Building illusions and using them had been a disaster until he’d learned how to control that power. He’d kept quiet at first, afraid he was going insane, figuring he was useless when they had been children fighting for survival. He still felt that way. He glanced toward the stairs. Most people, if they did have psychic talents as Czar believed, never developed them. They still went after what they wanted. They still fought for happiness. He had one chance, and that one chance was that woman up those stairs.
Was he using his past as an excuse because he was afraid of failing with Zyah? Afraid of letting her down? Or was he afraid of failing himself? Being the one in the club who couldn’t cut it yet again? Was Anat right? He had to take a good, hard look at himself. He never ducked a tough assignment. Never. He pulled his weight when it came to any kind of dangerous assignment. Hell no, he wasn’t a coward.
Damn it all. Maybe when it came to personal shit he was. He never talked about his cursed gift to the others. Not even to Czar. He’d never admitted to them that illusion turned to ugly reality, and reality could kill. He was always afraid of being rejected by the others. Was that what he was doing to Zyah? Rejecting her before she could refuse him?
What was he doing standing there in the Gamal house-hold with his colors inked on his skin, feeling them all the way to his bones, when he hadn’t gone to Czar and told him the truth? Laid it right out in front of him. All of it. The White Rabbit with that pocket watch who persisted in turning into Sorbacov with his fucking gold watch. The ticking time bomb that was so real even Maestro and Anat heard it. They heard it. If Zyah hadn’t stopped it by kissing him, connecting them so deeply, that bomb could have gone off.
He cursed under his breath in his native language. Anat was right. He was a fucking coward. Now not only could he lose his standing with the only family he’d ever known, but he could lose Zyah. Really lose her, as in she could be dead. He couldn’t take that. He wouldn’t be responsible for that. He needed time to think things through. He had to make certain she was safe, but also that his family was safe. The ocean air would help. The open road and his bike would clear his mind. They had to. He couldn’t make mistakes, not when lives were at stake.
Player felt Zyah’s presence before she even appeared on the staircase. He turned slowly to look up to watch her descend. It was almost a compulsion. A need just to be in the room with her. To breathe her in, to see her like this, doing mundane, simple, everyday things. She flowed in silence down the stairs like the dancer she was, so gorgeous she took his breath away. Her beauty wasn’t just skin deep.
He didn’t think she was perfect for him because he found her curvy body sinful beyond temptation, a playground he could spend hours teasing and playing with, or even because she had a gift that could counter the mess of his own talent. She was unique. A soft-spoken woman unafraid of hard work, capable of unconditional love and loyal to a fault. She was worth fighting for, and he’d be a damn fool to let her slip away because he was afraid of failure.
She didn’t smile at him when he reached out and pulled her close, standing her in front of him to inspect her gear. She wore a thick jacket and good gloves. She’d managed to tame her hair enough to twist it into a long, loose braid that was never going to hold with that thick mass, but with a helmet over it, she’d do fine. Bog, but she was drop-dead gorgeous.
A little half smile played around her full lips. She shook her head. “I am not. There’re all kinds of things wrong with me.”
“Did I say that out loud?” He probably had. Half the time he didn’t know what the fuck he was doing around her. He caught the front of her jacket and tugged until she took a step closer to him. “You absolutely are. Believe me, I know what I’m talking about.” He said that with all sincerity. “Are you dressed in layers under the jacket? It’s going to be cold out there this time of night.”
Her dark chocolate gaze slid over him, hot enough to melt a glacier. She was going to give him a heart attack for sure. He pressed the heel of his hand to his temple. It was hurting like a mother again. Pounding. When was it ever going to stop for good?