“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 Argassy, 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 compassionate 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 bitch, 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 reassurance, 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 shirt. 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 bitch. 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 anticipation. 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 sexually. 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 space of time, but in that space 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.
Security burst into the room and immediately Gabriel stepped away from the man, his larger body protectively shielding Francesca’s. They took Thompson out into the hall, astonished that he went with them so docilely. There was the sound of something heavy hitting the floor and a terrible coughing, then a rattling. Almost at once, a nurse called for Brice, her voice tense. He hurried out to find Thompson lying on the floor, both hands clutching his throat, his face gray as he fought desperately for air, his eyes rolling back in his head.
“What’s going on? What happened?” Brice was on his knees beside the man.
“He just started gasping and grabbed his throat. He went a little crazy, acting as if he were wrestling with someone for a minute, almost as if he were being strangled, and then he fell,” the security guard blurted out.
Francesca heard the explanation and sat down once again in the chair beside Skyler’s bed. “Thank you, Gabriel,” she said sincerely. He had no idea how relieved and happy she was at his unexpected arrival.
His hand moved over her silken hair in a slow caress. “You should have known I would never allow anyone to lay a hand on you.” His voice was very gentle, almost tender. It gave her an unfamiliar feeling. This was what it felt like to be protected by a male Carpathian. Cherished. She knew Thompson was dead. Gabriel knew everything, all of it, every terrible thing that the beast had done to his daughter. Gabriel had been there, a shadow in her mind all along, monitoring her surroundings as the male of their species often did to insure his lifemate’s safety.