Free Bound by Shadow by Anna Windsor

call her, Riana?
Yes. I woke her up. It’s early, but she’s coming.
Are you sure it’s a good idea?
She has a right to know.
     
    Creed’s perceptions swam. He had never had the mercy of forgetting what he did when the other was forward, but it was damned hard to come back to his human self. He sat huddled and his skin burned as if he’d been dipped in oil. Blood hammered hard against his temples, and he was covered with sweat. He couldn’t stop clenching his jaw, because he wanted to shout. He wanted to smash the dirty, wet wooden table beneath him with his bare fists. How could he let himself lose control like that? How could he put a room full of women in jeopardy, even if they were psychics?
    Or witches.
    Or something.
    His mind frothed.
    Stupid. Weak. Dangerous .
    Why did he even try to live among real humans? When would he give up the fantasy he could be “normal” and do what Dominic did? Run away from New York and the NYPD and join a cult of the “enlightened mind.” Those freaks probably thought he was some sort of god. At least in a cult full of drugged-out junkies, he might not hurt anybody.
    Dominic seemed happy enough in the few untraceable e-mails he had sent Creed. They were rambling letters that talked a lot about purpose, power, and destiny. Dominic had asked Creed to agree to join him two or three times, but Creed had always refused.
    Yours in enlightenment,
    Nick.
    Yeah, right.
    Maybe the next time Dominic sent him a missive and an invitation, Creed should go for it.
    Morning sunlight streamed into the brownstone. All night. Whatever they did to him, it had taken all night. Creed crushed his fists into his eyes and wished the pressure would stop the pounding in his head. The only sensation connecting him to sanity was a surprisingly comforting touch on the arm that bore his birth-scar, the line of knotted tissue created when his grandmother used a kitchen knife to cut him free from Dominic as their mother lay sobbing, damaged and dying.
    I’ve been a killer since the day I was born. I almost killed people today. Riana, for God’s sake. As if God has any use for me.
    Normal babies had no real memories of birth, but Creed remembered his, and everything that happened afterward. Creed remembered almost everything he had ever seen or heard, especially when his senses were heightened by the other . Even the devastating, horrible things the other had done.
    For now, the beast lay dormant inside, as it always did after coming forward. It was just a hot, sleeping weight in his chest and belly, present, yet as distant as a star in some faraway sky. Creed wondered if it was exhausted. He was always exhausted after a transformation, so much so that he suspected if the other ever managed to stay forward for longer than a few minutes, it might utterly consume his human aspects.
    “Are you all right?” asked a low, sexy voice.
    The firm but definitely feminine grip on Creed’s scarred arm made him take his fists out of his eyes. He blinked against the stabbing pain of light and motion. Riana Dumain was kneeling on the massive table beside him, dressed in a form-fitting black leather jumpsuit that had big holes burned through it. In several places. She had hold of him, her long fingers clasping his biceps as if to steady him, while with the other hand she adjusted a green blanket covering his bare shoulders. A blanket that, if he wasn’t much mistaken, was smoldering, as if someone had almost set it on fire.
    Creed’s thoughts settled slowly as he stared at the vision of a woman who tended him so gently. How could she be kind to him after what she saw? After what he—well, the other that was part of him—almost did to her and her friends?
    An uneven breeze stirred the air in bursts, and wind chimes clanked, off-key, as if they had all been broken. The tangy odor of smoke mingled with wet dirt and burned wood. Creed caught a whiff of lavender and spring dew that made his body want to respond, but behind