Slave to Sensation (15 page)

In the hours since she'd spoken to Nikita, she'd used every electronic means at her disposal to secretly surf the human-changeling Internet. The murders had been reported. However, instead of being front-page items in major newspapers and magazines, they'd only gotten serious attention on fringe sites nobody really took seriously. That didn't change the fact that the killings had occurred and been noticed.

Before mysteriously disappearing.

Dorian's angry words reverberated in her head.

“No,” she whispered aloud. He had to be wrong, had to be driven by emotion rather than logic. The Psy didn't feel rage, jealousy, murderous fury. The Psy didn't feel. Period.

Except that she was a living, breathing rebuttal to that statement.

“No,” she said again. Yes, she felt, but a serial killer? Nobody could've hidden such a huge flaw in the Silence Protocol. Nobody had that much power.

Her own words returned to haunt her. Was it possible . . . ? “No.” She stared at the blank wall in front of her, unwilling to believe so quickly that her mother was guilty of aiding and abetting a murderer.

Nikita might not feel maternal emotions but Sascha felt a child's. Her mother was the sole constant presence in her life. She'd never met her father, her grandmother had been distant, and she had no cousins or siblings. Not that it would've meant much if she had had them. They would've been as cold as the woman who'd borne her.

She had to find out more information.

Decision made, she began to code in a call from the communication console. Then she cut it off. Enrique's too-focused interest in her had made her wary of being monitored. Picking up a black leather-synth jacket to throw over her jeans and black shirt, she headed out to her car.

It was only when she'd almost reached the DarkRiver building that she started thinking.

It was two in the morning. No one would be there. Certainly not the man she wanted to talk to. Her hands clenched on the wheel as she parked the car in the deserted lot and dropped her head back against the seat. She'd come here acting on instinct, seeking Lucas.

Sitting there staring at the darkness, she kept thinking about the way his eyes had gone cold as he'd told her that the Psy had a “metallic stink.” Tears rose perilously close to the surface. Why had she indulged herself with those dreams? They were impossible, even if she didn't have the threat of rehabilitation hanging over her head. And they had been a conscious indulgence.

She'd given herself those moments hidden deep in her subconscious to explore her needs, her hunger, and had been fully aware of what was happening. Aware of the way Lucas felt under her fingertips, his skin so hot, so alive. Aware of every sound he'd made, every flash of those amazing eyes. Aware of his every demand, his every need.

Lies. All of them. She'd made up his reactions as she'd made up everything else. It had been
her
fantasies that had driven those dreams. How pathetic was it that she'd imagined him holding her, imagined him
caring
. She slammed her palm against the manual steering wheel and opened the door. It slid smoothly back, allowing her to swing her legs out and take a breath of night air.

Getting out, she leaned against the part of the hood closest to the driver's-side door and stared up at the sky. Diamonds on velvet, that's what it looked like. She knew the clarity wasn't thanks to the Psy. It was humans and changelings, particularly changelings, who'd fought pollution, fought to keep their world beautiful.

She owed them a portion of her sanity.

Even when she was forced to lock herself into the cage of the Psy world, the shimmering night sky gave her beauty that no one could take from her. No one could damn her for staring up at the sky.

Something moved to her left.

Sascha spun around but all was silent darkness, the hedge lining the side of the parking lot blocking her line of sight. Heart thudding so hard she could feel every vibration, she sent out a cautious psychic probe.

And brushed up against something so hot and alive that she felt burned.

She withdrew immediately. A few seconds later, a hand touched her shoulder. If she hadn't felt his emotional shadow before he'd reached her, she would've jumped sky high and blown her cover to smithereens.

When she turned, it was to find herself face-to-face with the very male she'd been searching for. “You're wearing clothes” were the first words that popped out of her mouth.

Not much but it was clothing. A pair of low-slung jeans and a faded white T-shirt that defined every muscle on his impressive upper body. Her hormones flickered awake, her body aroused in spite of the terrible matters that lay heavy on her mind.

He chuckled. “I always have clothes accessible in places where I might often change.”

“What are you doing here?” Silence blanketed the night, creating a dangerous kind of intimacy.

“Don't you ever undo this?” He tugged at the end of the braid hanging over her breast.

“Sometimes when I sleep.” She didn't pull away, almost convinced herself that she was merely pandering to his changeling need for touch, that it had nothing to do with her own desires.

A slow smile spread over that savagely beautiful face. “I'd like to see that.”

“I thought you said we stink?” She was still hurting from the blow.

“Most Psy do. You, however, don't.” Leaning close, he sniffed at the curve of her neck. “In fact, I find your scent quite . . . luscious.”

It took every ounce of her concentration not to betray her reaction to his disturbing nearness. “That should make it easier for us to continue working together.”

“Darling, it'll make all sorts of things easier.” The heat coming off his body was a physical caress, intimate and exquisite.

She was intelligent enough to know that he was sexually flirting with her. She'd watched him with Tamsyn, with Zara. He didn't touch either of those women the way he touched her. But what was his agenda? Did he suspect she wasn't what she seemed, or was he merely amusing himself at her expense? “You didn't answer my question.”

“I think it should be mine, don't you?” Dropping her braid, he braced himself against the car by placing one arm across the roof. The position put him to her left, standing as she was with the car at her back. He was far too close for comfort but she couldn't move way. “What're you doing in my territory, Sascha?”

The words threatened to get stuck in her throat. “I wanted to talk to you about what you told me this afternoon.”

He ran a hand through his hair and her eyes followed the graceful movement. Something told her that he'd be just as graceful while stalking and taking down prey. “You picked an odd time for it.”

She could hardly say that she'd been driven by emotions run amuck. “I wasn't actually expecting anyone to be here, but decided to come on the off chance that someone was.”

“Someone?” He raised a brow.

“You,” she admitted, knowing it was useless to lie. “What
are
you doing here?”

“I couldn't sleep.”

“Bad dreams?”

“No dreams.” It was a husky whisper. “That was the problem.”

Something throbbed between them, an awareness that shouldn't have existed. They'd never really touched, never really spoken about anything other than business. Yet it was there, a growing, beautiful thing. “Why come here?”

“Instinct,” he said. “Maybe you drew me to you.”

“I don't have those abilities.” It was just another one of her flaws. She was a cardinal without power, a cosmic joke. “Even if I did have them, I'd never use them to summon someone against their will.”

“Who said it was against my will?” The arm on the roof of the car reached out to toy with a strand of her hair. “Why don't we go somewhere else to talk? It's unlikely anyone will see us here but if they do, I don't think your mother will understand.”

She nodded. “Yes, you're right. Where?”

He held out his hand. “Keys.”

“No.” There was only so much she'd take and Lucas Hunter was pushing it to the limit. “I'll drive.”

“Stubborn.” He laughed and walked around to the passenger side. “You're in charge, Sascha darling.”

After she'd got in and started up the car, he said, “Take a left on the street.”

“Where are we going?”

“Somewhere safe.”

He directed her across the Bay Bridge and through Oak-land. They hit the trailing edges of the wilderness that pressed against Stockton and kept going. The trees grew ever more dense, telling her that she'd entered some part of the massive Yosemite forests. Even with the considerable speed of her car, she'd been driving almost two hours when he told her to stop.

“Are you sure you want me to stop here?” Nothing but trees met the eye.

“Yes.” He got out.

Having no other choice, she followed. “We're going to talk here? We might as well sit in the car.”

“Scared?” It was a whisper in her ear.

His speed was frightening. He'd moved around the back of the car and to her in the space of a sentence. “Hardly. I'm Psy, remember? I'm simply confused by the logic of this.”

“Maybe I've brought you here to do dastardly deeds.” His hand rested on the curve of her hip.

“If you'd wanted to hurt me, you could've easily done so in the parking lot.” She wondered whether or not to make an issue over the hand on her hip. What would a normal Psy do? Would a normal Psy ever get herself in such a position in the first place? She didn't know!

That hand slid up until it lay against the curve of her waist. “Stop.”

“Why?”

“Such behavior isn't acceptable.” She coated each word with deliberate calm—it was the only way she could fight what he was doing to her. Unused to sensation, she was close to becoming a slave to it, the fantasies she'd indulged in during sleep leeching into her waking life.

He moved away at once. “You sound just like a Psy.”

“What else do you expect me to sound like?”

Looking into Sascha's night-sky eyes, eerie in the darkness, Lucas found himself saying, “More. I expect you to be more.” Before she could respond, he began walking. “Follow me.”

Already, he was debating the wisdom of his decision in bringing her to his lair. It was a stupid thing to do by any standard. Yet, he hadn't been able to stop himself, driven by instincts far older than human thought. The panther wanted her in its territory.

When he'd found her in the lot, where he'd been drawn by impulses he barely understood, he'd thought that he was starting to see the real Sascha at last. Except that if he were to believe the way she was acting, the real Sascha existed nowhere but in his mind.

Had he been wrong about her right from the outset?

He took her through the hidden pathway that exited beneath his lair—most people never watched for danger from above. “How high can you jump?”

She glanced up. “An aerie.”

“I'm a leopard. I climb.” Even in human form, he could jump higher and farther, climb faster than any human and most other changelings. It was part of what made him alpha, what made him Hunter-born.

“Your home is very far from your business premises.”

“I have a city apartment I use when I'm pressed for time. Let's go.”

“Is there any other way up?” She was looking at the smooth trunk of the huge tree that supported his home among its branches. Like the other mostly coniferous trees in the forest, it shot up straight as a ruler. But this particular species had an impressive canopy that stretched in every direction, blocking out the starlit night.

“Afraid not. You'll have to hold on.” He gave her his back.

After a minute's silence, he felt two tentative hands on his shoulders and almost laughed in relief. Her actions spoke far louder than her frosty tones—his poor kitten was scared and dealing with it the only way she knew how.

He'd been around her race a lot more than she knew, though, for the most part, they'd been low-level Psy the Council would never bother with. Still, they'd all had one thing in common—a complete and utter lack of reaction to most stimuli.

In contrast, he'd caught Sascha looking up at the night sky as if it held a thousand dreams. He'd watched her playing with cubs with what most would term affection. And he'd felt her touch him as if he disturbed her on the most intimate of levels.

“Harder, darling,” he drawled, the cat in him giving in to the impulse to tease. “Press close.”

“Perhaps it would be easier to speak in the car.”

His instincts were going crazy. His personal Psy was definitely disconcerted by his body. Good. He smiled where she couldn't see it. “I have food up there and I, for one, am starving. I ran to you, remember?”

“Of course. I understand.” That lush body pressed close, her hands sliding under his arms to wrap up and over his shoulders.

He bit back a purr. His body was responding as if it knew hers, as if those dreams had been utterly real. He touched the backs of her thighs with his fingertips. “Jump.”

She moved like they were one, wrapping her legs around his waist as he lunged to begin the climb, his claws slicing out to grip the smooth surface.

“Hold on tight.” He could feel his body rubbing against hers with every movement. Her chest pushed into his back, a sweet, sensual pressure that he had no trouble enduring. Even through the leather-synth of her jacket, he could feel the heavy weight of those beautiful breasts he'd seen in his dreams and fantasized about for days. What would it take to tempt her enough to make dreams a reality?