Dawn found her staring into the Hudson, curled up on a concrete wall with her arms wrapped around her knees. If it was still cold, she didn't feel it. She watched the brooding river slide past, watching the flotsam that swirled in eddies left by passing watercraft. A pigeon pecked at something by her foot, and she turned her head, nudging it away with her toe. It rose clumsily, with a clatter of wings, and settled again, a little further away.

The first tremor of unease made her lift her head curiously. Instinctively she turned back the way she had come, listening. As the feeling grew, she shifted uncomfortably and tried to push it away. The first wash of panic speared through her, a physical pain that caught her voice in a choked gasp. Her fingers dug into her upper arms, her body curling into a tighter ball.

Jamie. She couldn't have said how she knew whose emotions were choking her, but she did. He was awake, and had realized she was gone. She fought the urge to move, to go back. He made it clear enough where we stood, she thought, hiding herself deeper in the bleak depression that had driven her from his protective little world. His raw fear choked her throat and she slapped at it with mental hands, pushing it away and out.

His thoughts wrapped around her own with a jolt, grasping with clumsy, untrained strength. She shuddered and swayed, reacting at the last moment to catch herself before she fell.

Okay, don't sit on the wall while fighting, she noted. Broken fragments of thought, confused and garbled, came tumbling over her, and in annoyance, she snapped back at them. Do you mind waiting until I'm not about to fall in the damned river before you start screeching?

Stunned silence allowed her to clamber down, stiff muscles protesting the movement. She leaned against the wall, sitting cross-legged on the sidewalk. The last icy remnants of the snow on the ground dampened her heavy khaki pants, and she ignored it.

Celeste? The voice was nothing more than the tiniest whisper, unsure of itself and disjointed.

What? I was under the impression we were done talking, Jamie. The poor man was going to have a headache from hell, she reflected with a bitter sort of satisfaction. Telepathy was tricky at the best of times, and in a forced situation, it was worse.

Come back.

Celeste shook her head in reluctant admiration. That part, at the very least, had come through crystal clear. She didn't bother replying. Instead she slammed every door in her mind she could, closed and locked them down as tightly as a vault. She was through talking.

Ch. 15

"Celeste."

Oh what now? she thought, her eyebrows drawing together in annoyance. She was enjoying the thin warmth of the sunlight on her face. Must have fallen asleep, she mused. Funny how someone's thoughts can sound so much like their voice.

"Goddamn it Celeste." Someone grabbed her arm roughly, yanking, and her eyes flew open, scrambling to catch herself. She didn't have to bother, a pair of strong and angry hands had her, held her. Jamie's black eyes had a light all their own when he was angry, she realized inanely. His hair was unbound, a tangled tumble of silver and white around his face and shoulders.

"What are you doing here?" Stupid question. She couldn't tell if the thought was his or hers, but it didn't matter much.

"Looking for you, you idiot! What the hell were you thinking?" He was shouting at her, drawing sidelong looks from passerbys, scaring pigeons.

"Well you found me, so I'm leaving now." She pulled herself free of his hands and started to turn away.

"Oh no you don't!" He caught her arm and spun her back to face him. Angrily, she tried to shake him off.

"Last I checked, you don't own me," she hissed. "So. Let. Go."

"Make me," he challenged, using his weight and height to back her against the concrete wall at her back. She pushed at his chest, feeling the sharp prickle of static charge as her palms made contact with his coat. His anger was a palpable thing, a warm electric rush over her skin.

"Get off me, Jamie."

"Not until you promise to come home," he countered.

"It's not my home," she retorted, and felt a stab of guilt at the flicker of pain in his eyes. She continued in a more neutral tone. "You aren't responsible for me. I can take care of myself."

"The hell you can." His hands wrapped around hers, pinning them against his chest. "Do you even realize that your lips are blue? I can feel how cold your hands are through my damn gloves."

"It is winter," she snapped, her temper fraying. "It happens."

So does this. It wasn't her thought, but she didn't have time to analyze it. Jamie let go of her hands to plunge his fingers into her hair, holding her still while his head lowered, his mouth brushing hers lightly, and then simply taking.

So this was what a kiss was- lightning that slid in through your lips and spread liquid, tingling warmth through the rest of you. His teeth grazed her lower lip, his tongue stroking her mouth slowly, patiently, until her own tongue brushed against him timidly, tasting him. She made some sound, some movement, and he seemed to see it as permission, because he pressed her into the cold stone. His lips were warm and demanding, until she finally just let him have his way. He drew back, pulling in a shaky breath, and she found her fingers clutching the lapels of his coat. He wrapped his arms around her, pressing her against him, burying his face in her hair. His voice sounded muffled and thick.

"Please, Celeste. Come home."

She rested her face aginst his chest, felt the heavy throb of his heart against her cheek, and said the only thing she could.

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