Blood Moons (16 page)

He glared at her. "Never needed meditation before
you
got here, woman."

She grinned. "Eyes and mouth closed," she said primly.

"
Finally.
"—
"Later on we can try that downward dog thing."

Two hours later, they were in the entertainment room and Dara's palms were sweating. She was on her own, with Tristan all the way at the other end of the room. If this went wrong, she wasn't sure he could get to her in time.
Don't
think about it,
she told herself.
Focus.

Skewing perception, it turned out, was a lot like projecting one's thoughts to others. Only it was a
lack
of thought that she had to project, and she had to do it to everyone 141

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simultaneously, and never let up, or the illusion would break.

Tricky, tricky.

Dara cleared her mind and pictured the room. She gave it every detail she could see, with the exception of empty space where she actually stood. Tristan had told her to start simple, just make them not want to look there. But for her, affecting the will involved a lot more effort than affecting perception, so her way was how she was doing this.

Once she had the image ready in her mind, she held it for a moment, solidified it, and cast it out over the room like an invisible net. It settled over the men watching TV, and those playing video games, and everyone else around. Some of them frowned—there were always those minds a little stronger than others, not so easily affected—but they soon returned to what they'd been doing. Not many people chose to investigate an anomaly; most just attributed it to their imagination. That worked to her advantage now.

When she was confident she could hold the illusion, she gave it motion. Her picture turned into a movie, and she matched it to what she and the others were doing. Now, when she moved from her spot, that empty space she'd painted over herself moved with her. It took a moment to get it just right, so the two moved identically, but once she got the hang of it, she had to fight down a satisfied smile.

Slowly she ambled to the other side of the room, toward Tristan. He was sitting in the last row, in the corner of the last section where some kind of horror movie was playing. Except when she got there and tried to touch him, her hand passed through his shoulder and he dissolved into nothing.

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Caught off guard, Dara's illusion failed and she froze, afraid to move an inch.

"It works both ways,"
he told her.

"I lost it,"
she said, looking to see if anyone was watching her. If they saw, she was good as dead. Where the hell was Tristan?

"Don't worry,"
he said.
"They can't see you."

A small relief, but not enough to make her relax.
"Where
are you?"

He sent her an impression of a smile and challenged,
"Find
me."

Another test. Damn it. She should have seen it coming.

She started making her way back out, cautious but quick, because while she could affect the prisoners, the doctors and scientists watching them would notice something was wrong if a room full of men
didn't
look at the only female in attendance. But while she walked, Dara thought of Tristan and looked for the link between them. She moved on instinct, searching by mental touch rather than trying to see through his eyes to pinpoint his location.

It was like combing through a snarled mess of strings.

Each one was a thought or memory, things these men had on their minds that connected to others. Among all of them, she had to find the one that belonged to Tristan, and trace it back to him. Dara was improvising with this; she'd never tried to do anything like it before.

Of all the threads, only one felt warm to her. It wasn't quite a feeling, just a distinction she recognized. She locked onto it, and turned down a corridor toward the elevators. She 143

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was grinning now.
I'm tracking!
she thought excitedly, exercising just enough self-control not to break into a run.

All of a sudden Tristan was in her mind, hissing in a breath.
"Dara, stop,"
he said tensely.
"Turn around
now
."

"No way. I am coming for you now, buddy boy."

"Dara, don't—"

The elevator opened. It wasn't empty.

Dara stopped in her tracks at the same time the man looked up and saw her. He was a wiry sort, slim but still muscled, the way acrobats usually were. He wore a prisoner's uniform, but on him it looked moneyed somehow, as if he was modeling the outfit instead of wearing it day in and day out. He had dark blond hair, expensively cut and meticulously combed, and sharp brown eyes that missed nothing. By all accounts, he was handsome, but the way his mouth curled up when he saw her gave her the willies.

"Dara Frost, right?" he said, and even his voice was different from everyone else's here. Cultured. Arrogant, but engaging at the same time. He'd be a wonderful singer.

Dara stifled a shiver. "How'd you guess?"

His smile widened and she tried to figure out what it was that bothered her about him. "You're kind of hard to mistake," he said and came out of the elevator.

She backed away for every step that he took toward her.

"Skittish, aren't you?" He stopped and held his hands up.

"I'll stay here then."

His eyes.
That
was what bothered her. His eyes were beautiful, but cold as ice. Sharp and calculating, as if he was measuring her to see how far he could go before she'd bolt.

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The elevator closed behind him, called by someone else.

Damn
. "That's okay, I wouldn't want to keep you," she said, keeping her voice calm and even. "I was just heading back."

She'd almost said
back home.

He glanced over his shoulder. "Looks like you just missed your ride."

"I'm coming,"
Tristan said in her mind.

Dara made herself shrug. "It'll be back at some point."

"Allow me," he said and went back to push the call button.

"Thank you. I can wait for it by myself."

He flashed that handsome grin again. "I'm sure you can.

But you see, there is a problem." He stepped closer again.

Dara retreated, racking her mind for some way to get him to back off. Her thoughts must have shown on her face.

As if she'd just proven his point, the guy raised an eyebrow. "I take a step, and you run. If I tried to walk past you, you'd be by the far wall before the elevator could even get here."

"I'm sure I could manage."

"If you're looking for Hunt to protect you, you'll be sorely disappointed. He's not in his cell." Another step forward. This time, Dara's retreat was a little smaller.

"Keep him talking."
Tristan's voice was different. She stilled for a moment, analyzing the cues. He was pensive, stalking and pacing inside his own mind, impatient to get to—

him.
He was restless to get to the other man, a challenger.

No, not that. Nothing so equal to him. Dara frowned, trying to narrow it down.

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The man was a target. Prey. This was a hunt to Tristan and he was so intent on it, Dara shivered. Tristan was losing it. If this guy was still here by the time Tristan reached her, there would be a fight. Or worse.

"I can handle him,"
she said in reassurance, but even to herself she sounded nervous.
"Relax. Take a breath."

"You assume much," she told the stranger who, for all his charm and good manners, still hadn't introduced himself.

He ignored that. "You'll also be disappointed if you think his protection will last. Hunt cares for nothing. He'll cut you loose eventually. Knowing him, it won't take too long."

Tristan's pacing stopped. All that restless energy stilled and concentrated. He was furious; a predator poised to strike.

"Tristan, please,"
she said.
"I can't do this if you lose it."

If he heard her, he gave no sign of it.

The man took another step.

Dara held her ground, held his gaze, and said nothing.

He smiled, this time slow and intrigued. "How interesting."

He was close enough that if she allowed it, his thoughts would leak to her, just by being near her.

She lowered her shields gradually, little by little. Tristan was protesting. He fought himself for control, trying to stop her, but in his current state Dara overruled his wishes easily.

She needed a target if she was going to strike.

The man's name was Clay. In his mind, it was a flourish of a signature. He considered himself an artist. That signature was a mark he left on all of his victims. A memento for them to remember him by.
Women. Stunning women. Bloodied
women. Robbed of their beauty.
"You and I," he was saying, 146

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"we don't belong in this place."
Scarred bodies. Broken
spirits. Shattered minds. And that signature—a permanent
mark on their skin. They would never be rid of it. They would
never be allowed to forget.

"You and I," Dara said, her voice shaking. She was livid for those women and mourned them. They had no one to fight for them. Many had since killed themselves—something he considered a great affront. "We have nothing in common."

People approaching. Dara brought her shields back up.

"One day, you might come to think differently. You could be my masterpiece, Dara. What I could do with you—"

"You never will," she told him.

Footsteps behind her. Elevator coming closer. She stepped back and to the side to let him pass. The move seemed to anger him, but he composed himself again when he cast a quick glance at the group of guards approaching them. "We'll talk later."

The elevator stopped and opened. Dara could feel Tristan's heart racing as if it was her own. She turned her back on Clay as he went past the guards, politely bidding Dr. Chase a good day. Tristan's eyes were glowing again, trained on the bastard's back. As soon as the door was open enough to allow him through, he charged forward.

Dara had no choice but to step into his path. If he killed Clay now, in this state, they'd both be dead.
"Look at me,"

she ordered, heartened when he stopped before he ran her over in his pursuit. His body shook with barely leashed aggression, but he held still. She was so proud of him it hurt.

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She hadn't intended to send him that thought, but he caught it nonetheless. His answer was wry and wordless, more a feeling than a coherent thought. "I've been looking for you," she told him.
"Come back to me."

Only then did he look at her. "You okay?" His voice was still gravelly. He had to clear his throat a couple of times to get it under control. But he did it.

"Fine," she assured him, managing a small smile.

"Dr. Chase," Tristan said without looking away from Dara.

"What's with the entourage?"

She was safe, he kept telling himself, but the aggression, the bloodlust refused to subside. He needed to drag her back to the cell and hide her; make sure no one came close to her again. The presence of others kept him on a razor's edge. It didn't bode well for any of them. Tristan dragged his gaze away to take in the potential adversaries.

"Actually," the doctor began, making a visible effort to compose herself. Something was up. "We were just on our way to get you two."

"Get us?" Dara repeated. "For what?"

"Let's go to your cell to talk," she said. She didn't wait for them to follow—the guards took up the rear, so they really had no choice but to get in the elevator after her. The moving metal box could comfortably hold about five people. Now they were sharing it with five others, including four burly guards.

Tristan kept next to Dara, shielding her from the others.

He didn't touch her outright, but kept close enough so he could brush her shoulder or lean in close whenever no one was looking. It wasn't enough. Nowhere near. But their 148

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present company didn't allow for more. So he forced himself to breathe through it, letting her scent pull him back to sanity.

The guards were armed. When they stepped out of the elevator, the doctor and her two subjects were sandwiched between pairs of them as they cleared the way in front and kept it clear from the back. They flanked the cell from each side as the three of them went inside.

"We're leaving," Dr. Chase said without preamble.

"Tonight, or tomorrow morning at the latest. I still have some packing to do, but as soon as I am done, we're out of here."

Tristan could feel Dara starting to reach out to Amelia's mind. He laid a hand on her shoulder to strengthen their telepathic connection and blocked her.
"Don't look,"
he told her. "You're bailing?" he asked Amelia.

"The thing I told you about is scheduled to start in two days. I did what I could, and Dara is safe, but there's no way to tell how the study will affect everyone after it's done. The captain of the guard is already beefing up security. I think he's expecting trouble."

"How'd you get them to let you go?"

In no way was I about to stay here,
he heard in the doctor's adamant mind. She would have moved heaven and earth to get the hell out of this place. Amelia sighed, rubbing her forehead. "I put in for a transfer to Niren Colony. They wanted my research. I told them they could have it if I could take a subject with me."
Warped research,
she thought.

He pursued it a little deeper and found she'd sabotaged her notes long before this, anticipating their move. Clever, 149

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