The Psy-Changeling Collection (199 page)
Nothing.
She looked at Dorian, feeling helpless and in the wrong, though she knew she’d done the right thing. This way, Amara stayed alive. If she’d attacked Dorian, she’d probably have ended up de—
A telepathic strike that drove her to her knees, every ounce of Amara’s meager Tp abilities focused over a very short distance and shoved like an ice pick into Ashaya’s brain. Ashaya gripped her head, unable to see through the brutal ferocity of the pain.
Dorian saw Ashaya go down and made his decision in the flicker between one instant and the next. “Fuck this.” He dropped Amara lightly to the ground. Then he coldcocked her.
She went out like a light.
But he wasn’t looking at her anymore. He was cradling Ashaya in his lap, stroking his hand over her hair, dropping kisses along her temple, and wiping away her tears. She whimpered as if it still hurt. It was such a helpless sound to come from this woman who never let anything bring her down. The rage inside him was a powerful beating thing, but it had nowhere to go—because killing Amara would kill a part of Ashaya, too.
So he just held her until she raised her head. Her gaze went to her sister’s unconscious body. “You hit her.”
“Only way I could think of to cut off whatever it was she was doing to you.” He figured she’d be shocked, maybe a hell of a lot more than shocked. He didn’t care. Not when it came to protecting her.
But she didn’t berate him. Instead, she nodded, a bruised kind of resignation in her eyes. “I’d almost convinced myself it would all work out, that she’d listen.” She shook her head. “There’s going to be no easy answer, is there, Dorian?”
He couldn’t lie to her. “No, Shaya.” This would make them all bleed before it was over.
Kaleb watched the
late afternoon foot traffic in the square outside his Moscow office and considered what Henry had shared at the Council meeting an hour ago. This group—Pure Psy—posed a potential problem. Vigilantes of any type had a way of turning against the very power structure they initially supported. “Silver,” he said into the intercom.
His aide walked in from the outer office. “Sir?”
“I want you to find out everything you can about a group called Pure Psy.”
Silver made a note on her organizer before looking up. “Sir, my family has been approached with an invitation to join Pure Psy.”
Given the Mercant family’s ruthless penchant for following power, Silver’s willingness to share this information was an interesting comment on his own perceived status. “What can you tell me about them?”
“Not much at this stage. The group won’t discuss the exact nature of its activities with nonmembers. My family is being cautious about getting involved—we don’t want to do anything to jeopardize our standing with the Council.”
It was a veiled offer to feed him information. Kaleb knew
Silver’s family would cut his throat without a thought if he lost his power, but for now, he had the Mercant resources at his disposal. He’d have been concerned that Silver would betray him with the same glibness, but that wasn’t the Mercant way. The family had a history of unswerving loyalty unless and until the object of that loyalty proved weak. “Thank you, Silver,” he said. “I’d appreciate being kept updated on Pure Psy’s activities.”
“Yes, sir. Was that all?”
“Yes.”
After his aide left, Kaleb took a small platinum charm from his pocket.
A single star. A marker.
The NetMind and DarkMind had both defied him in his search for the owner of the charm, but he
would
succeed. Failure simply wasn’t an option.
Iliana Aleine was interned at the Center as per Council order 507179, and given intensive rehabilitation. She did not wake from the final procedure. The death arose from complications due to her diseased mind and has been ruled natural.
—Death notice received by Ashaya and Amara Aleine, December 2069
“I asked Lucas
to get Sascha,” Dorian told Ashaya after closing his phone and slinging Amara back over his shoulder. “Her gift might help with your sister.”
Ashaya nodded, hovering as they returned to the cabin and he put his burden in a chair inside.
“We have to be safe,” he told her as he immobilized Amara with ropes.
“I know.” But she watched her twin with need in her eyes that Dorian knew would never be fulfilled. Amara was incapable of love as most people understood it—he’d got that with only a glancing acquaintance. But, he thought, tying the final knot, there was something there. It had driven Amara this far into dangerous territory. “Is she really out?” Going to Ashaya, he took her in his arms.
“Not as deep as before. She’ll probably wake within the next few minutes. You should change. The broadcast.” The plan was for her to make the morning news.
“I don’t know if I can do it.” She put her ear over his heartbeat.
Man and leopard were both pleased she saw safety in him. “Yes, you can. Don’t give up.”
“I can’t leave her alone.” She looked more lost than he’d ever seen her.
“We won’t.” He rubbed his thumb over her lower lip in a predator’s soothing caress. “Dezi’s already out there and more packmates are heading over. But,” he added, “I’m not going to push you. I’ve been thinking about how far the Council seems ready to go—they came close to violating our implied truce today.” It displayed an arrogant determination that had him questioning his earlier belief that a high profile would ensure his mate’s safety. “We’ll find another way to—”
Ashaya was already shaking her head. “No.” A husky voice, crushed velvet and feminine will. “I need to do this, for Ekaterina. For my mother. They killed her for daring to speak out, then told us she’d died a ‘natural’ death.” She took a deep breath. “I need to show everyone the Council hasn’t intimidated me into silence.”
His protective instincts collided with a raw sense of pride. “Once more,” he said, voice husky. “After that, we renegotiate.”
“One more broadcast might be all that’s needed.” She took a deep breath. “I’ll go change.”
Dorian nodded, but kept his senses focused on Amara. “Can she attack you from a distance?”
“No, not telepathically,” Ashaya said from the bathroom. “She’s not strong enough.” The sound of crisp cotton sliding over warm skin. It made his body tighten, but he stayed put, his eyes on a woman who should’ve been identical to his mate but wasn’t.
“What about through the PsyNet?” he asked.
A pause. “Possible. She’s the only one who can find me there. If she does, it’ll blow my cover … even though I’m starting to panic about exactly
how
that cover is staying in place. I’m feeling too much—my shields should’ve been compromised days ago.”
Dorian ignored her final murmurs. “Would she do that, put you at risk?”
Ashaya walked back out, fingers busy with the buttons on the cuffs of her ice-blue shirt. “I broke the rules—I brought someone else into our game. I don’t know what she’ll do in retaliation.”
About to answer, he heard Amara take a deeper, more conscious breath. “She’s waking up.”
Ashaya gave him a startled look. “How can you tell? She’s shut me out, I can’t feel her anymore.”
“Good.” Amara’s head rose from her chest to pin Ashaya to the spot, but when she spoke again, it was to Dorian. “Wonder what the Council will say about changelings interfering in their business again.”
“Don’t know where you’ve been,” Dorian replied conversationally, “but we don’t give a shit about your Council.”
Amara continued to stare.
He smiled. “Trying to crack my shields? You’re not strong enough to do it.”
Amara’s head swung toward Ashaya. “You’ve been telling secrets. Ming won’t like that. Should I contact him?”
“Are you sure he’ll help you?” Dorian raised an eyebrow. “He left you for us to deal with.”
Amara didn’t blink. “I suppose I should’ve expected that—I put six of his guards in a narcotic coma.”
“Will they live?” Ashaya asked.
“Should.” A shrug. “
He
won’t.” A flat glance at Dorian. “I’m going to kill you.”
“No, you won’t,” Ashaya said. “You’re not a murderer.”
“I know. I wouldn’t kill you.”
“Amara, you can’t kill anyone.”
Dorian’s phone beeped in the ensuing silence. He glanced at the readout. “We’d better get going.”
Ashaya looked at Amara. “You need to have a shower.”
“I’ll make sure she gets the chance,” Dorian told her, knowing Sascha would ensure Amara didn’t pull any psychic tricks. He would’ve preferred to have Judd come down, but didn’t want to take the other man away from Keenan. Then there was the fact that like Ashaya, Amara was still in the Net. And according to the Net, Judd Lauren was dead.
Amara was now staring at her twin. “I saw your broadcast. You lied.”
“What did you expect me to do? Let them continue to torture my son?” Ashaya’s voice rose for the first time. “Or should I have handed him over to your tender mercies?”
Dorian found it interesting that Amara didn’t challenge Ashaya’s claim to Keenan. “What will you lie about this time?” she asked instead.
“I’m going to reiterate the message, make it clear I’m not out for political gain.”
“It’s obvious you feel things.” Amara stared, unblinking. “Your eyes give you away.”
Very perceptive, Dorian thought—Amara Aleine was a sociopath, but she was in no way stupid. “So what?” Dorian said. “It’s the message that’s important.”
“The second my twin acknowledges a breach in her conditioning,” Amara said, eyes never moving off Ashaya, “she loses all credibility. The Council won’t have to
do
anything to rebut her accusations.”
Dorian had an uneasy feeling her point might be valid. He met Ashaya’s gaze. “She right?”
Her nod was reluctant. “Silence is being challenged on a number of levels. People know it’s failing for some—there are whispers of violence, of madness, but for the vast majority, it’s an indelible truth, something they’ll fight to maintain.”
“Because,” Amara said with the absolute detachment Dorian was coming to expect from her, “at the heart of it, they’re afraid.”
“Psy don’t feel.” Dorian leaned back against the wall.
Amara turned to him, black pupils stark against the paleness of her irises. “It’s the great irony of our race. Psy cling so hard to Silence because at the bottom of it all, they’re terrified, afraid that if they let go, the monsters inside their heads will start crawling out, reducing them to the level of you animals once again.”
Dorian understood when he was being played. Instead of letting her get to him, he raised an eyebrow. “But you don’t think that. You feel.”
She gave him a disappointed look. “No, I don’t. I’m a pure sociopath. I can pretend, but I can’t actually feel.”
He was fascinated by the clinical way she described herself. “How do you know if you’ve never felt?”
She slanted a sly glance her sibling’s way. “Ashaya’s mind has all sorts of interesting nooks and crannies, doesn’t it, big sister?”
“I told you she spied,” Ashaya said, and there was pain in it. “Before I learned to block her, she used to shadow my mind every minute of every day. She’s the reason Silence never stood a chance of gaining a foothold in my psyche.” Her next words were directed at Amara. “You were never under, were you, Amara?”
Amara shrugged. “It’s impossible to condition someone like me. Not when Silence is based on the theory that we all feel something to start with.” She looked to Dorian again. “They tie the pain controls—the feedback loop that punishes us for ‘bad’ behavior—into emotion. Since I don’t have any, the conditioning made no impact.”
“And you made sure it didn’t take with me, either,” Ashaya said.
“Your mind was more interesting with emotion.”
Ashaya’s hand fisted. Pushing off the wall, Dorian began playing with his pocketknife, drawing Amara’s attention. “Have you ever killed?” she asked him.
“Yes.” In defense of those he loved, in protection. And once, in vengeance.
“What does it feel like?” Cold, scientific curiosity.
He balanced the tip of the knife on his finger. “Why? Don’t you know?”
A shrug. “It’s never interested me for its own sake.”
He believed her. Ashaya’s sister was a monster, but a monster of a different breed. Left alone, she wouldn’t rampage through the streets spilling innocent blood. Nor would she abduct and torture for the sake of it. But, he realized, she would do any cruelty in the name of science, in the name of knowledge. And the true horror of it was that she might actually find answers to questions humanity had been asking for decades. A genius untrammeled by conscience or ethics. With no vulnerability … save one.
“Would you let the Council kill Ashaya?” he asked.
Something primal awakened in the depths of those blue gray eyes. “Ashaya is mine.” Like a child staking a claim. “She’s always been mine.”
“No,” he said, folding the knife closed and sliding it back into his pocket. “You can’t get into her mind anymore.”
For the first time, Amara struggled against her bonds. “I can feel her.”
“I know.” But he also knew something else. “There’s a
stronger bond there now and it’s so powerful, it strangles your connection to a trickle.”
Amara hissed. “The boy?” A disdainful sniff. “I considered him a threat once, but he comes from me, therefore he is me. Her bond to him is mine.”
He saw Ashaya sag in relief. He felt like doing the same. He had complete faith in DarkRiver’s ability to protect Keenan, but—and so long as they ensured she could never get physically close to the kid—it looked like they wouldn’t have to worry about Amara’s particular brand of evil. But this wasn’t about Keenan. It had never been.
“You can sense it,” he said to her, holding a gaze that should’ve been familiar but wasn’t. She even did her hair in the same braids as Ashaya, had the same distinctive skin tone. Yet he knew he’d never mistake one for the other. There was an emptiness in Amara, a strange hollowness that sucked in everything around her. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”