Caressed By Ice (5 page)

The words that left his mouth were low and vicious.

He'd been close to panic in the days after her rescue, but thankfully, her memory had turned out to be full of holes. If those holes were filling up, he was in trouble. The kind of trouble that could lead to an execution—especially if she had that fucking Psy on her side. He should've betrayed the whole Lauren family the first chance he'd gotten, but he'd waited too long to use the information and now his greed had come back to haunt him.

It made no difference. He had no intention of being hunted down like a rabid dog. He stared at the pressure injector in his hand, the same one that had weakened Tim and made him such easy prey. It could be used on Brenna, too. The crazy-eyed whore was not going to mess up his life.

 

Judd
kept his eye on Brenna until she reached the end of the long corridor and turned the corner to join the steady flow of people on the other side. His military-trained mind had picked up something in the air the second after he'd opened the door, but he could find no reason for the warning flag. Still, he didn't move until she was safe.

Then, closing the door, he glanced down at his hand, flexing and unflexing it in an effort to lose the imprint of heat burned into it the second he'd touched Brenna. It had been an utterly irrational action, prompted not by thought but by some buried instinct that had momentarily overridden his conditioning when he'd glimpsed the bruise marring her skin.

His phone beeped, reminding him he had a job to complete. He couldn't afford to be distracted from his goals by a changeling who looked to him to vanquish her nightmares. As if he were…good. What would Brenna say if he told her that he
was
the nightmare?

His phone beeped a second time. Picking it up, he switched off the alarm and went to wash off the sweat that coated his body. The tactile sensation of soft feminine skin continued to cling to his palm, but he knew it would disappear soon enough—the scent of death had a way of immersing everything in chilling frost.

And, Judd thought as he packed the surveillance equipment he'd need tonight, he was very good at causing death, had been since he was ten years of age. Tonight was a simple tracking job, but only days remained until the hit. The bombs were nearing completion. All he needed now was a window of time, of opportunity. Then blood would spread across his skin once more, a scarlet flower that told the true story of what he was.

In the rich
velvet night of the PsyNet, the door to an impenetrable vault slammed shut. A vast mental network that connected millions of Psy across the world, the Net housed their collective knowledge and was updated trillions of times a day as Psy uploaded data. It also allowed those of their race to meet at a moment's notice, no matter their physical location. Tonight, seven minds blazed into brightness in the darkest core of the Net, each appearing as a white star so cold, it threatened to cut.

The Psy Council was in session.

Kaleb was the first to speak. “What could you possibly have been thinking?” The question was directed at the dangerously powerful minds of Henry and Shoshanna Scott, married couple and fellow Councilors. “The Liu Group was not amused to find that their family archives had been hacked and several members' files tagged as ‘at risk.'” They all knew the at risk label was one step away from a sentence of full rehabilitation.

“We are Council.” Shoshanna spoke for both Scotts, something she seemed to be doing more and more. “We don't have to explain our actions to the populace.”

Tatiana Rika-Smythe entered the conversation. “I assume you targeted other family groups as well. What was your purpose in placing the tags?”

“To monitor those who might be susceptible to breaking Silence.”

“Rehabilitation takes care of that problem.” Tatiana's voice held a ring of finality.

“If that's the case, then explain Sascha Duncan and Faith NightStar to me,” Shoshanna said, referring to the two recent defectors from the Net. “Nikita? Sascha is your daughter after all.”

“Two anomalies.” Kaleb very deliberately backed Nikita. “Furthermore, it appears you were running unsanctioned searches long before those anomalies took place, so there can be no logical connection between the two.”

“We saw those anomalies approaching, as the rest of you didn't.” Shoshanna wasted none of the calculated Psy charm she pulled out for media appearances. “Have you heard the whispers in the Net? They're talking openly of rebellion.”

“She's correct,” Tatiana said, her allegiance unclear as always.

“I suggest we let them talk. To a certain extent.” Kaleb directed his words to the entire Council. “Trying to stifle all dissent is what caused problems in the past. As the situation stands, we can keep an eye on the agitators…and take care of any problems before they have a chance to do any real damage.”

“Be that as it may, that's not the issue at hand,” Nikita pointed out. “I submit that the Scotts' findings be turned over to the Council. If they were acting as Councilors, then the information belongs to the Council. If they were acting on their own, they had no authority and the data should be seized in any case.”

Kaleb was impressed by Nikita's neat trap, but said nothing to that effect. Shoshanna was already well on the way to becoming his enemy. But that wasn't what kept him silent—he wanted to see who would speak in the Scotts' favor, betraying a possible alliance.

“I'd be interested in seeing the data.” Ming LeBon finally spoke. A master of mental combat, he was a Councilor no one but his most elite soldiers ever actually
saw
. Kaleb had been unable to find a single image of him—Ming was a true shadow.

“It may prove useful.” Tatiana.

“Put it on the table and then we'll decide.” Marshall, the most senior Councilor and their unofficial chair—by virtue of having survived longest as Council.

Three whose loyalties were unclear. Nikita and Shoshanna plainly stood on opposite sides of the line, and Henry was Shoshanna's.

“Unfortunately, that's impossible.” Shoshanna's mental tone remained supremely confident. “It would require reentering each of the targeted files.”

“Surely you kept a master log?” Marshall articulated what they were all thinking.

“Of course. However, that log was hacked ten hours ago. The data has been scrambled beyond recovery.”

“Do you take us for rehabilitated idiots?” Nikita said, her psychic voice a razor. “No hacker in the Net is capable of circumventing a Councilor's security.”

“It was a virus.” Shoshanna refused to back down. “The proof is here.” Something slammed into the empty “dark-space” inside the vault, a data file that vibrated with a broken viral signature.

Everyone but Nikita drew back. “It's safe,” she pronounced a second later. “Not designed to spread through dark-space. Even if it were, all such viruses dissipate within a few inches at most. Dark-space is an inhospitable environment.”

“For that we should be grateful. Otherwise the viral transmitters would've corrupted the entire Net by now,” Shoshanna said, in a cool reference to Nikita's rumored abilities.

They took time to examine Shoshanna's evidence. It was compelling. The psychic file she'd presented should have been readable by their Psy minds, the streams of data clean and well ordered. But this data was tangled into a giant clump, distorted by twisted sparks of internal lightning that dissected and further destroyed as they watched.

“It's feeding on itself,” Marshall murmured. “A cycle that constantly degrades.”

“Undeniably an extraordinary piece of programming.” Tatiana went even closer. “We need this individual working for us. I'd like to take on the task of tracking the perpetrator.”

“Go ahead.” Shoshanna “pushed” the file toward Tatiana. “You're unlikely to have much success. The hacker left no useful signature.”

“The virus
is
the signature,” Nikita pointed out. “Unless he was smart enough to mask it. This could fit into the pattern of disturbances attributed to the Ghost.” She named the saboteur who had become a dangerous thorn in the Council's side.

“Possible,” Kaleb said. “But there is another option—perhaps the Liu family decided to take the matter into their own hands after all.”

“Whoever it was,” Nikita said, “how much data did they siphon?”

“None. They inserted the virus and left. Nothing was removed.”

“How certain are you of that?” Nikita again.

“Absolutely.” Henry spoke for the first time.

“I assume you're aware you have to stop.” Marshall. “With the ripples from the NightStar Affair still spreading, we can't run the risk of further alienating the most powerful of the family groups.”

“Agreed.” Shoshanna obviously knew when to cut and run. “However, while the majority of the details were destroyed, we have put together a list of ten individuals from memory. We intend to continue to monitor them…with the Council's permission.”

“I see no problem with that, so long as you're discreet,” Tatiana answered.

“Agreed. There is a further matter I wish to discuss.” Shoshanna brought up another file, this one fairly thin in terms of data. “Brenna Shane Kincaid.”

Kaleb recalled the name immediately. “Santano Enrique's last victim? What's your interest in her?”

“I assume you've all read the most recent report on what we've been able to decipher of Enrique's notes?” Shoshanna waited until everyone had confirmed her supposition. “So you know it appears he might have achieved extraordinary things with her mind. We need to examine her.”

“You know as well as I,” Nikita interrupted, “that any attempt to remove Brenna Kincaid would be tantamount to a declaration of war against the SnowDancers.”

“Don't want another mess in your backyard, Nikita?” Shoshanna's question was valid—both the recent renegades had come from Nikita's home region.

Nikita's mind remained undisturbed. “Not when the mess results from the mistakes of other Councilors.” A cool response that reminded everyone of the Scotts' aborted attempt to capture Faith NightStar. “The girl is too well protected to be a viable target.”

“Nikita is correct,” Ming said unexpectedly. “Also, while Brenna Kincaid is interesting from a scientific standpoint, I'm sure none of us plan to duplicate the process.”

“No.” Tatiana. “The animals should remain animals. In any case, it may be that Enrique's alterations will close the issue for us.”

“How so?” Marshall asked. “We can't chance the changelings discovering and attempting to utilize the process themselves.”

“Her brain isn't built for what Enrique tried to do,” Tatiana explained. “It may simply implode as a result of the internal pressure.”

“And,” Ming reminded them, “we've already set a plan in motion to take care of the changeling problem. I suggest we wait for that to bear fruit. Even if Brenna Kincaid's brain somehow survives the pressure, she'll be dead soon enough—along with the rest of her pack.”

It wasn't
until the morning of the fifth day after the murder that Judd saw Brenna again. He was on his way to speak to Hawke when she walked into him from the opposite direction, destroying his decision to keep her at a distance—Brenna might look soft and harmless, but she had a way of turning his behavior treacherously unpredictable. Like now.

Catching her by her upper arms was reflex. Continuing to hold on afterward was a small but significant deviation from the Protocol. And he didn't care. “Where are—” He cut himself off when she lifted her face.

Her skin was drawn, her eyes almost sunken.

“Talk to me.” An order.

Where she would've normally sharpened her claws on him for daring to give her one, today she shot a nervous glance over her shoulder before putting her fisted hands on his chest. “I was looking for you,” she whispered, while he was still trying to assimilate the impact of her touch. “Drew and Riley haven't let me leave the apartment since after I returned from talking to you—someone saw us together. I only got out now by sheer luck.”

Judd felt ice spread through his veins but it was a cold that burned. “I'll talk to them.” No one was going to lock Brenna in again.

“Just take me outside, far enough away that they can't track my scent.” A ragged plea. “Please get me out before I lose my mind.”

“Follow me.” Releasing his hold on her, he turned to lead her out. A feminine hand curved around his upper left arm, over the leather-synth of his jacket.

It if had been any other woman, he would've broken the contact and made very sure it wouldn't be repeated. But this wasn't another woman. “How far?” He asked because she'd become almost agoraphobic since the abduction—though she did sometimes venture a small distance beyond the den, she'd stopped attending college and never went for runs with her packmates.

“Far.”
Her voice was resolute but her hand a vise around his arm.

He took her through several back tunnels to an exit that he knew was kept less well guarded than others because it opened directly into a garden in the White Zone. That zone was the closest section of the inner perimeter and was considered safe enough for pups to play in unattended. “Wait here while I check the area.”

It took a few seconds for her to let go. “Sorry I'm—”

“If I had wanted an apology, I would have asked for it.”

Her mouth snapped shut. “Where did you learn your charm—the gulag?”

“Something like that.” He stepped out to find the garden empty. The pups had probably been herded inside when the sky grew heavy with the promise of more snow. Completing the visual scan, he did a telepathic one to confirm his findings. “It's clear.”

Brenna emerged from the door with a confident expression, but the second she hit open air, her breathing went from smooth to rocky. He could sense her fear as if it were a physical wave smashing repeatedly into his body. Reaching back, he took her hand. Changelings craved touch. It centered them as much as it did the opposite to those of his race.

“Stay with me.” Refusing to think about why he'd done something so alien to his nature, he pulled her through the garden and toward a narrow pathway. “Farther?”

“Yes.” Her husky voice took on a hard edge. “I'm sick of being afraid.
He's
not going to win.”

“You're too strong for that to ever be a possibility.” After learning of what Enrique had done to her, Judd had expected Brenna's to be a shattered mind twisted through with madness. But not only had she survived, she was sane.

Her hand tightened on his. “Judd—”

Something brushed the edge of the telepathic scan he'd continued to run. “Quiet.” He was conscious of Brenna's eyes on him as she stood close enough that her body heat reached him even through the enhanced insulation of his jacket. Consigning that knowledge to a dark corner of his mind, he refocused the scan. There were two soldiers walking in this direction, likely returning from a watch on the outer perimeter.

They wouldn't stop him, but he didn't intend to have his whereabouts tracked. That was why he'd worked out several discreet ways to ensure his frequent trips in and out of SnowDancer territory were never logged. However, if they saw Brenna, they would certainly try to hold her until they received instructions from either Andrew or Riley.

“Can you smudge their minds?” Brenna asked in a low whisper, pressing even closer to his body. “Make them look the other way?”

“Changeling minds are harder for us to influence than human.” Strong Psy could kill changelings with a blast of sheer power but manipulating them was a different proposition. “There may be another option.”

Sending out his senses again, he found six unshielded minds. Taking control was easy—young black bears didn't have much of a defense, especially this deep into hibernation. “Can you stay here by yourself for a few minutes?”

Skin pulled taut over her cheekbones as she nodded. “Go.” Releasing his hand with notable reluctance, she backed up and moved behind a tree.

“I won't be long.” He could see how close she was to panic, but to her credit, she only nodded when he gave the next order. “When you hear the guards begin to move, run southeast. No hesitation.”

He headed toward the two men, making sure he was out of Brenna's line of sight before he blurred himself. Not even the other men in his highly specialized Arrow unit had possessed this ability. Most blurring, or “smudging” as Brenna had put it, occurred on the mental plane, with the Psy casting telepathic interference across the viewer's mind.

Judd was different. He could alter his own physical form. The skill was telekinetic rather than telepathic. Because Judd wasn't simply a strong telepath, nor was Tp his main ability, as was widely believed—as he'd gone to great lengths to make people believe. What would Brenna say if she realized he was an extremely powerful telekinetic—a Tk, the same designation as the killer who had tortured her in that blood-soaked room?

It was a question he'd never have answered, as he had no intention of telling Brenna the truth of what he was. Shifting his cells a fraction more out of sync with the world, he moved out past the two other men—when he blurred, changelings couldn't see him except as a shadow out of the corner of their eye. More importantly, they couldn't scent him either, a fact that supported his personal theory of how his ability worked.

A minute later, he sent the bears crashing through the forest on the right-hand side, and downwind, of the soldiers. The creatures made enough noise to distract them into changing direction. Settling his molecules back into sync, Judd deliberately crossed paths with the men—as if he were on his way back to the den.

“Anyone come past you?” Elias stopped, while his partner, Dieter, kept going.

“No.”

Nodding, Elias took off after Dieter. Judd used the opportunity to lay a false trail all the way back to the den. Then, taking the time to hide Brenna's trail even as he hid his own, he headed southeast. He thrust some Tk through the air as he ran, muddying up and dispersing their scents so they couldn't be tracked that way either.

Brenna was fast. When he found her, she was well out of the White Zone, and in the central core of the inner perimeter—considered safe for adults but not children. There were sentries in this section, too, but they were stationed some distance away, on the border where the inner perimeter gave way to the outer. Around Judd and Brenna the forest was quiet, sound muffled by the thick blanket of snow. The trees were blue with it this far up in the Sierra, icicles hanging off the branches like transparent blades.

“Careful.” He moved to cover her when she passed under a particularly lethal spike.

“What?” She looked up and behind herself, then shivered, shifting to lean her side against his chest. He froze, unmoving as the trees. His reaction didn't escape her notice. “I'm sorry, I know you don't like being touched. But I need it right now.”

He'd come to expect bluntness from her. “You're not dressed for this weather.” She wasn't wearing a coat, just jeans and a pink turtleneck, though her feet were encased in solid boots. He should have noted and remedied the lack before they left the den.

“I'm changeling. I don't feel the cold.” Usually true, except that she was burrowing into his body, her hands raised between them as she turned slightly. One thigh pressed into his. “What about you?”

“I'm fine.” He truly didn't feel the cold, but in his case, it had to do with his telekinetic abilities. “Take this.” He shrugged off his jacket. It left him clad in a thin round-necked sweater as black as his jeans.

“I told you I d-d-don't feel the c-c-cold.”

“Your lips are blue.” He put the jacket around her shoulders. At the same instant, he extended his cold-deflecting Tk shield to cover her. The shield was created by reordering the air and dust particles to form a thin but highly impermeable—and invisible—wall.

She shuddered and began to push her arms into the sleeves. “You win. This is so warm.”

Swimming in his jacket, she returned to her position against him. Neither of them spoke or moved for the next ten minutes. Brenna seemed content to simply gaze at the blue and white spread of the forest around them, but he was aware of every breath she took, every beat of her heart, every shift of her soft, warm body inside
his
jacket. The strength of that final thought sparked a warning in his brain that he chose to ignore.

Suddenly, the blinding light of the sun was reflecting off the snow and into his eyes. He glanced up to discover the clouds had dissipated while they stood in silence.

“Beautiful,” Brenna sighed, hooking one arm into his, “but hard on the eyes. Come on. There's a lake this way. The area around it is a bit more shaded.” Glinting off her cap of hair, the sun was a sharp knife that made him question what he was doing here. But he didn't stop walking until she did.

“There, see?” Looking out at the snow-covered surface of the small lake that during warmer months was painted with reflected images of mountains and trees, Brenna suddenly felt freer than she had in months. The fear that had trapped her inside the den was gone, crushed under the aching beauty of the wilderness she called home. All she'd needed was someone to walk with her this far.

Smiling, she looked up at the dark angel by her side. Dressed in black, with that hair and those eyes, there was no other way to describe him. “Thank you.”

His lips were a beautiful shape, full enough to tempt but with a hard edge that made her stomach twist. Then he spoke and it was a brutal reminder that he wasn't simply a strong, sexy male. He was Psy. “Don't thank me. I've been unable to find any concrete answers for you in relation to the dream-visions. You need to talk to someone more knowledgeable—the dreams could be a sign of mental degradation.”

She withdrew her arm from his and shoved both hands into the pockets of his jacket. The scent of him, powerful and intrinsically masculine, was intoxicating to her changeling senses, but she no longer wanted to be surrounded by it. “You think I'm losing my mind?” It was her secret fear, the monster under the bed, the cold chill down her spine.

“Psy don't dance around the facts. I meant exactly what I said.”

God, but he sounded arrogant. “That's a load of bull.” She scowled. “Your Council has double-talk down to a fine art.”

Dark eyes with snow reflected in their depths turned to her. “They are not my Council and I am not their puppet.” Icy enough to flay off her skin.

She winced. “Mental degradation? If that doesn't mean madness…”

“Enrique may have damaged parts of your organic brain tissue while running his psychic experiments, caused lesions or bruises.” He watched her with the unblinking stare of a predator, as if gauging her strength. “He was a Tk and the use of telekinetic powers almost always has a physical effect. The autopsies of his other victims revealed them to have suffered major brain injuries.”

Pictures. The butcher had shown her pictures of the others. “I remember.”

“However, the likelihood of such damage is minimal. Sascha and Lara made sure to repair all organic tears before they began healing things on any other level.”

Brenna bit her lower lip and took a deep, shaky breath. “Sascha said that that part should've taken longer, but that I was so determined to have my mind back, it was as if I
willed
the broken parts to heal.” Almost as if she were Psy. “Maybe I rushed her.”

“I called her after you spoke to me,” he said, continuing to watch her with that hunter's gaze. “You did rush her, but not in the physical healing.”

She wanted to smack him for his presumption, despite the fact that she'd asked for his help. “None of that changes the fact that Sascha doesn't have experience with this kind of thing.” And the empath, who had the ability to sense and heal the darkest of emotional wounds, had already seen her broken and bloody too many times. No matter her kindness, Sascha reminded Brenna of things she'd rather forget.