Page 8 of Whispers of Torment

Nathan drew a searing breath into his lungs and finally focused upon his surroundings. The sky touching the water. The dazzling sun and half-clad people. How had he come to this place in his life?

“I’ve heard her. My mate. But my search is futile.”

There was a beat of silence. “Tell me.”

“She’s married.”

Dante’s breath trickled into Nathan’s ear. “Are you absolutely certain the image you saw was of an immortal woman, Nate?”

“Without a doubt.” No way was that tattoo executed by a human hand.

“Is she with another immortal?”

“I don’t know. Why would she Call to me if she’s spoken for?” He crushed the words between his teeth.

“Nate, there must be a reason. Do not get discouraged. Your information is incomplete. She would not have Called to you if she didn’t need you.”

Nathan pressed his fist to his forehead, weak. He needed to hear this.

“Push onward, my friend. It is worth it in the end. I promise.” He drew a deep breath, knowing his course once more.

Minutes later he paced the perimeter of the USS Arizona Memorial, feeling Lillian everywhere. He caressed a name on a marble tablet, felt her fingertips. Her slender hand curled around the back of her neck where her hair frizzed damply. A tiny droplet of sweat beaded on her skin and Nathan licked his lips.

Within a fraction of a second, he realized the image he was being awarded was that of Lillian’s left hand, and that it was bare. No wedding ring circled her finger. The hand was devoid of all jewelry.

He hung his head, letting the emotions rip through him like the crash of waves against the shore. His legs were wobbly and tears stung his closed eyelids. The hair on his body stood erect.

A quick prayer of thanksgiving burst from him and he opened his eyes to the name beneath his finger.

Robert Albright. A clue.

Nathan stowed this information away and continued to follow Lillian LeClair’s footprints. At an outdoor café, he sank into the chair where she had sat. He felt the warmth of her thighs beneath his own, and a shiver of fresh need ripped through him.

She had tipped her face up to the misting rain and used a spoon to eat her meal, though he was unable to see what she ate through the keyhole of vision. And she had laughed and talked with her partner. His hand had clamped around hers, and he leaned in and kissed the full lower lip of Nathan’s dreams.

Raw fury flooded his veins, escalating his need to find her. He stood abruptly and pushed in the chair. His entire being focused on a single strand of long, mahogany hair. Time ceased to move. The world silenced. The sun was blotted by its existence. Nathan plucked it from the chair and he drew it across his lips, stunned by the tingling sensation it caused. He saw again her moist lip and hungered for its feel.

He raced through the streets, aware of his leaping pulse. Had he ever been so alive?

Rushing past houses, he viewed them through Lillian’s eyes, but always through a narrowed perspective. Blue, yellow, pink houses, flags and flowers, flowers everywhere and trees with huge leaves dripping with the latest rain, arching from rough trunks. He climbed the steps of one bungalow and knocked.

A young boy answered his call, about the age and gawkiness of Turner when he had gone to war, except he had the flawless latte skin of a Hawaiian and lacked the starving appearance. Nathan asked if he had seen a woman about this tall, with long, reddish brown hair? Yes, she had been here yesterday. She was lost and walked that way.

Nathan followed the line of the boy’s finger, thanked him and tripped down the steps to the sidewalk.

As Nathan’s footsteps fell precisely atop hers, his heart throbbed heavily. He spun on the pavement, sensing her confusion and rising panic. Her fingers flew to her throat, clawing for air.

She sank screaming to the ground.

Oh, my God.

He folded in half, pierced by images of her struggle and the largest, keenest anger he had ever known. If John LeClair was hurting her, he would make him pay. He would make him pay anyway for possessing Lillian.

Mine.

He opened his eyes.

A lone pearl from the strand of his Visions rested in the crack of the sidewalk. Lillian had broken it in her distress.

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