Hostage to Pleasure p-5

by Nalini Singh

  Mercy’s face grew black with fury. “Never, ever mention that. You understand me?”

  He smirked. “I especially liked you in the polka-dot-Jesus, that hurt.” He rubbed the spot on his ribs where her elbow had hit home, grateful for the distraction provided by the stab of pain.

  “It’s just the start. I plan to kill you in your sleep,” Mercy said conversationally. “And stuff that damn polka-dot biki—” She paused, glanced at the door. “Did you—?”

  “I think it’s Vaughn.” He nodded at her to answer. “I’ll cover the Psy.”

  Mercy gave him an odd look. “She has a name. You should know, given your teensy obsession.”

  “Preparation, not obsession.” Dorian had made it his business to learn the name and address of every powerful Psy in the area. He’d torn Santano Enrique’s heart out with his bare hands, but it hadn’t been enough, not when he knew the evil that had spawned the Psy serial killer continued to exist and grow. He intended to chop off the head of the beast, and if it grew back, he’d damn well do it again. And again. And again. As many times as it took.

  Perhaps then his sister’s ghost would stop haunting him.

  Kylie’s blood had still been warm when he reached her. The cuts that Santano had made… they had destroyed her beauty, turned her from his mischievous, barely grown-up baby sister, to a piece of torn flesh and blood. No matter how many Psy he killed, he couldn’t change that, couldn’t bring Kylie back from the grave. But he could make damn sure no other brother lost what he had, no mother cried as his had, no father screamed.

  His parents had coped by leaning on Pack… and going roaming. Anytime the memories got too bad, they turned leopard and left. Dorian couldn’t deny them their escape, but he couldn’t follow either. Not only did he lack the ability to go leopard, he was a DarkRiver sentinel and they were at war, even if it was a quiet, stealthy one most people didn’t know was happening. Lucas had allowed Dorian’s parents their grief. He’d given Dorian his shoulder, but in the end, he expected Dorian to deal.

  It was exactly what Dorian expected of himself—any special treatment would’ve been an insult. More, he needed that responsibility to Pack. Sometimes, it was all that kept him from picking up a rifle and going rogue.

  That truth was at the forefront of his mind as he watched Mercy open the door with sentinel cautiousness. Vaughn raised an eyebrow at their guarded expressions. “What, do I smell like wolf now?” He sniffed at his arm. “Nope. I smell like my gorgeous Red.” A slow smile as he mentioned his mate and walked in.

  Dorian didn’t shift from his position by the bed—he’d brook no interference in his dealings where Ashaya was concerned, regardless of how he felt toward her. If Vaughn was here to assume control, blood would spill. “If you’d smelled of wolf,” he said, trying to sound as if bloody possessiveness didn’t have a chokehold on him, “I’d have had to kill you.”

  Mercy closed the door and grinned. “It would’ve been a mercy killing.”

  “Reduced to making bad puns, Mélisande?”

  Mercy’s eyes narrowed. “Everyone’s got a death wish today.”

  Ducking the punch Mercy threw at him, Vaughn leaned indolently on the wall beside the door. “What happened to her leg?”

  Dorian let Mercy give Vaughn the lowdown, viscerally aware of how vulnerable Ashaya was right then. That didn’t mean she wasn’t a Council spy.

  His hands fisted. “So,” he said to Vaughn after Mercy finished, “why are we running a taxi service for lost Psy? Hell, how did she even get to the Grove?”

  “Aleine’s defected,” Vaughn said.

  The leopard wanted to purr. The man wasn’t so easily convinced. “How sure are we?” What better way to infiltrate an enemy citadel than on the back of an innocent child? Everyone knew predatory changelings were savage about protecting cubs, no matter if they wore human or Psy skin. “She was in deep with the Council.”

  “Anthony confirmed she’s got rebel sympathies.” Vaughn didn’t have to say any more. Not only was Anthony Kyriakus the father of Vaughn’s mate, Faith, he was the leader of a quiet revolution against the vicious straitjacket of Silence. “He’s the one who arranged the pickup, though Aleine doesn’t know about his involvement, so keep it quiet. He’s certain she isn’t a spy, but the fewer people who know about his activities, the better.”

  Much as Dorian respected Vaughn, he had no intention of trusting Ashaya until she proved herself. To him. Because this was a personal war. “She hooked up to the Net?”

  “Yeah.” Vaughn straightened. “So treat her as a possible leak. I think Anthony’s solid, but until we’re absolutely sure about her, we don’t take any chances.”

  Mercy nodded in agreement. “Even if she really has defected, as long as she’s linked to the Net, they might be able to suck information out of her.”

  Dorian had never been able to think of the PsyNet as anything other than a hive mind, but now he wondered what it would be to know that the very thing you needed for life could also lead death straight to you. “Where are we going to put her?” It was a question he hadn’t realized he was going to ask until it was out.

  “Why do we have to put her anywhere?” Mercy said, displaying the ruthless practicality that made her a sentinel. “She could be more trouble than she’s worth if the Council’s after her. She saved Noor and Jon; we repaid the debt by saving her son and stitching her up. Anthony must have people who can take her in now.”

  Dorian found his beast’s lethal attention focused on Mercy. The reaction came from the same place as his irrational possessiveness—the thinking part of him knew Mercy was simply doing her job and watching out for the pack’s interests. It was exactly what he should’ve been doing—instead of standing guard over a woman who might yet stab the knife of treachery straight into DarkRiver’s back.

  And still he couldn’t make himself move. Fuck.

  Vaughn’s voice broke into his razor-edged thoughts. “Anthony said she’s been given details of a new identity, complete with bank accounts and a path to follow, so, could be, she wakes up and goes. If she doesn’t, we might as well take advantage of what she knows—trade-off is we help her.”

  “True.” Mercy frowned. “Plus we do have the woman’s son. She won’t leave without him, not after everything she risked to set him free.”

  “And he can’t be disconnected from the Web,” Vaughn reminded them. “We all know it doesn’t hold any of us back from traveling, but I had a talk with Sascha and she’s not sure what would happen to a Psy member who tried to go too far. Wouldn’t want to test it on a kid.”

  Dorian glanced at Ashaya and wondered if Mercy was right. Had Ashaya fought for her son? Or had she simply removed him from the equation so she could focus on her own twisted goals? Cat and man both brooded over the answer, because one thing was certain—if she was a spy, she’d have to be broken.

  Seated at a table in his home deep in another section of DarkRiver’s territory, Clay Bennett stopped what he was doing to check a message that had set his phone to flashing. “It’s from Teijan,” he said to Tally, handing over some sticky tape at the same time.

  Taking it, she blew him a kiss and continued to wrap Noor’s birthday present. The little girl was so active during the day, it was hard to keep a secret. “What does he want?”

  “I asked for some intel.” He pressed in Teijan’s code and waited.

  The Rat alpha sounded surprised when he answered. “What are you doing awake at midnight?”

  “None of your business.” He smiled at Tally’s admonishing frown. She kept trying to get him to be nice to people. “You got something for me?”

  “Yes.” Teijan paused. “Hold on, Aneca’s sleeping.”

  Clay waited until Teijan had moved away from the girl. The six-year-old was the first changeling rat to be born in the city in the past decade. It was a measure of the growing trust between the Rats and DarkRiver that Teijan had shared that information. “What are you doing with her?” he asked.
<
br />   “Babysitting. It’s date night.”

  Clay grinned at the thought of the small, feral fighter of a rat playing babysitter. “Late date.”

  “They mentioned a hotel room. Bet they’ll be back in a couple of hours, though.” Laughter in his voice. “Can’t stay away from her.”

  “Wait till you have a kid,” Clay warned. “They get their tiny little claws into you when you’re not looking, and that’s it.” Lips curving at the thought of how Noor had suckered him into reading her four bedtime stories tonight, he reached over to hold down an edge as Tally taped it. Her fingers brushed his in thanks and his gut clenched. “So, you hear anything?”

  “About the scientist who escaped? Bits and pieces. What do you want to know?”

  Clay had no idea how the Rats knew most of what they did. He was just damn glad they’d allied with DarkRiver and not the Psy. “Any word on pursuit?”

  “Heard nothing that specific yet—only some whispers of a high-level escape. Did hear something else interesting, though.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Word from Vegas and out Los Angeles way is that Jax junkies are disappearing off the streets.”

  Jax addicts were Psy as a rule. The drug mutated changeling bodies, a surefire way to keep any of them from trying it. It apparently didn’t have much of an effect on humans at all, leaving it a strictly Psy scourge. “Council cleanup?”

  “Hard to say. There’s something weird about it—with the Council, one day there’d be ten, the next day zero. Right now, it’s like they take one or two, come back later for another couple.”

  Clay didn’t have a high opinion of junkies—of any race—but if this was another case of a Psy crazy loose on the streets, they needed to know so they could protect those under their care. “Call me if you hear anything concrete, or if there’s any sign of humans or changelings being targeted.” If it was contained to the Psy, the Council would take care of it. Say what you would about them, the Council was efficient at cleaning up its messes-except, of course, when it was one of its sanctioned killers that had escaped.

  After hanging up, he told Tally what Teijan had shared. “Looks like Aleine is safe for now.”

  “I want to see her.” Her lips set in a familiar line as she repeated the demand she’d already made three times this past hour alone. “We might not have saved Jon and Noor without her. I need to say thank you, offer her my help.”

  God, she was stubborn, but he was a protective, possessive cat. “She’s a threat right now.” He growled when she began to argue. “When we’re sure she’s clean, then you can have a tea party with her for all I care. And you are helping her—through Pack.”

  “What about Keenan?”

  “Kid’s probably fast asleep.”

  “Not funny. I meant later.”

  “If Sascha okays a visit, fine. Happy?”

  “No.” She got up, came around the table, and slid into his lap. “You’re such a bully.”

  He felt his lips twitch. “And you’re still a brat.”

  Ashaya came to consciousness in a single heartbeat. Her telepathic senses flared out at the same instant, an automatic reaction honed from years of living a double life. Her Tp status was weak, but it was enough to tell her she wasn’t alone.

  “You’re awake.” A familiar masculine voice. “I can hear the change in your heartbeat.”

  She turned her head toward him. “You’re lying.”

  A raised eyebrow from the lethally beautiful male who sat in a chair in front of the unlit fireplace, playing a pocketknife over and through his fingers. “Are you sure?”

  No, she wasn’t. Those eyes were piercing in their directness. She could well imagine his senses were acute enough to detect the spike in her heartbeat as she’d woken—a purely physiological reaction she couldn’t control. Now, she focused on bringing it back down to a resting rate. “My leg feels much better.” She tested it, stretching the muscle, but remaining on her stomach. “Mercy is a good medic.”

  Dorian spun the knife on the tip of his finger, a feat of balance and skill that held her absolute attention. One slip and that blade would go through flesh and bone both.

  “Speaking of Mercy,” she said, mesmerized by the incredible grace with which he handled the blade, “where is she?”

  A hard glance out of those pure blue eyes. The knife disappeared so fast, she didn’t even catch a glimpse of where it went. “You’ve been out for a couple of hours. Mercy had things to do.”

  “It’s”—she glanced at the clock on the wall by the fireplace—“one a.m.”

  “That’s when Psy like to attack us.”

  Muscles warming up, she turned to sit up. “I see.”

  “Your eyes are the wrong color.”

  “You saw me once in the dark.”

  “I have the vision of a cat.”

  Instead of responding, she swung her legs off the bed and, after resting a few seconds, tried to stand. Her muscles complained but held. Mercy was indeed good. She wouldn’t be running or winning any endurance contests, but she was no longer dependent on others. Especially not on a leopard who watched over her, but with an edge in his gaze that told her he was barely leashed. “My son,” she said, knowing she chanced giving herself away, but unable to stifle the need to know. “Is he truly alive?”

  He threw her a small cell phone. “Click through to video.”

  She did. And found herself watching a minute-long recording of Keenan curled up in sleep, his breathing steady, his hand pressed to the pillow by his cheek. Her baby boy was safe. A rock lifted off her chest. Still, it took considerable force of will to turn off the recording even after the third repetition, and throw the phone back to Dorian. “Thank you.”

  He caught it with lightning-fast reflexes. “Do you want to see him?”

  Ashaya felt a curious stillness in that newly awake section of her brain, the part where her bond with Keenan had lived in secret for so long. “No.”

  Dorian’s lips thinned. “That’s what I thought.”

  The door inside her mind, the one that had slammed open once and never quite closed again, pushed outward. It was only an inch, but it permitted something volatile to break free, something that ricocheted violently through her veins.

  “He’s not safe with me,” she blurted out, knowing it for a mistake the instant the words were out. She could already feel Amara’s mind attempting to shove through what should’ve been the impenetrable ice of Silence, drawn by the pulse of her forbidden emotion for Keenan… drawn, too, by something new. Something dark and raw, and vicious—her reaction to Dorian.

  CHAPTER 10

  Why do you try to hide from me? You know I’ll always find you. I live inside your mind now.

  – Handwritten note left in Ashaya’s hospital locker, circa 2068

  Ashaya used every tool she knew to calm herself before her agitation caused enough damage to allow Amara to get a lock on her. When she glanced up, it was to see Dorian watching her with disturbing intensity.

  “You saying you care about your son’s safety?” A mocking question, but his eyes were those of a hunter. If she wasn’t careful, this highly intelligent predator would discover her most deadly secrets.

  It was better not to engage with him. No matter the depth of her curiosity.

  As she looked away from Dorian and the danger he represented, her eye fell on her pack. She walked carefully to where it stood leaning against the wall by the door. It was torn in a couple of places and dirty, but otherwise fine. “Thank you for retrieving this.”

  “Don’t thank me—Vaughn got it. I stayed to make sure you didn’t pull any Psy tricks.”

  She laid the pack on the floor and opened it up, not bothering with secrecy—Dorian had had plenty of time to go through it if he’d wanted. “Then please pass on my thanks to Vaughn.” She wondered if all male changelings were as hostile as Dorian, then squelched the thought when it threatened to feed her visceral awareness of him.

  No sound of movement,
but he was suddenly crouching beside her, close enough that the scent of him—wild, fresh, with bite—washed over her.

  She immediately put more distance between them. “Why are you here?”

  “You’re pretty skittish for a Psy,” was the cool response.

  Deciding to ignore him—a difficult task—she began to go through the jumble he’d created while looking for the first aid kit. Her hand threatened to tremble as she touched the edge of a holoframe she’d asked Zie Zen to retrieve from its hiding place and keep safe for her. Dorian didn’t notice her betraying gesture, distracted by something else, something she’d expected to have to buy on the outside—whoever had packed this bag had clearly realized how integral record keeping was to her work.

  “Top-of-the-line organizer.” Dorian picked up the device, currently encased in an air cushion. “Only available to CEOs of major Psy corporations.” Whistling through his teeth, he pricked the air bubble with his knife. “Nice.”

  She resisted the urge to snatch back the object. Little breaks, little fractures. The door opened another inch. “Do you always touch others’ belongings?”

  One corner of his lips curved upward and she realized Dorian was quite capable of charm. “Now you sound Psy. All pissy and icy.” Getting rid of the packaging, he turned on the organizer. “Password-protected.”

  She leaned in and stared at the screen for several seconds. “Give it to me.”

  He swiveled the device so it remained on the flat of his palm, but faced her. Too intrigued by the intellectual challenge, she didn’t argue his interpretation of her order. “I wasn’t given the code,” she murmured, “so it has to be logical, something I alone would know.”

  “Keenan?” For once, he didn’t sound like he was baiting her. The cat apparently liked gadgets. It was an unexpected discovery.