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dragon to help protect us from threats like the Gemii.
She stepped back, breaking the contact. Heath dropped his tingling hand and
watched her visibly relax. Clearly his touch affected her too.  Because of my& gift, my
paternal grandmother worried that I would be in danger whenever I crossed over
during a trance. She s the same as me. She has the sight, and based on her own
experiences, she believed that spirits of the dead, and especially those of evil people,
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Bernadette Gardner
could steal souls or influence the living who had come into their territory. She had
me& marked& when I was sixteen. The confession seemed painful for her. Clearly the
memories of it were unpleasant. She curled her hands around her abdomen, guarding
herself from something.
 She taught you how to use your gift as well?
 She compelled me to use it. She was a traiteur, a Cajun faith healer. She possessed
abilities that didn t pass to me. I just got the psychic part, but that was enough. She
insisted I d been made this way for a reason and that I had an obligation to my creator
to help people. I couldn t do that if I was susceptible to evil, so she made sure nothing
could get into my soul when I was over there.
 The work must be extensive.
 Would you like to see? The question was not delivered with a sultry lilt. She
wasn t teasing him, merely offering to show him what had to be some incredible
artwork. Nevertheless his mouth went dry.
 Of course.
He sensed his agreement didn t surprise her. She slithered by him and moved to the
foot of the chair, putting a good three feet between them. With a pointed glance at him,
she turned around and slipped her jacket off. She let the garment fall to the floor then
reached sinuous arms behind her back to pull her shirt off over her head. She wore a
black bra and the sight of the thin satin straps across her shoulders almost sent Heath to
his knees. He wanted to slide the narrow bands of fabric down with his tongue. He
pictured his fingers unfastening the hooks, but her own hands stole that privilege from
him. She bowed forward to catch the bra in her hands then dropped it alongside her
jacket.
Heath held his breath. He was too busy watching the play of muscles across her
back to focus on her tattoos yet. He d get to that, if he didn t come in his jeans first.
Every nerve in his body caught fire when she shimmied her slacks down several inches,
revealing the small of her back and the enticing valley between the rounded globes of
her ass.
Hands on her naked hips, she waited for his assessment. And all he could do was
take short, shallow breaths and hope his erection didn t burst through his zipper.
 Well? Don t you think this is enough protection?
 I& how long did all this take? At least he d managed a coherent question. With
monumental effort he forced his gaze to track clinically from the nape of her neck to the
base of her spine. Her light brown skin bore the most intricate motif he d ever seen.
Starting at her shoulder, a man s hand reached up and curled across to the front the
hand of God, he imagined, if his knowledge of Cajun religious beliefs held. The arm
trailed over her shoulder blade and dissolved into lines of runes and the words of a
Psalm. Angels rested beneath the words, their wings spread and beatific faces tilted up
in worship. From the open hand of one angel spilled a line of seeds that grew into
intertwining runes and symbols even Heath s research had never turned up. The thorny
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Slither
vines curved around her lower spine and terminated in a red rose in full bloom on her
opposite hip.
The work was stunning, intricate in the extreme and took advantage of every slope
and curve of her anatomy. As an artist, he was impressed to the point of envy. As a
man, he was seconds away from orgasm.
She looked over her shoulder at him.  Summers in the bayou with Gramma Essie
were& ten kinds of torture. She laid hands on me to ease the pain, but I still had to be
held down while the  artists worked. They didn t use modern techniques like you do.
No sterile needles and no rest periods. They would work all night while my
grandmother chanted and prayed, and in the morning I d be too sick from the agony of
it to do anything but cry. Gramma told me it would keep me safe, but all it did was
make me want to die.
Heath had raised his hands to touch the magnificent images. The details made them
appear three dimensional in places, as if the angels wings would feel soft or the thorns
of the rose vines might prick his finger. Humbled by the raw emotion in her tone, he
hesitated, allowing his hands to hover a few inches over her hot skin.
She was still shaking. Her aura flared red and orange, attesting to the pent-up anger
the memories invoked. Unselfconscious, though, she turned to face him.
 So you see, I don t need any more protection. What I ve got nearly killed me and I
can t take any more. Keep your guardian serpents and let me take care of myself.
Heath struggled to hold her gaze, but his field of vision included the hardened tips
of her brown nipples. Each of her labored inhalations brought her breasts closer to him. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]