Something that wasn’t there.
Something missing.
If only we knew what that could be, his unicorn said snippily. Truly, a mystery for the ages.
Anyone who thought that unicorns were all sweetness and light had never lived with one in their head. His beast could be a sarcastic sod when its horn was out of joint.
With a growl of frustration, Hugh pushed aside his stone-cold tea. Much to the displeasure of his cats, he rose. Even though he should have been exhausted after his twenty-four-hour work shift the day before, a strange, restless energy filled him.
He raked his hands through his hair, casting around for something to do. He’d already washed up the single plate from his breakfast. Every book on his oak shelves was perfectly sorted into its proper place. Even the oriental rug only had a few cat hairs clinging to it.
Everything in his entire house was arranged exactly to his liking. He’d never invited anyone—not even his fellow firefighters—to enter his home. It was the one place where he could escape the constant, incessant onslaught of other people’s lusts and desires and emotions. It was his sanctuary.
Now, it felt empty.
Work, he decided. That was what he needed. A purpose. He needed to get out there and do what he was made to do.
Yes, his unicorn agreed. So go to her.
“Oh, shut up,” Hugh muttered under his breath as he hunted for his shoes.
He wasn’t on call at the moment, but he was a familiar enough sight at the local hospital. A white coat and a confident manner would mean he wouldn’t be challenged.
He’d ghost through the critical care wards, touching a shoulder here, pretending to take a pulse there. And there would be five or ten or two dozen people who’d start to feel much better, and never know the true reason why.
And you will still feel the same, his unicorn murmured.
“That doesn’t matter,” Hugh said out loud to his animal, as he looped his hospital pass over his neck. “I don’t have to be happy to help people.”
Which was just as well, given that he didn’t expect to ever see his mate again.
Hugh opened his front door, and found himself staring down into a pair of blazing emerald eyes.
“Can you heal my sister?” Ivy demanded.
Hugh had treated patients in many difficult circumstances. He’d lost count of the number of times he’d had to perform CPR while things literally exploded around him. On one occasion, he’d even been on fire himself. And of course, there had been the memorable time he’d struggled to heal a gaping chest wound while floating on a magical iceberg above the biggest shark in the entire sea.
None of those occasions compared to now. It took all of Hugh’s control to keep his eyes on his patient, when all he wanted to do was gaze at the astonishing sight of Ivy in his house.
Even without looking at her, he could track her every movement as she prowled around his study, wary as a stray cat. The heat of her body warmed the whole room like a log fire on Christmas Day. Her fresh, clean scent was a mix of wild mint and storm air, with an underlying womanly fragrance that had his unicorn pawing the ground.
Focus. Hugh shut his eyes, wishing that he could close his nose as well to that intoxicating scent. He concentrated on his sixth sense instead; the subtle feel of energies running through Hope’s body.
Her eyebrows twitched under his palm. “That tickles!”
“Sorry.” Hugh moved his hand from her forehead to the nape of her neck. “Just a few moments more.”
He frowned as he once again encountered the strange darkness that he’d briefly sensed before. To his senses, the energy running through Hope’s nerves seemed to flicker and spark, like faulty wiring. It reminded him a bit of the acid-pitted cables in the elevator shaft. It was like her nervous system was being eaten away by some malign substance.
It wasn’t an injury, or a disease. It wasn’t congenital, either—her body knew that something was wrong, and was trying to fight it.
“You don’t have motor neuron disease,” he said, opening his eyes and drawing his hand back again. “In fact, if I was making a diagnosis, I’d say you’ve been poisoned.”
Hope bit her lip, glancing at her sister as if seeking permission. Ivy jerked her chin down once in a slight nod.
“I was,” Hope said,
turning back to him. “By our mom. In the womb.”