The Psy-Changeling Collection (254 page)

Katya might be precisely what she feared—Ming’s creation.

The bruises, the scratches, the starvation, it had in all probability been nothing but the most calculated kind of window dressing, meant to make her appear weak, to arouse pity . . . and protectiveness.

Even understanding the bleak truth, he couldn’t let her go, not when tremors still quaked through that unbearably slender frame. If he squeezed her too hard, he thought, he might break her. Psy bones were already more breakable than human, and she’d been starved on top of that—just because it was window dressing didn’t mean she hadn’t felt every blow, every kick, every hour of hunger.

He made a conscious effort to loosen his hold, but the instant he did, she began trembling so hard he thought she’d shatter from the inside out. Crushing her closer, he moved his hand until it lay underneath her braid, on the soft skin of her nape. That skin felt bruisingly delicate under his much rougher touch, but she calmed at the contact. So he held her that way, murmuring wordless reassurances as her fingers stroked over his pulse, as her body all but melted into his.

It took ten long minutes for her to stop shivering. The hand on his neck slid down to linger at the knot of his tie. He held
his breath as her lashes lifted to reveal eyes filled not with the fear he’d expected, but with an almost impossible calm. “I survived that. I must be stronger than I think.”

He knew it was a dangerous step into enemy territory, but he couldn’t help the pride he felt in her—it was a swell of emotion, primitive in its ferocity. “Yes.”

“Yes.” Pushing off his chest, she stepped out of his arms. “Do you know—sometimes I remember being chased by a panther.”

The change of topic stymied him for a second. Then he understood. “Do you want me to find out if it might have happened?” He could still feel the imprint of her body against his, a quiet brand that disturbed him on the deepest level.

“If you can. I need to know if I can trust the things in my head.” She rubbed her hands down the front of her jeans. “It’s such a strange thing to remember. Maybe everything I remember is a fantasy.”

Dev didn’t think so. He knew one changeling panther—but what the hell would Lucas Hunter, alpha of DarkRiver, be doing going after Katya in his aggressive animal form? “Do you think you can handle the stairs?”

A pause. “I believe so. There’s always a way out with stairs.”

That told him more about her captivity than anything else. Muscles tense with a rage that had no outlet, he bent to pick up her bag, then, in an act he’d never expected to come so easily, held out a hand. She took it at once, acting nothing like the Psy he knew her to be. The Silent race never touched, not if they could avoid it. Tactile contact was a slippery slope, they said, one that could lead to sensuality in other areas of life. But Katya openly craved contact.

There was no light, no sound, no touch, no Net
.

Tightening his fingers on the already familiar warmth of hers, he held open the stairway door until she nodded that
she’d be alright. And though she gripped his hand so hard he could see her every tendon, she didn’t halt once on the way up—he wasn’t sure she even breathed until they exited into the airy lobby.

Her gasp as she saw the soaring arches of the atrium made him appreciate the beauty of the building anew. In a clever bit of design, the square footage of the ground floor was wider than that of the solar-paneled office tower that stood atop it. The architect had used the extra real estate to bring light into the lobby—curving glass archways covered both the entrance and the large island manned by the receptionists. As part of the building’s eco-rating, greenery crept over that glass, healthy and lush below a second protective layer of glass.

The end result was that on a cloudless day like today, walking through the lobby felt like crossing a sun-dappled clearing. But the architect had gone even further, using clever positioning of glass and mirrors to make optimum use of the natural light. That ingenuity not only minimized the use of artificial light during daylight hours, leaving more solar power for Shine to sell to the city grid, it bathed the entire area in a golden glow.

That glow lit Katya’s face, caressing the translucent beauty of her skin as she stared, enraptured. “There’s so much light”—she reached out as if to touch it—“it’s so bright.”

As he watched her, his gut went taut with an anger that had nothing to do with her being an enemy, and everything to do with the evil that had trapped her in the dark. No one had the right to savage another living being that way.

No one
.

Yet . . . he knew that every time he “connected” with metal—and now—with machines, he took another step toward the kind of emotionless mentality that might green-light torture of the worst kind. The last time his great-grandmother Maya had seen him, she’d clasped his hands and begged,
pleaded
with him, to shield himself, to “stay human.” But, just as an empath couldn’t not sense emotions, Dev couldn’t not feel the metal all around him. Metal
was
his shield.

And if that shield was slowly stealing his humanity . . . that was a price he was willing to pay to safeguard his people. His eye fell on Katya then, and something in him rebelled against what had always been an absolute acceptance. Her face was still lifted up to the light, her hands hanging loosely by her sides. Simple pleasure suffused every inch of her, until he was tempted to reach out and touch, see if he could absorb that joy into himself.

Dangerous, he thought, she was dangerous in so many ways.

CHAPTER 8

“Dev!”

Looking away from Katya’s delighted face with reluctance that sparked a blazing red warning light in his brain, he found himself facing one of his vice-directors. “Aubry.”

“Hi.” Aubry smiled at Katya, his teeth flashing bright white against skin the color of “the most luscious dark chocolate” according to Maggie. Like most of the women in Shine, his secretary had lost her heart to the tall black man the first time he smiled at her.

Dev waited to see Katya’s reaction, aware he was pulling metal from the building itself. She reached too deep, made him feel too much, slipped under his defenses as if they didn’t exist.

Katya gave the slightest of nods. “Hello.”

Aubry appeared a little startled at the formal greeting. But he recovered fast, gentling his smile, tone. “You need to eat more, darlin’.” The slow music of Texas wove through every easy syllable.

Dev was aware of Katya shifting closer to him, even as
she nodded. “Dev keeps putting food in front of me and saying
eat
.”

The calm shook, threatened to break. He drew more metal, letting the chill work its way down to his very bones. But then Katya’s fingers brushed his, and the metal boiled, a sudden, violent heat he’d never before experienced. He should’ve moved away. Instead, he allowed her to tangle her fingers with his, closing his hand firmly around hers.

Aubry chuckled. “Sounds like the boss.” His eyes shifted to Dev.

Tempering the unfamiliar internal heat with more metal, Dev met the other man’s gaze, knowing he couldn’t give Aubry the answer he wanted—he couldn’t promise to take care of the woman by his side, no matter that she aroused his most primal instincts. “Did you need me for something?”

“Yeah.” Aubry frowned. “I wanted to go over some new—”

Dev cut him off before he could reveal anything sensitive in front of Katya. “Later. We’ll set up a comm-conference. I’m heading out of town.”

For all his lazy charm, Aubry was nothing if not intelligent. Picking up the subtext, he closed the small electronic organizer he’d flipped open. “I’ll e-mail you the details—we can talk after you’ve had a chance to look things over. See you later, beautiful.”

As Katya said, “’Bye,” Dev sent a message to his car’s onboard computer, telling the vehicle to meet them in front of the building.

Katya didn’t speak again until they were almost to the curb. “That man—”

“Aubry,” he said as the car rolled to a stop in front of him, the computronic system purring smoothly in the back of his mind.

“Aubry was very handsome.” She sounded almost puzzled.

Dev used his thumbprint to unlock the car though he could
have as easily used his link with the computer. Only a very few trusted individuals knew of his gift with metal, even fewer of his developing affinity to machines. “Hop in.” As she settled in beside him, he answered her earlier comment. “Women like Aubry.” Age, culture, class, none of it mattered. The other man walked into a room and women smiled.

“I can see why,” Katya murmured, watching him guide the car out into the traffic. After almost a minute of silence, she added, “A true Psy wouldn’t have noticed his looks.”

“Why not?” Dev suddenly realized he’d stopped drawing metal the instant he had Katya to himself.

“True Psy are Silent.”

“Correction,” he said. “Psy in the Net are Silent. Psy outside the Net are not. Both are Psy.” And none of them affected him as viscerally as this woman who’d been dumped outside his home like so much garbage.

“The Forgotten,” she whispered in a voice so soft he had to strain to hear her through the rush of protective anger. “I remember . . . the boy, he was one of yours. One of the Forgotten.” Scrunching up her face, she paused for several seconds before uttering a sound of absolute and utter frustration. “I know something, but I can’t reach it yet. Something about the boy.”

Dev could guess exactly what she was trying to remember—Jonquil’s ability to literally sweet-talk people into doing whatever he wanted would be considered the most perfect of weapons by Ming LeBon and his fellow Councilors. Psy in power killed with cold-blooded precision when necessary, but they preferred to work under the radar if at all possible—it made it far easier to disclaim all responsibility for the brutal acts they put in motion.

Glancing over, he saw Katya press her fingers to her temples, as if trying to still an ache—or force open the locked vault of her memory, no matter that it might incite even worse pain. Instinct rose, wiping out the civilized man and the cold control of metal both. “You
want
to cause an aneurysm?”

Katya felt her entire body tense at the unsheathed blade of his voice. “I just want to remember.” The edgy response came from a new part of her, a part that hadn’t existed before she woke in the hospital bed; a part, she thought with wonder, that was fresh, unbroken . . . the phoenix part.

“The memories won’t make you who you were before.”

“I’m not sure anything could.” Her throat dried up as she glimpsed a flicker, a bare splinter of lost time. “I was so cold.”

“You were Silent.”

“Yes.” She stared out at the traffic in the next lane, everything moving at a crisp pace that ensured there were no logjams inside the city as there had been in the late twentieth century. If a manual driver deviated too much from the optimum speed range, the car’s backup system would kick in, putting it back in sync with the rest of the traffic. It was all about programming. Just like her mind. “I’m a blunt instrument.”

There was no warning. One moment she was speaking, the next she felt her eyes snap shut as her spine arched in screaming pain. Then . . . nothing.

“Katya!” Reaching out as Katya’s head fell limply to the side, Dev grabbed her wrist. Her pulse was strong, but irregular.

Where the hell was the exit?
There!
Pulling off, he managed to get into the parking lot of a huge mall situated on the very edge of the off-ramp. Undoing his safety belt and moving around the car to open Katya’s door took only another few seconds.

“Come on,” he said, cupping her face, “wake up.”

When she didn’t respond, he focused his residual telepathic ability and spoke to her, hoping the call would reach her on some level, stir her back to consciousness.

Katya
.

A hiccup in her pulse.

That’s it, your name is Katya
. “Come back to me. You’re
stronger than this.” Another hiccup. “Katya.” It came out as a caress, a spoken kiss.

Caught in
the sticky strands of the cobweb that seemed to be growing ever stronger, Katya stilled, listened, heard a name. Hers?
Yes
, she thought, fighting the fog, fighting to wake up. It was hers. The first breath was a coughing rush, the second full of the exotic scent of a man with not-brown eyes and skin of such a beautiful shade that she wanted to taste it. “Katya,” she said, her throat strangely raw. “That’s me.”

Dev’s hands tightened on her face, his cheekbones cutting against that golden brown skin. “We need to get you back to the clinic.”

“No.” It came out without thought, an instinctive response. If he took her back, she’d be trapped again—and she needed to get moving, get there.
Where?
Shaking her head to clear the fog, she reached out to touch his shoulder. Muscle flexed under her palm, and her thoughts threatened to scatter.

Then she saw the determination in his eyes and knew she had to speak. “I think it was a response to a trigger of some kind. The words I said . . . there was something in them that my brain couldn’t process, so it shut down for a few seconds to allow me to reboot.”

Dev’s expression changed, becoming almost ascetic in the stark purity of its focus. “It’s coming back to you, isn’t it?”

“Things come out of my mouth,” she told him, her gaze locked to his, “and then I know them.” It made sense to her, but she could see he wasn’t convinced. “I’m not misleading you on purpose.” It was so important that he believe her, that he know her, though he was all but a stranger.

But Devraj Santos wasn’t a man who’d ever give her an easy answer.

Now, his lashes came down to hood his eyes for a second before he said, “I guess we’ll find out soon enough.” Getting
up, he motioned her out of the car. “We might as well take a break so you can eat a bite.”

She stared at the mall, at the mass of people, and felt herself shrinking back. “I’d rather stay here.”

Dev’s gaze rested on her for a long moment. She knew he hadn’t missed her retreat when he said, “I’ll bring you something.” Closing her door, he walked around to the driver’s side and pressed something on the dash. “Wouldn’t want you taking off with my car.” A piercing glance.