Micah Cochran was dead meat.
Zoë came up out of her work-induced fugue with only that thought
on her brain as a fist pounded on her door again.
It
was Micah.
She knew it in her gut—Zoë wanted to scream with rage, while at
the same time, she wanted to throw herself into his arms.
It
had been more than five years, not since…She cut the thought
off. She wasn’t going there.
Not now.
She didn’t want him around. Hell, hadn’t she made that clear
when she kicked him off her property that last day?
Tearing down the steps, her eyes wild, she jerked the door open.
“GO AWAY!”
But he only stood there, as all the force of her gift battered
at him. She saw a slight tightening around his eyes from the
pain he was no doubt in as she mentally shoved at him.
Guilt came and went.
All the jackasses who had come to her door lately, and she had
kept to physical violence with them, even though they made it
obvious they knew what she was.
But with Micah, she didn’t hold back. She shoved with all the
power of her mind. But he didn’t move.
Swallowing, she focused and drew the raw power back inside her,
watching he relaxed slightly.
Quieter now, she said, “Go away, Micah.”
Shaking his head, he said quietly, “I can’t.”
“I
can make you,” she countered, arching a brow at him.
He
nodded, a slow, thoughtful nod, as he agreed, “You could. But
then they will do something you won’t like. You have to help
them, otherwise you’re going to be hurt.”
Her face fell as his words sank in.
He
was here because of them, her unwelcome guests over the past
week. Lifelessly, she said, “I guess it was too much to hope you
came back because of us, huh?”
“Us?” he repeated softly. “There is no us, remember? You
screamed that at me right before you almost blasted me over the
mountainside.”
Her face flushed. “I wouldn’t have hurt you,” she said thickly.
He laughed humorlessly. “Hard for me to believe that, since I
was hanging on by a tree limb.”
