1
ONLY MY MIND
Denver, Colorado
Present Day
The first time it happened, Mia was coming off a twelve-hour day at the barn. She’d climbed into her first saddle at six, schooled four horses, handled a tricky lameness exam with a client’s horse and a man-diva of a vet who sniffed at her contemptuously every time she asked a question, and then she started teaching lessons. At some point, Donna shoved half a peanut butter sandwich into her grubby hand and said, “Eat that before you fall over.” When she got home, bone-weary and ready for bed by seven p.m., she’d noticed a big greasy spot of peanut butter on the collar of her polo. Figured.
She took an obscenely hot shower, threw her schooling clothes in the direction of the hamper, and reheated a Tupperware of leftover pasta. Hair still wet, she collapsed into her comfiest chair, dinner and a glass of wine on the side table, favorite ugly socks on her feet, her current vampire novel du jour in one hand. It was a boring evening; the kind a busy trainer/working student gunning for the pro circuit lived for.
And then, suddenly, it wasn’t.
She glanced up from her book, intent on spearing a difficult hunk of chicken with her fork, and froze.
A man stood in the center of her living room.
Her fork fell out of her hand, landing on the edge of the plate with a clatter.
The first thing she noticed was his hair. It was impossiblenotto notice: long, full, pale gold waves that fell nearly to his waist.
Then the eyes: blue.
The face: narrow and regal.
The clothes: red velvet, and a black fur cloak, and knee-high polished boots.
He was stunning.
He was impossible.
Slowly, Mia set her book aside on the table.
The man wasn’t looking at her, was instead inspecting the room around him, making a slow turn in the center of the rug, tilting his head side to side as he took in her TV, Ikea furniture, and overloaded bookshelf. He stopped, finally, blue eyes widening, and stepped in closer to inspect the titles on the spines.
Later, much later, she would remember the way it was the books that had captured his interest first, and she’d carry that little kernel of gold with her for the rest of her life.
But for now, she had an intruder in her apartment, and the closest weapon to hand was the lamp on the table beside her. Slowly, slowly, she leaned over and wrapped her fingers around the base. It was a chunky faux-bronze thing that she thought was supposed to look antique, and it was heavy. She gave it an experimental tug and it eked toward her a half-inch, shade wobbling alarmingly. She bit her lip, wincing. It would take both hands, but she thought it would make a good projectile. She’d get only one shot, though, so it had to count.
“Hmm,” the man hummed, back still to her, “you can throw that if you like, but it won’t do any good.”
She snatched it up in both hands, heart leaping wildly, and chucked it at him.
He didn’t move, but the lamp didn’t strike him. It seemed to passthroughhim, his back and shoulders swirling like smoke a moment, then resettling. The lamp crashed against the bookshelf; a handful of well-loved hardbacks toppled to the floor, pages crumpling. The frame of the shelf had cracked.
Silence, save the rough scrape of Mia’s breath in and out of her lungs.Holy shit, she thought.What the…
The man turned, unhurried. A sharp little smile lifted one corner of his mouth. “I did warn you.”
A dozen potential questions gathered on the back of her tongue, but what left her mouth was, “What are you?”
His smile widened; the lamplight caught on sharp, white canines. “Oh, well. This isinteresting.” He tipped his chin down, and his eyes flashed, and he leaned toward her in a way that sent goosebumps rippling down her arms. There was such an inherent threat in his posture. Like the villains in her favorite novels.
“Stop.” She threw up a hand, as if that could keep him back. “Just…” She couldn’t breathe. “Stop.”
He relaxed a fraction, head pulling back on his slender, pale neck. “I can’t actually touch you, you know. Not even if I wanted to.” To demonstrate, he reached behind him and passed a spectral hand through a shelf on her bookcase.
I’m dreaming, she thought with sudden relief. She’d been even more tired than she thought, and she’d passed out in the chair; probably dropped her book; probably spilled her wine.
