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She took a deep breath and crept forward again. The room seemed to be getting hotter, and sweat trickled down her spine. Had the air conditioning gone off, or was it simply fear that warmed her?
Dust stirred the air, and a sneeze tickled her nose. She swiped at it, sniffing, and in that moment, sensed movement.
Sweeping down fast.
She dropped to her stomach, felt claws rake along her back, tearing her sweater but not her flesh. She twisted, kicking upwards at the rising hawk. She clipped a wing, and the bird squawked, a cry that was almost indignant.
It swooped around and arrowed in again. She scrambled to her feet and dove over the box, felt the scrape of claws down her jeans. She hit the floor, rolled to her feet and tore off her sweater. Twisting it quickly, she flicked the end at the hawk as it turned for another strike. It hit him in the chest, knocking him into the side of a tall box.
A golden haze crackled across the hawk's body, and by the time he hit the floor, it was a man with golden hair and rich blue eyes. A man she knew. Jon Barnett. And he held two halves of a quarterstaff. Things were about to get tough.
She glanced around, but there was nothing in this room that could be used as weapons. Which was entirely the point.
He leapt at her, wooden staffs little more than a blur. She backed away, dodging and weaving, but there was no way on Earth she could avoid every blow. Yet for all the speed, the blows were little more than taps. Had it been anyone other than Jon, she probably would have come out of this with bruises. Her back hit a box. She cursed and dropped, sweeping with a foot. He jumped her leg, and then smacked it with one of the staffs. She cursed again and dove at him, tackling him at knee height and knocking him to the ground. Before he could move, she scrambled up his body and punched his chest.
"Trust a short ass to tackle someone at knee height,” he muttered, blue eyes diamond bright in the dusky light.
"Blame Maddie. She's the one who told me that if all else fails, tackle them.” Nikki grinned. “You're just lucky I didn't grab you where she told me to grab you."
"My wife told you to grab me?"
"Yep. Said she didn't mind, as long as I didn't bruise you too much."
"Charming.” He smacked her leg. “You'd better get going." She nodded and rose. But her smile faded as her gaze swept the remainder of the room. One vampire stood between her, the end of the room and the end of this damn test. And that vampire was the one who felt so wrong.
* * * *
"Why the hell is she just standing there?” Jake's voice echoed loudly in the control room. Michael glanced at the screen. Nikki was a small and slender shadow surrounded by the dusky shades of the testing room. Her breathing was rapid, a fact confirmed by not only the fast rise and fall of her chest, but by the beeping of the monitors on the main panel.
"She's afraid.” And he could feel it.
He didn't know what she feared. She knew nearly everyone in the room with her, knew no one would hurt her. Yet her fear crawled inside his mind and begged him to take action. She'd kill him if he did.
He flexed his fingers and resumed his pacing. While he knew this test was necessary, he didn't like watching. It was hard to stand back and let someone hit her, even if he knew they weren't about to hurt her. He should have stayed away, as he'd said he would.
But he just couldn't. Passing this test was important to her. When she came out of that room, he had to be here to celebrate or commiserate.
"Temperature's still rising in the room.” Camille pushed her blue-rimmed glasses back up her nose as she glanced at him.
"It can't be Nikki,” he said. “The room is a psi dead-zone."
"Then explain how the temperature in an environmentally controlled room suddenly shoots up ten degrees in a matter of minutes."
"You're the witch. You tell me."
"Doesn't that fire gift of hers appear when she's afraid?” Jake asked, brow furrowed as he stared at the small screen. “Could it be that?"
"It could be,” Michael agreed, “but it shouldn't be. That room is chock full of spells that prevent magic and psychic gifts happening within its four walls."
Jake raised an eyebrow. “So how did Jon shapeshift?"
"That's personal magic—magic from the soul,” Camille said. “Totally different thing altogether."
"So you can make a spell to target or confine one type of magic and not the other?"
"You can make a spell to do anything you want, as long as you've got the skill and the time.” Camille glanced at Michael. “So what's she afraid of?"
"I don't know."
