Page 89 of His Sinful Touch

He thought of and discarded several impractical methods to push something through the spy hole and open the door from the other side. Sitting back down on his bed, he put his elbows on his knees and lowered his head to his hands. He shoved his fingers into his hair, pressing them against his skull, as if he could force the solution into his head.

He could not give in to despair. He had to get to Sabrina. She had been safe in the house when he’d left, but who knows what had happened since then. If Con and the others had gotten word of his abduction, they might have dashed out to find him, leaving Sabrina alone and open to attack.

Or Sabrina herself might leave the house to search for him. It would be foolish of her, but he knew well how much the heart could overwhelm the brain. It was no doubt perfectly wretched of him, but he could not help but feel a certain warmth to think she might care so much.

He wished in vain that he had something more useful in his pockets than money. He should carry his lock-picking tools with him. What could he use to get out? He’d been favored with money, status, strength—but none of it could help him. He wished he did have some of this witchery the guard imagined he did.

Of course, there was his “talent.” That seemed useless as well in this situation, but there was that connection with Sabrina. He concentrated on Sabrina, but there was only the faint remnant of that familiar sense of her. He didn’t feel the disruption he believed he would if something had happened to her, and that was good.

He thought of the way he and Con communicated effortlessly, sensing each other’s thoughts or feelings. Perhaps it was possible to do the same with Sabrina through their “connection.” Feeling a bit of a fool, he closed his eyes and focused on Sabrina. Picturing her in his mind, he told her not to leave, not to search for him, to stay safe. He felt nothing in return.

Perhaps the mysterious link he felt with her was not as strong as his lifelong tie to his twin. Or maybe it wasn’t well enough established—or, a sobering thought, the link was only on his side. So he reached out mentally to Con and thought at him, telling him to guard Sabrina, to not be fooled into chasing down Alex. But he felt nothing, only that same, steady sense that Con was alive and not in trouble.

It occurred to him that such communication of thought might not be possible unless he was actually with Con. He had never before tried to send Con a mental message when they were apart. In fact, when he thought about it, Alex realized he hadn’t ever really tried to transmit his thoughts to Con. He had just known what Con was thinking and vice versa. Perhaps it was something that could not be forced. Or it only worked one way—he could receive but not return. Why hadn’t he and Con ever thoroughly examined it before? They’d just accepted it the way they did the color of their eyes or the shape of their noses.

Well, it was useless to regret what they hadn’t done. He turned his thoughts to his other talent, the ability to sense things from objects. But what good would it do him to touch one of these walls and feel the rage and despair of an earlier prisoner here? It would, if anything, only increase such feelings in himself, which he had just fought to batter into submission. The last thing he wanted was for them to rise up in him, swallowing him.

He closed his eyes, opening himself to ideas, but all that appeared was the memory of the time he and Con and Anna, Theo’s wife, had stumbled upon the body. It was long ago, before the dreams had started. He remembered standing on the footbridge, gazing down into the water, watching it swirl and tumble over the bed of rocks. He remembered Anna turning and stepping off the bridge onto the dirt path. She stopped in her tracks, looking suddenly pale. He and Con went to her, Alex reaching out to take her arm, thinking she was about to faint.

The most horrible feeling he’d ever experienced rippled through him, a wave of fury and hatred and bloodlust that had almost felled him on the spot. Alex dropped her arm, and the feelings subsided, but there was still a trace of it in the air. He felt it calling to him, and though he tried to push it away, it had been too strong. He turned and looked.

Anna walked toward the body, and he and Con followed. Alex fought the emotions trying to shove their way into him. But it was impossible. The killer’s fury swamped him, fury and insane delight, mingling in a horrific way with the pain and terror of the person who had died. The sight of the blood and the battered head were awful, but it was the flood of feeling that invaded him that sent him fleeing from the body and heaving up everything inside his stomach.

It had been the first time Alex had experienced one of his visions, and it had been terrifying. He had not even touched the body, yet the horror had swarmed into him. He had never spoken of it to anyone. Indeed, he had never even acknowledged it to himself. He remembered only the bloody body, ignoring the rest of it. And when he thought of the start of his ability, he always attributed it to a different trip with Kyria and Rafe.

But now the full memory poured through him. Once again he felt the raw, wild emotion, the awful fear of becoming lost in it, being overtaken. Alex shivered, pale and cold as ice. This was what he feared.

The realization struck him like a blow. It was the power of his ability, the possibility of what it could do to him, that haunted his dreams, both then and now. As his power had grown, he had controlled it, disciplined it, removed it from himself. No wonder the dreams had started up again when Sabrina came into his life. She had slipped beneath his defenses, the link he had with her widening the carefully small channel he had allowed for his talent. She had awakened the dormant power, and its strength loomed again, threatening to shatter his carefully built control.

But he was no longer a boy, bombarded by an unknown force. He was a man, experienced in controlling his power now. He could accept the full scope of his ability without being overwhelmed. He could use it.

And to save Sabrina, he would, no matter what it might do to him. Alex stood up and started toward the door.

Chapter Thirty-Two

SABRINA’S LEGS TREMBLED as she stepped out of the carriage and walked up to the door, but she controlled her expression. She had to be calm and unafraid if she were to help Alex. She rapped sharply with the brass door knocker.

A footman opened the door to her, and as she stepped through the door, Mr. Dearborn hurried toward her, smiling unctuously. “Sabrina. My dear. I am so happy you came.”

“I had no choice,” she replied flatly. Did the man actually think she was so stupid she would believe his act?

Dearborn ignored her statement. “Come into the drawing room, my dear.” He turned toward the footman. “You may go, Wilson.” Dearborn reached out to take Sabrina’s arm, but she jerked it away, and he turned the movement into a gesture toward the door. “This way, dear.”

She stalked into the room he indicated, and Dearborn closed the door after them. Peter stood at the mantel across the room, reminding her forcibly of the scene she had witnessed at the Morelands’ house. The Dearborns didn’t know she had heard everything they said. Nor would they be aware that she had recovered her memory. Perhaps she could use that to her advantage.

Peter came forward to greet her, but her glare stopped him in his tracks.

“Would you care for some tea, Sabrina?” Dearborn asked.

“This isn’t a social call. Where is Alex?”

“I’m afraid I don’t keep track of Moreland’s whereabouts, my dear.”

“Stop calling me that.” Sabrina unclenched her jaw and continued, “Mr. Dearborn, I’m not here to play games. You sent me this.” She pulled the cuff link from her pocket and held it up. “The implication is clear. You are holding Alex for ransom. I want to see him.”

“Now, Sabrina, child, there’s no need to be melodramatic. All we want is for you to return to us. To take your rightful place as Peter’s wife. I’m sure your memory will return when you come home.”

“There is no need to keep up your pretense of affection for me. I’ve had more than enough of that the past few years.”