He never argued with Indigo, not about anything personal. So the fact that Mercy was a powerful, dominant female had nothing to do with why he couldn’t be around her for more than two minutes without losing the cool that was as much a part of him as his status as Hawke’s most senior lieutenant.
Something scratched across his senses. Crouching down, he tried to follow the scent hidden in the miasma of fading perfume. It was there, a shiny thread but worn through, thin, so very, very thin. There, he caught it.
Metal.
His first thought was of the Psy. A lot of the ones in the PsyNet had a metallic edge to their natural scent that repelled changelings. This was similar but . . . too metallic. There was no life to it. And the Psy, for all their coldness, were still sentient, living beings. Following it across the room, he saw something lying on the floor below an end table. “Mercy,” he said softly, knowing she’d hear him.
“You got something.” She was beside him moments later.
“There.”
She crawled lower, her body brushing along his side. The wolf growled. And it wasn’t in rejection. Then she whistled. “I’ve seen one of those before. It’s the same as that chip thing the Alliance soldiers had in the backs of their necks when they tried to kidnap Ashaya.”
“I figured as much—I haven’t seen one but Bren described it to me.” His sister was a highly qualified tech, part of the team working with Ashaya Aleine to figure out the chips. This one, he saw, was still attached to a bloody hunk of flesh. “Ripped out. Nash?”
“I’m guessing.” She paused. “I know when my brothers used to sneak out when we were young, I always knew before my parents. Oldest sibling intuition. Maybe Nash was outside tracking Willow when they gassed the place?”
He had seen Mercy’s brothers around but now wondered what they were like. Redheaded hellions probably. “Makes sense. He steps out, escapes the gassing, comes back in because he hears something, and that’s when they attempt to grab him, not realizing there’s another kid out in the woods.”
Nodding, Mercy touched the floor and came away with a thin layer of dust. “He shifted. This is from his clothes disintegrating.”
Riley sniffed at the finger she held up. “I can scent denim.”
“You can?” She raised it to her own nose. “I can’t.”
He couldn’t help it—she brought out the wolf’s most wicked edge. “That’s because I’m older and stronger.”
She shot him an evil look. “As I was saying, Nash shifted. Most likely after he ripped that chip off.”
“Could’ve done it in animal form, too. Lynx are small and agile, especially when they’re pissed.” He barely resisted the urge to stroke his hand down the sweep of her back and over her bottom. Mercy was beautifully built, all smooth curves and muscled grace. What would it be like, he wondered, to have the right to caress her as he pleased? The wolf was oddly intrigued by the idea.
“Hmm.” She sat back up on her haunches. “But they still got him. Had to be more than one—the Alliance’s modus ope randi seems to be to overprepare rather than under.”
“We’ve got enough flesh to get DNA if the attacker’s in any database.” There was no question of going to Enforcement. This was changeling territory, changeling victims, therefore changeling law applied.
Not only that, but Enforcement had so many Psy stooges, nothing ever stayed secret. Until they knew what was happening, they couldn’t afford to tip off the Council. Having lost two highly trained scientific minds when Ashaya and her twin, Amara, defected, chances were the Councilors would try to commandeer the Alliance chip and Nash both.
As for the assailants . . . too fucking bad. “Don’t move the chip. There might be trace around it.”
“Really?” Doing an atrocious vocal impersonation of a Southern belle, Mercy fluttered her eyelashes. “Why, I’m so glad you’re here to tell me, Mr. Kincaid—I might not have figured that out all by my lonesome.”
He felt his lips twitch. “I think you have something in your eye.”
He was certain he saw a flash of amusement but then she shook her head and her voice shifted to work mode, any hint of play buried deep. “The techs should do the whole house in case they left any other calling cards. Might as well call Ashaya, too, have her come out with her team.”
As Mercy spoke to the M-Psy who’d mated with Dorian, Riley shifted closer—smiling inwardly at her slight responsive jerk—and bent to look at the chip. It wasn’t tiny. Maybe one square centimeter. But even without a microscope, he could see that it was a complex piece of work. Some kind of neuroinhibitor, was the current theory.
But what exactly did it inhibit?
“She’s on her way,” Mercy said, folding up the phone and—surprisingly—not pulling away. Instead she pressed closer, their heads side by side. “It’s a hell of a piece of work.”
Her hair brushed his arm, and he remembered how the strands had felt sliding over his skin as she kissed her way down his body that last time. “Yeah.” His voice was half growl, the wolf’s frustration rising to the surface. “Let’s leave this for Ashaya and do a sweep around the house—they might’ve left a trail at their entry point.”
“Nate had the men take turns doing that already—nothing.”
“None of them is a lieutenant or a sentinel.”
A slanted glance. “Is that a compliment?”
“No, it’s a fact.” He watched her rise to her feet in a fluid move that was intrinsically feline. “I’m going to give Judd a call—he’s got contacts in the Net, can get a feel for whether this was a Psy thing.”
Mercy nodded. “I’ll utilize our own contacts, too. But my gut says the Psy aren’t involved, at least not directly.” Her eyes met his, the leopard apparent in the sheen of gold that overlaid her gaze for a fleeting instant. “Time to move, wolf.”
Adrenaline speared through his veins as he realized she was beginning to lose the battle to rein in her own hunger. “Lead the way, cat.”
CHAPTER 9
Mercy finished the first pass around the Baker home and shook her head. Nothing. Nada. Zip. The scent trail had had hours to dissipate. Riley silently indicated the next pass and off they went, having decided to do this in animal form. As she left, Mercy wondered what anyone would think if they saw a leopard standing face-to-face with a heavily muscled wolf.
Changeling animals were usually bigger than wild animals, but the shift did strange things to body mass and size. It was never a zero-sum equation. Though she was on the tall side of average in human form, she was smack in the middle in leopard form. Riley, however, was big—and unlike most of his brethren, he wasn’t built graceful. No, he was built for stubborn endurance—apparently, his nickname was the Wall.
No one, she thought, would ever mistake him for anything but a changeling.
Something crunched under her paw. Backing up, she brushed aside the leaves with gentle care. It was nothing. An old toy. Probably Willow’s, from the proximity to the house. They didn’t find anything in the third or fourth pass. The fifth had to be the final—they were going into more heavily populated areas.
It was on that last pass, as they were heading toward each other, that Mercy saw it. A glint of silver in the grass beside a curb on a dead-end street—one that backed onto the woods that separated the Baker home from this neat subdivision. Slowing her pace, she came to a standstill by it. With other houses so close, it could’ve been any of a thousand things. But she looked closer.
A chain. No, an identity bracelet, the silver bar marked with the name Bowen. She couldn’t pick it up with her teeth. She tried a claw very, very carefully. It came. Riley bent his dark gray head and took it in his teeth, holding it as they walked around the area where they’d found it. Nothing else jumped out.
Nodding at each other, they ran back and shifted in the patch of woods where they’d left their clothes. Mercy took the bracelet the instant she was human, and turned it over. Happy Birthday, Bo. From Lily.
Disappointment s
at like lead in her stomach. “Could belong to anyone.”
“We might as well do a door-to-door—that street’s the closest logical place for a vehicle to have waited.”
“Yeah, the woods would’ve provided coverage.” Gut clenching with a furious mix of worry and anger, she put the bracelet to the side and grabbed her clothing. “Wonder if we can get satellite images.”
Riley pulled on his jeans and she almost moaned. Focus, Mercy.
“I’ll check,” he said, zipping up those damn jeans as she slid on her own. “But we might get lucky with an insomniac.” When he turned, she saw the marks on his back were almost healed.
Fast, even for a changeling. Which meant Riley was more powerful than she’d guessed, more than he let on. There was nothing flashy about him. Just—“What the—” His hands were on her waist and his mouth on hers before she could do more than gasp.
Lightning. Bright. Sizzling. Perfect.
This time she did moan, wrapping her arms around him and luxuriating in his strength, in the sheer speed with which he’d come at her. With both of them only wearing jeans, her breasts were pressed against the exquisite roughness of the hairs on his chest. She rubbed against him, giving in to the leopard’s innate sensuality.
He tore away his lips but they remained less than a millimeter apart. “This is your fault.”
“Hell, no.” She sucked on his neck, biting him a little too hard for emphasis. “You jumped my bones.”
Tugging back her head with a hand fisted in her hair, he glared down at her. “You were all but licking me the way you were looking.”
“Looking’s not the same as touching.” Her mouth watered at the idea of licking him. They’d been in too much of a rush last night. Even the second and third time. As if they’d both been hungry so long, they’d needed to gorge. But—“We don’t have time for this.”
He held her for another couple of seconds, pure male muscle and heated skin. “We need to make time.”
It was an order.
The cat hissed. The woman narrowed her eyes. “What you need to do is let go of me before I give you some scars that won’t heal over as quick.”
One big hand skated down her back to tease the top edge of her jeans. “I bet if I touched you now, I’d find you silky and hot and damp.”
Her stomach grew taut as his fingers slid in past the denim, a little rough, all determined. Pushing. He was pushing her. But she was no tabby cat. She was a leopard. Biting those sensuous wolf lips just hard enough to sting, she shoved away using a move that snaked her out of his hold. “I meant what I said, Riley. Once was enough.” Liar, liar.
He didn’t attempt to grab her again, watching her dress with eyes gone amber as he finished pulling on his own clothes. “That’s not what your body says.”
“Yeah, well, it’s not the best judge of character.” Ignoring the weight of his gaze, she scraped her hair into a tight ponytail, having finally remembered stuffing a thick rubber band into her jeans as she left work a couple of days earlier. “I’ve got no room in my life for a male who’s going to tell me what to do.”
“This is just sex.”
He was trying to make her mad. As if she’d fall for that. “Oh, puhleeze.” Snorting, she went to grab her boots. “Nothing’s just sex with men like you—the instant you take a lover, you become all ‘I man, you woman. You do as I say.’ ” And no matter how much she wanted a mate, Mercy couldn’t submit. Not that way. Not to a man who wanted her to be something different. It would break her. “Then you beat your chests and howl at the moon.”
Riley wasn’t amused. “You don’t think you can handle me?”
Okay, so maybe he was really good at pushing her buttons. “I said I don’t have the time.” Hopping on one foot, she put on her boot.
Fighting the urge to trap her against the tree and bring this conversation down to the basics, Riley fisted his hands. Mercy sucked in a breath at almost the same instant. He froze. “What?”
“Nothing.”
But her teeth were gritted in obvious pain. Looking down at the bare foot she was now holding off the ground, he quickly made the connection. “What did you step on?” His wolf rose to the surface, protective and more than a little possessive.
“Nothing.”
Stubborn cat.
He headed over and knelt down in front of her, lifting her foot higher so he could look at the sole. “This nothing sure looks like a big, fat thorn.” It angered him to see her flesh marred by the spike that had already drawn blood.
Her hand landed on his shoulder as she balanced herself. “I can take care of it.”
Instead of dropping her foot, he held on tighter. “Have you had your shots?” he asked, knowing she’d hate any kind of sympathy. Mercy was as proud as they came. And for some reason, it was important to him that that pride never be crushed. “I don’t want to catch rabies.”
“Ha-ha,” she muttered, but her voice was strained. “Since you won’t let go, can you get it out?”
He checked the ground to make sure there were no other dangers. Mercy’s opinions on the matter notwithstanding, he was a protector. Taking care of the woman he was rapidly coming to consider his own was as natural to him as breathing. “It’ll be easier if you sit.” He didn’t offer to help her down, just watched to make sure she didn’t hurt herself any more.
Once she had her back to the trunk, he put her foot on his lap and grimaced. “It won’t be pretty—I think your skin’s started to heal around it.” That was the problem with changelings—they healed quickly, especially when it came to minor flesh wounds. But if this healed over, the thorn would remain embedded in her heel.
“Do it.” She set her jaw.
Shifting so his back was to her, he pressed the flesh on either side of the thorn with enough force to send it through the surface. He heard Mercy suck in another breath, knew she was hurting. The damn thorn had barbs. His wolf swept over his skin, hackles raised. Every male instinct in him wanted to give comfort, but he knew Mercy would hate that with a capital H. “You know,” he said, fighting to keep his tone even, “I think I see a family resemblance. Maybe that’s why it was drawn to you.”
“You think you’re hilarious, don’t you?” It was a little breathless.
Another hard press got the thorn most of the way out. “Say ahhhh.” One final application of pressure and the ugly thing was out. He made sure to crush it using a claw before dropping it to the ground.
Mercy didn’t say a word as he checked the already healing wound. He was fast about it, but thorough. “I don’t think it left any traces. Get Tammy to have a look anyway.”
“It’ll be fully healed in another hour.”
He shot her a narrow-eyed look, noting her strained expression. “Do you want me to report you to your healer?”
She glared daggers at him, color rapidly returning. “I want you to let go of my foot.”
He kept hold, gently massaging the area around the wound, ensuring good blood flow. It would help her heal even faster. “Will you see Tammy?”
“Yes! Fine! Can we go now?”
“In a second.” He checked the wound again. “It’ll be a bit tender to walk on until it heals. Be careful.”
It looked like she was going to snap something at him but she clamped her mouth shut and put on her remaining sock and boot. Standing, she tested the foot. “It’s fine. The sucker just hurt like hell while it was in there.”
Riley nodded, but kept his eye on her balance. It was good. His wolf retreated. “Let’s head in.” Grabbing the identity bracelet, he slid it into a pocket.
Mercy folded her arms. “Thanks.” It was a grumpy acknowledgment.
“So gracious.”
As she closed her eyes as if to count to ten, he felt the wolf rise again, this time with pure mischief as its aim. “You never answered my question.”
“What?”
“Whether you’re running from us because you don’t think you can handle me.”
“
I did answer it. I said I didn’t have time.”
“Chicken.” Said as they came within hearing distance of the men and women guarding the house.
Mercy’s mouth fell open. Surely she’d heard wrong. Surely solid, staid, stick-in-the-mud Riley Aedan Kincaid had not dared her by calling her a chicken?! “What did you say?”
“You heard.” He greeted the four others who’d joined Monroe and Owen. Two of them were wolves.
Monroe walked over. “I saw nothing under the house that could’ve been used to pipe gas into the home, but I’ll make sure the techs recheck,” he told them. “Thing is, Owen does some sharpshooting—he says if you were good enough, you might be able to get some sort of gas pellet through the little vent in the bathroom.”
“That vent is tiny,” Mercy muttered.
Riley made a sound of disagreement. “I know two men who could do it.”
Dorian and Judd. Nodding, she glanced at Monroe. “Tell the techs to pay extra attention to that area when they arrive.” Raising her voice, she held up a hand. “Owen and Monroe, stay on the house. Rest of you—with us.”
Mercy hit pay dirt barely five minutes into the search. She knocked on the door of a small cottage with frilly curtains and a garden so neat that no weed would dare show its head, and found herself being scrutinized by a tiny woman with such strength of will in her that it fairly pulsed in the air. Bright brown eyes looked Mercy up and down. “So, you tumbled that wolf you were with?”
Mercy was too much a pack animal to take offense at the personal question. She grinned. “How did you know it was me?”
“Do I look senile to you?” Not waiting for a response, she continued. “I was coming out to you, but you took off too fast.”
Every sentinel instinct came on alert. “You saw something?”
For an answer, the woman picked up a piece of paper from a table beside the door and shoved it at Mercy. “Registration number of the van that was parked here for much too long—I knew they were up to mischief.”
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