by Nalini Singh
Satisfied that the apartment hadn’t been breached, she systematically checked every one of her inner locks against the vastness of the PsyNet. Functioning. No one could get into her mind without her knowing about it.
Only then did she allow herself to collapse into a heap on the ice-blue carpet, the cool color making her shiver. “Computer. Raise temperature five degrees.”
“Complying.” The voice was without inflection but that was to be expected. It was nothing more than the mechanical response of the powerful computer that ran this building. The houses she’d be building with Lucas Hunter would have no such computer systems.
Lucas.
Her breath came out in a gasp as she allowed her mind to cascade with all the emotions she’d had to bury during the meeting.
Fear.
Amusement.
Hunger.
Lust.
Desire.
Need.
Unclipping the barrette at the end of her plait, she shoved her hands into the unfurling curls before tugging off her jacket and throwing it aside. Her breasts ached, straining against the cups of her bra. She wanted nothing more than to strip herself naked and rub up against something hot, hard, and male.
A whimper escaped her throat as she closed her eyes and rocked back and forth, trying to control the images pounding at her. This shouldn’t be happening. No matter how far out of control she’d gone before, it had never been this bad, this sexual. The second she admitted it, the avalanche seemed to slow and she found enough strength to push her way out of the clawing grip of hunger.
Getting up off the floor, she walked to the kitchenette and poured herself a glass of water. As she swallowed, she caught her reflection in the ornamental mirror that hung beside her built-in cooler. It had been a gift from a changeling advisor on another project and she’d kept it despite her mother’s raised brow. Her excuse had been that she was trying to understand the other race. In truth, she’d just liked the wildly colorful frame.
However, right now she wished she hadn’t held on to it. It showed too clearly what she didn’t want to see. The tangle of darkness that was her hair spoke of animal passion and desire, things no Psy should know about. Her face was flushed as if with fever, her cheeks streaked red, and her eyes… Lord have mercy, her eyes were pure midnight.
She put down the glass and pushed back her hair, searching. But she hadn’t made a mistake. There was no light in the darkness of her pupils. This was only supposed to happen when a Psy was expending a large amount of psychic power.
It had never happened to her.
Her eyes might’ve marked her as a cardinal but her accessible powers were humiliatingly weak. So weak that she still hadn’t been co-opted into the ranks of those who worked directly for the Council.
Her lack of any real psychic power had mystified the instructors who’d trained her. Everyone had always said that there was incredible raw potential inside her mind—more than enough for a cardinal—but that it had never manifested.
Until now.
She shook her head. No. She hadn’t expended any psychic energy so it had to be something else that had caused the darkness, something other Psy didn’t know about because they didn’t feel. Her eyes drifted to the communication console set into the wall beside the kitchenette. One thing was clear—she couldn’t go out looking like this. Anyone who saw her would have her sent in for rehabilitation in a heartbeat.
Fear gripped her tight.
As long as she was on the outside, she might one day figure out a way to escape, a way to cut her link to the PsyNet without throwing her body into paralysis and death. Or she might even discover a way to fix the flaw that marked her. But the second she was admitted into the Center, her world would become darkness. Endless, silent darkness.
With careful hands, she pulled off the cover of the communication console and fiddled with the circuits. Only after she’d replaced the cover did she press in Nikita’s code. Her mother lived in the penthouse several floors above.
The answer came seconds later. “Sascha, your screen is turned off.”
“I didn’t realize,” Sascha lied. “Hold on.” Pausing for effect, she took a careful breath. “I think it’s a malfunction. I’ll have a technician check it out.”
“Why did you call?”
“I’m afraid I’ll have to cancel our dinner. I’ve received some documents from Lucas Hunter that I’d like to start going through before I meet with him again.”
“Prompt for a changeling. I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon for a briefing. Good night.”
“Good night, Mother.” She was talking to dead air. Regardless of the fact that Nikita had been no more a mother to her than the computer that controlled this apartment, it hurt. But tonight that hurt was buried under far more dangerous emotions.
She’d barely started to relax when the console chimed an incoming call. Since the caller identification function had been disabled along with the screen, she had no way of knowing who it was. “Sascha Duncan,” she said, trying not to panic that Nikita had changed her mind.
“Hello, Sascha.”
Her knees almost buckled at the sound of that honey-smooth voice, more purr than growl now. “Mr. Hunter.”
“Lucas. We’re colleagues, after all.”
“Why are you calling?” Harsh practicality was the only way she could deal with her roller-coaster emotions.
“I can’t see you, Sascha.”
“It’s a screen malfunction.”
“Not very efficient.” Was that amusement she could hear?
“I assume you didn’t call to chat.”
“I wanted to invite you to a breakfast meeting with the design team tomorrow.” His tone was pure silk.
Sascha didn’t know if Lucas always sounded like an invitation to sin or whether he was doing it to unsettle her. That thought unsettled her. If he even suspected that there was something not quite right about her, then she might as well sign her death warrant. Internment at the Center was nothing less than a living death anyway.
“Time?” She wrapped her arms tight around her ribs and forced her voice to even out. The Psy were very, very careful that the world never saw their mistakes, their flawed ones. No one had ever successfully fought the Council after being slated for rehabilitation.
“Seven thirty. Is that good for you?”
How could he make the most businesslike of invitations sound like purest temptation? Maybe it was all in her mind—she was finally cracking. “Location?”
“My office. You know where that is?”
“Of course.” DarkRiver had set up business camp near the chaotic bustle of Chinatown, taking over a medium-sized office building. “I’ll be there.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
To her heightened senses, that sounded more like a threat than a promise.
CHAPTER 2
Lucas prowled to the edge of his office and stared down at the narrow streets that led into the sensory explosion that was Chinatown, his mind on Sascha Duncan’s night-sky eyes. His animal nature had sniffed something in her that didn’t quite fit, wasn’t quite… right. And yet, she didn’t have the sickly smell of insanity but a delectably enticing scent that was at odds with the metallic stink of most Psy.
“Lucas?”
He had no need to turn around to identify his visitor. “What is it, Dorian?”
Dorian came to stand beside him. With his blond hair and blue eyes, he could’ve passed for a surfer hanging out, waiting for the right wave. Except for the feral edge in those eyes. Dorian was a latent leopard. Something had gone wrong in the womb and he’d been born changeling in all ways except one—he lacked the ability to shift forms. “How did it go?”
“I have a Psy shadow.” He watched a car glide by on the darkening street, the energy cells that powered it leaving no trace of their passage. The cells had been created by changelings. Without their race, the world would’ve sunk into a quagmire of pollution by now.
The Psy thought
themselves the leaders of the planet, but it was the changelings who were attuned to the Earth’s heartbeat, the changelings who saw the intertwined streams of life. Changelings and the occasional human.
“Think you can pump her?”
Lucas shrugged. “She’s like the rest of them. But I’m in. And she’s a cardinal.”
Dorian rocked back on his heels. “If one of them knows about the killer, they all do. Their web keeps every single one of them in contact.”
“They call it the PsyNet.” Lucas leaned forward and pressed his palms to the glass, luxuriating in the cool kiss. “I’m not so sure that’s how it works.”
“It’s a damn hive mind. How else could it work?”
“They’re very hierarchical—it doesn’t track that the masses would be allowed access to everything. Democratic is the one thing they’re not.” The Psy world of cold, calm survival of the fittest was as cruel as anything he’d ever seen.
“But your cardinal would know.”
As the daughter of a Councilor and a powerful mind in her own right, it was almost certain that Sascha was a member of the inner circle. “Yes.” And he had every intention of finding out what she knew.
“Ever slept with a Psy?”
Lucas finally turned to glance at Dorian, amused. “You’re saying I should seduce the information out of her?” The idea should’ve revolted him but both man and beast were intrigued.
Dorian laughed. “Yeah right, your cock’d probably freeze off.” Something bright and angry glittered in those blue eyes. “I was going to say that they really don’t feel anything. I went to bed with one back when I was young and stupid. I was drunk and she invited me to her dorm room.”
“Unusual.” The Psy liked to keep to themselves.
“I think I was some kind of experiment to her. She was a science major. We had sex but I swear it was like being with a block of concrete. No life, no emotion.”
Lucas let the image of Sascha Duncan run through his mind. His panther senses stilled, sniffing at the echo of her memory. She was ice but she was also something more. “We can only pity them.”
“They deserve our claws, not our pity.”
Lucas looked back at the city. He hid it better but his anger was as deep as Dorian’s. He’d been with the other man when they’d discovered Dorian’s sister’s body six months ago. Kylie had been butchered. Coldly. Clinically. Mercilessly. Her blood had been spilled with no thought to the beautiful, vibrant woman she’d been.
There had been no animal scent at the scene but Lucas had picked up the metallic stink of the Psy. The other changelings had seen the brutal efficiency of the kill and known exactly what type of monster had done this. But the Psy Council had claimed to know nothing, and the authorities in Enforcement had done so little, it was almost as if they didn’t want to find the murderer.
After DarkRiver had started digging, they’d discovered several other murders with the same signature. All buried so deep that only one organization could’ve been behind it. The Psy Council was like a spider and every Enforcement station in the country was caught in its web.
The changelings had had enough. Enough of Psy arrogance. Enough of Psy politics. Enough of Psy manipulation. Decades of resentment and fury had built up into a powder keg that the Psy had unknowingly ignited with their latest atrocity.
Now it was war.
And one very unusual Psy was about to be trapped in the middle.
When Sascha arrived at the DarkRiver building at seven thirty sharp, it was to find Lucas waiting for her by the entrance. Dressed in jeans, white T-shirt, and black leather-synth jacket, he looked nothing like the businessman she’d faced yesterday. “Good morning, Sascha.” His slow smile invited a similar response.
This time she was prepared for him. “Good morning. Shall we proceed to the meeting?” Nothing but the coldest practicality would serve to keep this male at a distance—she didn’t have to be a genius to understand that he was used to getting what he wanted.
“I’m afraid there’s been a change in plans.” He raised his hands in a placatory gesture but there was nothing submissive about him. “One of my team couldn’t get into the city in time so I postponed the meeting until three.”
She smelled deception. What she couldn’t figure out was whether it was because he was trying to charm her or because he was lying. “Why didn’t you call me?”
“I thought that since you were already on your way, we might as well go check out the site I’ve scouted.” He smiled. “A very efficient use of our time.”
She knew he was laughing at her. “Let’s go.”
“In my car.”
She didn’t protest. No real Psy would. He knew the way so it made sense for him to drive. But she wasn’t a normal Psy and she wanted to tell him to keep his autocratic commands to himself.
“Have you had breakfast?” he asked when they were both in the car and he’d brought up the manual controls.
She’d been too nervous to eat. Something about Lucas Hunter was accelerating her descent into madness but she couldn’t stop the tumble, couldn’t stop herself from continuing to tangle with him. “Yes,” she lied, not quite sure why.
“Good. Wouldn’t want you to faint on me.”
“I’ve never fainted in my life so you’re safe.” She watched the city flash by as they neared the Bay Bridge. San Francisco was a glittering jewel by the sea but she preferred the areas beyond, where nature held full sway. In some cases the forests stretched all the way to the border with Nevada and kept going.
Yosemite National Park was one of the bigger wilderness areas. At one stage a couple of centuries in the past, it had been mooted that the park be limited to an area east of Mariposa. The changelings had won that war and Yosemite had been left to sprawl to the extent that it had merged into several other forested areas, including the El Dorado and Tahoe forests, though the lake city of Tahoe continued to thrive.
It now covered half of Sacramento and curved around the lucrative wine-growing region of Napa to hug Santa Rosa to the north. To the southeast of San Francisco, it had almost swallowed Modesto. Because of its ongoing sprawl, only part of Yosemite was now a national park. The rest was protected from general development but habitation was allowed under certain circumstances.
As far as she knew, no Psy had ever sought permission to live so close to the wild. It made her wonder what their green, wooded land would’ve looked like had the Psy had total control of it. Somehow, she doubted that most of California would’ve been a series of giant national parks and forests.
Suddenly aware of Lucas sending her a questioning glance, she realized she’d been silent for over forty minutes. Luckily for her, lack of small talk was a Psy trait. “If we agree to buy the site you’ve chosen, how long will it take to close the deal?”
He looked back at the road. “A day. The land is in DarkRiver territory but owned by the SnowDancers through an accident of history. They’re happy to sell for the right price.”
“Are you an impartial party?” She took the chance afforded by his concentration on driving to look her fill of the markings on his face. Savage and primitive, they tugged at something hidden inside of her. She couldn’t help thinking that they likely told the true story of his nature, the smooth business persona merely a mask.
“No. But they’re not going to deal with anyone else so you’ll just have to hope I don’t screw you over.”
She wasn’t sure whether to take him seriously. “We’re well aware of property values. No one has yet managed to ‘screw’ us.”
His lips curved. “It’s the best location for what you want. The thought of living in that area gives most changelings wet dreams.”
Sascha wondered if he was being crude in an effort to rattle her. Had this far too intelligent leopard figured out that she was flawed in the most basic way? Hoping to throw him off the scent, she made her next words completely toneless. “Very colorful, but I don’t care about their dreams. I simply want them to buy the
properties.”
“They will.” Of that Lucas had no doubt. “We’re almost there.” He pulled off the side road they were on and headed down another before parking the car beside a huge open space dotted with trees. Situated near Manteca, the area wasn’t heavily forested but it was definitely wooded.
He slid open his door and stepped out, frustrated by his inability to penetrate the layer of ice Sascha had wrapped around herself like steel. He’d engineered this drive and site visit in order to start probing her for information. But getting a Psy to open up was like trying to get a SnowDancer to turn into a leopard.
The worst part was, he found himself fascinated by everything about his quarry. Like how the rich silk of her hair turned impossibly darker in the sun as she moved to stretch out her legs. Or how her skin gleamed a dark honey. “May I ask you a question?” The hunger came from the panther inside but the man saw the possibilities in this line of questioning.
Sascha glanced up. “By all means.”
“Your mother’s ancestry is clearly Asiatic but your first names are Slavic and your last, Scottish. I’m curious.” He walked beside her as she started to explore the site.
“That’s not a question.”
Lucas narrowed his eyes. He had the feeling she was teasing him but of course the Psy never teased. “How did you end up with such an interesting mixture?” he asked, far from convinced about this Psy.
To his surprise, she answered without hesitation. “Depending on the family structure, we take the names of either our maternal or paternal line. In our family, the last name has been maternal for the last three generations. However, my great-grandmother, Ai Kumamoto, took her husband’s name. He was Andrew Duncan.”
“She was Japanese?”
She nodded. “Their daughter was Reina Duncan, my grandmother. Reina had a child with Dmitri Kukovich and he chose the first name of their child—Nikita. My mother continued that naming tradition, as our psychologists believe a sense of history better enables a child to adapt to society.”
