Blood Moons (23 page)

The sad—and by that, she meant
pathetic
—thing was, it would have always come to this, regardless of anything. It had only been a matter of time. Dara had known Tristan 205

Blood Moons

by Alianne Donnelly

would cut her loose. But she'd actually believed their intimacy had meant something.

Obviously, she'd been mistaken. Tristan had to be far better at controlling and projecting his thoughts than she'd estimated, because she'd fallen for that
Mine
bit hook, line, and sinker. She
still
wanted to believe it, which was just bordering on desperate—he'd thrown her over for his freedom at the very first opportunity.

A punch in the gut.

Which changed direction and jolted her heart up into her throat where it couldn't beat.

And it hurt.

So she was ignoring
him
for a change.

This morning, when she'd realized what he'd done—or rather
hadn't
done—she'd put up her strongest shields and built them up to withstand a telepathic bomb blast. There was total silence in Dara's brain and it felt ... righteous. Maybe a little lonely, but really, normal people went through their whole lives with only themselves in their heads.
I better get
used to it.

Breakfast this morning was a lovely bowl of fresh berries, a far cry from the colorless, shapeless, tasteless goop of the weeks previous. She was determined to enjoy every last morsel. She sat at her very own table, windows open to let in the sunlight and fresh air, which carried with it a hint of lake.

The audio system played a song she didn't know but happened to like, and she tapped her foot to its rhythm, wriggling in her seat as she popped a big red strawberry into 206

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her mouth. Her eyes almost rolled back in her head with pleasure.
Heaven
.

The authoritative knock on her door completely shattered her idyllic reverie.

Dara glared at the door. If Hunt thought she would let him in after standing her up, he had another think coming. She pretended not to hear and picked out a raspberry.

It was poised on her lip, about to roll down onto her tongue and be squished against the roof of her mouth when the knock came again. "Go away!" The raspberry went into her mouth, but her ire made the taste disappear down her throat before she'd even had a chance to relish it.

And the knocking continued!

"I said go away, Hunt," she shouted. "I don't want to see you right now."

"Miss Frost," came a muffled voice from outside—a
strange
voice.

Apprehension gave her gooseflesh and her hands balled into fists on the tabletop. "Who is it?" she called back, not moving from her seat.

"My name is Agent Calen. I am with a special cases agency based on Earth. I'd like to speak to you for a few minutes, if you don't mind."

Shit. Oh, shit!
For a split second Dara started dismantling her mental shields, sheer panic making her reach out to the person she'd come to rely on in these types of
very bad
situations. But she stopped herself, straightening in her seat.

She couldn't rely on Hunt. He wouldn't always be there; he 207

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wasn't keen on being there
now
, as he'd demonstrated last night.

Still, he had taught her a lot. And Dara was nothing if not an apt student. That she even
had
shields now spoke volumes about how far she'd come.

This was a golden opportunity for Dara to prove her mettle, and show everyone that she could take care of herself. She would see the agent, spin some lies, feign exhaustion/insanity/PMS, and send him on his way thinking how lovely their chat had gone.

She hesitated only a little getting to her feet. Padding barefoot across the spotless floors to the door, she even wriggled her toes a little, enjoying the feel of not
having
to wear shoes again, for fear of what she might be stepping into.

She stalled again as she reached for the doorknob.
What if
I can't do it?

Another knock startled her into moving again. Too late to pretend she wasn't home. "I'm coming," she said, swallowing her apprehension.

The door opened.

On the other side, half-in and half-out of the shadow cast by the awning stood a man about six feet in height, with immaculately combed hair, wearing a nondescript suit and shined shoes. His hands were at his sides, relaxed, but giving the impression that he was standing at attention. There was a certain alertness to him, an energy that belied the easy smile on his face. Dara supposed he was even handsome. In a plastic, I-am-ruled-by-the-government-and-they-buy-my-208

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underpants sort of way. Just looking at him gave her a wedgie.

"Good morning, Miss Frost," he said.

Dara was surprised she wasn't getting any sense of him, no tidbit of information—and then she remembered her shields. She left them in place for the moment. "Agent...?"

"Calen," he supplied. The introduction was followed by the classic reach into his pocket, the showing of the badge. Count
one, two, three
seconds. The badge holder closed and returned to the pocket. Practiced movements she'd seen a lot in the days preceding her trial and incarceration. Back then, she'd answered every question they'd asked, telling them the truth, in as much detail as she could recall without embellishment and without revealing she could read minds.

Back then, she'd been naive and trusting.

Her current circumstances were swiftly—some might say brutally—curing her of that affliction.

"Can we talk for a moment?"

Dara stood aside to let the agent in. He smiled again as he passed her, as if he was trying very hard not to frighten her.

The back of her head itched and she scratched at it while his back was turned.

Calen waited politely while she closed the door. He didn't make himself at home, didn't commandeer a seat on her couch, or at the table, where her half-eaten breakfast was laid out. His gaze moved over the surroundings, taking in everything with a casual glance. Dara was almost 99 percent certain he would be able to recall the smallest detail of her new home.

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Not that there was much to see; she hadn't really unpacked yet. Too busy waiting for the bastard who hadn't shown.

Bastard.

It bore repeating.
Bastard!

"Sit, please," she invited, because he was still standing and it made her nervous.

"Thank you," he said, taking a seat at the table, across from her bowl. "I seem to have interrupted your meal. Please, continue. This won't take too much time."

Dara shrugged and sat down to her fruit bowl. As she happily munched on a handful of blueberries, she slowly lowered a layer of her shields. That itch at the back of her head returned. Only this time she realized it was on the inside of her skull.
What the hell...

"So what is it you want to talk about?"

"I assume you know why you have been transferred to this facility," he said conversationally. "There's been another murder, in the same style as the one you were accused of committing. It would seem to prove your innocence."

That was a very careful choice of words. "
Seem
to?"

"There is, of course, a process. Procedure to follow. We need to gather as much evidence as we can in order to vindicate you completely."

She needed to see into his mind. Another layer of shields came down. The itch became nearly unbearable. What
was
that? She picked through the assortment of berries in her bowl to give herself time to examine it. With each layer she shed, the itch got deeper. It was as if...

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Ice settled deep into her bones.

It was a probe!

She opened a doorway in her shields, rebuilding her connection with Hunt. For one frantic instant, she forced her mind to meld with his, shoving her perceptions at him. He jerked from sleep, sitting up, now wide awake.

"Delay!"
she heard before Hunt slammed the doorway shut again and added a good number of his own shields around her.

Son of a bitch! It had never even occurred to her the government might already have telepaths on the payroll—

much less that they'd bother sending one after her.

"Miss Frost?" Calen said. "Are you okay?"

Would
you
be okay if someone was trying to root through
your brain with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer?
"Fine,"

she said. "It's just..."
Just what?
"I guess I just wish they'd put up this sort of effort before I was sent to New Alaska."

Excellent save!

"I apologize. I wasn't on the case then. If I was, I can assure you it would have been."

I'll just bet.
That itching intensified. If she didn't want him to catch on, she'd have to let him through. It was a risk, but what else could she do? So she ... shifted her shields to gradually expose her memories of the murder she'd dreamed, hoping it would feel to him like they were merely surfacing. A few stray images of New Alaska, but nothing more than a glimpse, and nothing connected in any way with Tristan.

Act normal,
Dara reminded herself. She picked another strawberry from her bowl and popped it into her mouth. She 211

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didn't even taste its juices. Nearly choked on it as she swallowed. Where the hell was Tristan? She was in way over her head here!

"Look," Calen said, his probe receding. Had his face paled?

He'd definitely leaned back farther in his seat, as if he was subtly trying to get away from her. "I can't imagine how tough the last few weeks have been on you. Especially since we've been informed that you'd opted to be placed in Wolf block. A foolish choice, I think."

Hazy memories surfaced, sharp emotions welling in swift succession. Dara frowned, making an effort to push them back. No time for nightmares. She forced a careless shrug. "I like wolves."

He considered her for a moment. "I've dealt with a number of cases like yours," he said carefully. "Much as I hate to admit, our legal system leaves something to be desired.

There have been cases when a person was accused of a crime they hadn't committed. Sometimes the accused themselves begin to doubt their innocence."

He paused there. It wasn't a question, but he was definitely fishing for an answer. The safest course of action was probably to play into his preconceptions. "I suppose that makes sense," she said, more into her bowl than to him. "The lawyers can be very convincing with their facts."

Calen nodded, as if he'd expected this. "Was Wolf block meant to be a form of penance? Are you a religious person, Miss Frost?"

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"Are you, Mr. Calen?" she returned, meeting his gaze. She considered taking a risk, testing his mind. If she stayed very still, she might be able to pull it off.

"Religious? I suppose. My parents took me to church as a child. Before the government closed religious sites in our city.

The priest was ... relocated after that."

Keep him talking. If he's distracted he won't notice.
"I've never been in a church. What's it like?"

"Dark," he said with a small smile. "But in a comforting way. The windows were stained glass; not much sunlight got through. But the candles made up for it."

She imagined a door while he talked. A plain door in the middle of nothing. As she'd done with Tristan once, Dara shaped her consciousness into mist, slipping quietly through the keyhole into Calen's mind. She had to be careful. If he caught her, she was as good as dead.

As she saw herself through his eyes, through the veil of judgments he'd already passed over her, scenes from his childhood drifted all around her like ghosts. She made her face smile and blink for his benefit, encouraging him to continue while she slowly acclimated herself to the pathways of his mind.

It was different from the way Tristan's mind felt. She couldn't explain it, couldn't pinpoint the difference, but it definitely felt foreign. Like entering another country where they spoke English. The language was the same, but the landscape and customs were completely alien. She made her form spread out slowly, carefully, over as much territory as 213

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she could, simply absorbing whatever she found and storing it away to be examined later.

Dara had to be fast; she couldn't get greedy. The longer she stayed there, the greater her chance of being discovered.

When she thought she was about to reach her limits, she retreated, flowing back into herself. "Sounds almost magical,"

she said, and had to clear her throat to stop sounding so mechanical.

The smile remained on Calen's face, but his eyes turned hard as he leaned forward again. "Why don't we do away with the pleasantries, Miss Frost? You know something you're not telling me. I cannot tell you how ill-advised that is."

She frowned. "Whatever I know about what happened, I already told the investigating officers and the court."

He nodded, not looking the least bit convinced. "I should tell you that I have been authorized to extract information from you any way I can."

At this, Dara raised an eyebrow, swiftly sorting through what she'd managed to get from him. Unfortunately, it seemed she'd gotten nothing of use. "What does that mean?

Torture?" Again she opened a channel to Tristan and passed on everything she gleaned, then closed the link. She got the sense that he was nearing, but he'd stopped momentarily, surprised at what she'd given him.

"If it comes to that," Calen said.

"I really don't like pain," she confided. "Especially because I am a woman. We seem to get more than our fair share of it, if you know what I mean."

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