RayneDance Read online

  An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication

  www.ellorascave.com

  Rayne Dance

  ISBN 9781419923470

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  Rayne Dance Copyright © 2003 Mlyn Hurn

  Cover art by Syneca

  Electronic book Publication 2003

  The terms Romantica® and Quickies® are registered trademarks of Ellora’s Cave Publishing.

  With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.

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  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

  Rayne Dance

  Mlyn Hurn

  Prologue

  The files had finally arrived. Shannon Riedel, head of the Psychic Sensory Investigations Agency stared at the computer screen with a sense of resignation. The email cover letter said it all. File contained. Information, re: The Elementals. Executive clearance required.

  “Computer, open file,” she commanded softly.

  “Executive level clearance passcode, please,” the computer asked with its hollow monotone.

  She typed in the first part of the code. “Pass code: Dream walker, seventh order, warrior rights. Zebra, seven of the sixth key.” The oral passcode gave her level of clearance, the typed code gave a set of number and letters unique to her. The third key was her own unique voice, combined with the infrared eye scan that suddenly activated and her thumb scan from the small pad at the side of the flat keyboard.

  She waited only seconds for the file to open. She felt her chest tighten in remorse when it did. Another death warrant, she wondered? There was nothing she hated worse than preparing evidence against a psychic. If they were psychic.

  There were three young women rumored to be Elementals, the grandchildren of Tyre, a demon whose psychic abilities had nearly destroyed the world fifty years past. If these three women truly possessed Tyre’s powers, then there wasn’t a chance in hell she could save them. The Agency would demand their execution. Unless their powers could be neutralized by the PSI agents. Which was rare. Very rare.

  She read through the information, frowning at the brevity of it, the lack of conclusive evidence. If the women held the most feared of psychic powers, then there was little evidence of it. The most damning fact was the evidence that Maile, daughter of the Tyrea, had claimed the girls as her granddaughters, though each child had carried different surnames. Different fathers? She rubbed at the tension settling in her brow.

  Shannon sighed wearily. Psychics had once been a benefit to the world, now any good they could do was immediately reviled for the very power that could accomplish it. The horror of the psychic wars was too well remembered. Many cities within the U.S. were still rebuilding from the rubble that had been left in the wake of the final battle.

  It was now Shannon’s job, as director of the PSI agents, to evaluate the power the women held and make a determination of life or death to be passed to the Council. No mistakes could be made. She had risen among the ranks to take her seat as Director of the PSI Agency because she didn’t make mistakes. And with these three women, her very life would be on the line. If she determined innocents should die, then her conscience would destroy her. But if she allowed such three powerful threats freedom, then the world could pay for her mistake.

  She had to move carefully. If their powers could be controlled by the PSI agents, then there was a chance of saving their lives. But only a chance, and only if. She pushed her fingers through the short fall of her black hair and narrowed her eyes. It wasn’t feasible to destroy them all. It wasn’t humane.

  As yet, there was no conclusive proof of psychic power, no reports of the women conspiring or socializing with known or suspected psychics. But, neither had they turned themselves in to the Psy-Guardians as the law required. A mark for them, a mark against them. She bit off a curse as she stared at their pictures once again. They didn’t look like rebels or conspirators, but how many of that sort resembled the evil of their plans? Tyre had been one of the most handsome men known to be born. But his soul had been a cesspool of evil.

  She drew in a deep breath. She needed more information. She couldn’t condemn three women who had done nothing to warrant such extreme measure to death, without first being certain. She would have to send out three agents capable of learning this information for her. And of course, all restrictions on the ways they gained their knowledge must be lifted. There could be no doubts.

  Chapter One

  “It was a dark and stormy night.”

  Rayne threw the mystery novel across the room. It was too damned hot to be inside reading, especially since power usage was still so closely monitored since the end of the psychic war. Walking back to where her book had landed, Rayne picked up the maligned text carefully. Books were an expensive commodity these days, as was just about everything, unless you happened to be gainfully employed and non-psychic. Going over to her front door, she looked outside through the screen.

  “Bullshit! I’d give just about anything if it was a stormy anything.”

  Rayne walked outside and over to where her well had been successfully drilled a few years ago. She was luckier than many of the small farms around her. Her plants were still growing healthily, which was primarily due to her daily watering schedules. The buckets she filled twice a day and toted sometimes half a mile, took an hour to fill some days. By the time she finished filling them, the sun would be low enough in the sky for her to begin watering.

  Finally, she had enough water to begin. Picking up two of the buckets, Rayne started the slow walk to the most distant of her precious plants. There was a watering can at different points along the path where she could fill them to water several rows and avoid carrying the buckets as far each time. Beginning with the first row, Rayne wondered how her sisters were getting along. That was one of the things about watering her delicate herbal plants and floras with a bucket—it gave her lots of free time to think.

  The year was 2150. Since his assumption of power in 2048, Tyre Leyton had ruled with an iron “psychic” fist. He had established a system of overlords, who ruled over large cities, or regions. These overlords followed Leyton’s laws, which were passed by his selected legislators. The psychic overlords that the rebels finally defeated had destroyed what was once a unified world economy, using their paranormal ability to dominate the globe and control resources for their own greedy use. While the top overlords centralized the world government in the North American continent and lived in splendor, the rest of the world’s nations had to use profits from their GNP to pay for such necessities as water.

  The overlords had systematically destroyed as much infrastructure of the North American continent as they could when they knew they were about to lose to the rebels. Since the peace accord, most of the world had been striving to rebuild the heaviest damaged areas during the Final War of 2100. Rayne worried about her two sisters when her h
ands were busy, leaving her mind free to worry. While she was unaware of her sisters’ exact locations other than which state each lived in, it was probably wisest for their safety.

  Moving on to the next row, Rayne realized that she had not heard from either of her sisters for over a year. She couldn’t help but resent the fact that they had to be separated for their protection. And sometimes she wondered if living in such isolation was worth the supposed safety it provided.

  Rayne had finished the second row and now needed more water. It was getting darker and soon there would be no light at all. She hated watering in the dark. It seemed like she was always taking a wrong step and slipping in the shallow mud. Many times she returned home covered in mud. She resumed the watering as quickly as possible, reminding herself to focus on the plants, not her family or friends.

  Of course, she missed her grandparents and often wished she could return to be with them once again. She didn’t, though, because to do so could expose Maile and herself to detection by the government’s police force designed exclusively to investigate, track and, when necessary, remove psychic citizens. Maile had sensed the three young girls’ powers early on and secretly trained them. But she had come upon them once practicing a ritual that went back so far no one was completely sure of its origin. It took great concentration, and it was assumed that only equal psychics could truly accomplish such psychic connections successfully. Rarely was there more than one psychic child born into a family. But with the girls’ history of direct psychic lineage, one could only guess at their true powers.

  Rayne shook her head, hating to remember the fear in her grandmother’s face when she had found them that day. Along with the fear came the pain of being forced to leave her grandparents forever. Her sisters had seemed to understand better, or they were just better at concealing their pain at leaving the only home they had ever known. Unfortunately, she didn’t know exactly where either one was but sometimes the urge to find them was almost irresistible.

  * * * * *

  Rayne was dead tired as she made her way back toward her house. She still would have to make something to eat for her menagerie of pets. From the look of the dry earth, she might have to water during the night once again. Just the thought of that made her groan out loud.

  “Good evening.”

  Rayne would have jumped out of her skin if she could. The deep masculine voice shocked and surprised her, coming from her front porch as it had. Obviously a visitor had made himself comfortable waiting for her. Abruptly, she stopped a few feet from the steps.

  “Who are you? What are you doing here?” Rayne snapped at the unseen stranger. It was pretty much unheard of for newcomers to move into the area. Therefore, newcomers—strangers—were usually viewed with suspicion. Almost everyone farmed land and some raised animals as well. A stranger in the area stuck out like a sore thumb and word spread quickly about them.

  “When you saw no one was home you should have left!” she accused him with her next breath. Her heart was racing, especially since she couldn’t see him. It took several deep breaths before she calmed enough to “turn on” her psychic abilities. Despite the darkness, she had already guessed he was alone.

  Suddenly there was the strike of a match and it flared brightly in the cooling darkness. Rayne blinked quickly, trying to focus on him in the small flicker of light. As she watched, he lit a pipe and took several long draws on it. The sweet redolent scent wafted through the air toward her. Smoking of any kind was pretty much wiped out these days. There were still kids who thought it was fun to smoke marijuana just to try it. But pipe smoking had become something only the very wealthy could afford. Tobacco had to be imported from South America, and since the war, prices had continued to skyrocket.

  The flare from the match also served to momentarily highlight the stranger’s face. He glanced in her direction and the man’s startling hazel-colored eyes struck Rayne as quite unusual. His face looked sculpted and tanned. He came to his feet and was highlighted from the light behind him, inside the house. There was no missing his broad shoulders, tapering to narrow waist and hips. Something about this man was setting alarms off in her head, her psychic consciousness and her stomach. She couldn’t deny that butterflies were beating like crazy and she still had not yet seen the man clearly. In the light, he might be downright irresistible—

  Rayne stumbled at the first step of her porch. When she could get a better look at her visitor, he would also be able to see her more clearly. Tonight she had seemed to be particularly klutzy. She felt like one big mud pie.

  The stranger crossed towards her quickly, extending his hand to her. Rayne pulled her hand away from the wooden handle bar, not completely sure that touching him would be a wise idea. She wasn’t sure whether her reticence came from a desire not to get him muddy, or was it something deeper and more elemental that was sending warning signals to her brain. Her grandmother had told her once that some people could sense a psychic just by touching them. Maybe she could buy herself some thinking time by sending him into the small living room and she’d sneak around back, rinse off and then dart upstairs to do a decent clean up. Showing him her muddy hands, she spoke again.

  “Sorry, I’m all muddy. If you want to go in…wait! Who are you and why are you here?” she added quickly, belatedly realizing that she was being much too accepting. Living in the small, easy-going rural area was definitely affecting her level of caution and usual alertness.

  “I am Sean McDougal. I’ve heard nothing but compliments about your farming techniques and how you seem to be able to grow the healthiest plants in spite of the drought. I wanted to meet the lady with the green thumb.”

  “My thumbs are normal and why are you interested?” Rayne asked him promptly. Everything he had said was true. All the farms around her had come to see what she was doing differently. Her neighbor, the Jackson’s oldest son, had even come several times to help her water since he’d first visited with his father.

  “I just purchased the Scott farm.”

  “Oh,” Rayne answered quickly. “My neighbor’s son had mentioned last month that the place had finally sold. If you want to go in and sit down, I’ll join you in a few minutes. And if you wouldn’t mind going into the kitchen first and flipping on the outdoor light I would appreciate it. Thanks,” she added before taking off around the side of the house.

  * * * * *

  Sean watched the woman scamper away into the darkness before he went inside to follow her instructions. Flipping on the outside light, he could hear water running. Unable to resist, he quietly moved out the back door, following the noise. As he came upon the pool of light, he felt like he had been gut punched. Standing under a running outdoor shower, a young woman clad only in a white, armless T-shirt and cotton panties stood, getting completely drenched to the skin. To the side he saw the outline of jeans and what looked to be another shirt tossed aside.

  His eyes moved over her body slowly. He knew looking at her was only going to raise her barriers even more once she saw him. But there was no way in hell he could turn away from the soaking wet woman in front of him. As he stared, her arms lifted and her hands sleeked her long, waist-length hair back from her face. This lifted her breasts beneath the wet and clinging shirt, highlighting her hard nipples. Those breasts looked the perfect size for his hands. And her nipples promised to tease his tongue once he captured the taut bud in his mouth.

  He could still leave silently. She had not yet seen him or sensed that he was even there. That did surprise him since she was supposed to be psychic—

  It was too late a moment later. She was now facing him and her eyes had opened slowly. Taking a moment to focus, there was no effort on her part yet to cover her body. Sean, being male, took advantage and looked down at the apex of her thighs, concealed only by the thin, cotton fabric—now wet and nearly see-through. Expecting to see a lush, black forest or even a trimmed bushy garden, Sean was surprised to see flesh and the indentation of—

  Abruptly Rayne turn
ed away, turning off the water. She walked the few steps and picked up her clothes. Sean could see the tension in her face and opened his mouth to apologize.

  “No, please, Mr. McDougal. Don’t say anything. I think you should leave, though.” Rayne took a step past him, not lifting her eyes to meet his.

  “I apologize. I heard the water and I didn’t think—”

  “It’s all right. Please, just go, though!”

  Sean nodded slowly, reluctantly starting for his truck. “I’d like a chance to talk with you—”

  Rayne shook her head. “Please go!”

  Sean decided that retreat would be best at this point. He had obviously embarrassed her, and to continue might only serve to alienate her. The last thing he needed was anything that would hinder his final investigation for the Psychic Sensory Investigations Agency. Walking around her house to where he’d parked his vehicle, he admitted that he was grateful to finally be getting out. He was sick and tired of using his psychic ability to track innocent people down, and possibly destroy the life they and their families had made.

  Driving back toward the large farming concern he’d purchased, Sean knew that he was possibly luckier than his fellow agents were. Thanks to his father’s foresight and cleverness with money and investments, he had money to purchase land and start a new life…completely divorced from the Agency. In the early years following the war, he believed that the Agency and its policing agents were needed to track remaining psychics still loyal to the Leyton legislature and its overlords.

  Unfortunately, some of the agents Sean had run across during his time with the Agency didn’t quite agree with the views of the new government administration plan for tolerance. The goal, these days, was to identify and track psychics. The hope was to prevent the past from recurring and show that all people can live together peacefully.