenching in it as she fought to force the memory forward, to understand what was going on and why.
She clenched her fists to keep from calling her father.
He would come for her. He would call out her uncle from the reservation and throw a net over her that would make her feel safe, at ease.
She almost shook her head at the thought. She couldn't involve her father in this. No matter how sickening the feeling in the pit of her stomach was growing, she couldn't involve her family.
God help her if she caused even one of them to die. She couldn't live with herself. It would be more than her conscience could bear. Besides, she wasn't defenseless, she reminded herself. Braden and his teams were here. They were well trained, too well trained. They would surely be a formidable force against anyone who might try to attack.
Again.
She watched the coffee pour slowly into the pot, her frown deepening as
she fought the mists that swirled around the memory, fought to understand why she had forgotten the event.
Because it hadn't been the first, she answered herself. It wasn't the first time emotions and sensations had attacked her with no clear reason. During those days at the Academy, confined to an area filled with so many different people and personalities, she had often suffered such episodes.
Pushing her fingers restlessly through her hair, she turned from the coffeepot and walked to the shadecovered window. She lifted a slat and stared out bleakly as she remembered the emotions that had poured from one or perhaps even all of the Breeds she had seen that night.
The grief had been horrible, and it had been feminine in nature. She remembered that from the dream. She stared into the distance, focusing on the ridge of low mountains rising beyond her home.
It was early evening. She was amazed she had slept that long. The sun was already beginning its slow trek along the horizon before allowing the dark sky to converge over the land.
She closed her eyes, and as she did, a face wavered before her inner sight. A familiar, affectionate smile. Pale blue eyes filled with laughter_
with ice. Her heart rate increased as dread began to quake through her veins.
It couldn't be him, she told herself fiercely. She had to be mistaken.
"Megan, come sit down and have some coffee."
Braden's voice was low, soothing. "Calm down and then we'll go over the pictures again."
She turned back to him, surprised. "I am calm."
"Are you? His gaze met hers solemnly. "I can feel your mind raging, baby. You're not going to find answers like that. You have to learn to sift through the information. How to set aside what isn't important to get to what is."
She dropped the slat as she crossed her arms beneath her breasts and turned fully to him.
"They've been watching us." She knew it; she could feel it in the sick rolling of her stomach.
He knew. She saw it in his eyes. Lucky for him he didn't try to lie about it.
"At odd times." He nodded. "Two of the teams I brought with me were
searching for them. I've called them back in closer to the house for full surveillance until Jonas arrives. We're not taking any chances."
"I'm not scared," she assured him. "But I can feel them. They're watching now."
She couldn't feel their emotions, just a sense of being watched, of being targeted.
"My men are waiting for them too." He moved from where he stood by the doorway, pacing over to the coffeepot and pulling two cups from the cabinet. "We need to eat. I want you at your best tonight and before you go over those pictures. Your system moves more slowly when it's hungry."