The Psy-Changeling Series, Books 6-10 (55 page)

“It’s a ridiculous assertion. Normal Psy do not feel.”

“Clever,” Dev muttered, stroking his hand down her calf in a caress that shattered her concentration. “She’s sidelining those four, effectively making them non-Psy.”

Another reporter stood up even as Katya realized he was tugging her feet out from under her, placing them on his lap. “Dev—”

“Shh.” His eyes were on the screen, but his fingers continued to stroke lightly over her calf. “Listen.”

She forced her attention back to the screen, hearing only the last part of the newest question.

“—Jax is a problem for Psy?”

“For the weak among us, yes,” Shoshanna said. “Some individuals are intrinsically flawed.”

The report cut off at that moment, with the anchor doing a short analysis. “She took the less damaging blow,” Katya said, skin stretching tighter with Dev’s every languid stroke, “acknowledging the Jax problem rather than admitting Psy are beginning to break Silence.”

“Yeah, that’s my take, too.” His hand closed over her ankle in a grip that screamed possession. “It’s not really admitting anything, is it? Everyone knows some Psy do Jax. The junkies are hard to miss.” The lazy stroke of his thumb over her anklebone.

Her thighs pressed together in an instinctive response she barely understood. Dragging in a breath, she tried to find her train of thought. “But it’s the deeper issue that’s really interesting—the public nature of the breakdowns.”

“These four aren’t the first,” he said, his breath mingling with hers as their faces came ever closer. “There was a rash of similar incidents not that many months back. They’ll be in the CTX archives.”

It should’ve been a startling piece of information, but—“I worked with Ashaya for years. I always knew there was something imperfect about her Silence.” And if there was one, why not more?

“Stop that.”

Only then did she realize she’d been petting him through the thin cotton of his T-shirt. “I—”

His hand curled into her hair, tugging back her head and cutting off her words. She found herself looking up into a face that could have as easily belonged to some dark age of war and conquest. Devraj Santos, she thought, made a good show of being civilized, but peel that away, and this was who he was at the core. Hard. Ruthless. Quite possibly without mercy.

“Such big eyes,” he murmured. “Don’t you know you shouldn’t play with what you can’t handle?”

“I figured,” she said through a throat that had gone as dry as dust, “my status as a likely enemy spy would save me.” Except somehow, she was draped across his lap, her heart thudding in time to his.

“No one said,” he murmured in that low, compelling voice, “I couldn’t have it both ways.” His lips touched hers.

The intensity of it made her toes curl. “You can’t.” But her hand was on his neck, though how she dared touch a man this dangerous, she didn’t quite know—no matter how tame he appeared, he wasn’t, never would be.

“No?” Another fleeting touch, the hand that had been on her leg closing gently around her throat.

“No,” she whispered. “I’m either the enemy or . . .”

“Or?” He sipped at her lower lip, a tiny, suckling kiss.

“Exactly.” It came out ragged, her heartbeat pulsing in every inch of her skin.

He gave her another one of those maddening little kisses, making her fingers clench on his neck, her body twisting impossibly closer. Something flickered in his eyes, a glimmer of what seemed to be gold. Then his head dipped and she forgot everything but the pleasure that arced through her body.

Taking her lips in a slow, so slow kiss, he drove her mad even as he gave her just what she wanted. The heat of him was a wave against her body, making her nipples ache, the soft cotton of her bra suddenly unbearable. It would’ve made a “normal” Psy pull back, scramble to reinitialize the conditioning. But Katya craved the sensations, the feeling of being alive, of
existing.

Here, with Dev, there was no room for the madness that had stalked her in that lightless, formless chamber, where the temperature never changed, and no one spoke to her for so long, she would’ve debased herself for a simple human kindness.

Teeth sinking very deliberately into her lower lip.

She opened her eyes to find him watching her with the glittering gaze of a tiger who’d sighted prey. When he released her kiss-wet lip, she stayed in place, feeling his pulse against her palm, his skin hot and somehow intriguingly rougher than hers, his body so big, so strong that it blocked out the world. What would it be like if he covered her with that raw male heat, if he simply took her over?

She shivered.

Rubbing his thumb over the sensitive hollow at the base of her neck, he said, “Top or bottom?”

“What?” Had he read her mind?

“Top or bottom?” he repeated softly.

She was suddenly very certain she was in over her head. Devraj Santos wasn’t the kind of man a woman “learned” on. He’d not only take, he’d demand, and if those demands weren’t met . . . He’d be no easy lover.

As his next words proved.

“Would you like me to kiss you here”—the brush of his knuckles across her breasts—“or go lower?” A big hand closing over her thigh.

Dev knew he should stop, that she’d hate him the next day if this went any further. But he’d used up his self-control last night. No amount of metal on earth could stop him now. All he wanted was to strip her naked and taste. “I’m a selfish bastard.”

Her eyes were almost pure green as she looked at him. “Not if you’re the one being kissed.”

He froze.

Before he could snap himself out of it, she was pushing up his T-shirt, her intent clear. He wasn’t about to argue. Releasing her only for the seconds it took to rip the soft cotton over his head, he shifted their positions until she sat straddling him, her hair brilliant in the sunshine pouring in through the huge windows to his right. “I’m yours,” he whispered, his voice husky with the ferocity of his hunger. “Do whatever you want, whatever you like.”

She spread her fingers on his pectorals, the shock of it going straight to his cock. “I want to . . .” Her voice whispered away as her fingers caressed him, light, so light that his entire body arched upward, begging for more. She shuddered, leaned forward . . . then shook her head. “No.”

It took him almost a minute to find his voice. Even then, it came out gravel rough. “Are you sure?”

“What happens when I insist on going north?” Her hand swept out, accidentally knocking the trail mix to the floor.

And he knew the time of illusions was over. “I can’t let you go.”

Hazel eyes locked with his, the intent in them unmistakable. “You can try to hold me. You’ll fail.”

“I’m not used to failure.”

“Dev, I have nothing to lose.” Quiet words, but her will—it was a steel blue flame. “I know I’m looking down the barrel of a gun that
will
go off in my face. So if necessary, I’ll cut off my hands to get them out of cuffs, break my own ankle, do whatever it takes to escape.”

The bloody images slammed into him, hard, brutal, unforgiving. He’d heard words like those before. From the men in his old army unit when they’d been boxed in, with no way out. All seven had survived—because they hadn’t cared whether they lived or died. Better to go out fighting than live as a prisoner of the enemy.

Katya would do exactly as she said if he tried to hold her.

And he would do everything in his power to keep her. “You’re still a threat,” he said, knowing he was tearing apart the fragile new bonds between them, damaging them beyond repair. “I’ll do whatever it takes to contain you.”

Katya felt an unwelcome start of surprise.

Dev, she realized, had been very careful with her. She’d thought she’d known, but he hadn’t truly shown her the utterly ruthless side of his nature until this moment. Though his voice was soft, everything about him said he was speaking the unvarnished truth. He’d lock her up and throw away the key if that was what it took.

And she had no way to fight him.

Angered by her own helplessness, by her foolish hope that he’d change his mind, she pushed off him. His hands tightened on her hips for the merest fraction of an instant before he let her go. Moving to a separate armchair, she folded her arms around herself. “I want to see Ashaya.” It was a small rebellion, a reminder that she wasn’t as alone as he might think.

He didn’t put on his T-shirt, a bronzed god in sunlight. “You didn’t seem keen on talking to her when she visited.”

“I was ashamed.” Unable to stop her eyes from drinking in the addictive beauty of him, she got up and walked to stare sightlessly through the windows. “I didn’t understand why then, but now I know.”

“She’ll have guessed—”

“It doesn’t matter!” Thrusting a hand through hair that had begun to lighten even under the winter sun, she leaned her forehead against the glass. “I need to face her, tell her what I did.”

Dev’s voice came from inches behind her. “You’ve remembered more.”

“I dream.” Such horrible dreams. “But last night was different—for a while it was as if I’d wiped the grime off a particular lens, making everything crystal clear.”

He leaned forward, one hand palm down on either side of her head. “How much?”

She found herself desperately fighting the urge to lean back, to surrender to the illusion once again. “Pieces, but enough that I know I need to tell Ashaya, warn her.”

A long silence, broken only by their breaths, the window fogging over to lock them in a still, quiet intimacy. “You could be a threat to her family, the children. You were pretty adamant yourself about not going to her when I mentioned it at the clinic.”

Her stomach dropped. “Yes . . . yes, you’re right.” Legs weakening, she braced herself on the glass rather than on him, not sure she’d be able to pull back a second time. Emotion was a feedback loop without rules, without boundaries. It scared her how susceptible she was to this man who seemed almost Psy in his ability to lock away his emotions when they became inconvenient.

Forcing herself to think past her turbulent awareness of him was almost impossibly hard, but something in his words drove her forward. “Dev,” she whispered, “you said children. Ashaya only has a son.”

The solid warmth of Dev’s body stroked over her as he spoke. “The two kids who were kept in the labs while you were there . . .”

“The boy and a little girl.” So young, so vulnerable.

“Ashaya didn’t kill them—she helped them escape.”

Panic beat in her. “Wait—”

“The Council knows,” Dev told her. “The kids were adopted by a DarkRiver couple and after Ashaya’s defection, there was no need to hide them.”

Emotion—relief, worry, joy—buffeted her on every side. “I guessed that Ashaya got them out, but I was never sure.” And she hadn’t asked, conscious that the fewer people who knew the truth, the better. “I suppose,” she managed to say through the chaos in her body, her mind, “I’d begun to think that since I hadn’t been compelled to head toward her, Shine had to be the target, but the reality is I could be programmed to hit her or the children. I’d never know until that particular component of the compulsion activated.” Her hand fisted so tight, she felt her entire hand throb. “I
hate
this, not knowing what’s in my own head.”

“How far would you go to fix that?” Dev asked, and there was a darkness in his voice that should’ve scared her.

But she’d gone past that kind of fear. “As far as it takes!”

“Would you leave the PsyNet?”

That halted her. It was a question she’d never even considered. “I can’t. I need the biofeedback provided by my connection to the Net.” Psy who lost that feedback died within a matter of minutes. “I know—I remember—the ShadowNet can’t take pure-blooded Psy anymore.”

His arm muscles went rock hard. “I didn’t realize Psy knew that.”

“Not Psy . . . well, I suppose the Council does now.” She wrapped her arms around herself, ashamed of how utterly she’d broken, how much she’d betrayed. “Ashaya and I, we made that assessment. It was a best-guess scenario. We had to know, you see.”

“Yes.” A silence. Then, a wave of heat, as if he’d shifted an inch closer. “If the ShadowNet could support full-bloods, rebels would have the perfect escape hatch.”

Katya bit her lip, wanting him to close the final, minuscule gap between them and hating him at the same time for inciting such need inside her. Because, unlike Dev, she didn’t know how to go cold anymore. This want, this hunger, she’d never be able to put it back in its box. But she didn’t turn, didn’t pound him with her fists as she wanted.

“It wasn’t mercenary,” she said. “There’s just so much we can’t do because we’re trapped by our need for feedback. If we could somehow neutralize that . . .” More and more of her memories were starting to come back, as if her mind had picked up enough steam that it could part the curtains, even if it was only segment by slow segment.

“The thing is, Katya,” Dev said, his lips grazing her ear in a hot caress that almost broke her, “the ShadowNet would probably drive most Psy to insanity. It’s chaos given form.”

“What about the ones who are already mad?” she asked, seeing another painful truth. “What about the ones like me?”

Jack looked up
as William walked into the garage. “Hey, kiddo. What’s up?”

“I have a question.” All big moss green eyes, Will hitched himself up on his usual spot on top of the closed tool chest.

“Yeah? Homework?” Setting down the old-fashioned saw he’d been using to shorten a length of timber in preparation for building a tree house, Jack headed over to hunker in front of his son, glad Will was acting more like his normal self. After the last incident . . . “Hit me with it.”

But Will didn’t respond with his usual mock punch. Instead, his lower lip trembled. “How do you know if you’re bad?”