The Psy-Changeling Collection (173 page)

“True.” Mercy frowned. “Plus we do have the woman’s son. She won’t leave without him, not after everything she risked to set him free.”

“And he can’t be disconnected from the Web,” Vaughn reminded them. “We all know it doesn’t hold any of us back from traveling, but I had a talk with Sascha and she’s not sure what would happen to a Psy member who tried to go too far. Wouldn’t want to test it on a kid.”

Dorian glanced at Ashaya and wondered if Mercy was right. Had Ashaya fought for her son? Or had she simply removed him from the equation so she could focus on her own twisted goals? Cat and man both brooded over the answer, because one thing was certain—if she
was
a spy, she’d have to be broken.

Seated at a
table in his home deep in another section of DarkRiver’s territory, Clay Bennett stopped what he was doing to check a message that had set his phone to flashing. “It’s from Teijan,” he said to Tally, handing over some sticky tape at the same time.

Taking it, she blew him a kiss and continued to wrap Noor’s birthday present. The little girl was so active during the day, it was hard to keep a secret. “What does he want?”

“I asked for some intel.” He pressed in Teijan’s code and waited.

The Rat alpha sounded surprised when he answered. “What are you doing awake at midnight?”

“None of your business.” He smiled at Tally’s admonishing frown. She kept trying to get him to be nice to people. “You got something for me?”

“Yes.” Teijan paused. “Hold on, Aneca’s sleeping.”

Clay waited until Teijan had moved away from the girl. The six-year-old was the first changeling rat to be born in the city in the past decade. It was a measure of the growing trust between the Rats and DarkRiver that Teijan had shared that information. “What are you doing with her?” he asked.

“Babysitting. It’s date night.”

Clay grinned at the thought of the small, feral fighter of a rat playing babysitter. “Late date.”

“They mentioned a hotel room. Bet they’ll be back in a couple of hours, though.” Laughter in his voice. “Can’t stay away from her.”

“Wait till you have a kid,” Clay warned. “They get their tiny little claws into you when you’re not looking, and that’s it.” Lips curving at the thought of how Noor had suckered him into reading her four bedtime stories tonight, he reached over to hold down an edge as Tally taped it. Her fingers brushed his in thanks and his gut clenched. “So, you hear anything?”

“About the scientist who escaped? Bits and pieces. What do you want to know?”

Clay had no idea how the Rats knew most of what they did. He was just damn glad they’d allied with DarkRiver and not the Psy. “Any word on pursuit?”

“Heard nothing that specific yet—only some whispers of a high-level escape. Did hear something else interesting, though.”

“Yeah?”

“Word from Vegas and out Los Angeles way is that Jax junkies are disappearing off the streets.”

Jax addicts were Psy as a rule. The drug mutated changeling bodies, a surefire way to keep any of them from trying it. It apparently didn’t have much of an effect on humans at all, leaving it a strictly Psy scourge. “Council cleanup?”

“Hard to say. There’s something weird about it—with the Council, one day there’d be ten, the next day zero. Right now, it’s like they take one or two, come back later for another couple.”

Clay didn’t have a high opinion of junkies—of any race—but if this was another case of a Psy crazy loose on the streets, they needed to know so they could protect those under their care. “Call me if you hear anything concrete, or if there’s any sign of humans or changelings being targeted.” If it was contained to the Psy, the Council would take care of it. Say what you would about them, the Council was efficient at cleaning up its messes— except, of course, when it was one of its sanctioned killers that had escaped.

After hanging up, he told Tally what Teijan had shared. “Looks like Aleine is safe for now.”

“I want to see her.” Her lips set in a familiar line as she
repeated the demand she’d already made three times this past hour alone. “We might not have saved Jon and Noor without her. I need to say thank you, offer her my help.”

God, she was stubborn, but he was a protective, possessive cat. “She’s a threat right now.” He growled when she began to argue. “When we’re
sure
she’s clean, then you can have a tea party with her for all I care. And you are helping her—through Pack.”

“What about Keenan?”

“Kid’s probably fast asleep.”

“Not funny. I meant later.”

“If Sascha okays a visit, fine. Happy?”

“No.” She got up, came around the table, and slid into his lap. “You’re such a bully.”

He felt his lips twitch. “And you’re still a brat.”

Ashaya came to
consciousness in a single heartbeat. Her telepathic senses flared out at the same instant, an automatic reaction honed from years of living a double life. Her Tp status was weak, but it was enough to tell her she wasn’t alone.

“You’re awake.” A familiar masculine voice. “I can hear the change in your heartbeat.”

She turned her head toward him. “You’re lying.”

A raised eyebrow from the lethally beautiful male who sat in a chair in front of the unlit fireplace, playing a pocketknife over and through his fingers. “Are you sure?”

No, she wasn’t. Those eyes were piercing in their directness. She could well imagine his senses were acute enough to detect the spike in her heartbeat as she’d woken—a purely physiological reaction she couldn’t control. Now, she focused on bringing it back down to a resting rate. “My leg feels much better.” She tested it, stretching the muscle, but remaining on her stomach. “Mercy is a good medic.”

Dorian spun the knife on the tip of his finger, a feat of balance and skill that held her absolute attention. One slip and that blade would go through flesh and bone both.

“Speaking of Mercy,” she said, mesmerized by the incredible grace with which he handled the blade, “where is she?”

A hard glance out of those pure blue eyes. The knife disappeared so fast, she didn’t even catch a glimpse of where it went. “You’ve been out for a couple of hours. Mercy had things to do.”

“It’s”—she glanced at the clock on the wall by the fireplace— “one a.m.”

“That’s when Psy like to attack us.”

Muscles warming up, she turned to sit up. “I see.”

“Your eyes are the wrong color.”

“You saw me once in the dark.”

“I have the vision of a cat.”

Instead of responding, she swung her legs off the bed and, after resting a few seconds, tried to stand. Her muscles complained but held. Mercy was indeed good. She wouldn’t be running or winning any endurance contests, but she was no longer dependent on others. Especially not on a leopard who watched over her, but with an edge in his gaze that told her he was barely leashed. “My son,” she said, knowing she chanced giving herself away, but unable to stifle the need to know. “Is he truly alive?”

He threw her a small cell phone. “Click through to video.”

She did. And found herself watching a minute-long recording of Keenan curled up in sleep, his breathing steady, his hand pressed to the pillow by his cheek.
Her baby boy was safe.
A rock lifted off her chest. Still, it took considerable force of will to turn off the recording even after the third repetition, and throw the phone back to Dorian. “Thank you.”

He caught it with lightning-fast reflexes. “Do you want to see him?”

Ashaya felt a curious stillness in that newly awake section of her brain, the part where her bond with Keenan had lived in secret for so long. “No.”

Dorian’s lips thinned. “That’s what I thought.”

The door inside her mind, the one that had slammed open once and never quite closed again, pushed outward. It was only an inch, but it permitted something volatile to break free, something that ricocheted violently through her veins.

“He’s not safe with me,” she blurted out, knowing it for a mistake the instant the words were out. She could already feel
Amara’s mind attempting to shove through what should’ve been the impenetrable ice of Silence, drawn by the pulse of her forbidden emotion for Keenan … drawn, too, by something new. Something dark and raw, and vicious—her reaction to Dorian.

CHAPTER 10

Why do you try to hide from me? You know I’ll always find you. I live inside your mind now.

—Handwritten note left in Ashaya’s hospital locker, circa 2068

Ashaya used every
tool she knew to calm herself before her agitation caused enough damage to allow Amara to get a lock on her. When she glanced up, it was to see Dorian watching her with disturbing intensity.

“You saying you care about your son’s safety?” A mocking question, but his eyes were those of a hunter. If she wasn’t careful, this highly intelligent predator would discover her most deadly secrets.

It was better not to engage with him. No matter the depth of her curiosity.

As she looked away from Dorian and the danger he represented, her eye fell on her pack. She walked carefully to where it stood leaning against the wall by the door. It was torn in a couple of places and dirty, but otherwise fine. “Thank you for retrieving this.”

“Don’t thank me—Vaughn got it. I stayed to make sure you didn’t pull any Psy tricks.”

She laid the pack on the floor and opened it up, not bothering with secrecy—Dorian had had plenty of time to go through it if he’d wanted. “Then please pass on my thanks to Vaughn.” She wondered if all male changelings were as hostile as Dorian, then
squelched the thought when it threatened to feed her visceral awareness of him.

No sound of movement, but he was suddenly crouching beside her, close enough that the scent of him—wild, fresh, with bite—washed over her.

She immediately put more distance between them. “Why are you here?”

“You’re pretty skittish for a Psy,” was the cool response.

Deciding to ignore him—a difficult task—she began to go through the jumble he’d created while looking for the first aid kit. Her hand threatened to tremble as she touched the edge of a holoframe she’d asked Zie Zen to retrieve from its hiding place and keep safe for her. Dorian didn’t notice her betraying gesture, distracted by something else, something she’d expected to have to buy on the outside—whoever had packed this bag had clearly realized how integral record keeping was to her work.

“Top-of-the-line organizer.” Dorian picked up the device, currently encased in an air cushion. “Only available to CEOs of major Psy corporations.” Whistling through his teeth, he pricked the air bubble with his knife. “Nice.”

She resisted the urge to snatch back the object. Little breaks, little fractures. The door opened another inch. “Do you always touch others’ belongings?”

One corner of his lips curved upward and she realized Dorian was quite capable of charm. “
Now
you sound Psy. All pissy and icy.” Getting rid of the packaging, he turned on the organizer. “Password-protected.”

She leaned in and stared at the screen for several seconds. “Give it to me.”

He swiveled the device so it remained on the flat of his palm, but faced her. Too intrigued by the intellectual challenge, she didn’t argue his interpretation of her order. “I wasn’t given the code,” she murmured, “so it has to be logical, something I alone would know.”

“Keenan?” For once, he didn’t sound like he was baiting her. The cat apparently liked gadgets. It was an unexpected discovery.

“No.” She looked up, startled at his closeness. “That would be the first word Ming LeBon would use.”

Narrowing his eyes, Dorian pulled the organizer out of reach.
“Now that’s a question I want answered. Why exactly was the Council able to keep you leashed by holding Keenan?”

She could’ve lied, but the truth, she decided, would serve as well. It would reinforce his image of her as a cold monster without any maternal feelings. She needed him to continue to treat her with disgust—because even this tiny hint of a thaw in his attitude was threatening to erode the Silence that was her only protection against Amara. “I was already working for the Council in another capacity,” she began, “when the Councilors asked for my cooperation with Protocol I. Since I disagree with the aims of the protocol, I refused. Keenan was an infant at the time and living with me.”

The tiny hairs on the back of Dorian’s neck rose in warning. Whatever was coming was going to be bad, very bad.

“One night,” Ashaya continued tonelessly, “I went to sleep in my bed and woke up in a room at the Center. I was told that my fallopian tubes had been tied.” Her expression didn’t change but he saw her hands clench on the holoframe she’d been attempting to slide quietly out of sight before he’d put her on the spot.

The gesture set all his sense to humming. It was the first true indication she’d given that maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t the perfect Psy everyone believed her to be—Psy fully enmeshed in Silence
never
made any physical movements without purpose. Either it was an act to put him off guard, or M-Psy Ashaya Aleine had more secrets than anyone knew. There was nothing Dorian’s cat loved better than a mystery.

He turned his mind to what she’d said. “I don’t get it. It’s reversible, right?”

“The technique they chose, yes.”

“Then?”

“The point wasn’t to make me infertile,” Ashaya said with frightening calm. “The point was to teach me that they had control over every aspect of my life, including my body itself. I was told that if I dared reverse the procedure and get pregnant, they’d make sure my child was aborted.”

Fury boiled in his gut. He stared at her, somehow knowing that that wasn’t the worst of it. “And if you continued to defy them, they’d do worse?” The torture of it, of never knowing when you’d be violated, it gave him one hell of an insight into this woman’s internal strength.

“They said they would remove my uterus and cause enough scar tissue that even a cloned organ wouldn’t heal me.”

“Okay,” he said, clamping down on the need to touch her, to give comfort in the affectionate changeling way, “that leaves Keenan as your only child. But there’s no emotional connection, so why would the threat to him hold you?”