“Don’t disappear into the bathroom and leave me without my jeans.”

She looked him up and down, a slow smile curving her mouth. “I don’t know, I rather like you like that.”

“That’s because I’m astonishing.”

“Oh, is that the reason?” How had she become comfortable with him? How come every time she looked at him she wanted to trace the weathered lines in his bronzed face and smooth back the tumble of dark hair? What made her melt inside when nothing and no one had ever done so? The intensity of her emotions shook her, frightened her. Just as before when she’d awakened with her heart pounding in the middle of the night, her pulse went wild and tiny flames licked at the windowsill.

Nicolas glanced at the dancing flames and back at her. A slow smile softened the hard angles and planes of his face. “You just can’t get enough of me, can you? I see your call sign, wanting me to come back to bed.”

She flung the pillow at him, laughing because she couldn’t help herself. “A sane man would run from a room where a woman sets the windowsills on fire.” The tiny flames were already dying down into embers. “He wouldn’t come running.”

“But the wise man knows the real fire is in the woman in the bed, and he rushes to her side to put it out.” He spoke in his best “wise man” voice.

She flung the second pillow at him. “How much damage did I do to your poor friend’s house?”

Nicolas looked at the scorch marks around the window. Most were from the night before. “It adds charm to the place. The resale value is bound to skyrocket.”

Dahlia shook her head at his outrageous comment and reluctantly abandoned the relative safety of the bed. “I’ll come out in a few minutes, just give me a little time to prepare myself.”

“If you aren’t out in a few minutes,” he warned, “I’m coming in to haul you out.”

She rolled her eyes, not impressed with his threat. She could see how Nicolas could be intimidating to most people, but she knew him fairly well now. He would never do anything on purpose to hurt her. “I said a few minutes.”

She took her time over her hair. She had no makeup and rarely wore more than mascara and lipstick, but still, it would have made her feel less vulnerable had she had makeup. Her jeans were uncomfortable and a little wetter than she would have liked, but the shirt was a deep blue and hid the fact that she hadn’t bothered with her wet underwear. Her skin was getting chafed from constantly wearing soaked clothing.

Dahlia took a deep breath and pushed open the door. She knew they were all GhostWalkers with heightened awareness, and she knew they would know the moment she walked into the room, but she still wasn’t prepared for the sudden silence or the way all eyes turned on her. She felt as if she were caught in the glare of a bright spotlight. Her hand slipped into her pocket to caress the amethyst spheres that always seemed to impart comfort to her. She expected waves of energy to hit her, but the impact was minimal. Nicolas and at least one other in the room helped to ease the bombardment from natural thoughts and emotions.

“Dahlia.” Nicolas crossed the room to slip his arm around her, knowing the contact would help provide a further barrier. “Come in and meet everyone.” At the sight of her looking small and fragile and apprehensive, every protective instinct he had welled up. “I know it’s a bit overwhelming to meet us all en mass, but at least you’ll get it over with quickly.”

“Kaden Bishop, ma’am.” A tall man with intense eyes and a hard edge to his mouth greeted her first. Dahlia knew immediately he was an anchor. He had the same calming effect on her that Jesse Calhoun and Nicolas had.

“Sam Johnson, ma’am.” A handsome man with coffee-colored skin, stocky and powerfully built with heavy muscles, he seemed to take up a lot of space.

“Ian McGillicuddy, ma’am,” the tallest of the group proclaimed. He had a shock of chestnut, reddish hair that any woman would have wanted and laughter in his brilliant brown eyes. His skin was fair, and to Dahlia he looked like a giant.

Dahlia nodded to the three men and turned her attention to the other side of the room. Her mouth was inexplicably dry. Nicolas seemed to sense her rising tension because his hand tightened on her arm as if afraid she might run. The urge was there, welling up, robbing her of any semblance of calm.

“I’m Raoul Fontenot, ma’am, but everyone just calls me Gator.” The owner of the cabin had a rich Cajun accent and the bad boy look that could melt hearts at twenty paces. Dahlia felt the cabin was growing smaller with each introduction. Each man stood tall with wide shoulders and bulky muscles. She felt ridiculous standing near them.

Nicolas exerted pressure on her, and she realized she had taken a step toward the front door. She made herself stop, forced a smile when her lips were frozen.

“Tucker Addison,” the last man said. It was impossible to adequately describe his skin. A rich dark bronze stretched over rippling muscles. His hair was closely cropped in military style, but she could see tiny spirals springing up ruthlessly in spite of his efforts to tame it.

“Nicolas has talked about all of you.” It was the only thing she could think to say.

Gator grinned at her. “Now, ma’am, don’t be believing anything that heathen says.” He dropped the ends of most of his words, using don instead of don’t, but she recognized the rhythm in the way he spoke. It was familiar, a drawling warm molasses that spread over a listener slowly. It was something to hang onto in the midst of such a large gathering.

Dahlia curled up in the chair nearest the door, thankful it was open and she could hear the noise of the swamp. It helped to steady her. “It was nice of you to lend us your cabin.”

He shrugged. “It’s all in the family, ma cher.” He looked at Nicolas. “Jeff Hollister would have been here, but he’s still recovering. Lily works that poor man on his therapy every day. He says she’s a nag, but she’s got him walking with a cane now instead of the walker, so he’s improving.”

“Lily won’t let him do anything else,” Sam said with satisfaction.

Dahlia could feel the affection the men had for their injured comrade. Some of the affection was mixed with anger. The energy was moving through the room to her, gathering together to surround and pour into her own terrible mix of emotions. “Who is Jeff Hollister, and what happened to him?”

“He’s a GhostWalker, the same as we are cher,” Gator provided. “He had a stroke and a few complications, but he’s going to be all right.”

She felt the instant flash of anger welling up in the men. On the heels of that strong emotion came the thought of betrayal by one of their own. The anger increased tenfold and hit Dahlia hard. She fought back the rise in the temperature, the churning in her stomach. Helplessly she looked at Nicolas.

Before he could touch her to lessen the impact, Ian McGillicuddy swore, his fist clenched tightly. “Damned traitor looking to sell us all out for money tried to murder him. And Jeff wasn’t the first. We lost two good men, Dwayne Gibson and Ron Shaver. Both murdered on the job and dissected like a couple of insects.”

The wave of energy combined from the rising emotions in the men contained within such a small area hit her so hard she cried out, a sharp denial as the pressure built beyond her capability to control it. She was too confined, had not even allowed herself the amethyst spheres to relieve the tension. She lunged out from under Nicolas’s hand and away from the men toward the door, doing her best to direct the blast away from the house. The door and most of the doorjamb vanished as a fireball slammed through the opening out into the yard. Flames raced up the wall to the ceiling and spread across the yard to the very edge of the water.

Nicolas caught her before she could race through the open door. “You’ll get burned, honey, stay back until we get this out.” His voice was very calm. “I need all of you to work at putting out at the fire, but while you do, breathe slowly and evenly and meditate. We need calm.”

He folded Dahlia into his arms, tight against his body, rocking her gently back and forth. “It’s no big deal. We weren’t prepared for the way we would all feel over Jeff. He’s the kind of guy you can’t help but like, and I guess we all have the same buried anger. Someone tried to murder him and it’s left him fighting his way back. Our anger just came out unexpectedly.”

“Do you need another anchor?” Kaden asked.

Nicolas hesitated. He didn’t want Dahlia to need another anchor, but if they wanted the energy to quit feeding the fire, Kaden could help draw it from Dahlia. “Just put your hands on her shoulders.”

The others quickly doused the flames in the house and worked to extinguish the ones outside. Dahlia stood between the two men, her body trembling and her head throbbing with pain. Anger could produce fire faster than anything else. She had to keep working at not being angry with herself. Why hadn’t she been prepared for such a thing? The moment she was calm enough she pulled away from them. “I have to go outside right now.”

Nicolas watched her go. “She’s heading for the roof, but she’ll believe she can never be with people after this.” He shook his head. “I know what she’s feeling right now, and it’s not good. I should have briefed you all on the severity of the repercussions of her talents.”

“Let me see if I can talk to her, Nico,” Kaden suggested. “I’m an anchor, and if I can convince her she can have a fairly decent conversation with me, she might try again.”

Nicolas fought down the completely humiliating and ridiculous jealousy he couldn’t quite suppress. It annoyed him more than any other trait. It was something he thought petty and unworthy of a man. Kaden was a trusted friend, and he was honestly trying to help. In any case, Nicolas would stay out of sight, but near enough if Dahlia needed him.

“Talk about Lily, Kaden,” Nicolas advised. His voice sounded a little too tense for his liking, but he forced a quick, grateful smile. “I’ll be close in case she decides to take off.”

Kaden nodded and went up the side of the house, moving quickly across the roof. Dahlia sat on the highest pitch, pale lavender balls spinning through her fingers as she looked out over the water while the wind tugged at her hair. She looked very alone.

She didn’t look up when he moved up beside her and sat down. “In case there were too many of us introducing ourselves, I’m Kaden.” He smiled, in what he hoped was a friendly fashion.

She rubbed her chin on her knees and breathed deep to keep the tension inside of her from exploding out. Berating herself for her lack of control hadn’t helped get rid of all the energy. “You’re what Nicolas refers to as an anchor, aren’t you,” she confirmed, pressing her lips together.

She was moving spheres through her fingers fast. Kaden found it almost hypnotic. “Yes, I can draw strong emotions away from the others so they can better function on a mission, but the emotions don’t amplify my own the way the energy does you. We must seem a bit overwhelming to you. When men go into combat together they develop a certain camaraderie and often joke with one another to ease the tension.” He watched her closely, feeling her emotions, knowing she was on the edge of flight. “Lily wanted to come with us, but we convinced her you would prefer she looked after your friend. Ryland is with her, and no one will get past him if he’s on guard.”

Dahlia made herself answer him when her heart was pounding and conflicting emotions swirled hotly inside of her. “That’s good.” Being with the men only brought her to the realization that she couldn’t ever have the life she dreamed of. There would be no house in Lily’s neighborhood. No barbecues in the backyard with her friends. Her emotions were too close to the surface. She wasn’t like Nicolas—no matter how hard she tried, she didn’t have his discipline, his self-control.