The Psy-Changeling Series, Books 6-10 (205 page)

She clenched around his thigh.
“Hawke.”

“Say stop and we’ll stop.” Words spoken against the flush of her skin, but they held a serious undertone.

It turned a key inside of her to realize he was doing exactly as he’d said he’d do—respecting her decision when it came to her abilities. “Not yet,” she whispered, keeping a rigid psychic grip on the reins of the cold fire.

Murmuring in approval, he withdrew his fingers, shifting their positions until he was braced on his side beside her as she lay on her back. Throwing a leg over her own, he said, “Wouldn’t want you to escape,” as he bent to kiss her.

It was slow, lazy, as if he had nowhere to be, though she knew he had a thousand calls on his time. Curling her arms around his neck, she drank in the warm masculinity of him as he continued to play his fingers over her skin. “Yes?” he asked into her mouth when she broke off to catch her breath.

Her stomach held a thousand frantic, trapped butterflies. It scared her how much he made her feel—and that angered her. Sienna Lauren, Cardinal X, was never scared. It wasn’t who she was. “Yes,” she said.

He chuckled, pressing affectionate little kisses on the corners of her mouth. “So stubborn.” Another kiss, a little bite of her lower lip as he slid his hand a fraction lower. “Exactly like I like you.”

She felt her abdomen quiver, was powerless to stop it. Gripping his arm with one hand, the other on his shoulder, she luxuriated in the sensation of the muscle and tendon of him moving under her touch as he drew more of those languid circles low on her navel.

Lower.

A gasp escaped her, smothered against the skin of his neck. He smelled of warmth and man and Hawke. Just Hawke. Always Hawke. So when he slipped his hand under the waistband of her panties to run his finger down the center of her, she arched her body toward him in instinctive response.

He liked that. She knew because he kissed her jaw, murmured, “You’re damp. I can smell you, all luscious and ready. Makes my mouth water.” His finger stroked back up, and then he used two to spear through her, trapping her clitoris in between.

 

 

SO
responsive, Hawke thought as her body arched again, so sweetly responsive. It was all he could do not to pull down the pajama bottoms and panties she’d worn to bed with a faded red tank and lick her up like his own personal dessert banquet. The sole thing stopping him was the fact that he knew he’d have to rush it.

“That’s it,” he murmured against those lush lips he loved to kiss, to bite, to suck, “let me pet you. Let me please you.” Circling one finger at the slick entrance of her body, he pushed in gentle demand.

Her hands clenched on him again, but he tasted no fear in her scent—only the earthy, intoxicating musk of feminine arousal. Still, he kissed and stroked and nuzzled until she relaxed, until she let him in. God, she was tight. Her cry was a breathy sound against his senses, her hips motionless for two long seconds before she began to shift them in experimental little moves on the intrusion of his finger.

He shuddered, kissed his way back up her throat to capture her mouth. “Damn, you’re beautiful,” he said when she gasped for breath.

Using his thumb to rub at the tight bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs even as he continued to thrust in and out of her with his finger, he bent his head and very carefully bit her nipple through the soft fabric of her tank.

“Hawke!” Her body fractured around his hand, the slick heat of her such wicked temptation that he continued to stroke inside her as she trembled down from the orgasm, inciting tiny aftershocks of pleasure and indulging himself in the silken tightness of her at the same time.

Withdrawing his finger only when she moaned, her body limp, he cupped her with possessive intimacy and took her mouth again, nipping and licking and tasting. “Good morning.”

That cardinal gaze was a soft, hazy black when her lashes lifted. “Good morning.” Kiss-swollen lips shaping the words, the skin of her face marked red from the roughness of his stubble.

He should’ve been sorry he supposed, but he wasn’t. He liked seeing his marks on her. Playing with the damp curls between her legs, careful not to touch her oversensitized clit, he simply watched her for long moments. His cock was a hard ridge in his sweats, his need painful, but no way in hell was he going to settle for a quickie their first time together.

Then she reached down to close her fingers over him.

CHRIST.
SLIDING HIS
hand out from between her legs to press against the bed, he allowed himself to push into her touch. Once. Twice. “Enough.” Grabbing her wrist, he pinned it by her head.

Lazy, sated eyes smiled at him. “You felt so hard and hot and—”

“You put your hand on me again,” he warned, “I won’t be satisfied with a few strokes.” No, it would just take the edge off . . . and unleash the wolf.

Curving her leg over his hip, Sienna leaned up to kiss his throat. “Thank you for my orgasm.”

His cheeks creased. “You’re welcome.”

Another kiss before she lay back on the bed, looking up at him in a way that said she’d glimpsed the harsh reality that had begun to force its way back into his mind.

“We’re going into war,” he said, releasing his grip on her wrist. “There’s no longer any doubt about it.”

An intent gaze, fingers stroking his nape in tender affection. “I think conflict has been inevitable since the instant the packs decided to stand against the Council on any level.”

He took another kiss before changing their positions so that she lay on top of him, his hand on her lower back.
Skin
, his wolf insisted,
skin
. So he pushed his hand under the waistband of her pajama pants and panties to lie over the sweet curve of her butt. She jerked but relaxed almost at once.
Good.
He wanted her to get used to him, to his touch, to his body, since he planned to be indulging her, and indulging
in her
, on a regular basis.

“We didn’t go looking for war,” he said, caressing her with small, slow movements as he allowed himself a few more minutes of rest. “If the Council had left us alone, we’d have left them alone.” Discussing such a critical issue with Sienna was not something he’d have considered even a few months ago, yet it now felt natural.

“They can’t accept,” she said, playing her fingers over his collarbone, “that you’re a power in the world.”

“That’s always been the problem, hasn’t it?” He placed his free arm under his head.

“Silence takes away everything else,” she mused, “but power—there is nothing in the Protocol that prevents a hunt for more. In truth, Silence rewards those who are cold-blooded enough to go after it with single-minded focus.”

Hawke tried to think of what it must be like to live in the PsyNet, couldn’t imagine it. “I’ve heard people say the Net is beautiful.”

“Yes—in the same way as a perfectly cut gemstone. Pristine and cold.” Her hand stilled on his skin. “I didn’t understand that while I was in there, but even then, I knew it was wrong for a mother to be parted from her child.”

He heard the pain in her, slid up his hand to press against her lower back. “You loved her.”

“She tried to save me, but she was a cardinal telepath with a secondary telekinetic ability”—a hitch—“and in the end, she couldn’t save herself.”

Hawke knew her mother had jumped off the Golden Gate Bridge, could guess at the scars the tragedy had left behind. “Did her shields shatter?”

A shake of her head, her cheek pressed to his shoulder. “She went mad. It happens with some strong telepaths, even under Silence. It’s as if no shield is enough to protect them, as if other people’s thoughts sneak in under cover of night and take up residence.” A touch of wet on his chest, the taste of salt in the air. “Free,” she said. “That’s what my mother shouted as she jumped—that she was free. Everyone believes she spoke of Silence, but I know my mother would’ve done anything for silence. She wanted only to be free of the voices.”

Such a pragmatic tone hiding so much pain. Such a slender body hiding so much power. Everything about Sienna was a contradiction. But on one thing, he wanted no doubt. “You’re mine,” he said. “Understand that.” He’d meant to reassure her that she need never fear he’d abandon her, but her body was suddenly all tense muscle and bone against him.

“I’ll never be yours until you’re mine.”

He fisted his hand in her hair, tried to make his response gentle. “I can’t give you the mating bond, Sienna.” He’d been honest with her from the start, had hoped she wouldn’t make him hurt her this way.

“I know.”

A taut silence . . . because what else was there to say?

But Sienna spoke again. “I don’t think the attack means the Scotts intend a rapid escalation.”

He didn’t try to force the conversation back to the original topic, though the possessive heart of him didn’t like the answer she’d given, no matter how unfair it was of him to demand more from her than he could offer. “Explain.”

“It’s part of the scattergun approach we talked about earlier.” Self-possessed words, no hint of the tears drying on his chest. “The Councilors are well aware by now of how a changeling pack functions. They’ll expect the attack to motivate you to evacuate your young, your vulnerable—and so they’ll be ready with an ambush.”

Hawke’s heart went cold at the idea of the pups being hurt.

“The targeted strikes, the ships designed to evade your defenses—everything indicates that whoever is behind this has done their research,” Sienna continued. “In my opinion, they’ve figured out that the best way to demoralize the pack to the point of no return would be to wipe out the young.” Her words were cool, crisp, but he didn’t make the mistake of thinking she didn’t care. He knew how many hours she volunteered in the White Zone, how many of the pups called her “Sinna” and raised their arms for a cuddle.

But the fact that she’d seen that stomach-turning prospect, had the background to even consider it, was stark evidence of the darkness in which she’d grown up. She’d spent her childhood with a monster. And still she’d managed to retain her personality, retain her soul. He was so fucking proud of her.

Right at that instant, her phone beeped. Though she made no move to answer it, there was no ignoring the fact that their time together had run out. “I better go,” he said.

“Yes, of course.” She scrambled up to sit on the bed beside him when he rose.

“In one hour,” he said, getting to his feet and glancing at the oldfashioned wall clock she had to have found in a secondhand shop, “I have a lieutenant meeting. I want you there.”

A startled pause, followed by a quick nod. “I’ll be there.”

Reaching over, he gripped her nape, kissing her deep and wet and again. “Next time,” he promised, “I won’t stop with just petting your sweet body.”

Spice in the air, the taste of Sienna. “That assumes there’ll be a next time.”

“You should know better than to dare a wolf, baby.” Nipping at that full lower lip he loved, he pointed a finger at her. “One hour.”

 

 

NINE
a.m. and decisions were being made. Judd, Riley, Indigo, and a bandaged-up Riaz, along with Andrew, Sienna, and Hawke, were physically present in the conference room that had been designed to connect the lieutenants to Hawke no matter their location. It took a couple of minutes to patch everyone else in. Tomás was the first to spot Sienna sitting unobtrusively to the side.

“Why, Sienna Lauren, as I live and breathe.” A smile that held more than an edge of flirtation. “Aren’t you looking pretty these days?”

Sienna, to her credit, retained her cool. “I saw you doing the chicken dance once, Tomás. It wasn’t sexy.”

That made Kenji hoot with laughter, Alexei flash a megawatt grin. Hawke’s wolf was pleased to see that Sienna’s face didn’t go slack at the sight—most women had a hard time resisting Alexei, even when he wasn’t trying to charm. “No time for play,” he said, and the entire room snapped to attention. “We have the same two choices we did earlier this year. Strike first or wait for them to come to us.”

“Strike first and we might have a slight advantage,” Tomás said, dark eyes incisive, “but if we send out teams, we leave our territory vulnerable. Could be exactly what they want.”

“Agreed.” Judd’s practical voice. “Aside from that, while the compound in South America won’t be an issue, we don’t know how many other operatives the Scotts have under their command.”

“And,” Riaz added, “we know they’re coming. This assault was an attempt to get us to retaliate, squander our resources. They want to soften us up before they attack.”

Matthias nodded from one of the comm screens, the rugged beauty of the Cascade Range visible from the window at his back. “Our previous strikes made sense at the time, but things have changed. I say we wait, we prepare.”

“We need to check something else, too,” Riley said from beside Hawke. “All indications are that they’re focusing their aggression on SnowDancer and DarkRiver, but we need to make sure they haven’t also got plans in place for the city.”

“Any luck tracking down the weapons?” Matthias asked.

Riley gave a grim shake of his head. “No.”

“Their past actions,” Judd said, “would seem to suggest they won’t destroy San Francisco, but given Henry’s recent behavior, there’s a possibility he and Shoshanna may be willing to sacrifice the city if it wins them the war.”

Cooper agreed, his face set in hard lines as he looked out from the comm screen. “Fact is, they get us and the cats out, there’s only Nikita and Anthony left to stand in their way. And neither has any significant military strength.”

“Still,” Drew pointed out, “it might not be a bad idea to scope those two out, see how many offensive Psy abilities they might be able to add to the mix. Even if it’s a few powerful telepaths, they can help hold off the mental strikes of the other side. Anthony’s people might even be able to predict some of the moves.”