Hostage to Pleasure (16 page)

Another spike in her heartbeat, music to the leopard’s ears. But when she spoke, it was to say, “Nothing.”

He gave her a sleepy-eyed look that he knew screamed challenge. “Then come here.”

“You’re disturbing me.”

“Good.” He smiled, playful and wicked, realizing he had the advantage—Ms. Aleine wasn’t used to playing with cats. “I don’t like being ignored.”

“Get used to it,” she said, surprising him, delighting him. “I’m working.”

“Oh?” He was genuinely interested. “I though M-Psy saw inside the body and diagnosed illnesses.” His family had consulted several when his inability to shift had become apparent. All had been brilliant, but not one had
understood
what it meant to a changeling to be denied half of who he was.

Ashaya’s gaze skimmed down his body. “Isn’t that an uncomfortable position?”

He’d listened to her body, knew she was aware of him on a level she’d never admit. It soothed the cat, even as it ratcheted up his need. “I’m fine, sugar,” he said, fighting the urge to sink his teeth into the delicate curve of her neck. He tended to like his sex slow and intense, but right now, with this woman, his body wanted hard, furious, a little rough. Reining in the leopard’s territorial instincts made sweat bead along his spine. “M-Psy?”

She became very still, as if she’d sensed his tenuous control. But she didn’t retreat. If she had . . .

“Like all Psy designations,” she said, “medical, or M, is an umbrella term that covers a wide range of specializations. It includes those unusual few who can actually heal—”

“Anything?” He’d never heard of a Psy with that power.

She shook her head. “No, their scope is limited. Some can reset bones, while others can seal wounds—the types of things that might be needed in the field. The healing abilities apparently appeared in children born during the Territorial Wars, though there’s no proof of that. As far as I know, no M-Psy can psychically cure diseases or reverse hereditary conditions. May I continue?” A scientist’s cool question.

He wanted to bite her. “Go on.”

“The scanning you mentioned is the most well-known and prevalent manifestation of the M designation. My ability is a subset of that—I can’t see broken bones or diseased organs, but it’s because my mind sees too deep.”

“How deep?”

“To the DNA level.”

His cat’s attention was momentarily diverted from the seduction of her skin. “No one can do that. It would make you a walking DNA scanner.”

“Yes,” she said, not seeming to realize she’d maintained constant eye contact. “Only a very small percentage of the M designation possesses the ability. Even fewer master it to the level where we become more accurate than the machines.” Her eyes traced his lips and his entire body grew taut with the caress—she might not call it that, but that’s what it was. She was stroking him. Purring inwardly, he didn’t move, didn’t break the spell.

“Because of available equipment,” she continued, “it’s a fairly redundant ability in itself. You have to pair it with study—it was my knack for working with nanotech and implants that made me of interest to the Council. My ability gives me an edge with technology at that level of miniaturization.”

He wondered what she’d do if he gave in to temptation and flicked his tongue along her full lower lip. “How does your gift work?” he asked, curling his hand into a tight fist. “You see me and know my genetic blueprint?”

She shook her head. “Not quite. Depending on what I’m searching for, it can take hours, days, weeks, sometimes months, to tease apart the DNA.”

“Why tell me all this?” He was a leopard sentinel. Even half-insane with this unwanted craving, his brain cells were working just fine. And he knew there had to be a reason for her unusual openness. “What do you want?”

She bit her lower lip.

His blood rushed to his cock. The roaring in his ears was so loud, he almost missed her next words.

“I want your DNA.”

CHAPTER 20

 
—From the encrypted personal files of Ashaya Aleine

 
 
Surprise hit Dorian hard. “You obviously weren’t this blunt with the Council.”

“I can play political games if necessary.” Cool voice, jittery heartbeat. “It’s not who I am.”

He believed her. “Are you planning to mutate my DNA?” he teased.

“Obviously not.” She straightened out her legs, stretching until her toes touched the clear glass of the French doors.

He looked at her primly cut, unpainted nails and felt another urge to bite. Then she said, “If I planned to get rid of you, I’d do it silently and with such efficiency that everyone would think you’d died a natural death.”

If any other woman had made the threat, he’d probably have grinned and said something about never making her mad. But this wasn’t any other woman. Ashaya was a scientist who’d spent years in the arms of the Psy Council. She was also the only female to have ever threatened his control. “You could try.” It was a soft, lethal threat.

Ashaya hadn’t expected that response, though why, she couldn’t say. It just seemed wrong on a fundamental level. “Would you kill me?”

“No. There are other ways to break a woman.” An answer that told her nothing, but tore a ragged hole in that primitive core Dorian alone seemed to awaken. She staggered under the mental injury, scrambling to regather her defenses.

And in that instant, Amara found her again.

Ashaya broke the connection with the frantic speed of experience, knowing she was only patching up the cracks, only delaying the inevitable . . . but she didn’t want to kill her twin. Because no matter what else she’d done, Amara had upheld the bonds of sisterhood—she’d never revealed Ashaya’s secrets.

Feeling psychically battered, she raised her head to find Dorian scowling at her. “Your eyes just bled to pure black,” he said, looking at her with a quiet intensity that reminded her of the predator he was.

“I didn’t expect you to threaten me,” she said, but couldn’t stifle the urge to ask, “Is Keenan still safe? You haven’t had any reports of problems?” She didn’t care what it betrayed, she had to know her baby was okay.

“He’s fine—I checked. Cell phones are functioning again.”

“Thank you.” She wanted to beg for more information, but swallowed the need. To know too much would be the same as going to see him—she’d lead Amara right to his door.

Dorian continued to stare at her. “Were you playing with me?”

“What?”

“The crack about the natural death.”

She didn’t know how to answer him. So she told the truth. “You weren’t being serious. Neither was I.”

He blew out a breath. “I’m sorry I snarled.” When she just stared at him, too surprised to respond, his expression turned into a scowl. “How much DNA do you need?”

She blinked, staring into the extraordinary blue of his eyes. He was so beautiful it seemed impossible that he should exist. “Aren’t you curious as to why I want it?”

“To see my abnormal genetic structure.”

Her guard immediately went up—he was being far too cooperative. “Yes,” she said warily. “I want to see why you are as you are.”

“Why not steal my DNA? Easy enough to come by.”

“Because,” she said, not trusting the strange light in his eyes, “as telepaths don’t cross certain ethical boundaries, neither do I. And I just need a minute fraction. Give me a moment.”

Making a quick trip to her room, she grabbed the small scientific kit she’d found hidden in a side pocket of her pack—Zie Zen knew her well—and returned to her previous position. “A slide,” she explained to the cat who’d waited suspiciously patiently for her. “It’s the only one in the kit, so I’ll have to get it right first time. A drop of blood would probably work best—white blood cells ‘show’ better to my mental eye.”

“I don’t feel like cutting myself.” That strange light glimmered brighter. “But I will . . . for a price.”

Freezing, she returned the slide to the tool kit. “I’m not that curious.”

“Yes, you are.”

Yes, she was. It was why she was a scientist. “I have nothing to negotiate with.”

“I told you, Shaya,” he said, eyes grazing over her lips, causing an almost painful tightness in her stomach, “my cat wants to know what you taste like.” A slow feline smile. “And since you’re Psy, it’s no skin off your back to give up a kiss. Just a primitive animal thing after all. Deal?”

“I knew your cooperation was too good to be true.” And that apology was too confusing to even think about.

A grin that creased his cheeks with devastating charm. “I’m a cat, sugar. What did you expect?”

She decided she’d have to research leopards, learn more about their behavior. But one thing she knew—they were highly intelligent. “I want the blood first.” She didn’t allow herself to think about her end of the bargain.

“Don’t trust me?”

“No.”

Another sharp grin and then, to her shock, a knife was in his hand. He pricked a finger and held it over the slide she hurriedly readied. A single drop and she closed it. To take the mental snap-shot, she’d have to focus on the drop for a long period of time, until her brain saw through the cell walls to the nuclei, to the strands of DNA twisting within.

Dorian let her put the slide back into the tool kit and close the lid before he said, “Now, pay up.”

Her heart thudded, her shields began to unravel . . . and Amara’s presence pushed heavily against the psychic walls of her mind. But she didn’t tell him to stop.

His lips pressed over hers.

And her rotting foundations collapsed around her feet. For a second, she thought Amara was in her mind again, but no, this chaos was acting as another kind of anchor, another kind of wall—her twin was being held back, shoved out. A flash fire second of thought and then even thought was lost.

His taste was inside her mouth, a dark and richly masculine thing at odds with the sheer beauty of him. Protected by the strange, twisting, chaotic shield that blocked Amara, she broke every rule and savored the experience. When his tongue swept against hers, she felt her throat lock. He did it again. Shuddering, she dared explore him in return. His growl poured into her mouth, making her nerve endings sizzle.

He was the one who broke the kiss. Blinking, she tried to steady her breathing. But his taste lingered on her lips and all she could think was that she wanted more.

“I can smell something.” His face went quiet, hunting still. “An intruder.”

The words snapped her back to full awareness. The instant Dorian had stopped touching her, whatever it was that had protected her from Amara had disappeared. The shields against the PsyNet were holding—how or why, she didn’t know—but she didn’t have time to consider that miracle, because Amara had broken through again. Her twin fought to retain control, but, her recent slew of emotion-induced mistakes aside, Ashaya had been doing this for years. And now she had Keenan to protect.

No one
would hurt her son.

Powered by that absolute vow, she got her sister out, though it left her mentally bloody.

Dorian’s growl raised the hairs on her arms. “It’s gone. What the fuck was in the room with us, Ashaya?”

This was one secret she couldn’t share. “Nothing.”

His nostrils flared. “That
nothing
came through you. Are you a spy, Ms. Aleine?” His eyes held a knife-edge gleam. “Your scent changed.”

The accuracy of his changeling senses staggered her. “What kind of change?”

“A lot of Psy”—he sniffed at the curve of her shoulder in a way that was definitely not human—“have this ugly metallic edge to their scent changelings can’t stand. You don’t. But whatever it was, it was close.”

Perhaps she should’ve been considering the ramifications of the scent and what it denoted about Amara’s increasing strength, but she found herself stuck on the first part of his comment. “That’s good, isn’t it? That I don’t stink.” She stared out at the water as day grew lighter. “It would make it impossible for you to guard me otherwise.”

Dorian didn’t like the metallic taint he could still feel on his tongue. Reaching forward, he slanted his open mouth across Ashaya’s, knowing he’d taken her by surprise. Heat and ice, honey and spice, the taste of her flooded his mouth. “That’s better,” he said, retreating before the urge to move his mouth to lower, hotter places became irresistible.

Ashaya stared at him, lips kiss-swollen. “That wasn’t part of the deal.”

“I decided to demand an interest payment.” The trapped leopard inside him reached out with claws that could never become real. Instead, the echo of them scraped along the insides of his skin, finding grooves laid by a lifetime of futile stretching. The movements of his beast hurt, as if skin were being torn apart. It had always hurt. And Dorian had never told anyone that it did.

Pity was the one thing he’d never accept or allow.

Now, the changeling heart of him had him moving his hand to brush over the smooth curve of Ashaya’s shoulder. Hot chocolate and cream, warm and vibrant, the feel of her soaked through his fingertips and into his blood. There was no fear or panic in the profile she showed him, but he felt the faintest of tremors deep within her skin. “How bad are the fractures in your conditioning, Shaya?”

For the longest time, she said nothing. He closed his hand over her arm, and slid it down, indulging himself in the feel of her even as he pushed her to react. That deep-seated tremor didn’t ebb, and then he saw her swallow.

“Bad,” she whispered. “The foundation was swept away a long time ago.”

He hadn’t expected the admission. “And you consider that a flaw.”