"You'd be surprised."

She withdrew her face from his chest and looked up at him, her silver-blue eyes filled with emotion. Her gaze was unusually steady and clear, as if she were already a legendary Oracle capable of seeing through whatever was before her. The air around her shimmered with subtle, calm power that thrilled him.

No, this Oracle wasn't another Claire, without potential or skill. This was an Oracle the world hadn't seen since before the Schism, the type of Oracle that belonged at her king's side.

Darian.

The woman in his arms ducked her head again and closed her eyes, missing the flash of darkness that crossed his mind and face. He pushed the thought of his slain brother away but couldn't escape the lingering sense of unease. He'd seen from burying his brother that a king's greatest weakness was the woman at his side. There were only two men in the world he'd entrust with his life.

Something about the woman made him think of things he'd not thought about in ages. There was a reason he banned thoughts of Darian and Claire from his mind, an instinct he'd never been able to face in all the years since Darian's death.

I don't know if I trust my wife, brother.

Darian's words haunted him again, and he quickly suppressed the memories.

"Sleep," he whispered, releasing a warm burst of power into Sofia.

Her body obeyed. He held her another minute, resting his chin on her head. His new Oracle was dangerous. He'd almost forgotten that the word for Oracle in his native tongue also meant soul-reader, the dual nature of a woman whose talent allowed her to see a person's soul and future with a simple touch. Her presence alone was already prodding free memories he'd thought he'd buried.

His heart skipped a beat as he realized that the last great Oracle, his mother, appeared just before the Schism, when the Watchers went to war and the universe was almost destroyed.

CHAPTER FIVE.

The clang of steel and sound of jeering drew Sofia from her sleep to her window. The distant sky showed signs of growing lighter. She checked the clock on the nightstand then the notepad listing the time of the flight she'd booked the afternoon before after exploring the mansion. To her relief, she still had a few hours to sneak out and make it to the airport.

Several of the beefy men living in the house were in the grassy, well-lit courtyard, sparring with swords, knives, and other weaponry that looked like it came straight out of the Middle Ages.

Her gaze swept over them, stopping to rest on Damian. D wore judo pants low enough on his hips that she blushed as her gaze followed the trail of hair that disappeared into his pants. His tapered waist and hips and washboard abs were on display, along with the wide chest and thick back. She watched him move, his swordplay as graceful and fluid as it was lethal. A sheen of sweat coated his body, and his white-blond hair was back in a braid.

Even from a distance he drew her, and it was not just the chiseled body of a god. She could see him sitting on a golden throne or commanding legions of soldiers.

In fact, she did see him in those positions, and in many more. The visions were less invasive than those from others, like background music at a department store. She closed her eyes, watching the disjointed, fuzzy home videos playing in her mind. She saw a time before the emergence of human civilization, when his people ruled, a time when he was a prince among kings who grew up in the shadow of a war she couldn't see. Then there was the Schism and an era of disaster and grief, where his world collided with-then severed from-the human one, centuries where he was forced into the underground world as a prostitute, a beggar, a thief.

As silence fell over the courtyard, she opened her eyes. The men were dispersing, and her heart leapt when she saw Damian's gaze riveted to her window. His look was intense, much different than the warmth he'd displayed earlier that afternoon.

By the look on Damian's face, he wasn't happy. She wondered if he knew what she saw. She snatched her jacket and pulled it on as she raced down the stairwell and down the hall to the front door. She jerked it open only to have it pushed shut by an olive hand planted above her head. She cringed at the thick forearm brushing her ear.

"I'm sorry," she said immediately.

"For what?" His tone was measured. His scent drove her body wild, the mix of sweat, darkness, and man.

"I don't know."

His hand dropped, and she faced him. He stood before her as he had in the sparring ring, sans any clothing but judo pants. She felt dwarfed and delicate next to the mass of roped muscle and taut skin.

Heat rose to her face as she stared openly. His chiseled features were unreadable and hard. The sword was still clenched in one hand. The honey eyes were intent, his face flushed from exertion. She'd had never felt overwhelmed by a man before, and she'd certainly never been a woman who felt weak-kneed! She leaned back against the door, mouth dry and legs shaky.

"I'm not angry at you," he said at last, taking a step back. "You have a rare ability among our kind. I didn't realize you were as ... capable as you are. No one has ever been able to see into my mind."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"I'm not going to eat you, so you can stop looking at me like that," he said with a bitter edge that was lost on her. She looked down, near tears again. "That didn't come out quite right."

"Han said you're moody."

"He's usually right. C'mon. We'll talk."

She trailed him up the stairs, taking in every inch of his perfectly round butt to his slender hips and thick back. She'd never seen a man so strong, and she couldn't imagine talking to him without remembering how beautiful that body was. Thoughts of his sweaty body poised above hers made her want to swoon for the first time in her life, and her core ached so much from the vision that she gripped the handrail.

He led her to his private suite, which took up half of one wing. She sat in the living room as masculine as he, surrounded by wood, wool, and leather in dark colors. The window to a balcony was open, allowing in a cool night breeze that made the fire in the hearth dance. She pulled her knees to her chest, feeling small and vulnerable once more.

When he rejoined her, he'd put on a T-shirt and sandals. He leaned back in a chair across from her with muscular, feline grace, managing to appear both at ease and ready to pounce. They gazed at each other until she felt red creep up her neck. She looked toward the fire.

"Why can't I touch anyone else but you without seeing ... horrible things?" she asked as the silence grew uncomfortable.

"In my world, you'd be called an Oracle, one who can see a person's future by touching them."

She stared at him.

"It's a rare gift, trust me," he said. "And a treasured one. You'll eventually be able to see other things besides their deaths. Death is the only definite, and so it's the first vision you see until you hone your skills."

"It's awful," she murmured.

"As for me, well ..." He trailed off. "That shit doesn't work on me. We'll leave it at that for now."

"I saw you ... I saw ..." She didn't know how to say what she'd seen without seeming like the craziest person in the world.

"That is what we have to talk about," he said, leaning toward her. "You will see my past. You will say nothing to anyone about what you see about me."

"I'm not doing it on purpose," she whispered, distraught. "I don't even know what I'm doing."

"I know. However, there are boundaries to your gift that I must give you now. It's better you learn them from the beginning. One, no matter what you See, you are forbidden from telling the person exactly what it is. If you are asked, you can give them insight into their future, so long as you do not reveal everything. Two, don't fuck with fate."

"I can't keep such horrible things to myself."

"Three, you can't save the world," he replied. "You can tell me what you see, if you need to talk about it. Does that work?"

She frowned, unconvinced. He rattled off more rules, and she listened without registering any of them. What the hell was an Oracle anyway? How did one just morph into one? Maybe it was the mercury in the tuna she ate or the excessive amounts of chocolate. Could eating fake sweetener turn her into something like this? If so, what would hard water do to a person?

She laughed. Startled, Damian stared at her.

"Sorry. I was thinking ... it's stupid," she said. "I'm overwhelmed. One day I'm a boring financial planner, and the next day, I can't go out in sunlight and I see the future."

"You'll be able to go outside once you transform."

"What does that mean? Transform into what?"

"One of us. Our kind tend to live much longer than the average human. You'll finish transforming soon and will be like a human, just with a very, very long and extended life. Except..." He trailed off, giving her a considering look.

"Except what?" she demanded, panicking. "I have three eyes instead of two? I grow a tail?"

"Nothing like that," he assured her with a small smile. "One day, I'll tell you. You'll eventually have additional requirements to sustaining your body."

"When can I go outside?" she asked again.

"Soon."

They gazed at each other again, and she tried her damndest not to look away. A slow, languid smile crossed his features, one that made her body flush and ache for him. The vision of him on top of her protruded into her thoughts again. She looked away.

"I'll always win that game," he warned.

You have no idea, she mused. There were a great many things she'd let him do to her to win the game in her head.

"Like what?"

"You really can read minds," she whispered, stricken.

"Damn straight. And I'm willing if you're willing," he said with a smile that set her blood alight. He clasped his hands behind his head, giving her an unobstructed view of his body.

"I'm not some sort of floozy," she snapped, though she couldn't help wishing she was. "I don't sleep with random men, especially those who aren't ... you're not even human, are you?"

"Nope."

"What are you?"

"I guess you could say I'm a divine spirit of sorts," he said, guarded once more.

"A ghost?"

"Not that kind of spirit." He didn't expand, and she was too afraid to ask. "I'm going out for a meeting in about an hour. I'll probably be gone until noon or so. Han will be here if you need anything. Or, I can cancel, and we can live out the-"

"No, thanks," she said, standing and all but bolting out of his suite. Her head hurt again, this time from trying to digest what he was telling her. She could see the future and he was a ... what the hell was he?

He could read minds.

It made no sense, but neither did the sudden craving for peanut butter that dragged her to the kitchen, where yet another man she wanted to avoid was lounging. She snagged a jar of Jif and a spoon, retreating to her library. Jake followed, and Han was already waiting for her.

"What are you doing?" Jake asked.

"Transforming. Can't you tell?" Irritated he continued to disturb her peace, she leveled a glare on him.

He stalked off, and Han glanced down from his bored stare at the ceiling. She didn't care if he was miserable or not-she hadn't ordered him to babysit her. A few minutes later, Jake returned with a jug of water, appearing less than excited.

"Your shift," Han said and rose.

Sofia retreated to her room, not wanting to fight more with Jake. She left the door cracked until she heard Jake greet Damian as the leader passed her room. After another half an hour, she gathered up a small backpack she'd found in a closet. The day before, she'd found quite a few treasures, to include the backpack, a flashlight, the key locker for the cars in the garage, and Jake's wallet, which happened to have a credit card, which she had secretly used to book a flight from Tucson to Virginia.

"I want to go out," she said and emerged from her bedroom.

"Great," Jake said, rising from his seat outside her door and trailing her down the stairs.

"To the airport," she added.

"That's a no-go, Sofi."

Ignoring him, she pulled out a set of keys and walked down the hall to the front door.

"Sofia," Jake called, trailing.

"You're not allowed to touch me," she reminded him.

"D is."

"D's at some meeting. Remember?"

He frowned but followed her into the cool, pre-dawn morning toward the garage. Damian had a lot of cars, and she found the black BMW whose lights flashed when she clicked the key fob. She climbed in. Jake slid into the passenger seat beside her, pulling out his cell as he did.

He dialed and spoke in a different language to the man on the other end. She tightened her grip on the wheel, assuming he spoke to Damian. He didn't appear out of thin air to stop her, and she made it from the mansion to the Tucson airport's arrivals drop-off area, where she stopped in front of the Delta curbside check-in sign and handed Jake the keys.

She was pretty sure Damian would find her no matter where she tried to go, but damn them all, she was going home.

Jake didn't follow her as she strode into the airport and checked in, careful not to brush up against anyone for fear of the jarring visions. She didn't relax until her plane was in the air, and only then was she able to loosen the muscles in her neck when she sat pressed against the window to prevent her elbow from touching the man beside her.

Several hours later, just as evening set in, she entered the disaster that was her apartment. Sofia dropped her backpack onto the kitchen counter, taking in the damage. She rummaged around one of the cupboards for her prescription painkillers, her head pounding.

"Hello, Sofia," a familiar voice said. "I was worried when you didn't show for your appointment."

She turned, startled to find the man in front her of the same make and mold as Damian's men. The doctor's eyes were the color of cold steel, his face stoic, his large form tense. His hair was silvered.

"Dr. Czerno?" she managed. "You're not a doctor, are you?"

"No, Sofia."

She stared at him and edged around the kitchen island. She darted for the door, but he snatched her arm. His visions were more than just his death; they were the first-person experience of the torturing and killing of many, many others, as if she were mutilating others. She staggered under the weight of them, dropping to her knees. He released her.

"I think you see what I am about," he said. Tears streamed down her face as screams echoed in her mind. "I can carry you or you can walk out."

"Walk," she managed, shuddering at the lingering visions that left an acrid taste in her mouth.

"Let's go."

She pushed herself off the floor and rose. The kind of creature that could do such things to other men left her no doubt he'd do the same to her if she didn't obey. She shivered and hugged herself as they emerged into the cool fall dusk. A chauffeur opened the door to a town car waiting at the curb nearest her apartment building. She looked up and down the street. It was busy enough; she might be able to lose him if she made it to a crowd of people.