Why should she see danger here when before last night she’d thought of Harken only as doing good, helping people like her who wanted to remain hidden? She needed reminding, needed to put last night behind her and move on. “Wouldn’t STORM have let you go after they’d questioned you?”
He shook his head. “They’d have read me, stripped my mind, and only then released me. You know how STORM works. The people there want to bring everyone into line, make all Talents reveal themselves. A fucking dictatorship. Why should they get away with it? Why shouldn’t everyone have a choice?”
His expression turned grim, his mouth a straight, thin slash. “I wanted to get inside, to see what the layout was. It could be useful, so when they came for me, I let them take me. But as soon as I got into that room I knew what it was. An iso room. So one of theirs could strip my mind and read everything I am. Nobody should do that to another human being. Not without their permission. I couldn’t risk them doing that. You know that, Faye. I have too much to give, I hold too many secrets. Yours, for one.”
A not so subtle reminder of what she’d realized for herself a moment before. “You should at least leave for a while.”
He grimaced. “Yes, I know and I will, after today. I promise. I’ve applied for leave of absence to the dean, and I think he’ll be glad to see the back of me for a few moments. Just until they stop looking. Only you and a few others will know how to get hold of me. And don’t, not unless you need to. That dinner I mentioned—I thought I’d cook it for you, at my new place. Would you like that?”
“Sure.” He was offering her a sop, and probably the consolation of a fuck afterward. Why hadn’t she noticed his arrogance before?
She glanced at her watch. “I’m due in the main hall. They’re registering the postgrads today and I need to check on a couple of people.” She wanted to get away and it was all she could think of.
“I thought you taught undergraduates?”
“I do, but I’m thinking of using a couple of the postgrads as research assistants.”
He shrugged. “Take care. And if anyone asks you any questions, let me know. If STORM contacts you, wants to interview you, don’t go in, let them come to you. If they take you in, don’t panic. You have nothing to hide. Get in touch with me as soon as you can. Clear?”
Whatever his personality, Harken was doing good work, she told herself firmly. He helped people who didn’t want to come out, helped them to remain hidden. That was their right, surely. So she pushed her misgivings aside as a symptom of stress after yesterday.
Grabbing her cell and a notebook, she came back around the desk. “I’ll be careful, I promise.”
Before she left her office, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. A fierce, possessive kiss, the kind she’d have loved before yesterday. The kind she loved now, she told herself, but deep down she knew something had changed. It wasn’t true anymore. And she hated that it wasn’t but she couldn’t do anything about it.
She left her office with him, but they said goodbye at the end of the hallway. He’d disappear after today, to one of his bolt-holes in the burbs. She had an email address and a cell number. Apart from that, she didn’t know where he went. But they’d connected at a deeper level so he could find her, as long as he didn’t go too far. Telepathy didn’t work long-distance.
She had to support him and the work he was doing, helping Talents who didn’t want to come out. Congress was even discussing classifying shape-shifters as animals. Then scientists could experiment on Talents without compunction. Legally. Force them to subject themselves to painful, invasive procedures until mortals had extracted the essence that made Talents what they were. Not for them the long, painstaking research that might lead to a new, balanced outlook. Now they wanted blood, tissue, anything. And they preferred the live version.
She couldn’t let that happen. Or the other alternative—that Talents separate themselves from other beings, that they live in communities of their own. Unbearable. Mortals had gifts too. They had to work together for the general good, even if that meant waiting longer. But mortals were essentially greedy and they wanted it now.
Faye doubted that would ever happen.
Turning a corner, she entered the hall. A large space, cavernous by day when only a few people were walking through, today it was packed. People milled around the tables set around the walls, talking to the people there to sign up and discuss the various courses open for registration today. The hubbub echoed around the usually quiet place, circling above their heads.
Just by looking, she couldn’t distinguish Talent from mortal. Which was as it should be. If she opened the outer layer of her mind, she could tell. Talents had sigils, signs that identified their Talent and in some cases, their family or tribe. Their minds were ordered, revealing only what they wanted to reveal. Mortals were more confused, more varied, occasionally letting slip their deepest secrets, but for the most part nature had taken care of things and their inner lives remained just that—inner.
She skimmed the crowd with her psi sense, her reactions almost automatic. A griffin in the form of an adolescent, her long limbs wrapped uncomfortably around her body. A vampire, her Talent latent except for her weak telepathy, her sigil demonstrating an undeveloped Talent. A truly young one, probably no older than she looked. And someone with his back to her, a young man leaning on a pair of crutches. The harsh lights sent glints of silver through his fair hair as he adjusted his stance so he could sign the admission form. That hair, so pale. She’d seen it before.
Her mind stretched out, ready to withdraw. She sensed something familiar. A trace of a pattern she knew.
She spun around ready to return the way she came but it was too late. His mind touched hers. He’d found her.
Chapter Three
A mind much stronger than she’d realized he owned locked on to hers. Because of that fatal moment the night before when she’d let him in, he used that, unerringly snaking his way through the tiny opening to gain access to a deeper level. She gasped, halted in her escape. Tried to organize her mind, stop him getting to her. Given an hour in a quiet place, she could seal the damage, but she hadn’t thought she’d needed to before now. Hadn’t imagined he’d find her.
But he had her now, and as she struggled to close the revealing opening, he widened it, made it easier for him to track her. He picked her out like a magnet tracking a needle in a haystack. She couldn’t hide.
All the way back to her office, she fought him, but she knew she wouldn’t win. So she made for her lair, where at least nobody would witness her downfall.
She heard his arrival, that uneven hop and clunk of crutches approaching down the uncarpeted hallway. She’d left the door slightly ajar. He didn’t knock.
He stared at her, ignoring the ankle bracelet that she’d retrieved from the drawer and put on the desk in front of her. “Cara?” He sounded cynical, jaded, no trace of the enthusiastic lover of last night remaining. His shoulders slumped so that his tall figure bent in a slouch, necessitated by the forearm crutches he used, and he seemed somehow smaller. But the eyes were the same, the bright blue burning into her irises.
She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I planned to get the anklet back to you, mail it or leave it at a drop and send you an email. I didn’t mean to get you into trouble.” She met his gaze, trying to contact him, but he’d locked down his psi completely. A pang of pain shot through her. She couldn’t blame him for blocking her, but it hurt all the same.
She indicated his crutches with an embarrassed, brief gesture. “Did they do that to you at STORM?”
He’d obviously had the customized items for a while, and they’d been used well. Scratches and scuffs marred the matte black, and a few of the motifs had come loose.
He glanced at the items with irritation. “No.” Before her astonished eyes, he straightened and pulled off the forearm cuffs, holding the crutches in one hand. He’d used them to deceive.
Anger sparked deep within her. “It’s despicab
le to use disability as a means of getting to people.” She almost spat the words at him.
His lids drooped over his eyes, giving them a sultry, shouldering appearance. “Not when you’re really disabled, it’s not. The disabled need every advantage they can get. I forget about the crutches, sometimes. God knows I spent enough years trying to do that.” He walked forward and propped the crutches against her desk. He must be able to balance them well, to do that with such a sure hand. That indicated he was familiar with using them. Perhaps he’d broken his leg sometime, something like that.
He didn’t look at the crutches but at her. “The university knows me as a cripple.” She winced when he used the word and she knew he’d done it deliberately. To shock or provoke, to make her react. “It seemed like a good idea to keep the image consistent. I didn’t know what I’d find here. The university doesn’t know I’m Talented. Do they know about you?”
She shook her head. “I don’t see what that has to do with the job I do here.” She frowned. “How come they know you as a—disabled person?” She couldn’t use the epithet he just had to describe himself. It was too cruel.
His lip curled. “I hate those disguised words. It sounds better, puts me in a category. I am—was—a cripple. Not blind, not deaf, just unable to walk properly. Or use my limbs.” He clamped his lips together as if denying his words egress through them. Then he spoke again. “STORM doesn’t cripple its employees, ever. And no, I’m not an operative, but you know that from the blue anklet, don’t you? I’m what I told you I was—a geek. I do research. I told you that too. But you didn’t tell me what you did, did you? You didn’t even tell me your real name.” The sneer returned. “I always knew my character assessment wasn’t very good. You proved that spectacularly. You didn’t need to fuck me to get the ankle bracelet, though. You could have just drugged me. Are you a nympho, or is it the act of deception that makes you cream your pants?”
The deliberate crudities made her flinch.
“What’s wrong? Can’t face the truth? That’s what you did, after all.” Keeping her gaze snared in his, he moved around the table to stand before her. She had to fight hard not to give way and take a step back. In a low, intimate voice even more menacing than his usual tone, he added, “Come on, Cara—or can I use your real name now? Tell me the truth, Faye. Either way, I’m taking you in. You get to share in the trouble I’m in.”
She shook her head. “I don’t want any of that.”
“Pity. Because you’re coming in anyway.” Tension thrummed in the air, a palpable force.
Harken had warned her to expect them to come for her, and she had no way of avoiding them taking her in. The only thing she could do was to block her mind from intrusions and keep blocking. At least she’d learned how to do that well. But if a Sorcerer examined her, she’d have no chance. But she’d try. Keep fighting. “Do you believe that all Talents should be outed?”
He frowned in what looked like disbelief. “Why? What does that have to do with anything?”
“Well, do you?”
“Of course not. It should be their choice. Now answer my question.”
“STORM wants to do that.”
How dare he laugh? But he did, full-throated and genuine-sounding. “Who the fuck told you that?”
Her lips firmed. How sad that he was so under STORM’s thumb. “I’ve seen memos, directives. You’re probably not high up enough to see them.”
He raised a brow. “How would you know what level I’m at?”
She indicated the ankle bracelet, lying until now disregarded on the table. “That does.”
He snagged the bracelet and shoved it into his pocket. “Yeah. But I do research, sweetness. Security levels can be quite high for research staff. You’re misinformed again.” Although he didn’t move, his mind twitched and tugged at the hook he’d embedded deep in hers. But she blocked him around it. She still wouldn’t give him access to her inner thoughts. It took more effort than she thought, although he wasn’t pressing her for more.
“Listen, Faye. You’re misinformed, to say the least. We’re close supporters of Senator Gianetti, and he wants the same freedoms for Talents as the rest of humanity enjoy. All we want is to contain Talents who break the law and to prevent illegal organizations from attacking and using Talents.”
She stared at him and suddenly, shockingly, he opened his mind wider. She tumbled in, too astonished to back off, to wonder if he was trying to track her. He’d let her in deep enough to give her access to his truth center. She could tell if he was lying. “See anything wrong?” he asked.
She couldn’t deny that he believed what he told her. And she felt sorry for him, sorry he’d let them draw him in. “They lied to you. They want the registration.” Even to her own ears, she sounded unsure. And his physical presence overwhelmed her. She breathed in his scent, wanted to tilt back her head and draw in a great, cleansing breath.
He leaned closer. “Still don’t believe me? How about the truth in this?”
She sensed his desire and she couldn’t do anything other than meet his lips when he curled one arm around her waist and pulled her closer. It felt scarily like coming home. Her mouth melded with his and need filled her.
The kiss turned fierce, fueled by their tension and his presence in her mind. She pushed, he retained his hold and she couldn’t feel any effort in him. He brought one hand to the back of her head, threading his fingers through her hair, dislodging the clip. It fell with a click somewhere on the floor. Unheeding, she moved closer, pressed her body against his, felt his arousal pressing against the zipper of his jeans.
This was truth. Need surged up, roared over her mind, her senses and her reason. She wanted him so badly.
Nothing mattered other than him and this and now. Her mind dissolved when he plunged his tongue deeper, explored with a ferocity she met all too eagerly. He tasted good, his mouth firm, his tongue touching hers in a combination of anger and desire.
Fuck, he turned her on like no one else.
He dragged his mouth away from her and turned them, pushing her against her desk, urging her down. His hand went to the waistband of his jeans. “You and me, now. Agreed?”
She nodded, beyond words, eating him up with her eyes. She needed this. But sense crept back into her mind, enough for her to say, “Drop the blinds.”
Without looking, he reached behind him for the cord and released the blind to fall over the open window. He undid his pants, fumbling with the button. “Door?”
She shook her head. “I can sense someone coming.” If he left her now, even to lock the door, she’d lose her nerve. She’d start to think.
He jerked a nod. “Good enough.” He glanced down at her, taking in her supine body in one comprehensive sweep. “Get those off.”
She shouldn’t feel such a thrill at his peremptory orders, she really shouldn’t. But his commands turned her on, made her juices flow. Hastily she undid her jeans and dragged them down, taking her panties with them. He finished the job for her, shoving them to below her knees so he could part her legs and enter her.
She needed him in her. Desperation fed her mind. And she didn’t know why.
Not that she was thinking straight right now.
He groaned as his cock breached her pussy, echoing her moan of encouragement and cry of “Yes!” and he didn’t stop until he’d embedded himself fully. Her body opened gratefully to accept him. Wet and open as she was, he still had to shove twice to get deep inside. She gripped him as if afraid he’d pull out and leave. This couldn’t be happening, this madness that held them both in a spell she couldn’t resist.
But it was. It was. As he rode her, she arched up so her ass cleared the surface of the desk. Their bodies met with a wet slap—the only sound in the quiet room apart from their gasps and moans. Neither spoke, except with their bodies. She was hungry, like a woman starved of sex, although she’d never missed it before after long fallow periods. As a civilized person, it had been part of her life, something that
added a sweetener. Nothing else. Now she felt that she couldn’t live without it. She came with a keening cry, clutching his T-shirt, crumpling the soft cotton in her hands.
They paused. Andros stared into her eyes, the link as intimate as anything she could ever remember. As intimate as their joined bodies. She’d never known what “seeing the soul in his eyes” meant before. She breathed his name. “Andros.”
He bared his teeth, snapped like the dragon would. “Faye.”
He thrust again and they returned to the whirlwind. He planted his hands on either side of her, the sweat on his palms making the shiny veneer squeak in protest. He grinned at her and drove harder, faster. And it still wasn’t enough. He filled her so completely that for once in her life she felt fulfilled, not alone. She pulled him down for a kiss, needing him filling her above and below.
Andros growled into her mouth and her senses prickled, a wave spreading through her, pulsing through her body. This time she had the time to feel her orgasm grow, to savor the sensation. It swept through her and her lover sensed it, either saw it in her eyes or picked it up in the small amount of her mind that she allowed him to share. Because even now she wouldn’t open more for him.
She cried out, hearing his cries in response, feeling him gush wetly inside her. Not caring who heard, who would come to discover them. At least for a minute. For half a minute.
Then she quieted and listened. Andros’ breath came harsh in the sudden silence. “Do you think anyone heard?” he asked.
She shook her head, her hair clinging to the desk with static where it touched. “Not today. They’re all in the hall or they’re out. Another day they’d have come running.”
She didn’t want him to leave. He gazed down at where their bodies meshed, where his blond hair met her brown, and grinned. “Not what I had in mind when I came in here.”
“Me neither,” she managed, her voice shakier than she liked.
Some agent she’d make. She should have used the chance with him to gain a hold in his mind, to find something in him, as he had found in her, that meant she could locate him. Or tried to find out more about why he felt as he did, that STORM didn’t want the registration of Talents. Something. Instead she’d come apart under him, let him guide her to pleasure, and then succumbed to mindless sensation.
ShiftingHeat Page 5