Shadow Walker: Project Prometheus, #3

By Esther Mitchell

Trevor Watkins is the miracle of the hour -- the survivor of an unassisted coma. But he awakes in a strange place, with no memory but one -- the smiling face of a woman with jade-green eyes he has a dreadful feeling he's supposed to hate. 

Trapped in a living nightmare from which he believes there is no escape, he finds himself face-to-face with a betrayal he can't help but forgive, and a secret he can't hide from. 

Now, the jade-eyed beauty from his past can set him free, if he's willing to let her step into a world that could take her away from him forever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: FyrRose Productions
• Release date: Nov 5, 2018
• ISBN: 9781955301039

Book preview

Project Prometheus

Book Three

Shadow Walker

By

Esther Mitchell

This work is copyright 2003 by Esther Mitchell

Project Prometheus

Book One: In Her Name

Book Two: Hope of Heaven

Book Three: Shadow Walker

COMING SOON

Book Four: Blood Debt

Other Books By Esther Mitchell

GUARDIANS, INC: WITCH HOLLOW

Book One: Sight Unseen

Book Two: Up In Flames

COMING SOON

Book Three: Nick of Time

HANOVER INVESTIGATIONS

Book One: Burden of Proof

COMING SOON

Book Two: Silent Night

LEGENDS OF TIRUM

Book One: Daughter of Ashes

Book Two: Phoenix Rising

Book Three: Spirit Mage

Book Four: Mistress of Cats

COMING SOON

Book Five: Sister of Dragons

FyrRose Productions.

637 S. Cynthia Avenue

Tucson AZ 85710

http://www.esthermitchell.com

Copyright © 2003 by Esther Mitchell

Ebook ISBN: 9781955301039

  Print ISBN: 9781796219784

Published in the United States of America

Publication Date: February 5, 2019

Editor: Gail R. Delaney

Cover Artist: Jenifer Ranieri

Cover Art Copyright by FyrRose Productions © 2018

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information retrieval and storage system without permission of the publisher.

Ebooks are not transferrable, either in whole or in part. As the purchaser or otherwise lawful recipient of this ebook, you have the right to enjoy the novel on your own computer or other device. Further distribution, copying, sharing, gifting or uploading is illegal and violates United States Copyright laws.

Pirating of ebooks is illegal. Criminal Copyright Infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, may be investigated by the Federal Bureau of Investigation and is punishable by up to five years in federal prison and a fine of up to $250,000.

Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination, or are used in a fictitious situation. Any resemblances to actual events, locations, organizations, incidents or persons – living or dead – are coincidental and beyond the intent of the author.

Dedication and Acknowledgement

To my spiritual family, without whom I might never have had the courage to write about the White Wolf

To Lynda O’Dea, who went above and beyond the calling of a Real Estate Agent to help me explore Washington DC and Bethesda from a country away.

To my boys, you provided me with more than research material. Stay safe out there!

To Nikita, my sounding board, without whom this book might never have been

And, as always, to my beloved, who gave me the strength to face my own demons and loving me when I couldn't love myself.

Prologue

Aermórnosa, 9000 B.C.E

Smoke curled up from the city below, and the distant sounds of death and battle reached Ausar’s ears. The scent of blood and burnt flesh filled his flared nostrils, and fury coiled in his chest to know Onuris’ minions were the genesis of this slaughter. As the Crophines’ Seer, his was the responsibility to guide Ali-Antos toward a bright future. Why had he not foreseen this? Why did he receive no warning, no way to prepare the people of Ali-Antos for battle? The Great Gods mocked him -- his immortality within the confines of Aermórnosa did not negate his fallible humanity. Now, the people he swore to guide and protect were helpless lambs at the altar of Onuris’ lust for blood and power.

A low, lupine growl rumbled through his chest as the wildness within gripped him. If not for his position, he would be down there, in the thick of battle. The Gods gifted him with abilities capable of turning the tide of the struggle in the city below; however, the weight of the Medicine pouch slung across his chest reminded him other covenants bound him. He must defend his charge, regardless of the cost. He must leave this place. When the Sodalitas Arachaena arrived at Aermórnosa’s gates, they must find nothing of value -- they valued nothing more than access to the Portal of Kronos.

We must go.

He turned toward the voice, to meet the dark gaze of the Musir to his left. Sargon. The Warrior. Quickly, his gaze flashed over the rest. Lugh. Mykalos. Csilla. These were the only family he knew, and he would defend them to the death.

It is time, Shadow Walker, Sargon nodded toward the hidden tunnel leading to the docks only the Elder Musir knew existed. There, boats would carry them to the far reaches of the Earth, to hide their charges. They would never see one another again. The darkness filling Ausar had only one bright light. He had seen the future. One day, the Gods would bring the five sacred artifacts back to Aermórnosa. Peace settled over him, his knowledge comfort enough.

*****

Intensive Care Unit

National Naval Medical Center -- Bethesda, Maryland

October 6, 2001

His boots sank into the icy snow. The crackle of foliage and a low growl dogged his every step as he tore through the forest. A glance over his shoulder revealed the blur of white fur, sharp canines, and fiery yellow eyes, and a long-buried terror ricocheted in his veins as he stumbled and fell, pushing the air from his lungs. His last sight was the hurtle of a snarling white wolf, and suddenly, he knew. This was what death felt like.

The steady blip of the cardiotachometer suddenly jumped and fluttered before dropping flat. An eerie, spine-crawling squeal filled the silence of the Intensive Care Unit. Chief Petty Officer Lydia James, the night duty nurse, flew to the responsible bedside. She glanced over the diodes in an attachment check, and slapped her palm across the Code Blue button on the wall above the bed as she barked, Code Blue. ICU, bed 12. Code Blue.

With rapid efficiency, she administered cardiopulmonary resuscitation, flipping on machines between repressions. As soon as the respirator circulated air in and out of the patient’s body, she concentrated on repressing his chest to get his heart going again, her every movement underscored by that ominous beep.

Tension gripped her as she glanced at the emaciated form in the bed. Familiar pity tugged the edge of her consciousness. He was a young man -- only in his mid-thirties -- with skin like rich caramel and naturally chiseled features at odds with his coloring. She admired his will to live, ever since he arrived at the National Naval Medical Center a year and a half ago. Who wouldn’t admire the stamina of a coma patient tenacious enough to survive a twenty-two hour flight without life-support? He hung on, even after they pulled all life-support a year ago. After all that, he slipped away now. Frustrated tears stung Lydia’s eyes as she worked over him. Why now? After everything, why would he give up now?

A small cry of surprise left Lydia, and she jerked backwards as his chest heaved beneath her hands, and his amber-brown eyes opened. Behind her, she barely registered the arrival of more medical personnel, or their collective gasp of shock, as they all stared at the man in the bed. There was no way CPR was responsible for this save. The only explanation was too terrifying to contemplate. Trevor Watkins just came back from the dead.

Chapter One

Kensington, Maryland

October 28, 2002

It was a typical Monday morning, Lieutenant Commander Jaye Michaels glanced at her watch as she navigated the cluttered family room she never had time to clean anymore. At the foot of the stairs, she hollered, Jordan! C’mon, you’re going to be late!

I’m going to be late. Normally, a few minutes behind wasn’t a problem for her. Even the United States Navy cut clinical psychiatrists a little slack -- especially those decorated for valor she never felt less deserving of than she did this morning. Not when the day loomed over her like an executioner’s axe. After two and a half long, terror-filled years of holding her breath and praying, she finally acquired the most important case of her life on Friday. Today, for the first time in a decade, she would come face-to-face with a ghost.

Jordan!

A put-upon sigh answered her from the second floor, and Jaye bit back a harried laugh as she made her way back to the kitchen. Nine years old was just far too young to be so contrary.

A few minutes later, the heavy thud of sneakers clomped dejectedly down the carpeted stairs, and an annoyed Jordan, his sweater on backwards again, appeared in the kitchen doorway, small frown lines denting his forehead. Jaye smiled at him even as tender pain lodged in her heart. He looked so much like his father, with his caramel-colored skin and dark amber eyes. Only his high cheekbones and smooth, raven-wing hair came from her.

"I don’t need to go to school, he protested with all the vehemence of nine-and-omniscient. His hopeful look pained her. Why can’t I go with you, instead?"

Jaye flashed him a tolerant smile as she slathered bread with Jordan’s two favorite food groups -- peanut butter and jelly. Sighing, she realized it was one more constant reminder of his father.

Because you have to go to school, so you can learn how to do all the fun stuff you want to do, kiddo. And I have to go to work. To beg forgiveness for my life. Tension returned to coil between her shoulder blades, making her wince. She spent the past year telling herself she was doing the right thing by staying away from Trevor, even though she desperately wanted to see to his care herself. She owed him a debt, but he needed time to heal, physically, before her boss or his would sign off on his psychiatric care. Since he woke, she knew her presence could be a detriment to his healing -- especially if he recognized her. So she deliberately stayed away, going out of her way to avoid any chance of them crossing paths. Not difficult, as long as she stayed in the psychiatry wing.

Until today. Today, she would face him for the first time. She was petrified, and yet anxious to get the first, no doubt awkward, meeting over with. Except Fate and her nine-year-old son conspired against her attempt at haste. Facing her son, she sighed.

Turn your sweater around so the tag is in back and find your book bag. She handed him his lunchbox -- predictably Star Wars, like everything else in her son’s life -- and offered him an encouraging smile as she ruffled his hair affectionately. Buck up, short-stuff. Just think what you’ll be able to do once you get school over with.

He brightened on cue as he struggled into his thick winter coat. I want to be a pilot, Mom. Can I fly a jet, like on base?

She winced again, acutely aware of her son’s love of fighter planes. Her memories of watching fighters take off and land at Andrew’s Air Force Base were bittersweet, at best. It was a regular pastime of theirs, thanks to Jordan’s rapt fascination. She couldn’t deny him something that gave him so much joy, but a frightened knot tightened in her gut to know she fed his desire to rush into danger. Just like his father.

Jaye smiled wanly, unwilling to quash his dreams with her reservations.

You can be anything you want to be, honey.

He grew pensive as he followed her through the house toward the front door. Mom?

What, babe? She shrugged into her coat and snagged her purse, cover, and the keys to her Toyota Corolla.

Can I be like Dad?

The unexpected question brought Jaye up short, and her eyes squeezed shut.

Good God, I hope not.

Briefly, images from the past two and a half years of hell flashed in her mind, memories she didn’t want. Visions of a strong man, reduced to an empty shell, invaded her mind, and she wanted to curl up and cry until she died. Those were her nightmares -- her crime. Jordan couldn’t suffer for her mistakes. She answered his questions about his father as honestly as she could. Somewhere along the way, Jordan’s imagination took over, and he filled in what she was forced to leave blank with a story of a heroic pilot, shot down and imprisoned while on some courageous mission. And, God help her, she didn’t yet have the strength to tell him the truth. Not until she looked into that man’s eyes and saw something other than contempt and betrayal.

We’ll see, honey, she answered Jordan quietly, pushing back her fear and pain. Just worry about the fourth grade, right now, okay?

With that, she sent him off to the car, and turned to lock the front door. Her hand shook so violently she barely managed to get the key in the lock. She wasn’t sure she could do this after all.

An hour later, Jaye continued her internal argument as she strode down the NNMC Psychiatry Department’s long corridor toward her office. Now was not the time for doubts, but she entertained them anyway. Why did she take this case? She was a fool to think Trevor might forgive her. She knew enough about his past to know he never forgave betrayal, and with good reason. Could a decade change a man scarred by betrayal since birth? No way.

Jaye stopped, eyes closed and her hand trembling on the knob to her office door. Ten years ago, she made the biggest mistake of her life, and stood by while the man she claimed to love was brutally tortured. Ten years ago, she watched his dignity, his health, and his soul battered, and did nothing to stop it. She drew a shaky breath against tears. Tears did nothing in those long, agonizing nights following her betrayal, and they would do even less now. Like Freud said, only the truth could free her -- a quote she never thought to ever fall back on. With a weak laugh, she pushed open her office door and forced a serene, confident smile she didn’t feel to her face.

*****

Senses he didn’t understand told Trevor Watkins there was someone outside the door even before it opened. He had no idea where the heightened sensations came from, but sight, sound, and smell were intensified to the point of overload. He smelled fear, deep and earthy, and the salty scent of grief. He heard a heartbeat, loud and fast, and female. Whoever she was, the woman on the other side of the door had something to hide.

The door opened, the motion a distraction for his growing disquiet. He didn’t like the emotions and sensations whirling in his mind. He was edgy and feeling out of sorts, unable to remember how he came to this place, or why he had these strange senses. He felt... well, hollow. That hollowness terrified him and comforted him at the same time. It told him he once had a life, full of friends and family. Not understanding how all the people who claimed he should know them were strangers to him scared him even more. He agreed to see the psychiatrist only because he wanted -- no, he needed -- his past. He was lost without it.

One glimpse of the woman in the doorway, however, convinced him desire, at least, was not confined to his past. Her warm, cinnamon scent filled his lungs, and his body's primal response nearly flattened him. His gaze roved over her and he decided this was the closest he’d ever been to perfection. She was tall -- probably only an inch or so shorter than his own six-foot stature -- with shapely legs that, beneath the starched hem of her uniform skirt, seemed to go on forever. Her skin was the flawless, lightly burnished tone of a deep tan; but why did he think she was that same shade all over?

As he studied her, his eyes narrowed. He picked up the scent of fear and guilt again, and heard the subtle alteration of her breathing. Then she shifted, and he became aware of her body beneath the regulation uniform, all toned curves and supple lines. No woman he saw in the past year could carry off the pure white of a naval uniform like this woman could. She had smooth, high-boned features, and her full, lush lips made him think of sultry whispers and sinful kisses. Her head was held proudly erect, her raven-wing hair coiled into a tight braid around her head. The image of his hands, tangled in dark, waist-length hair, assaulted Trevor and cranked his already-elevated temperature up another degree. Who was she? The flash of vulnerability and confirmation of guilt in her amazing jade-green eyes sent a chill of fear through Trevor. They obviously had a past, but for the life of him, he couldn’t recall what it was.

Hello, Trevor, she greeted him familiarly, confirming his fear. Her voice, even softened by pain and uncertainty, lanced through him in a way nothing since he awakened had. He remembered hearing her voice in the hallway outside his room throughout the past year. He heard his name, and he always expected the owner of that voice to come through the door. She never had.

He blinked at her, suddenly afraid to know who she was, or how they hurt each other. Maybe, he realized with a shiver of apprehension, not remembering the past was a good thing.

Jaye stared at Trevor as her pulse kicked into overdrive and she drank in each beloved feature, absorbing the pain of her past and present colliding.

He still didn't look well, even after six months of physical therapy. He’d lost weight, his wiry frame almost skeletal in the drape of clothing that once fit him like a second skin. His once-dark skin was the color of sun-bleached leather, and if she needed further proof his recovery was a slow and painful process, the sunken hollows of his cheeks and eyes were evidence enough. Though her daily perusal of his medical records over the past year told her he was fit enough, she feared he still didn't have the strength to face the memories she knew he had, let alone the ones she knew nothing about. Air lodged painfully behind Jaye’s ribs, and she barely held in the sob threatening to break loose. This wasn’t the Trevor she remembered. The Trevor she knew was confident and focused. This man was lost, adrift, and vulnerable. She wanted nothing more than to put her arms around him and promise him she would help him. Then, as she finally met his dark amber gaze, a new pain ricocheted through her to land low in her gut.

No hate, no condemnation, and no love shone in Trevor’s eyes. In fact, no recognition at all registered there, except for a brief flare of heat, quickly doused. It appeared she was the only one who remembered them at all.

Jaye nearly staggered under the weight of realization. She prepared herself for his fury, his pain, and even his hate. Yet, even with the diagnosis of amnesia in his file, she never imagined coming face-to-face with the confused, blank look of a complete stranger. Summoning her control, Jaye repressed the swell of sorrow, displaying none of her turbulent emotions as she crossed the room and extended her hand to Trevor with a dispassionate air she didn't feel.

Mr. Watkins, I’m Lieutenant Commander Jaye Michaels. I'm a psychiatrist here at the NNMC, and I’ve agreed to take on your case. She noted how he didn’t flinch as he shook her hand, or display any of the normal reactions a patient in denial might be expected to have at the mention of the term psychiatrist. That was a good sign, in Jaye’s book. A cooperative patient was easier to treat. Then again, she expected nothing less from Trevor. He never looked down on her profession. Do you have any questions, before we get started?

He regarded her with curiosity, as if trying to gauge her, and Jaye had the unsettling feeling he could see straight through her. Finally, he released her hand with a sigh. What kind of problem do I have, exactly, Doctor Michaels?

He was as blunt as ever, she noted with a small smile. Her smile disappeared at the knowledge his son shared the same quality. Do you feel you have a problem, Mr. Watkins?

I’m not sure. He crossed to stand behind the chair facing her. Resting his hands on the back, he flexed them. "I wish I knew what was normal, for me. Then I’d know what’s wrong, for sure."

She shot him a concerned frown as she retrieved his file and a blank notepad and pen from her briefcase. "What do you believe to be wrong?"

He sighed, moving around to drop into the chair. He stared at his hands as his fingers flexed in a movement she knew to be pure Trevor, but he seemed to regard as bizarre. Everything.

Can you be a little more specific, Mr. Watkins?

Trevor, he corrected, looking up at her. "And it’s a lot of things. I have flashes of déjà vu about pretty much everything around me, including you. I feel like, on one level, I know all these people -- you, my sister, the guys who claim they’re friends... He shrugged helplessly. But I can’t put more than a few, isolated memories together clearly in my head. Everyone seems... different, somehow. He frowned then. And I’ve been having really strange dreams."

Jaye leaned forward, pen poised and her heart pounding. With amnesiacs, their dreams often held the key to the amnesia. What kind of dreams?

Actually, he admitted quietly, it’s more like one dream. He drew a deep breath, before continuing, "In it, I’m running through the woods, with this huge, white wolf behind me. I mean, it’s massive, for a wolf, and it’s growling and yipping, like it’s possessed or something. I can always feel the danger."

Jaye realized she was holding her breath, and slowly exhaled, even as something he said tugged at her own memory. White wolf?

Were you afraid it was going to kill you, Mr. Watkins?

No. Both his tone and expression remained apathetic as he shook his head.

Jaye glanced up from the notes she scribbled as he talked. Indifference wasn't a typical response to frightening chase dreams. Still, Trevor looked sincere, and she believed he was unbothered by the wolf’s presence. Why not?

Because... His brow creased as if he struggled for a way to explain something difficult. "Because I think something did kill me, Doc. The wolf leapt at me, and then it was like I was the wolf, watching everything I used to be turn to dust. His bemused gaze leveled on her. I never really felt threatened, which seemed strange to me, when I woke up. I should have been terrified, but I wasn’t. Oh, sure, I was scared, but I’m not even sure what I was afraid of. I know it wasn’t the wolf. Somehow, even at the time, I knew it wasn’t going to kill me, but I was going to die."

Jaye watched him for a long moment, tapping her pen absently against her lower lip as she considered his story. His dream had all the earmarks of a classic chase dream, but his lack of terror troubled her. Chase dreamers were almost always under extreme stress and fear, and displayed a mild form of paranoia about their dream images. They might not always know what chased them, but they all agonized about getting caught. Trevor, conversely, seemed completely unconcerned, and, if she had to speculate, she’d be willing to say he allowed himself to be caught, because he already knew what chased him had no power over him unless he let it. So then, why was he dreaming chase dreams at all? Glancing at the notations in Trevor’s file, her frown deepened. There were several notes from the trauma ward and Intensive Care Unit nurses, and they all had a common theme. Extreme distress and elevation in pulse and blood pressure during certain hours of the night, and the simultaneous glimpse of a large animal in the immediate vicinity by the nursing staff. That hardly seemed normal, but what was its connection to Trevor?

Do you fear death, Trevor?

He snorted a disdainful laugh. No way.

Her gaze lifted to his. Most people do. Why don’t you?

He stared back at her, unblinking, and she saw the resignation in his amber eyes. Because I already know what most people try to ignore -- we all die sometime. Why waste the time I’ve got being terrified by the inevitable?

Jaye frowned. Trevor was always a little irreverent about death, but she never had cause to be concerned, before. It’s normally considered a human trait to have a healthy respect for one’s own mortality, Mr. Watkins.

A smile quirked the corner of his mouth, displaying the slight indentation of a dimple, and the first sign of the laid-back soldier he once was. Don’t get me wrong, Doc. I’m not going to swan dive off the Capitol Dome or SCUBA dive without oxygen. I respect the limitations of being human as much as the next guy. I just don’t see a point in obsessing over something I can’t change, and death is one of those things.

So is the past, Jaye murmured, her attention fixed on the file in her hands as she fought back another wave of pain. She struggled to keep the bitterness out of her voice. Yet it seems you’ve had some problems overcoming that.

When she looked up at him, his answering smile was strained. Well, I guess I fixed that problem, didn’t I?

She studied him for a moment, trying to gauge his thought process. "Just how much can you remember?"

I can remember my childhood, if that’s what you mean. The casual tone of his voice was forced. Meeting his level gaze, she startled at the flicker of recognition in his eyes. "I remember everything I learned in college, I think, but I can’t seem to recall actually attending college. I remember enlisting in the Army... He stopped, frowning, and his fingers flexed as if stiff. Am I still in the Army? Is that why I’m in a military hospital?"

No. She sighed. It was clear Trevor had little memory beyond his enlistment, but maybe, she could jog his memory if she provided him with a little information. Sometimes, the healing process for the memory was that easy. Trevor, you took a voluntary retirement from active duty seven years ago. You’ve been working for a special mercenary unit called Project Prometheus for, she perused his record for a moment, about six years. That’s why you’re here. Project Prometheus has a medical deal worked out with the Navy, through its founder, Matthew Raleigh.

Trevor fell silent, before realization dawned on his face. Jaye watched him, trying to imagine how he must feel. Trevor was missing over a decade of his life. Ten years, including friends he no longer recognized, events he no longer remembered, and even her. If she was in his place, she’d have long since had a total breakdown. But then, Trevor always was stronger.

How? His voice was hoarse, his intent gaze pleading. How can I just lose so much time?

It’s called dissociative, or circumscribed, amnesia. Her heart broke for him, even as she explained, Typically, it’s the result of severe shock, and involves the blocking out of certain traumatic events, or the events leading up to the trauma, by the psyche. It’s kind of like a built-in crisis management mechanism. For example, it’s not unusual for victims of a severe car crash to forget the entire accident, and even the twenty-four hours immediately preceding the crash.

I’m not here because of a car wreck, am I? His fingers flexed against his knees, and his right hand rose to absently rub his left forearm as he rose and paced across the room. His reaction struck Jaye, knotting her gut. His arm healed twelve years ago, but the way he rubbed it now, anyone who didn’t know better would think it freshly healed. Phantom pain for wounds she wasn’t sure he even remembered receiving.

No.

He turned to look at her from across the room. So why am I here? What happened to me? What caused the amnesia?

She sighed, laying her hands flat on her desk as she met his gaze. What brought it on and what actually caused it are two very different things, Trevor. According to your medical records, you suffered severe blunt force trauma to the head, neck, and chest, resulting in coma. That could very well be what caused the coma -- the body’s need to shut down all unessential function in order to heal. With as long as your coma lasted, it could easily have brought on the amnesia.

And the cause?

Is buried somewhere in what you’ve lost, she answered him with an apologetic shrug. It’s my job to help you figure that out.

He cast her a quizzical look. How?

"We can start by determining what you do remember. If we can figure out exactly where you lost track of your memories, we can do something about overcoming whatever block you’re experiencing. I have to warn you, though, she regarded him levelly, you might never remember everything you’ve lost. The human brain is hard to pin down. There are no guarantees."

Silence stretched between them for long moments, before he nodded, his expression grim. If it even gives me back half of those memories, I’m willing to try anything, Doc.

A sad smile flickered over her lips at his unflinching courage -- an earmark of Trevor’s personality. Whatever the risks, he still believed the reward would be greater. It was her job to not disappoint him. Glancing down at the medical file in her hands, her expression turned thoughtful.

Do you remember where you were born?

Sure. Anchorage.

Staring at the entry in his personal history, Jaye blinked in surprise. This was a part of Trevor’s past she didn’t know. The few times he ever mentioned his childhood, he talked about growing up in the mountains and forests, but she pictured somewhere like Pennsylvania or Virginia, or even Colorado. Now, she was faced with just how little she really knew about him. "You were born in Alaska?"

His gaze shifted from the assortment of diplomas and photographs on her wall, his smile wry. Yeah. Funny, huh?

Stunning was more like it. As at home as he always seemed in the desert, she assumed he came from somewhere at least reasonably warm. What...? I mean, how...?

His laugh was bleak as he rubbed his forearm again. Jaye found the unconscious, repetitive movement intriguing. Did he remember when and how it was broken? Or had it bothered him enough in the past twelve years to make the motion habit?

It’s really quite simple, he responded with a bitter grimace. Jerome Watkins believed in shortcuts, and getting rich quick. When he ran out of cons, and wore out his welcome in forty-eight of the fifty states, he suddenly developed gold rush fever. My sister, Gayle, tells the story much better, actually. She was a little girl when Jerome moved his family to Alaska -- lock, stock, and barrel, in search of a fool’s dream. That’s what he was, too. A goddamned fool. He scowled, staring down at his scar-covered hands as they clenched in tight fists. Jerome had gold lust so bad he couldn’t see what it did to everyone around him. Not when Ma started drinking, not when she died, and not even when Delmar was killed.

Jaye straightened, her eyes widening as she recalled something Trevor told her years before. Your brother was killed by wolves, wasn’t he?

Trevor’s jaw clenched as he turned away, clearly struggling against the memories he did have. Yeah. So?

Trevor, your dreams! The wolf you keep seeing -- it might be a repressed memory trying to surface. Dizzy euphoria rose within her. Could this be the breakthrough they needed? So soon?

Hell, no, he scoffed, his gaze fixed out the window. I can remember Delmar’s death good and clear, so you can drop that theory, Doc.

But, Trevor--

I said, drop it. His jaw tightened and he snarled the words, a small tic of agitation jumping between his furrowed brows.

Sitting back, Jaye berated herself for pressing a point she already knew was sore with Trevor. In all the years since Delmar’s death, Trevor never forgave Jerome Watkins for the suffering he caused. Jaye fought down a wave of sorrow and pain at the thought. Suddenly, the reason she never sought him out after Somalia seemed clearer than ever. She couldn’t expect forgiveness from this man, and she wouldn’t demean herself to beg him for a second chance. She had her pride, after all. Pride was about all she had left, anymore.

"Where were you born?"

The unexpected question caught Jaye off-guard, and she answered him before she stopped to think about what she was doing. Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.

The same roguish grin that captured her heart all those years ago flashed across his face, setting her heart stuttering again.

City slicker, huh?

Her lips curved in a smile she couldn’t hold back. He was flirting -- or trying, anyway. Trevor never mastered the art. He was too direct, too intense, even when they first met, for her to ever believe he was a flirt. From the moment they met, his eye never wandered. And the way he was looking at her now... Jaye’s breath seized in her chest. She wanted to believe in that look, even though she knew it would disappear when he remembered who she was and what she did to him. She forced her mind back to his question.

Military brat. My parents were passing through on rotation when I put in an untimely appearance, and delayed Dad’s arrival at his duty station by nearly a week. She laughed. He’s retired now, but he’s never let me forget.

Trevor's smile was wistful. Sounds like you have a close family, Doc.

Usually, she shrugged. Tawna, my little sister, drives me crazy, sometimes. She’s the reason I-- she stopped, dragging in a ragged breath as she realized what she almost let slip. She swallowed hard, then amended, She’s difficult.

Trevor’s eyes narrowed, and his silent, piercing gaze focused on her again. Her heartbeat loud in her ears, Jaye couldn’t help but compare his stillness to a predator scenting prey. Had he been that animal, she was sure he’d smell her fear, and then, God help her, he’d know she was hiding dreadful secrets. Fortunately, she assured herself, he wasn’t an animal, and he couldn’t possibly know.

What options are open to me, Doctor Michaels? He rasped as he turned away, breaking eye contact. How do I get back to normal?

Jaye cleared her throat, the eerie feeling Trevor could see right through her still ricocheting around inside her. As I told you before, I can’t guarantee you’ll ever be ‘normal’ again, Mr. Watkins. Hopefully, I can help you restore your memory, for now. Any other abnormalities in your psyche will have to be dealt with one at a time. Her gaze turned thoughtful. Although, it might be best if we make certain you don’t have any dangerous aberrations now.

He frowned. How?

She tapped her pen as a she thought out loud. Well, you’re coherent and rational, which cuts out the more deranged mental aberrations like delusions and-- She caught the deepening of his frown, before he turned away, and a chill shot through her. What is it, Trevor?

He shifted, rubbing his arm again, his fingers flexing against his skin. I’ve been... hearing things, Doc. Smelling them, too. It’s like I’m, he shrugged, looked away, looked back at his hands, then shrugged again. Like I’m noticing things for the first time, with different senses. Everything’s sharper, clearer.

Her brows furrowed in concern. What kinds of ‘things’? Can you describe them?

Not really. He shook his head. I can give you examples, if you want.

Okay.

Right now, I can hear that your heartbeat’s picked up, and your breathing’s shallow and rapid. You smell like fear, Doctor Michaels. He looked directly at her, his eyes flaring with an amber light as his gaze bored into hers. What are you afraid of?

Jaye’s nails dug into the arms of her chair as panic clawed through her. Fear. Trevor just described her emotional state perfectly -- and based on heightened physical senses, almost like an animal might. It was impossible!

Yet... trembling, Jaye was forced to acknowledge it wasn’t impossible, which alarmed her even more. After all, she had all the proof anyone needed that the paranormal was possible. Through her mind flashed the family heirloom hidden in her attic but never far from her mind. That damned mirror, which haunted her dreams for years, and filled her with the terrible sensation she was only ever half of what she was born to be. The Blackwolf family legend, as her grandmother told it, revolved around the mirror. According to Maria Blackwolf, the White Wolf entrusted the mirror to an ancestor of the Blackwolf clan. White Wolf -- also known as Istatigan, or Ausar -- was more than just a man. He was a man to whom the Wolf Spirit belonged. Jaye laughed off the stories, though there was no way she could discount the mirror. But werewolves? Those were the stuff of bad horror flicks and delusional minds.

A chill passed over Jaye. Trevor never lied to her. Still, if she believed what he told her, then the Blackwolf family legend was coming terrifyingly true.

Commander? Jaye surfaced from her thoughts to find Trevor hovering over her, concern etched into his drawn features. Geeze. Are you okay?

She nodded, scooting her chair backward in an effort to put distance between them. If she was right about Trevor, then being near him put her in more danger than she originally suspected.

I think, her voice cracked on the words, and she had to clear her throat before she could manage, I think we’re done for today, Mr. Watkins. I need to think about this before we proceed any further. This might not be as simple as I thought.

Trevor frowned, and she thought he might argue. Instead, he nodded, and headed for the door, but stopped with his hand on the knob and turned to look back at her. His amber eyes were sad, and she had the eerie feeling he saw right through her dismissal. He proved it when he quietly predicted, Someday, you’re going to tell me why you’re so afraid of me.

Jaye bit her lip to hold back the pain staking her heart.

Her secrets involved him, and as long as he was her patient she couldn't ever let him know. She was deathly afraid she wouldn’t get out of this one with her heart intact.

*****

Daniel Cook jerked backward, to prevent his carefully crafted good looks from meeting with the solid wooden door when it swung open into his path.

Watch it! he barked, glowering at the teenage girl responsible.

S-sorry, sir, she stuttered, shoving thick glasses back into place as she scuttled out of reach. I d-didn’t realize--

He snorted in revulsion as he brushed past her and into the room. Amelia Jenkins would never amount to anything, and Daniel had no idea why the Brotherhood of Spiders’ European Widow kept the stupid cow around. It wasn't like Joy was sentimental.

Daniel! A cultured voice, touched with an airy brogue, chided him. "Don’t be rude, a chara."

I don’t have time for this, Joy, he snapped, yanking the door shut on Amelia’s startled expression. What is so all-fire important that you left Ireland to track me down?

Joy O’Bannon frowned, her haughty expression blending distaste and stern disapproval. The Shadow Walker concerns me. He should worry you, too. He poses a threat as long as he remains alive, and we need that blood. You were supposed to be seeing to this, Daniel.

Keep your pants on. He dropped into one of the plush chairs flanking her hotel room table. Killing him is still on the agenda, but I need him, right now.

For what? She snapped as she rose from her perch at