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Bombarded with his anger and resentment, Mercy gasped for air. The rage boiling inside him spilled over onto her, engulfing her, drowning her in its intensity. This was her fault, not his, she realized. She should have known better than offer him kindness and caring when he understood neither.
And she shouldn’t have touched him.
Mercy fought to free herself from the dangerous havoc Judah’s fury was creating within her. She had somehow connected to him empathically, and try as she might, she couldn’t manage to sever the link. A heaviness bore down on her chest, a weight that robbed her of breath. She gasped for air, struggling for speech to demand that he release her.
Judah grabbed her shoulders. “What’s wrong with you?”
She managed to expel a gasping moan.
“Mercy!” He shook her.
She felt herself growing weaker by the minute, her oxygen supply cut off as if she were being smothered. Help me. Please, Judah, help me.
Tell me what to do.
Barely conscious, Mercy swayed toward him. Don’t be angry with me. Don’t hate me.
I did this to you?
He caught her as her knees gave way, swooping her up in his arms. “Sweet Mercy.”
Closing her eyes, she sank to a level just below consciousness. Judah lowered his head and pressed his cheek against hers as he held her securely. As swiftly as his negative energy had invaded her mind and body, it dissipated, draining from her as it drained from him. She felt a flash of concern and genuine regret before he swiftly placed a protective barrier between them.
Weak from the experience and recovering slowly, Mercy opened her eyes and met Judah’s concerned gaze.
“I didn’t mean for that to happen,” he told her.
“It was my fault,” she said. “I let my guard down.”
“That’s a dangerous thing to do, especially around me.”
She nodded. “Would you please put me down now? I’ll be all right.”
“Are you sure? I could—”
“No, thank you. Just put me on my feet.”
He eased her down and out of his arms, slowly, maddeningly, making sure her body skimmed over his. When he released her, she staggered, and he grabbed her upper arms to steady her.
“Should I get Sidonia?” he asked.
“No, I’ll be all right. Please…” She wriggled, trying to loosen his secure grip on her arms.
He released her.
“I need to be alone for a while,” she told him, then turned her back on him, afraid she would succumb to her weakness for a man who was not only dangerous to her, but to her daughter. Seconds later, the door to her study closed, and she knew Judah had left the room.
After a half hour on the phone with Claude, discussing the fact that Cael had not returned to Terrebonne and had somehow dropped off the Ansara radar, Judah had gone in search of his daughter. He needed to build a strong rapport with Eve as quickly as possible. Only if he bonded with her, if she trusted him completely, would he be able to persuade her to leave the Raintree sanctuary with him. So, he spent hours with her that Thursday morning and afternoon, every moment under the vigilant supervision of Nanny Sidonia. The old woman watched him like a hawk, as if she expected him to sprout horns and a tail. Wouldn’t she be shocked if he did just that? he thought And he could. At least, he could create the illusion of horns and a tail, enough to scare the crap out of the old woman. It would serve her right if he did. But it might frighten Eve and possibly give her the wrong impression of him. He was sure the grumbling old hag had already badmouthed him to his child, telling her all sorts of improbable stories about the wicked Ansara.
He supposed there was some grain of truth to it. The good Raintree. The bad Ansara. But all Raintree weren’t saints. And not every Ansara was the devil incarnate.
From time immemorial, the Raintree, as a people, had chosen the straight and narrow, taking the high ground, showing an emotional weakness for the welfare of the Ungifted and preferring peace to war. Wizards with far too much conscience.
The Ansara tolerated humankind, manipulated them when they were useful, disregarded them when they were not. Ansara prided themselves on their skills as warriors and defended to the death what was theirs. But they were not monsters, not evil demons. They lived and loved and cherished their families. In that respect, they were no different from the Raintree.
But there were also Ansara like Cael. A few in every generation. Depraved. Evil. True monsters. Often innate sorcerers, they possessed the ability to lure the dregs of Ansara society into their service. They killed for the pleasure of killing. Took great delight in inflicting pain, in torturing others. They were as unlike Judah and his kind as they were unlike the Raintree.
When circumstances required it, Judah had killed. To protect himself and others, or out of necessity, when killing was simply a business decision. He didn’t tolerate disobedience or disrespect. As the Dranir, he possessed unequaled power among his people.
