Mine to Possess (15 page)

Clay nodded to
the shopkeeper and jogged back to where Nate stood waiting by a lamppost. “Tally did a good job. That guy confirms he saw Jon. He remembers the kid.”

“Who wouldn't?” Nate looked down at the holo-slide Talin had salvaged from her apartment. It bore a jagged crack down one side but was otherwise undamaged. “He's even prettier than Dorian.”

It was true. The boy was male without question, but he was also good-looking enough to be on a catwalk. “Boy like that on the street—” Gut tight, he shoved a hand through his hair. “We could be looking in the wrong direction.”

“Yeah, I thought so, too, so I checked up on the gang tat.” Nate tapped at the spiderweb pattern on the boy's neck, half-hidden by long white-blond hair. “The Crawlers aren't some toy gang. If the kid survived in there, he's got brains and balls. I can see him taking up a career as a bank robber but not as a pro selling his body.”

The angry disgust Clay felt was reflected in Nate's face. To DarkRiver, children were everything. They would fight to the death to protect the cubs, but neither man was a romantic. As Clay knew from brutal experience, changelings, too, sometimes fell short. So did humans. Ironically, as Max had said, it was the cold, merciless Psy who appeared to take the best care of their children—aside from the forcible imposition of Silence. There were no Psy street kids, no Psy orphans, no Psy child prostitutes.

Clay looked down the street, at the teenagers he could see hanging out on the corner, all smirks and punk bravado when they should've been in school. “Never thought I'd say this, but the Psy are good at one thing.”

“Yeah,” Nate agreed, even as the teens gave them wary glances and began to disperse. “We never see their kids fucking around like this. But we never see anything the Council doesn't want us to see. Maybe they simply erase their mistakes.”

“You're probably right. Hell, they called Sascha a mistake.” And despite the fact that he preferred to keep his distance from Sascha and her too-perceptive gift, Clay knew she was something good, something worth bringing into this world.

“Yep.” Nate blew out a harsh breath. “Look, I'll put out the word that we're looking for Jon. We've built up a good network with the businesspeople around here.”

Clay nodded. The human and nonpredatory changeling shopkeepers helped DarkRiver in return for the pack's protection against gangs. Over time, as DarkRiver had cleaned house to the extent that no major criminal networks operated in their territory, that relationship had evolved into one driven less by necessity and more by shared interests. “While you do that, I'm going Down Below.”

Nate made a face. “That place gives me the creeps. Have fun.”

Down Below was
literally that. After a short delay caused by taking care of a persistent annoyance, Clay found a backstreet alley, lifted open an antiquated manhole cover, and dropped into the narrow passage that would lead him down into the shattered remains of the unused subway tunnels. A hundred and twenty years ago these tunnels, and the trains that utilized them, had been the height of technology. Then had come the seismic events of the late twentieth century, which in turn had led to innovation in safer methods of transportation. The city's sleek, clear skyways had long since eclipsed the subways.

Coughing against the dirt, he pulled the manhole cover closed behind himself. It was a good thing he had the night vision of a cat because it was pitch-black down here. Tally would hate it, he thought. His leopard wasn't too pleased, either.

As he made his way down and into the tunnels, he could hear the whispers of the Rats. They were scurrying away, leaving their leader to deal with the predator who had invaded their home. Clay knew he was in no danger of being attacked—DarkRiver kept an eye on the denizens of Down Below and, for the most part, the Rats were nothing more than human misfits who had made a ragtag pack of their own. The name—Rats—was a misnomer. Only three of the Down Below residents were actually changeling.

Now, one of those three stepped out of the darkness. “You don't have permission to pass this way. Leave.” A flash of razor-sharp canines.

“Cut the theatrics, Teijan.” Clay folded his arms and leaned against the tunnel wall.

“Clay?” Teijan stepped closer. “I didn't recognize you—your scent's got human all over it.”

Rats had a superior sense of smell, so Clay didn't doubt Teijan's assessment. But it was a surprise. For a man to be branded that deep with a woman's scent, it generally required a sexual relationship. But then again, he and Tally had belonged to each other since childhood. The leopard wasn't fussed—it liked the idea of having her so close. “How's your domain?”

Teijan's near-black eyes darted away and back, an act that would have denoted deceit Above. In the tunnels it was a far more nuanced action. “Don't you mean, ‘How's the domain I keep on Lucas's sufferance?'”

Clay shrugged. “Your status is transitory because you choose not to swear full allegiance to DarkRiver.” The world of predatory changelings was an unforgiving one. There were allies and enemies. Lines of gray were few and far between.

Teijan shifted his body in jerky movements reminiscent of his animal form. “You know why we're hesitating—if we give full allegiance to DarkRiver, we become linked to the wolves through your blood bond with them. And both DarkRiver and SnowDancer have a way of pinning bit fat targets on their backs.”

“We don't use nonpredatories or humans as cannon fodder,” Clay responded, sensing a change in Teijan's previous stance.

“Rats aren't exactly nonpredatory.” He bared his teeth.

“But you're not strong enough to control San Francisco, even if you had a whole colony.” A simple fact dictated by the physical attributes of their different beasts and the natural food chain. “We're locking this city down, Teijan. You have another four weeks to make your decision. Ally with us or leave.”

Before the devastating attack orchestrated by the Psy Council on another one of DarkRiver's allies—a deer herd—the Rats had been too weak to bother with. Now they were a possible strength and a current weakness—the tunnels needed to be watched in case this cold war with the Psy escalated into a very real one. But unless the Rats swore allegiance, their word couldn't be trusted.

“We ruled here before DarkRiver,” Teijan snapped.

“No, you cowered Below while Psy walked Above,” Clay returned, pitiless. “You're no match for us.” A human might have read his words as a humiliation but changelings understood dominance.

“If,” Teijan now ventured, “we were to swear allegiance, we'd have to come to your aid if called? And to the wolves'?”

“Yes. We'd come to yours in turn.”

A pause. “A cat will protect a mouse?”

Clay grinned. “Unless the mouse tries to bite the cat.” Betrayal would not be tolerated.

The other changeling's eyes gleamed. “Then perhaps, I should talk to Lucas.”

“I'll tell him.” Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a copy of Jonquil's picture. “Right now, I need a favor. Show this photo around to your folks—ask if anyone saw anything.”

Teijan took it in an inhuman burst of movement. “A favor? Not an order?”

“A favor.” Clay pushed off the wall. “One predator to another.”

A sharp smile, full of teeth. That was the problem with the Rats—they lived too much Down Below, forgetting their humanity. It was why there were only three of their kind left in the city. The others had been hunted down after going rogue.

Last year, Clay recalled, Dahlia had succeeded in killing seven residents of Down Below before Teijan had tracked down and slit his former lover's throat. It was a chilling reminder of the road Clay had almost taken.
Almost.
Now he had Tally's kiss and no way in hell was he giving that up. He smiled, wondering what she'd made of their parting this morning. He could still taste her on his lips—a hint of coffee, spice, and pure female heat.

“I'll ask,” Teijan finally said. “You swear that if we ally ourselves with you, our home is safe?”

“Hell, Teijan, these tunnels are shot with cracks—but we won't do anything to push you out.” The alliance would establish hierarchy once and for all, allowing coexistence. Without that agreement, once the grace period ran out, the Rats were dead. No arguments. No second chances. A harsh law, but it kept peace in the volatile world of predatory changelings.

The only reason the Rats weren't already dead was that Lucas had better control over the blood hunger of his beast than most alphas and he thought decades in advance—ten years ago, when DarkRiver had first begun flexing its muscle, he'd seen potential in the odd dwellers of Down Below.

“The tunnels are sound.” Teijan's pride was in his voice. “We keep them repaired.”

“Then you'll be fine. We don't want to move in.”

A pause, then, “Something's happening. We're everywhere under the city—basements, garages, tunnels, house foundations—and there are times when we hear whispers we shouldn't be hearing.”

Like Clay had thought—Lucas was fucking smart. “Any details?”

“An assassination. Psy target,” he added when Clay went leopard-still. “Definitely one of them. Someone high up. I can't tell you who's planning the hit but things are shakier with that cold-blooded lot than it looks like from the outside.”

“Anything we need to worry about?” The information Teijan had already provided was critical. If the Psy were getting closer to implosion, DarkRiver and SnowDancer both needed to know, to prepare, because like it or not, the psychic race occupied a vital spot in the world's ecosystem. “You get names?”

“They mentioned an Anthony Kyriakus,” he threw out. “Never heard of him. Must be one of them.”

Clay snapped to attention. “You're sure?” Anthony was Faith's father and the possible leader of a quiet revolution against the Psy Council. Aside from Faith and Vaughn, only the sentinels and DarkRiver's alpha pair knew that deadly secret.

“Yes. But I don't know if he was the target.” His eyes flicked to the photo in his hand. “There's something about this boy—he's different. I'll see what I can find out.” He was gone in a dark flash.

Retracing his steps, Clay pulled himself out of the manhole before using his cell phone to make a call to Vaughn. “Tell Faith to warn her father.”

“I have a feeling even if he is the target, it's Anthony who'll come out alive,” Vaughn drawled. “He's a tough son of a bitch.”

“If you see him, try and get a feel for the general weather in the PsyNet.”

“Last time we spoke, he said the storm winds are building. This other rebel—the Ghost—he's done some serious damage in the past few months.” The sound of metal against stone, as if Vaughn was continuing to sculpt as they talked. “So what's this I hear about you?”

“What?”

“You've shacked up with a woman?”

Clay scowled. “None of your damn business.”

“Tell that to Faith—she's got a thing for you.” Sheer amusement in the jaguar's tone. “She thinks you need a protector. I told her you need one about as much as a pit bull needs one.”

“Thanks.” He meant that. Talin, regardless of what she said, was damn possessive where he was concerned. She would
not
react well to another woman's interference.

Ending the call, Clay made his way to DarkRiver's business HQ, located in a medium-sized office building near Chinatown. Lucas was meant to be there today—he had a meeting with the heads of a human corporation. Clay, as construction supervisor on the project, had originally been scheduled to attend.

Ria, Lucas's executive assistant, was working at her desk when Clay entered the outer part of Lucas's office.

“He free?”

She smiled. “The meeting wrapped up a few minutes ago.”

“Thanks.” He entered after a quick knock, knowing Lucas would have already caught his scent.

The other man was sitting on one of the black leather-synth sofas he kept for clients. “Grab a seat while I finish this sandwich.”

Clay collapsed into the opposing seat but couldn't relax, his mind on Talin and what it would do to her if they didn't find this boy in time.

“Here.” Lucas threw him an apple.

Catching it by reflex, he bit into it. “It's like this kid disappeared into thin air.” Clay was one of the most patient hunters in the pack, but today, he felt dangerously on edge.

“What have you got so far?” Sandwich finished, Lucas picked up a bottle of water.

Clay laid out the facts, then glanced toward the doorway. “Nate's here.”

There was a perfunctory knock before the other sentinel walked in. His eyes lit up at the sight of food. “I'm starving. Couldn't find anything I liked out there.”

“That's because you're used to Tammy's cooking.” Lucas pushed the plate of sandwiches in his direction.