the implication of those words. The previous evening’s events had been unexpected, but she was ready for them now—and he’d been the one who’d said to go with the moment. Unless he simply didn’t understand—didn’t believe—the healing that had come with their connection the previous evening. “Maks, this is stupid. I can make things so much easier for you—”
He’d been aiming for the door. He walked right into the frame, groping for the handle a good six inches away. Katie froze, horrified—ashamed at herself for driving him to leave when he could barely navigate, startled at his condition in the first place. “Maks—!”
Maks froze, his hand falling slowly back to his side—as if he, too, had been confronted with his own weakness. He stood that way for a long moment, swaying slightly. When he shifted, it changed the entire nature of his stance—turned it from wild-in-flight to curiosity-got-the-cat. His head lifted just enough so she knew he’d caught the scent from her mug. “Is that hot chocolate?”
“Yes,” she told him. “Would you like some?”
* * *
Maks needed help back to that couch—and he knew without a doubt that she wouldn’t have left him there to heat more milk if she’d allowed herself to listen with her healer’s skills. Then, she would have heard the buzz of dissonant energies bouncing around within him; she might have guessed that his vision throbbed with color and echoes.
She might have realized that he was totally screwed up—and if she hadn’t immediately called brevis, she would have tried to fix it all.
Not again. Not until he understood more about it...not until he was sure he could control it.
But he was grateful for the hot chocolate. And he was grateful when she pressed a hand to his shoulder and said she had an equine house call, and a stop to make on the way home...but she wouldn’t go unless he promised he’d rest right there until she got back.
She didn’t repeat her offer to help. For that, he was most grateful of all. For as much as he wanted the intimacy of her healer’s touch, he couldn’t expose her to his own unpredictable nature.
It didn’t bother him that he’d almost taken her on the porch. But that she’d lacked intent...that she’d had doubts...
Yeah, that bothered him.
It was up to Maks to figure out Maks.
But mostly he just slept, right there on the couch with the sweet dregs of the hot chocolate soothing his mind. He slept until the yellow cat—which had claimed a tight little spot between his hip and the back of the couch—leaped down to the floor.
The movement woke him from a dead sleep full of fears and portents and pain, mixing energies and confusion. He leaped from the couch in a fever dream of fury, landing as tiger...claws digging into the plain pine planking of the living room floor. The world whirled around him, a cacophony of sensation, and he flattened to a crouch, ears against his skull—the tiger armed and dangerous and completely out of control, driven by the need to strike back at that which struck from within.
The yellow cat, back arched and tail puffed huge, froze against the screen door like a Halloween silhouette, hissing fiercely—but only until he bounced out on his toes to smack Maks soundly across his whiskered muzzle. Then he dashed off, back still arched and tail stuck up in defiance.
Maks released a chuffing breath of surprise, slapped right out of his inward obsession—and only then heard Katie’s car door close outside the house. He clawed his way back to the human...and got no further before she took the steps to the porch. Her car keys hit the porch floor with a jangle; the soft thump of a cloth shopping bag landed beside them. “Maks!”
Panic flared all over again—the awareness that he wasn’t himself, that he didn’t have the control he should. “Stay... back, ” he told her, desperate words through gritted teeth that she never had the chance to hear.
“I’m such an idiot!
He’d been aiming for the door. He walked right into the frame, groping for the handle a good six inches away. Katie froze, horrified—ashamed at herself for driving him to leave when he could barely navigate, startled at his condition in the first place. “Maks—!”
Maks froze, his hand falling slowly back to his side—as if he, too, had been confronted with his own weakness. He stood that way for a long moment, swaying slightly. When he shifted, it changed the entire nature of his stance—turned it from wild-in-flight to curiosity-got-the-cat. His head lifted just enough so she knew he’d caught the scent from her mug. “Is that hot chocolate?”
“Yes,” she told him. “Would you like some?”
* * *
Maks needed help back to that couch—and he knew without a doubt that she wouldn’t have left him there to heat more milk if she’d allowed herself to listen with her healer’s skills. Then, she would have heard the buzz of dissonant energies bouncing around within him; she might have guessed that his vision throbbed with color and echoes.
She might have realized that he was totally screwed up—and if she hadn’t immediately called brevis, she would have tried to fix it all.
Not again. Not until he understood more about it...not until he was sure he could control it.
But he was grateful for the hot chocolate. And he was grateful when she pressed a hand to his shoulder and said she had an equine house call, and a stop to make on the way home...but she wouldn’t go unless he promised he’d rest right there until she got back.
She didn’t repeat her offer to help. For that, he was most grateful of all. For as much as he wanted the intimacy of her healer’s touch, he couldn’t expose her to his own unpredictable nature.
It didn’t bother him that he’d almost taken her on the porch. But that she’d lacked intent...that she’d had doubts...
Yeah, that bothered him.
It was up to Maks to figure out Maks.
But mostly he just slept, right there on the couch with the sweet dregs of the hot chocolate soothing his mind. He slept until the yellow cat—which had claimed a tight little spot between his hip and the back of the couch—leaped down to the floor.
The movement woke him from a dead sleep full of fears and portents and pain, mixing energies and confusion. He leaped from the couch in a fever dream of fury, landing as tiger...claws digging into the plain pine planking of the living room floor. The world whirled around him, a cacophony of sensation, and he flattened to a crouch, ears against his skull—the tiger armed and dangerous and completely out of control, driven by the need to strike back at that which struck from within.
The yellow cat, back arched and tail puffed huge, froze against the screen door like a Halloween silhouette, hissing fiercely—but only until he bounced out on his toes to smack Maks soundly across his whiskered muzzle. Then he dashed off, back still arched and tail stuck up in defiance.
Maks released a chuffing breath of surprise, slapped right out of his inward obsession—and only then heard Katie’s car door close outside the house. He clawed his way back to the human...and got no further before she took the steps to the porch. Her car keys hit the porch floor with a jangle; the soft thump of a cloth shopping bag landed beside them. “Maks!”
Panic flared all over again—the awareness that he wasn’t himself, that he didn’t have the control he should. “Stay... back, ” he told her, desperate words through gritted teeth that she never had the chance to hear.
“I’m such an idiot!
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