Wolf Rain (Psy-Changeling Trinity)

by Nalini Singh

  “It’s a paradox.” He came to a stop in front of a Venetian residence newly painted in pale yellow with white trim, and half-submerged in water. “Are my eyes deceiving me or is a mouse watching us from that window?”

  Sahara’s face lit up. “You know that’s Kaia’s pet, Hex.” She waved up at the creature. “Come on, Kaia and Bo will be waiting—I’m so glad we were all free to catch up for coffee. Kaia said she’d make a cherry-coconut loaf.”

  Kaleb hesitated only for a second, his eyes on the line of her profile. She was his entire reason for existence, for waking up as a man and not a nightmare. And she was determined he would be friends with Bowen Knight. “Here.” He teleported in a small bag he’d left on his desk in Moscow.

  “What is it?” She took the brightly colored bag, eyebrows gathered. Two seconds later she began to laugh. “Mouse treats!”

  As she tugged him down by the tie to kiss him, Kaleb felt the faint ripple of another power surge in the Net, but it was fading even as his sniffers reported it. If this emergent power didn’t learn to put a yoke on their abilities, they’d cause critical ruptures in the Net.

  Kaleb no longer had a choice: he had to ask Aden to unleash the Arrows, intensify the hunt. And hope the target wouldn’t panic.

  Chapter 40

  Wolves and bears are the worst for being nosy parkers about packmates. Bears take first prize for their sheer stubborn refusal to go away if they think you need help, but wolves win on the coordinated assault front. If a single wolf doesn’t have any luck getting through to a hurting packmate, he’ll go away . . . to come back with ten other wolves. Being pack is being family. And wolves take family seriously.

  —Essay by Dr. Gio Lantana in the 2081 Wild Woman Special Edition: “Families, Packs & Clans”

  MEMORY HAD HALF-EXPECTED Alexei to retreat after their passionate and painfully honest night in the forest, but he was already in the compound to run the security shift when she opened her curtains the next morning. Buoyant after the time she’d had with him, she didn’t even feel tired despite having caught only a couple of hours of sleep.

  Her entire soul glowed with a deep warmth at seeing him again.

  She dressed in jeans, a plain white tee, and a thick sweater in a bright blood-orange color that reflected her mood. Polka-dotted socks finished off the look—she’d pull on her sparkly sneakers if she left the cabin.

  When she walked out onto her porch, Alexei strode up to her and kissed her as if he had every right. He did. Memory had told him he could have any skin privileges he wanted. The growly wolf had actually ordered her to take whatever she needed from him when it came to touch—she was to never again become touch-starved.

  “That’s the only order of yours I’ll ever follow,” she’d told him with a scowl and gotten kissed for her trouble.

  If that kiss had been hard and fast, this one was deep and voracious. Her wolf’s possessiveness might as well have been a fluorescent flag. Mine, it said. Try to court her and die.

  Another woman might’ve bristled. To Memory, the primal claim was welcome. Alexei might never mate with her—it still hurt to think that—but she’d heard enough from the other changelings to know that it wasn’t usual for him to treat a woman with such open possessiveness.

  Riaz, the golden-eyed lieutenant who’d rejected her blueberry cake, had smiled one day and said, “Never seen Lexie court a woman before. Man’s apparently been hoarding his determination for you.”

  A redheaded leopard sentinel named Mercy had added another tidbit a couple of days later. “Entire wolf pack’s finding it highly amusing to hassle Lexie over his attempts to feed you.” She’d reached back to tighten her ponytail, her body sleek and tough and pure feline grace in jeans and a fitted forest-green sweater. “You know what they say about wolves and food.”

  Memory had thrown up her hands. “Actually I don’t know! No one ever explains what they mean by that!”

  A laughing Mercy’d had to leave to continue her patrol route, but that evening, Memory had received a message with a forwarded copy of the October 2078 issue of Wild Woman magazine. Mercy had written: My demon brothers made me a “Wolf Survival Encyclopedia” when I mated my wolf. They printed out the Aunt Rita column from this issue. Check it out.

  The column had been eye-opening. Beware of wolves bearing food, indeed.

  Smiling, she bit at Alexei’s lower lip. He made a rumbling sound in his chest while stroking her spine all the way down to the lower curves of her body.

  Her smile deepened. “You’re in a good mood, Mr. Wolfy.”

  “Don’t tell anyone.” A mock scowl before he stepped away, a strong and intelligent male dressed in black cargo pants, an olive green T-shirt, and scuffed black boots. His belt was obviously well loved, the buckle marked by scratches. And his hair, it was gilt under the sunlight.

  Afterward, she watched him move about the compound and thought of the scars no one could see inside her golden wolf, the hurt he hid under the grumbles and the scowls. She had to force herself to pay attention when Sascha arrived to continue their work, but she did—nothing in her life could move forward until Renault was neutralized.

  At the end, she clenched her abdomen and asked about Jaya’s Arrow.

  “Judd was able to help there,” Sascha said. “Medics think Abbot will make a full recovery. Jaya’s putting up a good front, but she’s badly shaken—Ivy’s with her. They’re close.”

  Memory blew out a shaky breath, the nagging question of how a Tk could help heal someone shoved aside by her relief. “I’m so glad for Jaya—she loves Abbot so much.” Then, fingers digging into her thighs, she said, “Yuri?”

  Face soft, Sascha shook her head. “No news. Aden hasn’t made the call yet.”

  What must it cost an alpha to decide on life or death for one of his own? Aden, Memory knew, would wear Yuri’s name on his soul forever. As Hawke must wear Brodie’s.

  “He never really spoke to me,” Sascha murmured, and when Memory looked up, said, “Yuri. He liked you, felt comfortable with you.”

  “It’s because of the darkness in me.” At that instant, Memory was grateful to that darkness; without it, she might’ve never come to know the intensely private Arrow. “I wish we’d had longer—I think he’s the kind of friend who would’ve been there all my life, become an uncle to any children I might one day have.”

  Memory swallowed hard. “Another Arrow invited him to join her for dinner that day . . . the day he got hurt. She made it a point to mention that she wasn’t inviting him as a squadmate, but as a man who intrigued her—I think he was surprised, but in a good way.” Always difficult to read, Yuri had nonetheless felt quietly happy to her empathic senses. “He asked me about the ‘protocol’ of whether he was expected to take a gift.”

  Sorrow drenched Sascha’s expression. Closing her hand over Memory’s she said, “What did you tell him?”

  “I was going to say to take flowers—I read about romantic gifts in Wild Woman.” Her chest ached. “But then I wondered if an experienced Arrow would like that, and said he should take a small thing that related to her, so she’d know he paid attention to her.”

  Memory’s mouth curved, her lower lip trembling. “He said he’d noticed her uniform jacket was getting worn, but that she liked the fit too much to order a replacement. He was going to take a repair kit and offer to seal up any thin patches so she could continue to stay safe while wearing it.”

  Sascha’s eyes shone wet. “Sounds perfect.”

  “I thought so, too.” Despite everything, Memory kept hoping for a miracle, for Yuri to get a chance to go on that dinner date and fix his date’s jacket. It wasn’t fair that he’d spent his entire life in darkness only to die when he’d just experienced sunlight. “I’m going to hope for him until his heart stops beating.”

  She expected Sascha to advise that it was foolish to do that, that false hope would on
ly make it hurt more in the end, but the cardinal blinked rapidly before saying, “Me, too,” in a husky voice. “I was like Yuri once, closed inside myself, given no choices.”

  Sascha’s breath caught, her free hand fisting on the table. “He deserves better than this, deserves a chance to—” She broke off, staring down at the table.

  Unable to see her friend in such pain, Memory jerked from her seat to go around and hug Sascha from behind, wrapping her arms around the empath’s neck. She was so used to thinking of Sascha as she was now—mated to an alpha leopard, mother to a panther cub, confident in her skin—that she forgot Sascha had been the first E to break the cruel chains of Silence.

  Her cardinal light had been buried for more than two decades.

  “We’ll be foolishly hopeful together,” Memory whispered, pressing her cheek to Sascha’s temple. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

  A wet laugh as Sascha placed her hand on Memory’s forearm. “Deal.”

  * * *

  • • •

  LATER, while Memory got out the ingredients for hot chocolates, Sascha called her mate at the pack’s city HQ. “My cub’s there, too,” she said to Memory as she input Lucas Hunter’s call code. “Daycare’s attached to the HQ, with full access from one section to the other.”

  The call connected. “Kitten,” said a deep male voice.

  Sascha had asked to use the wall comm, but when Memory went to step out so the two could talk alone, Sascha waved her over instead and introduced her to Lucas. Green-eyed and black-haired, with muted gold skin, he had the same deadly intensity to him as Alexei’s alpha. The four jagged lines that marked the right side of his face, akin to the claw marks of a large cat, just added to the sense of contained power.

  “Hello, Memory,” he drawled with a slow smile. “I hear you enjoy hurling insults at wolves.”

  “It was one time,” Memory protested, remembering too late that she’d also once called Alexei a plain old chicken. “Anyway, he deserved it!”

  Lucas’s grin deepened. “Wolves always deserve it. I’m going to use ‘big, wolfy chicken’ the next time Hawke annoys me.”

  Memory found her mouth tugging up at the corners; she had zero doubts that Lucas Hunter was a deadly predator, but he was also charming in a very feline way. She could see why Sascha had fallen for him—but she felt no attraction herself. She liked her man to be a growly grouch who courted her with delicious food and used his teeth on her lips.

  “I’m going to finish making the hot chocolate so you two can talk,” she said. “Oh, and you can insult any wolf but Alexei. He’s mine.”

  A sigh. “And another sane woman falls for a flea-bitten dog on steroids.”

  “Pay no attention to him.” Hands on her hips, Sascha scowled at her mate. “He and Hawke are friends.”

  “Sascha darling, we need to talk about that terrible lie you keep spreading.”

  Memory’s shoulders shook as she boiled milk for the hot chocolates. It looked like Lucas could growl, too, when he wanted to, but Sascha was more than capable of tangling with her alpha mate. Though the two weren’t talking about anything intimate, Memory felt a slight intruder . . . but she stayed. It was nice to be around such open affection.

  She wondered if this was what it was like in a wolf den. Love worn openly, lives shared with packmates, care expected and given. Her stomach got all warm at the thought. Being so entwined in the daily lives of people who were her own, it was her vision of heaven.

  “Naya snuck out of daycare again,” Lucas said a few minutes into the conversation, his tone amused. “She likes to hide under Mercy’s desk. Mercy always kicks off her shoes when in the office—prime biting material.”

  “Oh, Lucas, you shouldn’t encourage her.” Sascha’s voice held affectionate laughter.

  “It’s Mercy you need to talk to—every time Naya launches a successful stealth attack on her toes, Mercy pets her and calls her a strong hunter.” Pride prowled below the humor. “At which point, Naya runs in here to tell me of her successful mission.”

  “I want to snuggle her face so much right now,” Sascha murmured.

  “Tell me what’s wrong, kitten.” A voice that sounded like a purr.

  Memory did step out then, to give the couple privacy. She was hoping to see Alexei, but couldn’t spot him. Returning inside after Sascha ended her call not long afterward, she took the hot chocolates to the table and the two of them settled into their chairs.

  “I’d like for Judd to take a look at your mind,” Sascha began. “I want him to see if he can spot any back doors I might’ve missed. He’s an expert in a way I’ll never be. But, Memory, the decision is yours.”

  Memory’s stomach churned at the idea of a stranger inside her mind, but any surviving back door was a major threat. Renault had been too panicked to exploit any holes in her defenses on their most recent encounter—he might be calmer and luckier next time. “Yes,” she said to Sascha. “I want to make sure my mind is airtight.”

  “I’ll call, see if Judd is nearby.”

  Only five minutes later, Alexei walked through the door ahead of a dark-eyed and dark-haired man who moved with a fluid grace that shouted “telekinetic.” Memory’s stomach muscles clenched.

  “Forgot to give you these earlier.” Alexei tugged on one of her curls as he dropped a bunch of granola bars in front of her. “I got a smack on the hand from the cook for snagging more than my fair share.” A scowl. “You better eat them or I won’t steal you more.”

  Making a face at him, Memory said, “I see the good mood was a fleeting thing.”

  He tugged on another curl, but shifted his gaze to the man with him. “This is Judd.”

  “I won’t invade your thoughts,” the Tk said in a cool voice. “My only aim is to check for any holes created deep in your mind by your captor.”

  Alexei clasped her nape in a caressing grip. “Judd’s one of my best friends and I’d trust him with my life—he won’t hurt you.”

  The rough honesty of his words helped her defeat the fear crushing her heart. “What do you need me to do?” she asked Judd.

  “Lower your shields.” His eyes were a deep brown with flecks of gold, far warmer than his voice. “I won’t enter unless you do.”

  It took teeth-gritted focus on her part to force down her shields, even more focus not to shove them back up the instant a powerful mind entered hers. But he kept his word, going nowhere near her thoughts or secrets, his focus on the structure of her mind.

  “I’m done,” he said in a matter of minutes, and she slammed up her shields.

  “Is it bad?” Sascha frowned.

  A shake of Judd’s head. “You two got most of them.” He switched his attention to Memory. “Your captor wasn’t subtle or skilled—the hidden doors are basic hacks I learned as a seven-year-old Arrow trainee.”

  Memory wondered if she was imagining the insulting edge to his tone—he was so icy and distant . . . but he was also Alexei’s friend. Alexei, who had no ice in him.

  “Don’t hold back,” she said with a wry smile.

  No change in his expression, but his emotions held definite amusement. “Only reason Sascha couldn’t see these final doors was because she’s an E. Your designation isn’t endowed with the gene for deviousness.”

  Memory and Sascha both glared at Alexei’s cool-eyed friend.

  Clearly not the least bit terrified by their wrath, Judd carried on. “I’ve tagged the locations for you. Demolition instructions sent to Sascha.”

  “Be any smugger and you’ll turn into a cat.”

  Eyes gleaming at Alexei’s bad-tempered comment, Judd looked at Memory again. “You realize you have a minor telekinetic ability?”

  “Yes, it’s worthless.” Much to her disgust. “It was tagged as 1 on the Gradient when I was tested as a child.” At the time, with Designation E unknown to the ge
neral populace, she’d been officially classed a 3.4 telepath. Multiple abilities weren’t uncommon, but generally only on the lower end of the scale—or that’s what she’d been taught.

  According to Sascha, however, Judd was beyond a 9 in both Tk and Tp.

  The ex-Arrow pushed up the sleeves of his sweater. “Your Tk’s matured closer to 1.5—and nothing is useless if you know how to utilize it.” He went to the counter to pick up a spoon she’d left to dry.

  Placing it on the table in front of her, he said, “Nudge it.”

  Memory did it only so she could prove to him that this was a pointless exercise. The spoon moved a fraction of an inch.

  “Do it again,” Judd said.

  She did.

  When he asked her to do it a third time, however, she sat back and folded her arms. “Why?” It wasn’t even a parlor trick when Tks like Judd could throw missiles around in the sky.

  “Imagine if you had the delicate skill to manipulate the tumblers of an old-fashioned lock, or to push in the code on a computronic one. Not many prisons could keep you inside.” A raised eyebrow. “Never leave an advantage on the table.”

  Memory sucked in a breath. “Thank you,” she said. “I’ll practice.”

  A small nod before Judd glanced at Alexei. “Ready to do our patrol, or do you want to rub your scent on your E?” Words so cool it took Memory a second to realize he was poking the wolf, his eyes alive with humor.

  “One of these days . . .” Alexei growled before leaning down to kiss Memory. “Do not admire the asshole. It just gives him a big head.”

  As the two men left, Memory tried not to think about the wounds inside her golden wolf, scars that meant their relationship could never be like Sascha and Lucas’s, or Jaya and Abbot’s.

  So we’ll make it our own, she vowed. I’m not about to give up on you, on us, Alexei Vasiliev Harte. She was too far gone, his name written on her heart.

  Chapter 41

  It is the recommendation of this PsyMed advisory board that the survivors of Operation Scarab be placed in psychic restraints and kept away from the general populace. It has proved impossible to go backward—the survivors cannot be returned to their stable pre-Scarab state.