He gently thumbed away a slight trace of blood from her cheek. "I need to know. It might help us find your nephew."
She was back to looking at anything and everything else but him. Even though he guessed it was a reaction tied-in with whoever had given her confidence such a shaking, he wished she'd stop it.
"I was attacked by ghosts," she said after a moment.
She had to mean a sylph of some kind. Ghosts, or at least those he'd come across, were generally harmless. Certainly they'd never had the capacity to physically harm anyone.
"Can you describe them to me?"
Her gaze leapt to his. "You believe me?"
There was an odd mix of yearning and loneliness in her gaze, and something twisted deep inside him. It was a look he understood only too well.
"Yes." He rose abruptly. "Stay here. I'll be back in a minute."
He loped back to the inn. He heard a babble of voices around the far side of the building and guessed the guests must have gathered there. In the distance came the wail of a siren. The inn's foyer was warm, and he glanced briefly over his shoulder. He really should get her out of the wet night air, but something told him she wasn't ready to face the inn just yet.
He grabbed the small first aid kit he'd seen behind the desk and went back outside. The guests were beginning to mill out the front of the building now, and the wail of the fire engine was drawing closer. He wondered where they were coming from—they seemed to be taking a while to get there.
He placed the kit on the seat beside Maddie and got out the antiseptic cream.
"Tell me about the fire starting." He leaned close to apply the cream and tried to ignore the faint scent of roses, the heat of her body where it brushed against his—and his own sudden response.
"It happens whenever I get really afraid." She hesitated and shrugged. "It builds up to a point where I just can't control it anymore."
Her fear churned around him, but it wasn't fear of what had attacked her in their room. She was still terrified of his reaction to her gifts, of what she had done in the past.
"I can remember lighting a fire when I was six," she continued softly. Tears ran across her aura, so strong it surrounded her with a faint shimmer of silver. "It got stronger with puberty."
"As most talents do." He carefully pulled the edges of her shirt away from the wound on her shoulder.
Though the cut looked red and vicious against the creaminess of her skin, it wasn't deep. The sylphs had obviously been sent to scare more than harm her. He gently applied some of the antiseptic cream, his fingers skimming across her soft skin. Lord, she smelled good…
He quickly withdrew his hand and sat back down on his heels. His matter-of-fact tone seemed to be relaxing her, and the last thing he needed to do was something that would jeopardize that.
"Did someone get hurt?"
She nodded, still avoiding his gaze. "I don't really want to talk about this."
"You must. You have to be able to understand your abilities and what they can do before you can have any hope of truly controlling them."
"I know only too well what my damn gifts can do." Her gaze flashed to his. Anger burned deep in the amber depths, as did old hurt. "That's why I—" Retreated, he thought when she hesitated. But what monster had made her lash out with her abilities?
Who had hurt her so badly that she'd had no option but to kill?
And if Eleanor and Hank, or whoever had sent the sylphs after her attacked again, would she be able to control her gifts? Or would she lose it and kill them all?
He clasped her hand and rubbed his fingers lightly across her palm. Her skin was slightly callused, not smooth, as he'd expected. "Maybe it would be better if you left the area."
She wrenched her hand from his and stood up abruptly. He rose slowly, watching her warily. The street light caught the gold in her wild red hair and illuminated the slenderness of her figure under her thin shirt.
She looked so young and frightened and alone that he wanted to take her in his arms and protect her.
He stepped away instead. He barely knew her, and he certainly couldn't afford to get more involved with her. His work was too important.
She clenched her hands and glared at him. "I won't run away. Not this time."
He thrust a hand through his hair. How could he make her understand it was better for them all if she simply left?
"Maddie, you're a loose cannon. You can't control any of your abilities, and someone obviously suspects you're helping me. What will you do if they attack you again?"
"I'll control it," she said tightly.
"And if you can't?"
"I'm not leaving."
"You need help with your gifts. I can't give you that help."
"I'm not asking you to."
No, she wasn't. She wasn't asking anyone for help, and that was the problem. "Don't you realize there are people who could help you, people who would understand what you're going through, because they've faced the same fears themselves?"
"And who will help Evan?" She clenched her fists again and glared at him. "I'm not abandoning him, Jon."
"No one is asking you to. But pyrokinesis is a dangerous gift, and it must be brought under control." He hesitated, and met her anguished gaze. "How many more people have to die before you admit you need help?"
She blinked back tears. "Damn you," she said through clenched lips. "You could never understand what it's like to be a freak of nature."
He sighed. "I understand more than you could ever guess."
It was time she faced up to the fact that she had a responsibility to understand and control her gifts.
Neither of them could change what had happened in her past. The future was a different matter. If she didn't want the destruction to continue, she would have to learn to restrain and use her psychic abilities.
But to do that, maybe she had to learn she wasn't the only one in the world with unusual talents.
He ignored the pain in her eyes and glanced at his watch. He had a meeting with Eleanor to get to, and he couldn't afford to miss it. Not when the lives of two children were at stake. They were more important than Maddie's fragile emotions—or his own need to help her.
"I'm a shapeshifter," he said softly. "I can take on the shape of a hawk and fly. How's that for being a freak?"
Maddie stared him. "You can't be serious." Shapeshifters didn't exist. He was making fun her—just as Brian always had.
She bit her lip against a stab of pain. Up until a few moments ago she would have sworn that ghosts didn't exist, either—especially those who could use a wisp of smoke to lash your shoulders and draw blood.
He sighed. "There are stranger things in this world than you could ever imagine. As far as freaks go, you don't even make the list."
There was something in his voice that suggested he'd seen more than his fair share of those freaks. Had seen them, and maybe even killed them. She crossed her arms and shivered. "And that's supposed to comfort me, I suppose?"
"Yes." He glanced at his watch again. "I haven't the time to discuss this now. I have a meeting to get to."
Eleanor, she thought. "But you're soaking wet."
He shrugged. "I'd get wet walking there, anyway."
"Well, then, you'd better get going, hadn't you?" she said more tartly than she'd intended.
"Maddie—" He lightly touched her cheek. His fingers were like fire against her skin, his touch stirring something deep inside. "Eleanor means nothing to me. She's just a lead."
She snorted. How could he say that? She'd seen them together. If it was all an act, then he should win an Academy Award.