Wolf Rain (Psy-Changeling Trinity)

by Nalini Singh

  “It’ll have to be a different kind of hunt now.” Hawke folded his arms, his pale gaze pitiless. “I’ll blast his face across the Trinity network.”

  “We could get some pushback for playing judge and jury,” Sing-Liu said with a curl of her lip, her small body held with a predator’s stillness. She might be genetically human, but her heart was pure wolf.

  Alexei, meanwhile, prowled around the room, his skin too full of energy and a growl building in his chest as he caught fleeting hints of a musty, unpleasant smell he couldn’t quite identify.

  “You know how some of the non-changeling groups can be about our laws,” Sing-Liu added.

  An eye for an eye, a life for a life, it was a perfectly rational law, but humans and Psy occasionally got squeamish about the brutality of changeling punishments. Alexei might’ve lost a brother to execution, but Brodie’s death wasn’t the fault of their laws. His brother had written his own death warrant the day he broke the vow the two of them had sworn as tormented young teenagers.

  “Renault made this SnowDancer business when he intruded on our territory.” Hawke’s tone was hard as granite, the wolf prowling behind his eyes. “He’s now subject to our rules—and I want the entire world to know that. Fuck with us and pay the price.”

  Alexei frowned at a sudden change under his feet. Moving back, he walked over the spot again, listening to the subtle difference in the sound of his footsteps. “What’s below this bedroom?”

  “Garage,” Matthias said. “Empty except for a single spiderweb.”

  “Did the ceiling strike you as low?”

  Matthias took a second, frowned. “Yeah, now that you mention it. I’m used to being too tall for a lot of spaces so I didn’t really think it was odd. What’re you thinking?”

  Alexei’s claws sliced out of his fingers. “We may have a hidden compartment.”

  Everyone switched focus with predator speed.

  It was Matthias who spotted that the carpet was only lightly pinned down along one edge. After Judd lifted the small side table sitting on that part of the carpet, Alexei peeled the carpet up and back.

  “It’s big enough for a person.” Sing-Liu’s words were quiet. “What’s that smell? Bleach?”

  “No, a specialized dehumidifying compound,” Judd said, old nightmares in his voice. “Used to dry flesh out, halt putrefaction and the attendant smells.”

  “Looks like a goddamn coffin.” Hawke’s eyes didn’t move off the abomination they’d uncovered. “I can scent a bare hint of decay below the chemicals.”

  So could Alexei, the scent a sly intruder that’d finally taken ugly shape.

  Blood cold, he took hold of one circular pull, Matthias the other, and the two of them lifted the large lid open. As he did so, he tried not to wonder if the psychopathic bastard had ever put Memory in one of these boxes.

  Then the lid was open.

  Sing-Liu was the first one to speak. “No one is going to argue with our laws now.”

  Inside the space were the mummified remains of a woman with skin that looked ebony now but had probably been dark brown at death. Tucked around her were sealed but transparent packets that appeared to hold hair clippings.

  When Hawke found a tissue and used it to lift out one of the packets, they saw that a name and a date were written on the label: Hanna, December 2075.

  Alexei’s gaze snagged on the corpse’s hair. She’d had wild black curls, the woman who’d died in this coffin—or been placed there after death. Hair just like an empath Alexei had pulled out of another box. And he knew in his gut that Memory’s mother must’ve had the same hair, and that her skin had been a shade of brown.

  Just like her.

  He understood in that moment that Memory had been meant to die alongside her mother—two victims who fueled Renault’s murderous fantasies. Then the killer had touched her and discovered what she could do.

  But had he succeeded in overusing Memory to the point where her mind broke under the pressure, he’d have reduced her to a lock of hair in his sick trophy case. He’d have destroyed her vibrant light before it ever had the chance to shine. “I get to rip his head off,” Alexei said very, very quietly. “He’s mine.”

  No one argued.

  Chapter 26

  Jaya Laila Storm is to be the Beacon’s new Social Interaction columnist. In the wake of the fall of Silence, as our people grapple with emotion, we are facing questions about love, about hate, about courtship, about friendship, and the Beacon has always been on the cutting edge of news. In this, too, we will not fail.

  As a Gradient 8.8 medical empath who survived Silence unbroken and who has psychically bonded with an Arrow, and who maintains friendships with individuals of all three races, we believe she is uniquely qualified to lead Beacon readers through the minefield that is emotion.

  Initially, the Beacon senior team objected to my choice of Jaya as columnist because she has barely entered her twenties, but in the end, it was decided that this is a new age. It should be led by the young.

  —Madrigal Esperanza, Editorial Director, PsyNet Beacon

  MEMORY SLEPT DEEPLY that night, cocooned in a familiar male scent and tired from the sessions with Amara and Sascha. When she woke, it was with a delicious heaviness in her limbs. She yawned.

  “Jitterbug?” She rubbed her eyes as she rose into a sitting position. “I’ll get you—”

  Reality intruded along with the beams of the cabin around her, the light coming through the crack in her curtains. This wasn’t a prison, and her beloved pet wouldn’t amble over from his position at the foot of her bed to nuzzle against her face.

  Eyes hot, she touched the spot on the bed where Jitterbug would’ve curled up had he been alive. “You’re free,” she said through the tears that wanted to fall. “And so am I.” Now, she had to become strong enough to take on Renault when he came after her. Because as Amara had confirmed, she was a drug to psychopaths. Renault wouldn’t give up.

  Rising, she took a long shower, then dressed in the fresh clothing that had been left for her. After making her bed, she folded up Alexei’s T-shirt and put it under her pillow. It was hers now and tough luck to him. He could fight her if he wanted it back.

  Her stomach fluttered, the sadness of the past beginning to be outweighed by the unfurling wonder of the present. She had curtains she could pull to allow in daylight, a window she could open, a door of her own. She could choose what to eat, what to wear. Her heart threatened to explode, it was so full.

  As she fluffed up her pillows, she wondered when the new clothes she’d ordered would arrive. Though the Empathic Collective stipend was a generous one, she’d been careful to use only a small percentage of it. Until she knew when it would be renewed, if it would be renewed, she had to hoard her resources. But clothes were a necessity . . . to her body, and to her soul.

  For the first time, Memory alone had made the decision on how she would dress.

  Likely, delivery this deep into DarkRiver territory would take a few days at the very least; she didn’t imagine the cats permitted the drone drops advertised on several of the catalogs. She could be patient. She’d wash the sweats that Alexei had given her at the substation, wear them in conjunction with this set of clothing until she had her order.

  As for her hair, she’d decided to wash it again, this time skipping the shampoo and using only great helpings of the tea-tree-oil-based conditioner Alexei had found for her. The strands remained a knotted mess—she’d taken great pride in tangling her hair to thwart and frustrate Renault—but it did feel better than before. She’d finger-combed her wet curls as much as she could before getting sore arms and promising herself she’d have another go tomorrow.

  If she tied the mass back once it wasn’t so damp anymore, she could get away with it. It’d be far from pretty, but no longer did she look like she’d taken up keeping birds in her hair. That counted a
s a definite win. Smiling, she went into the kitchen and prepared coffee and toast. Sunshine poured in through the windows, but it was weak and soft. As if dawn hadn’t fully come.

  Though the weather appeared to have a crisp edge to it, she decided to sit on the porch while she ate. When in the bunker, when in her prison, she’d often dreamed about small, everyday things that would be a wonder when done in freedom. Some dreams, however, had been beyond her comprehension.

  She touched her fingers to her lower lip, still able to feel the imprint of Alexei’s kiss and the tug of that small, wicked bite. Her skin prickled with sensation, her cheeks flushing. Ready to battle him today until he stopped attempting to play knight protector—she knew who and what she wanted thank you very much—Memory picked up her breakfast and went to sit out on the porch. It had no railing, so she was able to sit on the edge with her feet on the ground; her intent was to watch the quiet waking of the compound.

  She’d just taken her seat, her plate beside her but the mug yet in her hand, when she noticed a small box sitting off to one side of the front door. Putting down her mug on a wave of anticipation that one of her orders had somehow arrived, she dragged the box close.

  Inside sat a pair of sparkly sneakers covered with multicolored sequins.

  Her eyes went huge. They were wonderful.

  Immediately shucking off the ugly blue trainers that Renault had forced her to wear, she pulled on the sneakers that fit perfectly and glittered even in the washed-out morning light. Only after she’d admired them for at least five minutes did her brain compute that she hadn’t ordered sparkly sequined sneakers.

  She examined the box again and spotted a small piece of paper that she’d missed in her earlier excitement. It was covered by a black scrawl: I thought you might like these. Brand-new. Found them in the pack stores and they looked like they might fit you.

  That was it. No signature. No other explanation. Yet she knew without a single doubt that it was Alexei who’d left the shoes for her. Because he thought she would like something pretty and shiny and new. Even though she’d yelled “Chicken!” at him when he left.

  “I’m going to kiss you again,” she promised her golden wolf, “even if you threaten to eat me.” Bubbles of joy bursting inside her, she picked up her abandoned coffee and took in the compound.

  The Arrows were difficult to see, ghosts in the mist, but a dark-skinned woman with a lovely oval face came out of the cabin directly across from Memory right then. She looked to be close to Memory’s age, but held herself with a confidence that Memory had never known.

  “Hi!” A huge smile on the stranger’s face, her hand rising in a wave.

  Memory’s stomach muscles clenched, but she waved back. She had no idea how empaths aside from Sascha would react to her.

  “I’m Jaya,” her neighbor said when she reached Memory. “One of the teachers here—I was part of the first intake. We’re short on experience, so anyone who can teach anything is roped in.”

  Of course. Many of the first trainees would’ve been young—individuals not so entrenched in Silence that there was no hope of pulling them out. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Memory.”

  “Yes, Sascha told me.” Jaya’s welcoming smile showed no indication of fading. “You always up so early? If you are, we can get in an hour or two of drills before everyone else starts stirring and Sascha arrives for your sessions on shield mechanics.”

  “I’d like that.” Blanketed by the warmth of Jaya’s presence, Memory dared imagine the young E might one day become her friend. “It won’t trouble you to wake early?” At present, the only others who appeared awake were the Arrows . . . and a slinky gray cat who came over to talk to them.

  “Hello, Phantom—back from your morning prowl, are you?” Jaya reached out to scratch him behind the ears. “He adopted me about three months ago, and when a cat adopts you . . .” A sudden, quiet glance. “Oh, this hurts you.”

  Memory rubbed a fist over her heart. “I had a cat,” she whispered through a thick throat. “He died of old age just before Alexei found me.”

  Jaya patted Memory gently on the thigh as she stood back up.

  After rubbing his body along one of Jaya’s legs, Phantom ignored Memory to pad off into the morning mist. “He’s a terrible snob.” Jaya sat down beside Memory. “Takes days to decide if you’re acceptable and worthy of his attention—half the time, he glares at my husband for having the nerve to kiss me.”

  Memory gave a laugh that felt rusty and wet.

  Jaya ran her hand down Memory’s spine. “They get inside your heart, don’t they?”

  Memory could only nod.

  “As for me,” Jaya continued, “I tend to wake with Abbot’s shifts. I’ve become so used to cuddling next to his body that my eyes snap open the instant he leaves the bed.” She pointed to a shadow in between two cabins in the far distance. “The one with the killer sea-blue eyes and black hair is mine.”

  Memory bit down on her lower lip. “He doesn’t seem like a cuddling sort of man,” she ventured warily. Alexei knew how to cuddle. Even when he was growling at her, if she went to him, he’d hold her. Jaya’s Abbot, in contrast, stood expressionless, his body at battle readiness and his eyes as cold as the Arctic.

  Jaya laughed—and Memory saw Abbot’s gaze turn toward her. But there was no softening in his features, nothing to betray that Jaya meant more to him than any other empath under his watch. Except . . . Jaya blew him a kiss, as if he’d made a grand gesture of love. “I had to work on him a bit,” the other woman whispered conspiratorially. “But my Abbot once stayed up all night with me—playing cards very badly—just so I wouldn’t be scared. I knew then that he was a keeper.”

  “I understand.” Someone who stood with you in the worst times and who didn’t take advantage of your weakness, that was a person you could trust. Like a wolf who kissed you even after he’d learned your most terrible secret.

  Memory’s toes curled inside her astonishingly wonderful shoes. “Would you like some coffee?” she asked hesitantly, not sure she wasn’t assuming too much in Jaya’s friendliness.

  “When I get back from my walk, if that works for you?” At Memory’s nod, she added, “I need to shake off a few of the cobwebs from staying up late to write my first column.” Jaya got up with a groan. “I don’t know what I was thinking, agreeing to be the Beacon’s new social interaction columnist.”

  Memory made an immediate note to download a copy of Jaya’s column.

  “We should have forty-five minutes together after I get back. Now I have to go distract Abbot for a minute.” A wink before she turned to walk in the direction of the blue-eyed Arrow.

  He watched her come to him with no alteration in his expression . . . but cupped her cheek with one hand when she reached him, a piercing tenderness to his touch that was wholly unexpected in a man so outwardly martial and cold. Smiling, Memory looked away to give the couple their privacy, and finished her breakfast. She was considering whether to go inside and pour herself another coffee when her eyes widened.

  Ashaya Aleine had just walked out of the trees from what Memory guessed was the DarkRiver side of the border. The M-Psy carried a small bag and at her side walked a tall man with amber-colored hair tied back in a queue and watchful eyes of near-gold, his movements subtly feline. He stopped next to one of the Arrows, an older man who appeared to be in charge of this unit, while Ashaya moved toward Memory.

  The other woman’s face was drawn, her body stiff.

  Rising to her feet, Memory girded herself for the confrontation to come; she had no idea what had passed between Ashaya and Amara after they left the cabin, but she could guess that it had been nothing good.

  Rubbing her damp palms on her jeans, she blurted out, “I’m sorry,” before Ashaya could speak.

  “You don’t ever have to apologize to me.” The blue-gray of Ashaya’s eyes shone with emotion.
“You gave me a gift I never expected,” she whispered in a voice that trembled. “The effect may have been temporary, but for three hours yesterday, I saw a glimpse of who my twin might’ve been if she hadn’t been wired wrong in the womb.”

  All the air rushed out of Memory. “She didn’t hurt you with her new understanding of your vulnerabilities?”

  A poignant smile. “I long ago learned how to conduct myself around Amara to ensure that I didn’t put myself or those I loved at risk.” She inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly. “Bittersweet though they were, I’d never give up those three hours.” Ashaya reached back to tuck a curl behind her ear.

  Memory was suddenly conscious of the state of her own hair; it hadn’t dried enough to become a huge mess, but she had nothing like Ashaya’s beautifully separated curls. “Would you like a coffee?” she said despite the heat in her face.

  “I’d love some, and I brought a gift I hope you’ll like.” She lifted the bag she was holding.

  Only after the two of them were seated around the kitchen table did Ashaya open the bag. As Memory watched, she took out a number of items.

  Hair care products and tools designed for tight curls.

  Heat crawling over her entire body, Memory looked down into the fragrant dark liquid in her mug. “My hair looks terrible, doesn’t it?”

  “Oh, I didn’t do this to make you feel bad.” Ashaya’s tone was distraught. “I thought maybe no one had remembered to get you curl-specific products.”

  Memory looked up, her eyes burning. “Alexei did,” she whispered, wanting to kiss him all over again for seeing her. Not a victim. Not a strange E. Her. Memory.

  “Will you let me do your hair?” Ashaya’s throat moved as she swallowed. “I need to do something for you. Please.”

  “Oh.” No one else had done Memory’s hair since she was eight years old. Her emotions got all tangled at the idea of it, her throat thick. “Yes,” she managed to say.