by Nalini Singh
Both of them looked very carefully toward the door. A man had come in. A Psy, from the way he was dressed and the scent of him. He didn’t have the ugly metallic smell of those who had become utterly lost in Silence, but the echo of it was there. Tainted, Mercy’s leopard growled, the man was tainted.
She was moving before she stopped to think, aware of Riley beside her. The man at the door looked around as if confused, then reached into the paper bag in his hand. Mercy kept moving with silent, leopard grace, peripherally aware that everyone in the restaurant had gone very, very quiet. Changeling or not, all living beings had a primitive core in their brain that told them when danger neared.
The man’s hand began to come out of the bag.
“Now!” She didn’t know which one of them spoke, but by the time the man’s gun cleared his bag, wolf and leopard both were moving at lethal speed. They slammed into him and took him straight through the glass doors and onto the pavement outside.
He cried out as he crashed onto the cement, pedestrians scattering in a rush of dropped bags and short screams. Glass glittered under the sunlight, but Mercy had eyes only for the gun.
“I’ve got him,” Riley said.
Letting go of the Psy male, she grabbed the weapon and unloaded it with cautious but quick hands. “Jesus. It’s a machine gun—he could’ve taken out the entire place.” Her heart grew cold as she thought of those innocent kids, the mother she’d seen with a baby carriage, the elderly couple by the door.
“Call Enforcement,” Riley said, ignoring the glass sticking to his skin. “And an ambulance. He’s hurt.”
The would-be shooter was moaning as he lay there, but his eyes were unexpectedly clear. “I don’t remember,” he whispered. “I don’t remember.”
“I called them already,” a shaky voice said.
Mercy looked up to meet the gaze of the nonpredatory girl who’d smiled at her—a bird of some kind, her hair as soft and feathery as her wings would be in changeling form. “Good girl. Can I have your sweatshirt?”
Nodding, the girl pulled off the thin sweatshirt to reveal a pink baby-tee. “Here.”
Mercy used the material to cushion the Psy male’s head. The glass had been safety glass, so it hadn’t cut, but they’d hit the pavement hard. The man was bleeding. “I think he’s concussed.”
“Good.” A SnowDancer lieutenant’s flat statement. “That means he’s not alert enough to be a problem.” He got up, likely to scan the area for any further threats. Mercy wanted to contact Faith, have her get word about this to her father, Councilor Anthony Kyriakus, but she couldn’t chance making the call in such a public location. Anthony’s rebel sympathies were a well-guarded secret.
Then her eye caught that of a woman dressed in goth black, her lips painted midnight blue, her hands half-gloved. But it was the tiny tat on the top of her left index finger that interested Mercy. A little rat. Relieved, she nodded at the woman. An instant later, the human Rat—a member of the spy network that had allied to DarkRiver—took off. She knew word of the near massacre would reach DarkRiver within seconds.
Riley crouched back down. “Rat?” he asked so low that no one else could’ve heard.
She nodded. “Another Psy crazy?” As things grew increasingly unstable in the Net, more and more cracks had begun to appear in the Psy populace itself.
“Seems that way.” Frown lines marked his forehead. “We wouldn’t have to guess if we could question him after he’s coherent, but we won’t get a shot—Enforcement will take him in, and ten minutes later, the Psy Council will quietly secure him for rehabilitation.”
She gritted her teeth. “This is where I wish I had Psy powers.” Because after the horrific psychic brainwashing of re hab, this man would be lucky to be able to tie his shoelaces.
Enforcement sirens sounded right on cue. Since the would-be shooter was Psy, neither DarkRiver nor SnowDancer had any jurisdiction. The cops assumed control of the Psy male and—after taking one look at the big-ass gun—gave Mercy and Riley no shit for what they’d done.
The Enforcement guys, Mercy thought, weren’t actually all bad. But the fact was, the Psy Council had so many spies in the organization, it leaked like a sieve. “You know how to get in touch with us if you need anything else,” she said to the grizzled old cop who’d recorded her statement.
“Shouldn’t need to,” he said, tone easy. “Just patched into the security cameras—pretty obvious he was about to go whackjob on you.”
“Technical.”
The officer grinned. “I call ’em like I see ’em. There’s been a few whackjobs operating last few days. They had a bomb go off in a restaurant in San Diego, and another guy drove this monster truck through a diner wall out in L.A. All Psy.”
“Casualties?”
A nod. “But not bad. The bomb only took out the Psy. Injured a waitress, though, but she’s gonna be okay. The weird thing was with the truck. It jammed—almost as if the crazy had second thoughts and braked real hard—it gave folks enough time to leap out of the way. He put a bullet in his brain before anyone could get to him. But if things keep going like this, more people are gonna start dying.”
Mercy nodded. The senior members of both DarkRiver and SnowDancer knew that things were shaky in the PsyNet, but she’d had no idea it had gotten this bad. “So we’re good to go?”
“Yep.” He nodded at the kids huddled behind them. “We took their statements already. You driving them home?”
It was a reasonable assumption—predatory changelings ruled, but with it came responsibility. “Yeah.” Watching as the crime scene techs began to vacuum up the glass, she realized they weren’t going to be able to fit all the kids in the car.
Turning to them, she asked for names and locations. Three lived within walking distance, the other two a ten-minute drive away. “Right,” she said, “we’ll walk you three home, then drive you two.”
The girl in the pink T-shirt—Jen—bit her lip. “We’ll be okay. We were, you know, just freaked out.”
“I know.” She wrapped an arm around the girl. They were changeling. Touch was how they healed. “But I need to see you home safely.” Or the leopard would go nuts.
A nod against her. The girl didn’t move away until Mercy squeezed and released her. Riley came up beside Mercy right then, and she explained the plan. He began walking and the boys fell in with him, while the two girls chose to stick with Mercy. The girl Mercy hadn’t hugged, the one dressed in a tiny miniskirt and belly-baring top, inched closer until Mercy took the hint and hugged her, too.
Ahead of them, Riley and the boys had paused, shooting the breeze. She saw him ruffle one kid’s hair, pat another on the back, do that fake almost-hurting-but-not-quite punching thing guys do with the third. Taking care of them.
The girl tucked up against her—Lisha—relaxed and pulled away. “You were so fast,” she said as they began walking again.
“Yeah,” her friend said, almost jumping up and down in excitement. “It was like wow!”
“Totally.” Lisha beamed at Mercy. “I heard that you were, you know, a sentinel but I never thought I’d see you in action. The boys sometimes say that, like—”
“You’re probably not as tough as the men,” Jen completed. “I’m so going to make them eat their words.”
Mercy laughed. “You have to excuse them—boys suffer from an incurable disability.”
“What?”
“Testosterone.”
Both girls cracked up. And Riley turned to give her a look that reminded her of all the things she liked about testosterone. Especially when it was packed in the hard, muscled body of a wolf who seemed ready to devour her in small, sexy bites.
CHAPTER 11
Anthony Kyriakus dropped out of the telepathic conference and thought about the information he’d just received via his daughter. Today’s violence was troubling, but given the time frame of events, it could be put down to an anomalous statistical cluster. The Net was normally a seamless river of data, witho
ut chaos, without emotion—but with the recent high-profile defections, as well as the activities of various rebel groups, it had begun to fluctuate with waves of uncertainty.
And since Psy were connected to the Net on the most visceral level, needing the biofeedback to survive, anything that happened there had real-life impact. It even made sense that the violence was occurring in this region—the PsyNet wasn’t defined by geographical limits, but they’d had a number of disturbances in this area and the psychic effect would be strongest at the point of origin. A big enough surge could have short-circuited some aspect of the conditioning under Silence.
However, Anthony wasn’t convinced. His fellow Councilors seemed to be ignoring the events, but—
The comm panel beeped. Glancing at the ID screen, he saw it was Kaleb Krychek, fellow Councilor and perhaps the most powerful telekinetic in the Net. From what Anthony had unearthed, he knew that Kaleb’s control over the NetMind, the neosentient entity that was both the librarian and guardian of the Net, was close to complete. It was the very situation the Council hadn’t wanted after Santano Enrique. The now-dead Councilor had used his power over the NetMind to hide his murderous crimes.
Kaleb was much more subtle. He let others believe they held power even as he played them for fools. A very dangerous man. And one whose history was close to opaque—though there were rumors he’d been Enrique’s protégé.
“Kaleb,” he said, answering the call. “It must be early in Moscow.”
“Very,” Kaleb said, but since the visual was blocked on both ends, Anthony knew the other man could be anywhere. It was difficult to tie a teleport-capable Tk to one location. “But it’s your region I’m calling about—I saw the reports.”
“There’s been a new incident.”
“The shooter,” Kaleb said. “Data is already flowing in.”
“The others appear to consider these occurrences a statistical anomaly.”
“And you?”
Anthony leaned back in his seat. “I think we need to scan the shooter’s mind.” He paused as a message came through on his cell phone. Interesting. “Henry just sent me a note proposing the same thing—and he’s offered to take care of the scan.” But what exactly was Henry doing in California? His home was in London.
“I assume you’ll be going with him.”
“Of course.” After all, none of the Councilors trusted each other. Anthony, as the leader of a rebellion determined to bring a new reigning order to the Net, trusted very, very few people at all.
In a room at the San Francisco branch of the Center, the shooter lay tied to a table, his entire body restrained. “Please,” he said. “Let me go.”
The M-Psy monitoring his room heard but didn’t respond to his plea. Their job was to make sure he stayed alive, and, given his violent tendencies, the best way to keep him safe from himself was to make sure he couldn’t move.
The fact that his mind had been locked in telepathic shields would have been termed inhumane by the other races, but those races had no experience with psychotic telepaths. This man could blow out other people’s brains with a burst of pure power—it might liquefy his own brains, too, but if he was suicidal, that wouldn’t matter.
So they sat silent and watchful as the man in the bed started to say, “I have to. I have to. I have to.” But he never said what he had to do. And they didn’t figure it out until it was too late.
CHAPTER 12
Mercy was about to bring her vehicle to a stop a little distance from her cabin when the news bulletin came on.
“The body of a twenty-nine-year-old Tahoe woman was found buried in a shallow grave near the western shore of the lake an hour ago. The grisly find was made by a local resident out for a walk with his dog.
“Enforcement hasn’t yet released a formal statement, but sources close to the investigation tell us the condition of the body suggests she died recently, possibly within the past forty-eight hours. We’ll keep you updated as the story develops.”
Riley, having decided to ride this far with her, reached forward to turn off the feed. “We need to warn our people. Just in case.” His tone was even. Too even.
Mercy didn’t try to talk to him about the pain he held so fiercely to his heart, knowing she’d get a blank look at best—Brenna’s abduction and its aftermath was the one thing Riley simply refused to discuss. It was instinct to want to touch him, to offer comfort, but she knew that right now, he’d accept nothing. So she stuck to the facts.
“Let’s hope it was a one-off.” She felt deep sorrow for the murdered woman and her family, but a jealous boyfriend or husband would be quickly caught. A serial, on the other hand . . . “No use borrowing trouble. I’ll get the word out and have some of our comm people follow the story.”
Riley nodded as they exited. Leaning back against the hood, she returned to their earlier topic of conversation. “I’ll call you the second we hear anything about Nash.” The groundwork had been laid—the intel would come in, of that Mercy was certain. “Trying to hide an adult lynx in a city full of changelings isn’t going to be easy.” Especially with the Rats on alert for any sign of the missing male.
“We can’t underestimate them,” Riley cautioned. “They managed to grab a pissed-off male lynx and get him out pretty efficiently.”
About to tease him for his caution, she glimpsed something in his hair. “Don’t move.” Reaching up, she removed a square of glass, putting it on the car’s hood so it wouldn’t litter the forest floor. To double-check, she ran her fingers through the thick weight of his hair. “You’re tense as a board.” His body was so taut, it was a wonder he could breathe.
No answer.
Looking into his eyes, she felt her breath lock. The wolf glimmered amber bright, hungry and edgy and dangerous. “What is it this time?” She shouldn’t have provoked him, but she couldn’t help herself. It was like he was catnip. One sniff and she lost her mind.
Riley was barely holding back his wolf. The creature wanted him to throw Mercy to the ground, rip off her pants, bite down on her neck, and take her. Hard. Fast. Again. And again. Dear God but the man in him wanted to do exactly the same. Fighting the instinct, he squeezed his hands into fists so tight, his veins threatened to explode.
“Riley?” Mercy scowled, taking a step back.
The wolf bared its teeth inside him, but he held on to his humanity. She’d bled earlier today when her arms had hit the asphalt as they took down the would-be shooter. The wolf had gone insane at the scent. Riley had somehow managed to keep it together this far—he wasn’t known for his control for nothing—but now the wolf was clawing at him, determined to get out. And do what?
Mercy didn’t belong to him.
The wolf didn’t care. Neither, Riley was surprised to realize, did the man. He wanted to take her, taste her, fucking bite her for daring to allow harm to come to herself. The possessive, protective thoughts hazed his brain, pushing him closer to the edge than he’d been for a long, long time.
Focus.
He closed his eyes.
And felt her breath against his neck. “So tense you’re about to snap.” Lips brushing his skin, hands on his shoulders.
“Mercy.” It came out a growl.
“I’m being nice to you.” Teeth closing over the pulse in his neck, a gentle reprimand. “Accept it gracefully.”
He squeezed her hip with a hand that had somehow found its way to her body, but remained still. She was being nice to him, using touch to anchor him. It was the changeling way. But he didn’t particularly want comforting from Mercy. He thrust his hand into her hair, pulling it out from the rough ponytail.
Her hand stroked the side of his neck. “Can’t help it, can you?” A kiss pressed to the hollow of his throat. “You’re going all wolf on me because I got a little bruised up.”
He was too startled by her knowledge to answer.
“Didn’t think I saw the way you looked at my hands, did you?” Sliding those hands under his T-shirt, she ran her nails
gently down his back. “Poor guy—blinded by testosterone.”
Now she was laughing at him. He should’ve snarled. Instead, he relaxed his hold on her hair so she could more easily claim a kiss. She was the uncontested aggressor this time. He let her taste his mouth, let her lick her tongue over his lip. Cat. She was such a cat. Stroking him with those cat claws, nipping at his lip with feline flirtatiousness.
When she broke the kiss to tug at his T-shirt, he cooperated and pulled it over his head. Her lashes dropped to shade the expression in her eyes as she shaped him with her hands, stroking down the planes of his chest. His hand was back in her hair, but he was no longer as wound up, no longer as close to going wolf.
Then she pressed an openmouthed kiss to his chest and he felt another kind of hunger overtake him. “More.” It was a raw demand.
She laughed softly and leaned into him, tracing circles around one flat nipple. “I think you’re fine, now.”
“More.” His hand tightened in her hair.
She stroked her own hand down his body . . . and stopped an inch from the erection threatening to poke a hole in his jeans. “Play nice.” Fingers tap dancing a quarter of an inch from his straining cock.
“No.” He pulled back her head, baring her neck . . . then let go.
She held the position, offering him her throat. A gift of trust, because in changeling combat, you could lose your life to jaws clamping over your throat. Relaxing completely, he slid a hand over her nape and kissed his way up the arch of her neck. She tasted of—
Air under his palms. A red-haired cat with her hands on her hips several feet away.
He narrowed his eyes. “Teasing?”