Part 4 (1/2)

”Show her to me, Brice,” she instructed softly. ”A child has been abused. I am going to see her now.

Brice said they suspect the father.” Without really thinking about it, she sent him all of the information Brice had given to her. ”I will be fine.”

”I expect you to call should there be need.” Along with the soft command she was immediately flooded with warmth and comfort, strong arms to anchor her as she faced another emotional battering.

Chapter Four.

Brice pushed open the door to the young woman's room and stepped back to allow Francesca entry. Fortunately the girl's father was not present. The man was a bully and Brice was afraid of him. He crossed the room, smiling gently at the young woman huddled on the bed. She hadn't looked up or indicated in any way that she noticed their entry.

”Skyler, I'd like you to meet a friend of mine. I know you can hear me, Skyler. This is Francesca.

She's an extraordinary woman. You don't have to be afraid of her.”

Francesca watched Brice, noticed how gentle his movements has become around the teenager.

That was one of the things that drew her to Brice. The way he was with children, with those who were hurt and wounded. He cared. It couldn't have anything to do with money, she was certain of that. Brice really wanted to make things right, wanted to help these little lost souls. Her heart warmed and she smiled at him as she glided forward to seat herself in the chair Brice had placed right beside the bed.

”h.e.l.lo, Skyler. Your doctor has asked me to come and visit you. I thought we'd ask him to leave so we can be alone together. Just the two of us.” She nodded at Brice.

He bent close, his mouth so close to her ear she could feel the warmth of his breath. ”I'm going to keep an eye out for her father. If he catches you in here, there's no telling what he might do.”

”You think he'll become violent?” Francesca whispered the question, not wanting the child to hear her. The last thing the girl needed was an ugly scene involving her father. ”Are you expecting him?”

”Not anytime soon. He usually spends this time of night drinking,” Brice a.s.sured her. With a rea.s.suring wink at the unresponsive teenager he left the room.

Francesca observed the child closely. The girl was lying in the fetal position, her hair hanging in ragged lengths as though someone had chopped it off indiscriminately. There was a crescent- shaped scar on her temple, white and thin. There were bruises all over her face. Her eyes were swollen and her jaw was several shades of green and blue. ”So your name is Skyler.” She lowered her voice so that it was soft and beautiful, hiding the underlying compulsion with a silvery sound.

Francesca took the girl's limp, scarred hand into hers, reaching at the same time for her mind. She wanted to examine the child's memories, to see what had happened to her to make her lie without moving, so lifeless and without hope. At once a flood of violence and depravity stormed into her.

Tears burned, clung to Francesca's lashes. Such a terrible existence. She felt every blow the child had received, every burn, every rape, every act forced upon her, every single torture, mental and physical, as if it had been done to her. The scars were on the inside as well as the outside, scars that might fade with time but would never really go away. Her own father had sold her to other men, beaten her repeatedly if she fought them and punished her each time she had attempted to run away. He beat her if she cried, beat her when the men returned her, complaining that she was a wooden doll, uncooperative and frigid.

The images were terrible, of fingers forcing their way into the little body, hands squeezing and groping, men fumbling at her with alcohol on their breath. There was breathtaking pain as they rammed into a body far too small to accommodate them. Large, hamlike fists coming at the little face, her small body being flung against the wall. The nightmare went on and on, ill.u.s.trating the hideous fate of a child impossibly young, without help, without hope. Locked in a stifling hot closet, locked in a freezing cold bathroom. Hungry, thirsty, knowing each time she heard footsteps it would start again.

Francesca pressed one hand to her stomach as it knotted and twisted in sympathy. For a moment, she was afraid she might actually be sick. This child had not only suffered physical h.e.l.l, but had completely lost the will to fight. Francesca pushed past the total despair and reached for more. She wanted to find the real Skyler, the one that had existed before her spirit had been beaten out of her. Skyler had been a fighter once. A lover of life, of poetry, finding joy in the things around her, simple things, just as her mother had. Skyler Rose, her mother had named her. A beautiful rose without the thorns. She had a voice that could sing to the heavens, yet her brutal parent had managed to silence it. The man was every bit as evil as a vampire. Cunning and cruel and totally depraved. His very existence sickened Francesca. He lived for alcohol and crack. That was his life, his only life.

”Listen to the sound of my voice, Skyler, more than my words.” Francesca projected her voice into the girl's mind, reached to touch the huddled, cringing spirit. ”I cannot lie to you. I know you don't want to come back to this world and I don't blame you. You've gone far away from this body so you don't have to see or hear him. You don't have to feel what he does to you anymore. I can heal you. I can take away the things he has done to you, the scars on your body. I can lessen the impact of what has been done to you so you can live again whole. I can even make it possible for you to conceive a child later if that is your will. You can have a family of your own. You will believe me in this one thing, above all others: you are in no way responsible for the things that have happened to you. I know he made you believe you are worthless, but the truth is, Skyler, he couldn't stand your natural goodness, your very beauty s.h.i.+ning at him, reminding him every day of his own sick depravity.”

Stroking back strands of dull hair with gentle fingertips, Francesca leaned close to the girl's head.

She wanted to hold her forever, keep her safe and love her as she should have been loved. Why hadn't she found this child earlier, before her cruel parent had done such extensive harm? She could feel the tears trickling down her face, the heavy sorrow pressing in on her chest. Ancients felt pain, emotions, much more intensely than fledglings. Francesca wanted to lie beside the girl and weep, but instead she forced herself to look beyond the pain both of them now shared.

She closed her eyes, focusing entirely on the young teenager, her own body dropping away from her until she became energy and light. At once she moved to merge with Skyler. Her young body was a mess of torn muscle, broken bones, bruised tissue. There were internal scars everywhere.

Most of all the body felt dead, as if Skyler's spirit had long ago departed. Francesca knew it wasn't so; she had connected with the girl, knew the child was listening to her, somewhere deep inside her mind. A small huddled spirit drawn only by the compulsion in Francesca's voice. Francesca knew the girl was waiting very still in the shadows, just waiting to see whether Francesca was telling the truth. How could she believe? It was only the strangeness, the pure silvery sound of Francesca's voice and the fact that she was ”different” that had captured her attention at all.

”Baby,” Francesca whispered softly, her heart aching. ”Baby, I'm so sorry I wasn't here for you before, but I won't abandon you. I will watch over you always, throughout your young life. I will make sure no one can ever hurt you again like this.” She moved closer to the life force huddled so small. ”Come back and live, Skyler. I can give you back your life. I'm not your mother, I know that, but I will never allow any harm to come to you again. I give you my word, and it is not given lightly or often.” She moved closer, bathing the huddled, miserable child in her light, her compa.s.sion, the full force of her goodness. ”Believe in me, trust in me. I know I can keep you safe as no one has ever done. Hear my voice, Skyler. I'm incapable of lying to one such as you. I know you feel my words are true.”

Her voice was compelling, drawing the child's shattered spirit to her like a magnet. She swamped the teenager with warmth and rea.s.surance, a promise that she would never again have to face the brute that was her father. She would be protected from him at all times. All she had to do was come back. Just allow herself to trust someone.

Softly, Francesca chanted a healing ritual in the ancient language, the words as old as time itself, as she began to work from the inside out to repair Skyler's damaged body. She worked swiftly and meticulously, paying close attention to details, not wanting any foul evidence of the beatings or rapes in her body. After a time she became aware of a discordant note. Merged as she was with the child, she became aware of the girl cringing, suddenly radiating fear. She was not frightened of Francesca, never of her. If anything, the huddled spirit was moving reluctantly toward her for protection. The child seemed to sense her father's presence. He was somewhere close inside the hospital, coming toward the room.

Francesca caught some of the young woman's fear. It would have been impossible not to feel it when the girl was so terrified and they were connected. Francesca had tremendous control, born of centuries of patience. She knew that she was powerful and could handle dangerous situations, yet at the same time she was also aware that she must appear to be human. She had trained herself to appear human, to make her responses totally normal. Even her thoughts had to appear human.

Such precautions had protected her from the undead. They had also kept the Carpathian males from finding her. Even a mind scan would identify her as human, not Carpathian. She had never been able to risk a surge of power that might draw her own kind or the undead to her.

”It's all right, sweetheart. I won't let him touch you. I know everything, all of it, every terrible thing he's done to you. The police will take him away and lock him up so tight he'll never get out again.”

Once more she used her voice, the pure tones of truth and honesty, so that the girl would not retreat too far when her father entered the room.

Francesca slowly returned to her own body. As always when she healed out of her body, she was drained to the point of exhaustion. She rose with calm, unhurried movements, pushed open the door and beckoned Brice inside. ”It's her father. He's committed terrible crimes against this child.

Call the police and make certain they come down here at once to arrest him. Ask for Arga.s.sy, use my name. Tell him I said it was an emergency.”

Brice glanced at Skyler, still in the fetal position, her eyes blank and dull. ”If she can't tell them, Francesca...” He trailed off as Francesca's black gaze began to smolder. At times the compa.s.sionate healer could look quite intimidating.

”She will not have to testify.” It was a decree. Francesca turned away from him.

Brice had one hand on the door when it suddenly crashed open, flinging him backward to fall against the bed. A huge burly bear of a man staggered in, blinking at them with hate-filled eyes.

His hands were huge, opening and closing into fists. He barely looked at Brice, clearly dismissing him as an obstacle. His gaze settled on Francesca, whose hand was linked to Skyler's.

”What is this?” he bellowed. ”How dare you come into my daughter's room when I said no one was allowed in here. Who are you?”

Francesca lowered her voice until it was as soft and clean as a gentle breeze. ”I am this child's advocate. She is very ill, Mr. Thompson, and I want you to leave this room before you distress her further.”

Her voice was so compelling, the man actually turned to leave, one hand up to push at the door.

Then he spun around shaking his head, a cunning feral hatred gathering in his eyes. ”You little b.i.t.c.h, you can't tell me what to do with my own daughter.” Deliberately he stalked across the room toward her. Skyler was essential to him, his only way to get his drugs now.

He was good at intimidating others, Francesca admitted. He had perfected his technique with years of practicing on Skyler and her mother. He was an ugly brute of a man with a special need to inflict pain and fear on others. She read him easily, recognized his enjoyment of hurting others-men, children, women, it didn't matter. He needed to do so. Francesca could see Brice making himself very small, cowering in the corner, trying to edge toward the door. If he made it, he could call security and bring help immediately.

Francesca controlled the beating of her heart, knowing Skyler was still clinging to her, still waiting to see if she was true to her word. Francesca sent waves of rea.s.surance, a calm tranquility she didn't actually feel. This man should have walked out the door at her command. He was human and the hidden compulsion in her voice should have been enough to control him, but it hadn't worked. She could handle the situation using other powers and skills, but it was a chancy thing to do with Brice in the room and a legendary vampire somewhere in the city. Lucian would feel the surge of power, know the touch was feminine. It could very well bring instant trouble to the hospital, to her friends as well as to her.

The man stood so close she could see the hair on his chest through his dirty s.h.i.+rt. He smelled of cheap whiskey and rye. The taint of drugs seeped from his pores. She met his gaze with a calm acceptance of his rage. If he struck her, her friends would see to it that he would be locked up for a very long time. And he was going to strike her. The air was thick with tension.

”You b.i.t.c.h. You need a real man to show you how to behave. Your simpering little doctor probably runs to you every time you crook your little finger.” Deliberately he cupped his crotch lewdly. ”You smell good, lady, and I'll bet your skin is as soft as it looks.” He was breathing too fast, already stiff and licking his lips with antic.i.p.ation. His hand moved to touch her face, to feel if her skin could possibly be as soft as it looked. ”Don't!” It was a sharp command. Francesca didn't move. Her eyes blazed at him, glaring with contempt. He was incapable of performing s.e.xually. She knew that much about him.

Vulgarly he spat out a string of swear words even as he swung his fist at her. Francesca stood very still waiting calmly for the blow. Brice yelled at the top of his lungs for security. Only a heartbeat went by, a tiny s.p.a.ce of time, but in that s.p.a.ce the air in the room thickened to a black malevolence. The door burst inward at the same moment that Thompson's fist connected with flesh.

Gabriel was smiling even as he crushed Thompson's fist in his hand. He had caught it before the brute could strike Francesca. Moving with preternatural speed, he had inserted his body between Francesca's and Thompson's, catching the punch before it could connect with his lifemate's face.

Only Gabriel's black eyes seemed alive in his still face. Deep within their depths burned the bright red flame of the demon. It revealed his true nature, that of a predator.

To Brice's astonishment Skyler's father seemed to crumple before Gabriel. Brice read the terror in the man's face and forgot to continue calling for security. He felt fear himself, a mounting surge of adrenaline that refused to abate. Gabriel looked like an avenging angel, a warrior of old, invincible, merciless. He was staring directly into Thompson's eyes. ”You do not want to strike Francesca, do you?” The voice was very soft, almost gentle. Although pleasing to the ear, it was all the more frightening because there was no emotion.

Thompson was shaking his head like a child. There was pain etched on his face and Brice could see that Gabriel retained possession of his fist. Gabriel's knuckles weren't white, he didn't look as if he was exerting any pressure at all, yet Thompson's face grew gray and he began a low-pitched moaning that fast rose to a cry. Gabriel bent his dark head to the man and whispered something Brice couldn't hear, but Thompson ceased to weep, managing only a moaning whimper. His eyes remained fixed on Gabriel's face, eyes filled with horror, with sheer terror.