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  "Let go," she whispered. "Release your pain."

  He did. Slowly. His heart began to beat steadily, his breathing relaxed, his coiled tension eased. She withdrew her hands and stared at his handsome face relaxed in deep sleep. A deep sleep she knew he'd awaken from only in the morning. Her healing had seen to that.

  His chest rose and fell slowly as he released a soft groan. She stared at his face and felt a powerful emotion stir inside of her. Compassion.

  Without thinking, she bent down and kissed him gently on the forehead, her mouth lingering over his warm skin. Slowly she withdrew and tenderly touched his face.

  "Sleep well, Gunnar," she said softly and quietly left his room.

  Once in her room downstairs, she sat on the edge of her bed and inhaled shakily.

  He was grieving for his dead son.

  * * * *

  Slowly Gunnar opened his eyes and stared unseeingly at the ceiling, his thoughts on the woman with the magic touch. His one. He released a ragged breath and ran an unsteady hand over his head. For a split second when she touched him, he'd almost felt human. He'd almost felt that someone in this world cared for him. And she made him feel things he hadn't felt in years. Comfort. Warmth. They felt damn good.

  He flung the sheet off him and strode naked to the window. He looked up at the night sky and stared at the nearly full moon, the wolf in him rising to the surface. Fiercely, he pushed it down.

  When he met her earlier, he'd fought the lust coursing through his body, now he fought a warmth finding its way into his heart.

  Gunnar was unmanned.

  He could control his burning desire, but he struggled with these other emotions. Emotions he couldn't shake.

  He felt his cold heart thaw.

  Chapter Two

  Stella buried her face in the pillow, trying to ignore the jarring trill of the phone. She yanked the receiver. "Hello," she said hoarsely.

  "Stella, I can't find my car keys and if I don't leave now, I'm going to lose my nine o'clock appointment!"

  She pulled the phone away from her ear and rubbed her eyes before she squinted at the bedside clock. Her heart sunk as she stared at the time. It was six o'clock in the morning. God, she was too physically and emotionally drained to deal with her younger sister now.

  "Brenna, I'm on three hours sleep," she said huskily.

  "I'm begging you! This is urgent."

  She cleared her throat and dragged her exhausted body out of bed. "You're always losing things--and at inconvenient times. Can't you start misplacing things, say, around two in the afternoon?"

  Brenna made a noise on the other end of the line. "Very funny. Listen, if I could do what you do, I'd find them myself."

  Irritated, Stella sighed. "Relax. You woke me up, remember?"

  "Sorry about that. The keys are attached to the tiny crystal ball key chain, remember? Can you see them?"

  "Give me a second."

  "Hurry. I have to beat the traffic."

  "That's what you get for moving to New York," Stella muttered under her breath as she closed her eyes and concentrated on her sister's keys. Nothing. She frowned and tried again, focusing all her energy on the missing item. There it was. The vision was brief, but she made it out.

  "Your keys are next to a small, red book." There was a pause and Stella pictured the delicate frown on Brenna's face.

  "My address book is red. As soon as I got home last night, I had to look through it for a number. Hold on. I keep it in my desk drawer. I think I threw my keys in there."

  "Okay." She shot her clock another weary glance. She'd take a shower, a cold one so she could wake up, and start making breakfast for Gunnar. At the mere thought of him, her stomach jolted.

  "I found them! Thanks, sis. Love you."

  As quickly as Brenna had interrupted Stella's morning, she was gone. That was Brenna, in and out of your life in a flash, leaving debris and rubble in her wake. Stella rubbed her eyes and went into her private bathroom. God, she missed Elissa. At least with Elissa around they could both shoulder the daily dramas Brenna seemed to attract, but Stella would just have to be patient. Elissa would be back in a couple of days and then everything would be back to normal.

  Stella grimaced, correcting her thought. Normal? Hardly. Their paranormal gifts were anything but! She learned a long time ago being psychic was not normal. It was a nuisance, a handicap, and one big pain in the neck.

  Poor Elissa. She had it the worst. Seeing ghosts was not a desired gift. It took a toll on a person's psyche, and Elissa's last foray into the realm with the other side had left her feeling spent and depleted of all her energy. Stella hoped Elissa was feeling better on her long, overdue vacation.

  She made a mental note to call her later and see how she was doing.

  Stella stepped out of the shower, wrapped herself in a huge white towel, and padded back into her bedroom.

  Quickly, she slipped on her jeans and white T-shirt and glanced at her watch. Then she took a deep breath and went into the kitchen to make breakfast for Gunnar.

  * * * *

  "Let's get the witch now!"

  The older man dragged in a lung full of smoke and then exhaled slowly, staring at his young partner. "And I told you we have to play this right," he said. "We can't just barge into her B&B and abduct her. That bastard Lycan will rip us to shreds before we draw our guns."

  "We'll shift. Paul, we can take him. It will be two against one, and when one of us has him down the other one can shoot him."

  "No. Our silver bullets aren't worth a damn with this one. I heard about him. He's powerful. Old. He moves like lightning." Paul's eyes narrowed on the road before them and stared at the inn. The Serenity. That bitch's life was going to be anything but serene once they were finished with her.

  "Dammit, there's two of us. We'll ambush him and then take her--"

  Paul grabbed his young partner by the throat and squeezed. "Shut the hell up! We do this my way." His young partner whimpered and Paul grimaced with disgust as he released his hold. "You young fledglings have no damn control. That's why most of you die before your first year is up after you turn."

  The young man sat back in his seat, shooting Paul a dark frown. "Then why the hell did you turn me?"

  "She knows you. You can get close to her. When the time is right, we'll get her and hand her over to Marcellus. When he's done with her, we'll have all the locations of all the cells. And then we destroy our do-good brethren."

  The young man frowned. "Are you sure she's that good?"

  "The real deal. In this day and age we call them psychic, but back when I was first turned, one hundred years ago, they were just damned witches." He started the car. "This bitch can see things. Find things." He shot his young partner a menacing look. "I told you. We do things my way. In four days when the full moon is out, we'll hand her over to Marcellus and he'll claim her. It will be easy for him to steer her to the dark side, and once he does, she'll tell us everything we want to know. Names, addresses, everything, and one by one every Lycan who's sworn to protect human life will die by our hands and we'll rule the night." He drove onto the road. "Let's get the hell out of here. I have to call Marcellus and tell him Stella O'Sullivan has a new guest."

  * * * *

  Stella looked at the kitchen clock for the tenth time. It was almost eight and breakfast would be over soon. Where was he? She knew she could always cook him something to eat when he eventually came down, but she had a schedule and her day would be shot.

  She chewed her lower lip and decided to prepare him a tray. She filled his plate with scrambled eggs and bacon and poured orange juice into glass. His toast popped and she quickly buttered them before slicing two strips of melon.

  "There, a breakfast for champions," she murmured, satisfied.

  Careful, she carried the tray upstairs and balanced it against her hip as she knocked on his door.

  There was no answer. She'd seen his black Porsche parked outside this morning so she knew he was still in his room. She knocked again, harder this time, and heard a deep, perceptible sound. A swear word. She stiffened.

  She cleared her throat delicately. "Mr. Eriksson? I'm sorry to disturb you, but I'm here with your breakfast."

  There was a pause and then another muttered swear word followed.

  She braced herself as he jerked the door open. Stella froze. His face was lathered in soap and a deep gash on his chin was bleeding.

  He grabbed the towel draped around his shoulder and wiped his face clean of the soap, his expression dark as he ran a heated look over her appearance, pausing briefly on her snug T-shirt. His gaze locked with hers and her stomach fluttered at the look on his face. It was a mixture of frustration, desire, and wariness.

  "I thought I said I didn't want to be disturbed," he said.

  "Yes, but I…I thought you might like some breakfast. It's past eight o'clock." She glanced at his chin and gasped. "Your cut! Where is it?" She looked down at the bloody towel in his hand and then stared at him in confusion.

  His face was grim. "You may put the tray on the table."

  She entered the bedroom. Was she seeing things? She could have sworn she saw the broken skin and blood. She spotted his laptop on the desk by the window and noted the open document. It was all text. Quickly she deposited the tray on the polished surface of the table by the dresser and turned around. She skimmed her gaze over his tall physique clad in pale blue denims and a black T-shirt before she rested it on his face. He was staring at her, his expression guarded.

  Her gaze wavered under his and she cleared her throat delicately. "I'll be downstairs if there's anything you need."

  He ran an agitated hand through his blond mane and tossed an irritated glance at his laptop. "I'll be up here for a good part of the day. I
have a deadline."

  She glanced at the open text document and then back at him, her tension easing a bit. "Are you a writer?"

  "Yes."

  She smiled in spite of the charged energy that still hung in the air between them. "I love to read. What do you write?"

  "Horror novels." He paused, his mouth thinning slightly.

  Was it her imagination or did he suddenly appear uncomfortable?

  "Mostly about werewolves and vampires."

  Her smile fell. Ugh! She hated those books, but she wasn't about to tell him that. "Oh, well I read mostly romance novels, but…but I'm sure if I read one of your books I'd…I'd like it," she offered politely. "So, you came here to write?"

  "Yes." Abruptly, he cleared his throat. "As I said, I have a deadline and should get to work."

  Disappointment flared in her veins. So much for small talk, she thought wryly. "Sure." She glanced at the wastebasket next to the nightstand. "I'll just take this and clean it out for you." She reached inside the small, wicker basket and halted when her gaze fell on his son's picture. Last night came to mind and her compassion returned. "What a lovely boy."

  "That's my son," Gunnar said quietly behind her. "He died two years ago."

  Slowly, she turned around and looked at him, softening at the flicker of pain that crossed his face. "I'm sorry, Gunnar," she offered gently. "I lost my grandmother a couple of years ago and I miss her terribly. I…I can't imagine how it must feel to lose a child."

  "It's hell."

  "I'm sorry," she repeated. "If there's anything I can do."

  "Thank you, but there's nothing anyone can do." He handed her his bloody towel. "This is the only towel that needs washing. Sorry about the blood."

  She took the towel, staring at the red stain on the cotton. She'd almost forgotten about his cut. She lifted her gaze back up to his chin and frowned. This wasn't possible. She knew she hadn't imagined the cut. The blood was proof. Her frown deepened.

  With a grim face, he went to the door and held it. "Thank you again for the breakfast."

  She took his cue and nodded politely. Downstairs, she washed the dishes and thought about the man upstairs whose disturbing, yet thrilling presence wreaked havoc to her senses.

  The more she thought of him, the more uneasy she became. Every bone in her body was telling her to beware of him.

  Gunnar Eriksson had secrets, dark secrets and she feared the next ten days she'd find out what they were.

  * * * *

  Gunnar stared at the door after she left and swore under his breath. It had taken all his strength to stop himself from taking her in his arms.

  He'd put a silver bullet to his head before he took a woman by force.

  Dammit. He'd never felt this out of control with a woman before. Even with his ex-wife, he'd never felt this passion, this primitive urge to taste, to mate, to touch. At the thought of his ex-wife, he glanced at Tyler's picture. Damn Veronica. She'd never given their son a chance to make it to his third birthday.

  He recalled Stella's tender expression when she offered him sympathy and the unfamiliar warmth began to invade his chest again. Damnation! She was making him feel human again.

  Her scent still hung in his bedroom and he strode to the window, pushing it open with a rough jab. Outdoor air filtered in and he waited grimly for her sweet, tantalising scent to disappear.

  Chapter Three

  It was late morning by the time Stella had a chance to sit down. She sipped her green tea and spread her Tarot. She was about to look down when Gunnar strode in. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw her cards.

  She braced herself. "Was there something I could help you with?"

  His gaze was still fastened on her cards. "I came down here for some coffee."

  She rose. "I can make you a pot. I have fine, dark roast."

  "Yes. Please," he murmured.

  She glanced over her shoulder while she poured water into the pot. He was still staring at her cards. "They're the Tarot. I amuse myself with them from time to time," she explained casually, but inwardly her defensive nature rose. She'd learned a long time ago people didn't embrace people who professed to being psychic. They were deemed strange, weird, crazy.

  He reached down and picked up the Death card.

  "Most people see that card and think the worst, but sometimes it just means an ending," she explained.

  "I know."

  Her expression mirrored her surprise. "You read the Tarot?"

  He dropped the card, his expression grim. "No."

  She waited for him to say more, but he didn't. She turned around and spooned the rest of the coffee grind in the filter. "This should be ready in about five minutes. There's pound cake in the fridge that will go nicely with it."

  "Only the coffee," he said.

  She collected her cards from the kitchen table, unable to look at him. She didn't know what to make of this man and decided she should just stay out of his way. From the corner of her eye, she saw him glance at the newspaper on the table. The front page headlined Another Grizzly Murder.

  He picked it up and scanned the article, his expression turning grim.

  "In the past month, residents in these parts have been afraid to leave their homes after dark," she offered. "The murders are quite horrific, limbs severed, decapitation." She shuddered. "Who could do something like that?"

  "Or what could do something like that?"

  "Yes. What. A monster, that's what."

  "Is it safe for you to live here all alone?"

  "I have a very good alarm and keep a gun on the premises for security."

  "This is a pretty big place for one woman to handle all alone. Have you owned it very long?"

  "It's not that hard to maintain. I have a schedule I maintain and I rarely have more than two clients at a time, except in the winter, ski season. I bought it a little over a year ago. My…my grandmother left me and my sisters a rather large inheritance and we all opened up small businesses."

  "Your sisters own B&Bs as well?"

  "No. Brenna, the middle sister, owns a hair styling salon in New York, and Elissa, the youngest, owns a used bookstore in Boston. I'm the oldest."

  He gave her an interested look. "You don't seem older than twenty. That seems like a young age to have all this responsibility."

  She shrugged self-consciously. "Good genes. Yoga. Healthy lifestyle," she explained. "I'm twenty-five." His gaze travelled over her appearance and her stomach jolted at the possessive glint in his eyes. Her cheeks grew warm.

  The coffee stopped brewing just as the front door chimed. "The sugar and spoons are over here. Help yourself to cream or milk from the fridge."

  "Thank you," he replied deeply and strode to the counter.

  She went into the hall, hoping it was another customer, anyone to take her mind off the ever-growing thrilling presence of Gunnar. Disappointment washed over her. It was Derek her delivery boy. He was dressed in jeans, his brown hair hidden beneath his Mountaineer's baseball cap.

  "I wasn't expecting you so soon," she said, trying to sound pleasant as she walked toward him. She glanced down at the bags filled with groceries by her feet.

  Derek shrugged self-consciously. "You were my second to last drop and I thought I'd pass by now. I didn't want to keep you waiting."

  She smiled up at him. "You're so sweet. Thanks, Derek."

  His face reddened. "It was nothing. Hey, have you thought about Saturday night?"

  "Oh, Derek, I'm so sorry, but I haven't changed my mind." She hated turning him down. "I have so many things to do and the lawn is overdue."

  He cleared his throat self-consciously. "Is there any way I could persuade you to take some time off?"

  She shook her head. "I really wish I could, but I can't."

  He looked disappointed. "I could pass by and help you. I can mow your lawn," he suggested, his tone hinting desperation.

  Stella smiled. He really was sweet and incredibly young. His eighteen years to her twenty-five made her feel like there was a chasm between them. "Perhaps another time, okay?"