Hostage to Pleasure (27 page)

Dorian muttered a few choice words. “Because if you’d asked for help, they’d have punished you, too. For breaking Silence.”

“Yes.” She pressed herself deeper into the living warmth of him, so strong, so safe. “At that age, we were valued but not invaluable. They would’ve rehabilitated us in a second, wiping our minds until we were little more than walking vegetables. I knew to survive, I had to wait Amara out. And . . . I knew some of it was my fault.”

A growl that sounded very, very real.

“Listen.”
She fisted her hand against him. “She was always a little different, but most geniuses are—even in the Net. Things really only began to deteriorate after my claustrophobia developed. My emotional control or lack of it feeds her instability. That’s part of why I became so good at hiding my emotions. Even inside my own mind, I had to believe the lie—anytime I slipped, Amara degenerated.”

Both Dorian’s arms came around her, unbreakable steel bands. “If she’s that smart, she has to know the triggers, too. But she’s let you be the one to carry the weight. Enough, Shaya.” The leopard was still in his voice, rough and protective. “You’re not to blame.”

Shuddering, she buried her face against him. “I have to stop.” The memories were sucking her under, taking her back to that grave. “I’m not strong enough to do this.”

“You stood up to a sniper—most people start running when they see me.” Hard words, but his fingertips were tracing the shell of her ear with utter gentleness.

She’d never expected tenderness from her sniper. It kept startling her. “Probably because tales of your meanness precede you.”

“That’s my girl.” Pride overlaid with a raw kind of possessiveness. “You’ve kept it inside you long enough.” Lips brushing over her hair, a firm hand stroking down her back. “It’s time to let it go.”

She wondered what it would be like to have that extraordinary strength of will always by her side. Dorian would never surrender, no matter what.

“Why did you stay conscious?” he asked. “How?”

“She was in my head the entire time.” The memory of violation caused bile to rise in her throat. “She’d been doing that since childhood. That’s why my shields are pretty much impenetrable under normal circumstances”—
when she wasn’t drowning in emotion
—“sheer self-defense.”

“And the intrusions weren’t picked up when you were younger?”

It was a good question. “Most telepathic children slip in and out of younger siblings’ minds until around the age of two. With twins that goes both ways. It’s an accepted part of a Psy child’s development—it teaches us shielding, and most kids stop spontaneously when the time comes.”

“They learn it’s not an acceptable thing to do,” Dorian said. “Like cubs learning it’s not okay to bite or claw.”

Ashaya nodded. “Amara never made that cognitive leap—to her, we’re not two people at all.”

“Obviously, you learned to block her, or you wouldn’t have developed a personality.”

“You’re extremely intelligent.” Not many non-Psy would’ve understood the consequences of such long-term telepathic interference.

“No way. I’m here for the beer and the babes.” The tone was pure California surfer. “Now, stop stalling.” And the lethal DarkRiver sentinel was back.

Anyone who fell for that harmless act, she thought, deserved what they got. “You’re right. If a child is psychically directed from an early age, that child becomes nothing more than a shadow, a living echo of the controlling personality. I was lucky because Amara never
did
anything when we were young. She just liked being with me all the time.”

“You’re the stronger personality,” he said quietly. “You could’ve controlled her.”

“I never wanted to.” Even the idea nauseated her. “Eventually, I got very good at blocking her. But in that grave, I fractured . . . and she slipped in. She spied on my emotions, prodded me when I threatened to lose consciousness, made sure I lived every moment.”

“She knew how afraid I was of being in a small, dark place. She was curious about where that fear came from, since she’d been buried right beside me in the earthquake when we were fourteen and had had no adverse reaction. That was her justification for what she did.” Ashaya felt a cool trail down her cheek, and didn’t know what it was until the salt of it touched her lips.

Tears.

She was crying. She hadn’t shed a single tear since those mindless hours trapped in a pitch-black grave. “But still, I protected her. Because she was—is—broken, and I couldn’t let them destroy her, and because—” Her breathing caught, becoming so ragged, she could barely form words. But she had to finish, had to make Dorian see. “She was the single person in the whole world whom I was certain would never betray me to others, not for money, or status, not even to save her own life.”

Dorian understood the ties of family, of Pack, and today, he began to understand what drove Ashaya to protect Amara. “She didn’t care that you weren’t the perfect Psy.”

“Back then, she was the more outwardly Silent of the two of us. She would’ve been believed, but she never threatened to tell on me. Never. Not once.” Ashaya’s voice hitched as she tried to speak through her tears. “Whatever happened, whatever she did or I did, it was only ever between the two of us. I’ve never betrayed her and she won’t ever betray me.” A sob that made her entire body tremble. “But I’m tired, Dorian. I’m so tired. I don’t want to be stuck in this twisted bond forever, but I can’t see a way out.”

Dorian could, but the catch was, not everyone would come out of it alive. Leopard and man both agreed—Ashaya and Keenan were his to protect. Amara Aleine was a threat. A simple equation. And one that, if it came down to the killing fields, might just shatter Ashaya’s mind. To lose a twin . . .

“Make me forget.” A whisper, a plea.

Not giving her what she wanted wasn’t even an option. He switched their positions so she was under him. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll take advantage?”

She wiped away her tears. “Please do.”

“Ask nice.”

“Why don’t I make you angry instead? That gets me kissed a lot.”

He smiled and began to place kisses along the rim of her lips. He had no intention of abusing her trust by taking her while she was so distraught. But, he thought, sliding his lips over hers, changelings understood all there was to know about healing through touch. If Shaya needed a little stroking, he was more than happy to do the job. “Open your mouth.”

She did.

And his erection threatened to poke a fucking hole in his jeans.

Ashaya shifted instinctively beneath him, cradling him right where he wanted to be. Groaning into the kiss, he tried to stop himself from thrusting. Then she arched up, rubbing her body against his.

He tore his lips away. “Shaya, baby, I’m not that good.”

“I called you ‘the sniper’ in my journal. I know exactly how bad you are.” Her hands slid under his T-shirt to lie flat against his back.

Sizzle.
“Harder,” he told her when her nails dug into him.

“Like this?”

“Mmm.” Dropping his head, even as he smoothed his hand down her back to tilt her heat tight against him, he began to kiss the sensitive line of her neck. Ashaya needed release. He’d damn well give her release. And he’d keep his promise to never hurt her. Even if she was driving him insane with those urgent little movements of her body. “That’s it, baby. Let me take you over.” He ground himself against her, startling a sharp little cry from her throat. “Shh, darling. Hold on to me.”

The scent of her was hot, wild, arousing as hell.

At the edge of his control, he took her mouth in an open-mouthed kiss, insinuating his hand between their bodies at the same time, and using the heel of his hand to give her the sexual friction she needed. He couldn’t handle any more. “Come on, sweet darling. Come for me.”

“Dorian.” It was a gasp as her eyes went pure black and her body arched like a bow, her breasts crushed against him.

“Good girl,” he whispered. “Good girl. I should get sainthood for this.”

She didn’t hear him, and that was fine. He liked seeing her like this, all loose and relaxed . . . and his.

CHAPTER 33

 
From an essay titled “What I Want to Be When I Grow Up” by Dorian Christensen, age 8 (Graded A+)

 
 
They made it back to Tammy and Nate’s house around six thirty.

Something struck him as they entered. “Your PsyNet shields?”

“I’m safe.” She gave him a puzzled look. “I shouldn’t be. Dorian, what we did—”

“Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.” His guess was that Amara was protecting Ashaya. But he didn’t want to bring up her twin again so soon. “Keep your head down and don’t get lazy with the shields.”

She nodded. “Sound advice.”

It made him smile to hear her being scientist-like after she’d just exploded in his arms. “I forgot to tell you—Rina’s set up another broadcast for tomorrow.”

Her eyes met his. “Maybe we can discuss it after dinner.” An invitation, a gesture of trust.

“It’s a date.” He let the memory of their earlier pleasure color the air.

Grinning, he nudged her upstairs. “Go on—Keenan’s probably wondering what’s keeping you. I’ll come up after I talk to Nate.”

When he finally did get upstairs, it was to find both mother and child asleep despite the early hour—Keenan lay tucked against Ashaya, her arms holding him tight.

The sight was a violent kick to his heart.

And he knew.

No more dancing around the truth. No more suspicions.
He knew.

Chest brutally tight, he walked out into the hall, leaving the door ajar. The staggering weight of the realization had him shaking. Ashaya was his mate. That was why his leopard had gone so crazy around her from the start. It had known. But the man had been too angry to listen. So the cat had shoved all that need, all that hunger, into the most vicious sexual need. “Christ, I’m blind.” And he knew the blindness had been at least partly willful. He hadn’t wanted to feel such excruciating tenderness for the enemy.

It was so much easier to hate.

Ten minutes later, when he could breathe again, he walked back into the room and closed the door behind himself. As he slid down the back of it to sit on the floor, his eyes on the bed, he saw that his hands were shaking.

The tenderness was there deep inside, mingled with a feral protectiveness. But it was need that had him in its claws. Raw, visceral, painful. Their play this afternoon had already ratcheted up the level of his hunger, and now that he consciously knew the truth of what she was to him, the drive to possess her was close to crushing.

But he wasn’t an animal, so he wrenched the hunger back under control and kept watch as they slept. That sleep was of the truly exhausted—deep and intense—as if they finally felt safe. Realizing that calmed the leopard enough that he could think—given the current hour and the fact they were missing a meal, chances were high that his mate and child would wake during the night. He had to be alert when they did.

Whispering the situation to Tammy when she came upstairs to grab them for dinner, he ignored the red gold glow of evening sunlight and forced himself into the light doze all soldiers used when necessary. The scream had him jackknifing to a standing position what felt like an instant later—however, one glance at his watch told him it was ten after nine. The house was quiet, peaceful. But for the rapid breathing of a frightened child, and a woman’s soothing murmurs.

“Nightmare?” he asked, after running an automatic security sweep—and letting Nate know things were under control when the other sentinel ran in. As Nate left, Dorian turned back to the room. “Shaya?”

“Yes, a nightmare.” She looked to him with a quiet need in her eyes. He could no more have stopped himself from walking across the room to sink down on the bed beside her than he could’ve stopped breathing. “You want to talk about the dream, K-Man?”

Keenan cuddled deeper into his mom, but nodded. “She’s looking for me.”

“Who?” Dorian asked, though he already knew the answer.

“My mother.”

Dorian saw Ashaya go pale under her dark honey and sunlight skin. “Your mother’s right here.”

“No.” Scowling, the kid shook his head. “My mommy’s right here, but my
mother
is looking for me.” He emphasized the word very carefully. “She’s doesn’t like me, not like Mommy.”

Dorian figured the boy had confused Amara and Ashaya in his mind, but that didn’t explain the terror emanating from Ashaya. “How do you know she’s looking for you?”

“I can feel her poking at my head.” He frowned. “She can’t come inside me because I’m in your net. But I think she’s seen Mommy.” A jaw-cracking yawn.

“Sleep, baby,” Ashaya whispered. “We’ll keep you safe.” The promise was fierce.

“I know.” A childish smile, but the eyes remained those of an old man. “Dorian?”

“Yeah, kiddo?” He took the hand Keenan held out. It was warm, fragile, a precious indication of trust.

The boy fought the wings of sleep to say, “Don’t let her hurt my mommy.”

“I won’t.” His heart a knot in his throat, he held that tiny hand as Ashaya stroked Keenan back into an easy sleep. “So what aren’t you telling me?” he said when he was certain Keenan was well and truly out for the count. Her fear had been too piercing for this to have been a mere dream.

Ashaya’s face was stark with dread when she looked up. “He called her his mother, Dorian.”

“You’re identical twins and he’s not even five.”

“He shouldn’t know that she’s his mother.” Ashaya’s breath grew choppy. “I’ve raised him from the day, the
hour
, he was born. Me, always me.”