Wolf Rain (Psy-Changeling Trinity)

by Nalini Singh

  “There you are, then.” A tug on her curls. “PsyNet’s definitely not willing to let go of any more empaths.”

  Memory pressed the heel of her hand over her heart. “It’s bad, Alexei.” Ripples from the latest collapse continued to rock the Net. “Hundreds dead despite an immediate emergency response. I wish I could help.”

  Enclosing her in his arms, Alexei rubbed the bottom of his jaw over her hair. “You help by being an E, by being strong and a fighter.”

  Biting down on her lower lip, she admitted the shameful truth. “All the other Es are nodes in the Honeycomb. Even the trainees—they all link into and feed the Honeycomb, keep it strong. I’m the only one just kind of floating inside the network.” No one knew why.

  “Is it hurting you?”

  Memory shook her head. “I just . . . I’m not giving anything back. Only taking.”

  “Never say that about yourself.” One hand in her curls, he pressed his forehead to her own. “You’re a new sub-designation. No one knows all the answers of you. Have faith.”

  Memory held on to the confidence of his wolf, her own shaky on this point. “I can do that.”

  “Good. Now, let’s get you packed, so I can take you home to the den tomorrow morning.” A possessive kiss. “Because yes, I’m sure. My entire pack is sure. Mating is the first loyalty, the loyalty on which a pack is built. Welcome to SnowDancer, lioness.”

  “My wolf,” Memory whispered, seeing the apprehension he hid deep inside, the fear that stole his breath in the midnight hours. Alexei was so afraid he’d hurt her that he was hurting himself.

  Well, it was time he stopped.

  She set her jaw. She’d find a way to be the wolf—and tear out the throats of Alexei’s demons.

  Chapter 54

  Fractures. Cracks. Scars.

  We are all broken eggshells sewn back together.

  In a madness of courage.

  —Adina Mercant, poet (b. 1832, d. 1901)

  HE STARED AT the carnage in the area of the PsyNet rupture.

  Powerful and highly trained, he’d responded to the emergency, but even as he finished helping to suture the Net back together, he considered causing a deliberate rupture to break off part of the Net, a section free of empathic influence. It’d allow him to return to Silence, reverse his increasing instability.

  Then, however, he’d be stuck in a small psychic network without access to the huge dataflows and connections of the PsyNet—and every piece of data he’d been able to unearth backed up the Ruling Coalition’s insistence that without empaths, the Net went mad. There was no way to maintain a sane Psy system with no empathic influence.

  That was when it struck him that he was acting mad, thinking about breaking off a piece of an already badly damaged psychic network. Dropping out of the psychic space after completing the repair, his brain tired from the work, he shoved up the sleeves of his gray sweatshirt and stared out at the rainy skies beyond.

  Madness howled at him from every side, no answer in sight. The only “bright point” in the situation was that he’d begun to remember some of what he’d done. He’d attacked the Arrows. It was the most dangerous and frankly ill-advised thing he could’ve ever done—the squad would never stop hunting him. Never.

  Especially if his memory of an Arrow shooting himself in the head to avoid the compulsion to kill empaths was correct.

  Finding information about the squad was all but impossible, but he’d had a stroke of luck. The doctor who’d done his neural scans was a world-class neurospecialist. Said doctor also happened to be in a great deal of hidden debt. Enough debt that it created a hole in his ethical boundaries and cut through his fear of the squad.

  When asked by an anonymous benefactor if he’d treated an Arrow at any point recently, he’d cracked under the offered financial incentive and shared that he’d been called in to consult on a comatose Arrow who’d suffered brain damage. “He’s on life support and I’m fairly sure the squad is readying itself to turn it off. I wanted to help him—who wouldn’t want the Arrows in their debt? But there’s nothing man or machine can do for him. Not with that kind of damage.”

  At least with the squad, he could justify it. Surely the comatose Arrow had killed in his life? He was no innocent. But there was no justifying his attack on the empaths in Chinatown. He’d crossed a critical line. He lived by very few “human” rules, but not taking out innocents was one he’d never broken.

  Not for the first time, his mind flashed with split-second images of an unusual empathic mind. It was the first memory he’d recovered after the Chinatown incident, and he’d been able to track down the owner of that mind—it hadn’t been difficult given her unusual appearance on the PsyNet. Others, too, were fascinated by the “midnight empath.”

  Slipping back into the Net, he made his way to her as he’d been compelled to do over the hours since he’d found her . . . and saw the primal bond that tied her to another. In his room in San Francisco, his hands curled into fists in his pockets. Her mind was anchored at the empathic compound in DarkRiver-SnowDancer territory, so chances were she’d mated either a wolf or a leopard.

  Abducting her wasn’t an option, even if the madness whispered at him to take her. Use her. That the insane thoughts were now filtering into his everyday life . . . His time was running out.

  Chapter 55

  I live in the den. The den is gynomus. It has a lot of rooms. Even mor than one hundred! My frends and I like to run in the grass outsyde and stawk the groanups. It is fun. Some days we go to the kichin and steel extra cookies and eat them. We love the den. We love pack.

  —Composition by Benjamin Stone (Age 7)

  DESPITE ALEXEI’S REASSURANCE that his packmates would accept her not just because she was his mate but for herself, Memory’s nerves were in a thousand knots by the time she stepped out of the trees and into a wild grassy area in front of what Alexei said was the den.

  It was now nine-thirty; she’d had a prearranged session with Amara at seven-thirty and she’d kept to it. In her own way, Amara was trying, and Memory didn’t want to interrupt any progress she’d made. Because something very weird had begun to happen: Amara’s lab mates and twin had reported instances of normal empathy at random times between sessions.

  One time, she’d noticed when a colleague cut his finger and gotten him a Band-Aid.

  Another time, she’d helped a pregnant colleague move lab equipment.

  In neither case had her actions helped Amara in any way.

  Renault had never shown any long-term changes. Whether it was because Renault had been a murderous psychopath and Amara wasn’t compelled to murder, or because Memory was working voluntarily with Amara while she’d been forced by Renault, no one knew. It was also possible the effects were blips that’d never be repeated, but Memory wasn’t about to give up if there was any hope. Especially as she had Amara’s full agreement.

  “I have never seen a lack in me,” Amara had said. “But I cannot evaluate a life of which I have no comprehension. As a scientist, I must experience both, then make the call. If the effect of your ability sticks, at some point, I will reach an equilibrium where I will see both sides with equal clarity—that moment is far distant, and so we continue.”

  Memory had also shared how thinking like Amara had helped her escape Renault. As she’d expected, Amara had been overcome with amusement. “I’m glad the wolf tore out his throat,” she’d said later. “An individual stupid enough to get between a wolf and his mate is clearly no loss to the genetic tree.”

  No matter what, Amara was still Amara.

  Memory would continue to both work with her and attend sessions at the compound, even though she was moving into the den. Right now, she couldn’t see anything beyond the clearing but for a mountain overgrown with plants and moss. The snow had melted away at this elevation and the grass in the clearing was tall and green under the bril
liant morning sun, only the odd droplet of dew still clinging to the blades.

  Despite the sense of emptiness, she knew other wolves were around, their wild emotions music in the air. Many were distant echoes but a couple seemed so close and so bright that she felt as if she was right on top of them. Frowning, she glanced at Alexei . . . to see he was grinning. As she watched, he put two fingers to his mouth and whistled.

  A small wolf pup who’d been nosing around in the long grass popped up his head, ears pricked. Delight emanated from him, but he didn’t race over. Instead, he glanced to his left.

  “Oh, my goodness.” Memory raised a hand to her mouth as an even tinier wolf pup tried to poke her nose up out of the grass. She was too little to truly succeed, but her delight in spotting them was as innocent and shining a joy as his.

  She began to run over—more enthusiasm than coordination.

  The bigger pup ran beside her, holding himself back to her slow pace. Loyalty, love, protectiveness, exasperation, his emotions were so clearly of a big brother that Memory laughed a little, her heart so full it could burst. The tiny pup, her sides heaving, flopped down to rest on reaching them, while the other one bounced up on Alexei’s boots, his paws small and perfect, and growled up in what appeared to be a hello.

  Memory’s hands itched to pick up the little one, but she held back, not sure if it was allowed, or if a stranger’s touch would scare the tiny girl-wolf. She knew the tiny one was a girl the same way she knew the other was a boy. It was in their emotional scent, both very certain of their sense of self already.

  “Hello, Ben,” Alexei growled back before crouching down to pick up the tiny ball of brown fluff that was Ben’s sister. “I see you’ve escaped school again.” He nuzzled the ecstatic pup in his arms. “Did you break Elodie out of the nursery?”

  Ben gave a tiny, happy howl, then ran around them both before stopping to stare up at Memory with eyes of pale, pale amber. As Memory’s heart thundered at the wonder of being so close to such a small wild creature, the pup angled his head sideways, then back to center, and took a sniff of her.

  When he reared back, her heart fell.

  The pup was shatters of light without warning, and a naked little boy with hair of deep mahogany, his skin gilded by the sun and his eyes brown, was looking up at her with a scrunched-up nose.

  “You smell like Lexie,” he declared.

  “I’m his mate,” she whispered, just as light shattered in her peripheral vision.

  A gorgeous girl who couldn’t yet be two sat in Alexei’s arms. Her hair was as dark as her brother’s, but fell in big fat curls where his was silky straight. She also hadn’t tanned as much, her skin creamy with rosy patches on the cheeks.

  Her eyes danced with unhidden glee. “Curwy!” She held up a hunk of her own hair, then pointed at Memory’s.

  Cheeks aching from the depth of her smile, Memory nodded. “We’re both curly girls.”

  Laughing, Ben’s sister held out her arms.

  Memory’s heart thudded. “Alexei?”

  “Elodie here doesn’t bite anymore, do you?” He nipped playfully at the tip of the pup’s nose, sending Elodie giggling, then glanced up at Memory, his eyes telling her she didn’t have to question herself; she was worthy of this precious trust.

  Memory opened her arms and Alexei passed Elodie over—who settled onto her hip with the practiced ease of a child who expected affection, expected love. Neither child had any shame about their nudity—wild creatures at home in their skin.

  “No pulling her hair, Dee,” Ben instructed his sister sternly.

  When Elodie stuck out her tongue at him and laughed, Ben slapped a hand to his forehead. “I can’t take her anywhere.”

  Memory’s poor heart was mush by now. Then Ben took her free hand, his own soft and warm, and she just melted. No matter what anyone else in the pack said to her, this joyful welcome would carry her through.

  “You smell weird, too,” Ben said conversationally as the four of them began to walk across the clearing. “Under the Lexie smell.”

  “Bad smelly!” Elodie echoed after a sniff . . . but she kept her arms wrapped around Memory’s neck.

  Memory took her cue from the pups’ open and friendly demeanor. “It’s from my work,” she said. “It makes me smell weird sometimes.” This was also why she hadn’t canceled her session with Amara—better she know now how the wolves would react.

  Alexei had said they’d shrug it off as no big deal, but he was her mate. He loved her. She couldn’t forget how the other Es—such kind, gentle people who’d never hurt her on purpose—had reacted.

  “Like after I fell into stinky mud,” Ben commented, while a small hand patted Memory’s curls with gentle curiosity. “Mama made me have a bath and it was better.”

  Chest aching at the simple acceptance, she was about to reply when Elodie twisted out of her arms in such a sharp movement that she couldn’t hold the little girl in place.

  A cry left her lips, but Elodie didn’t fall, shifting mid-jump into her wolf-pup form.

  When she glanced back at Memory, it was with pride in every line of her tiny furred body. Memory’s heart, in contrast, was racing double-time.

  “Dee! You can jump-shift!” Ben did a little dance before throwing back his head to emit a small howl.

  Memory jumped when he was answered by a far stronger howl from next to Memory—and then the sound was taken up all around them from wolves she couldn’t see, the wild song carrying across the mountains.

  The tiny hairs on her arms stood up, the haunting beauty of wolf song rippling in her blood. When her own wolf nipped playfully at her ear, she shivered and slipped her free hand into his. The three of them followed the tiny pup to what turned out to be a door hidden in the side of the mountain.

  Beyond that door lay a stone corridor painted with scenes of wolves in the wild. The detail in the paintings was so exquisite that she knew she’d come here again and again, her brain absorbing it a piece at a time. But first she had to set foot inside the den. Her mouth grew dry, her skin hot.

  Putting his lips to her ear, Alexei told her she’d already been authorized to enter and exit as she wished. “This door’s hardly ever locked anyway.” A growly kiss that made her feel at home. “Only ones who’ve ever breached the den are the cats, and they’re allies now.” She wanted to laugh at his pretend-scowl. “If the worst ever happens, we have ways to evacuate our vulnerable from deep inside the den, while the dominants fight on the front line.”

  Memory trusted Alexei with her life, but she still had to clench her stomach to step inside; her abdominal muscles hurt from the tension.

  “We can live outside,” Alexei rumbled. “My den is set up pretty much the same, but—”

  “No.” Memory gripped her fear in an unforgiving fist. “I want to be part of a family, live in a big puppy pile.” A place where small pups might run up to her at any moment expecting a cuddle, and where passing packmates would wave hello.

  Like the tall redhead currently heading toward them, her walk fluid and unmistakably feline. “Congratulations,” Mercy said, a wicked glint in her eye. “Guess the wolf food fetish paid off.”

  Memory felt a giggle form in her throat. “I’m going to frame that Wild Woman column.”

  Mercy winked, her grin wide.

  Alexei, meanwhile, was sending the two of them a distinctly suspicious look. “Are you two friends? How did you end up friends with a cat? Have I taught you nothing?”

  “I’m a lioness,” she reminded him. “Which means you’re mated to a cat.”

  “Dear God.”

  Ignoring his aghast words, Mercy kissed him on the cheek, then did the same to Memory. “I can’t wait to dance at your mating ceremony.”

  “She smells bad because of her work,” piped up a small voice from beside Memory, while Elodie ran back to stand between Alexei’
s booted feet, annoyed at missing out on the fun.

  “We’ve all been there,” Mercy said. “One time I walked into the middle of a juvenile battle and ended up drowned in homemade concoctions that smelled like rotten socks and putrid fruit.” She shuddered. “It all wears or washes off.”

  And so it continued, with little Ben announcing to everyone who would listen that Memory’s smell was temporary—as if he wanted to ensure no one would judge her for her odd dual-layered scent. Memory wanted to cuddle her small defender to death.

  The SnowDancers, her new packmates, made commiserating faces at her and, as with Mercy, shared their own scent disasters . . . and Memory began to understand that to a wolf, a temporary unpleasant scent was just bad luck. “They really don’t care,” she whispered to Alexei after they’d escorted Ben back to class and dropped Elodie at the nursery.

  One arm around her shoulders, he raised his eyebrows. “You should listen to me when I tell you these things, lioness.” A snap of his teeth that made her want to kiss him. “Assholes will tease you though—but only because they sense you can take it. I’d tell you to feel free to dish it back, but you don’t need the encouragement.” A scowl. “I found another goddamn rubber chicken in my stuff the other day. Some genius had drawn a wolf face on it.”

  Memory’s shoulders shook. “I love you,” she said, throwing her arms around him.

  “Grr.”

  She went to rise on tiptoe to bite at his stubbled jaw when her nape prickled. Primal power licked the air. Shifting on her heel, she found exactly who she’d expected: Hawke. The alpha wolf’s pale eyes were even more striking today, his hair an extraordinary silver-gold. Holding her gaze, he lifted a hand.

  Memory stood motionless, her heart thunder—but she didn’t flinch when he cupped her cheek. A deep sense of acceptance, primal protectiveness, wild affection, it sank into her soul. This was why he was alpha. Because he had the capacity to hold every member of his pack in his heart.