The Psy-Changeling Collection (332 page)

The punch of sensation went straight to her gut, but so did the wolf’s confusion at the sudden change in this relationship. She pushed against his chest. Of course, since he
was
a predatory changeling male, he kept on kissing her. She could’ve gotten away, but unwilling to reject him so roughly, she chose to push at him again. He broke off only long enough to say, “You want me. I can scent it.” His tongue licked against hers in blunt demand, his free hand closing over the back of her neck as he pressed her to the wall, the heat of his skin burning her through and through.

A red haze of anger, powerful enough that she had to fight to keep her claws sheathed
.

Wrenching away using the skill and strength that made her one of SnowDancer’s most senior lieutenants, she swept off the bed, fury pulsing in every inch of her. The kiss she would have forgiven. Even the pushiness—she understood what he was, wouldn’t have penalized him for it. But the hand around her neck, the way he’d tried to use his body to pin hers to the wall, and most of all the arrogance with which he’d taken it as a given that her touch-hunger made her his for the taking? No.

“I,” she said, in a tone so calm it took all of her control to maintain it, “haven’t given you the right to touch me as you please.” There was play … and then there were lines you didn’t cross. “Next time you try to touch me like that”—in possession, in
ownership
—“be prepared to get that pretty face shredded.”

So infuriated she couldn’t hear anything but the surge of her own blood, she turned on her heel and left. The worst of it was that she’d trusted Drew, thought he was a friend who accepted and appreciated her for the dominant female she was—but clearly, he was just another cocky young male who thought the lieutenant could be brought to heel by sex. And where she might’ve easily forgiven everything else, she could not forgive that betrayal.

CHAPTER 3

Enclosed within the
privacy of a secure London apartment, Councilor Henry Scott looked across the desk at his “wife,” Councilor Shoshanna Scott, and considered the pros and cons of their relationship. They were Psy—unlike with the other races, emotion didn’t come into the mix when undertaking that evaluation. Their marriage had been—was—a piece of political strategy, a way to placate the human and changeling media by giving them an easily relatable image.

However, of late that plus was being canceled out by the questions people were asking about the exact nature of their relationship—there had been too many leaks and the emotional races now had information they should have never had. It had led to several probing inquiries at the most recent press conference, inquiries that wouldn’t have been made even two years ago.

But, though problematic, that issue could wait.

“It is still possible to close the Net to outside influences,” he said, focusing on the more important concern. “Nikita is incorrect to say that things have reached a critical mass, that Silence is close to falling.” Councilor Duncan had been tainted by her constant and prolonged contact with the changelings in her territory and, as such, was a threat to the purity of Silence, the Protocol that erased their race’s madnesses as it erased their emotions.

Henry intended to reinitiate that purity at all costs, and he had a significant amount of support. Membership in Pure Psy, the group formed to ensure Silence didn’t fall, was rising day by day. “Our race neither wants nor needs any change in the Protocol.”

Swiveling in her chair, Shoshanna picked up a remote and switched on a screen to her right. “These are the key players we need to eliminate in order to initiate a full closure of the Net.”

The first image on the left was that of Sascha Duncan, Nikita’s flawed daughter. It was followed by those of Faith NightStar and Ashaya Aleine. “All high-level defectors from the Net,” he murmured, watching as Shoshanna brought up more images.

“The males they’ve bonded with in the DarkRiver leopard pack will also need to be executed,” Shoshanna added. “Changelings are proprietary about their women.”

“They’re also relentless,” Henry said, staring at the row of images. “We need to eliminate the entire pack, or at least the strongest part of it, if we’re to ensure success.”

“Correct.” She flicked up another image, that of a man with ice blue eyes and hair of an unusual silver-gold. “The alpha of the SnowDancer pack needs to go, along with his lieutenants.” Nine new images appeared on-screen. “The wolves are too tightly allied with the leopards to risk leaving them untouched.”

“I thought our data stated that SnowDancer had ten lieutenants.”

“It appears they’ve lost one, or we had the wrong information in the first place.”

That, Henry knew, was quite possible. Their spy in the SnowDancer ranks had been executed over a year ago. Since then, any information they had was sketchy at best. “Any assassination attempt on a changeling stands a high chance of failure. Their natural shields give them enough of a warning that they have an opportunity to retaliate.” And while he considered the animal races far less intelligent than his own, he respected their physical strength against weaker Psy bodies.

“Agreed, but we can finalize the logistics later. However,” she continued, “in light of the close alliance between SnowDancer and DarkRiver, it may be a good strategic move to remove the wolf alpha from the equation before we target the leopards. Their emotional natures will mean they’ll be weakened by the damaging psychological impact of such a loss.”

Since Shoshanna had proven skilled in predicting such responses in humans and changelings, Henry had no argument with that. “Focusing our resources on the San Francisco area first,” he said, “makes sense. The majority of the problems have been spawned by a relatively small group.”

Two more images appeared on the screen—Nikita’s human security chief and the fractured Justice Psy who was likely in a relationship with the man. The J-Psy’s shields were inexplicable and impenetrable, but the fact that she was still in the Net in spite of her broken Silence was so unacceptable that it needed no discussion.

Another three images. All fellow Councilors.

“Nikita needs to go.” Shoshanna’s tone was flat, with no room for compromise. “Ming has access to significant military resources. If we can’t co-opt him, he must be eliminated.”

“Agreed,” Henry said. “But he is not a primary target.” He nodded at the third image. “What are your thoughts on Anthony?” He didn’t trust his wife an inch, but he respected her political acumen. Just as he respected the fact that one day soon he’d have to kill her—to ensure she didn’t kill him first.

“Uncertain,” she said now. “Anthony has supported Nikita in the Council on the issue of Silence, but he has also supported our interests at times and could therefore be turned. He has no connections outside the Net except for his subcontracting arrangement with his daughter, and that decision is one I may have made myself in the same situation.”

Since Faith NightStar was the strongest F-Psy in the world, able to predict futures other foreseers couldn’t even glimpse, her services worth millions if not billions, Anthony’s decision was one Henry understood as well. “He is, however, protective of his investment. We’ll have to think carefully before we eliminate Faith.”

“Yes, we can consider her toward the end.” A pause. “F-Psy are, after all, often fractured and kept under psychic guard. She could be reassimilated into the Net.”

“A possibility.” Henry made a note to investigate whether Shoshanna had a “pet” F-Psy of her own. Her telepathic reach was more than powerful enough to direct the unstable mind of a broken foreseer. “These two,” he said, picking up the remote to highlight the images, “are the primary targets. Kill them and we bring the city to its knees.”

And he already had the operation in place to ensure it.

CHAPTER 4

Andrew knew he’d
messed up—badly.

Standing under the cold spray of his morning shower, he pressed his forehead to the tile, his hand fisted against the cool white surface. He didn’t blame Indy for thinking he was only interested in sex, in the physical. Yes, he
was
sexually hungry. Very, very hungry. But not just for sex. For sex with Indigo—he’d wanted her for what seemed like forever, but these past few months, his needs had turned highly specific in every way.

The sole thing that had kept him from imploding was the fact that he knew she hadn’t been with anyone those months, either.

And now he’d gone and mucked his chances up but good. Not only that, he’d reinforced her opinion of him as a young male led by nothing but his cock, not worth taking seriously in the personal arena. “Damn it.” Wanting to strike out at something—preferably his own stupidity—he wrenched off the shower and stepped out to rub himself dry. He was thrusting a hand through his damp hair when his phone beeped. It was his alpha.

“My office, five minutes.”

Adrenaline pumped through his veins at the summons. Better, far better, to be given some task that would mean racing through the cold climes of the Sierra than trapped in this room, this
den
, saturated with Indigo’s unique scent.

Rainstorms and fire, ice and steel, that was what Indigo was to him.

And it was a scent that was waiting for him in Hawke’s office. Sucking in a breath as he entered, he reined in the lunge his wolf wanted to make. Indigo glanced at him from where she stood in front of their alpha’s desk, but her eyes told him nothing.

However, the straight line of her spine, the angle of her jaw, it all said “keep your distance” loud and clear. Though it kicked him in the guts that he’d broken the trust between them, Andrew wasn’t about to listen to the silent order. And if Indigo thought he’d give up that easily, she had no idea who she was dealing with.

“Grab a seat, both of you,” Hawke said, sitting down in his own chair. “Have you heard from Riley, Drew?”

Andrew slid into a seat beside Indigo, stretching his legs out in front. “Got a text saying they’re planning to visit Rio de Janeiro today. Oh, and that he’s already in love with Mercy’s grandmother. Since she hasn’t clawed his guts open yet, he thinks she might like him back.”

Hawke grinned. “Poor Riley. I hope he survives.”

“He knew what he was getting into when he mated with a dominant female,” Indigo said, tapping a finger on the arm of her chair. “If he has the sense to continue to treat Mercy as exactly what she is, I’m sure her family will have no problem with him.”

Andrew knew the words were directed at him. Yeah, they cut. But they also shored up his determination. Because no way in hell was last night going to be the final word on their relationship. “You know the two cats who came up here?” he said out loud, mentally vowing to melt that icy control, and more, to make her
see
him. “The ones who thought they might have a shot with Mercy?”

“Eduardo and Joaquin?” Hawke said, his hair catching the light as he leaned back in his chair and folded his arms behind his head. “What about them?”

“They took Riley out drinking last night.”

The three of them digested that for a second … before grins appeared on all their faces, segueing slowly into chuckles, then outright laughter—including from the lieutenant sitting so straight and stiff next to him. His wolf bared its teeth in a feral smile. Indy might think she could freeze him out like she could everyone else, but just wait.

After they’d gotten the amusement out of their system, Hawke picked up a notepad. “Okay, with Riley and Mercy both away, we’ve got to move some things around. I need you”—glancing at Andrew—“to do a few extra security shifts.”

“No problem.” While his position as Hawke’s eyes and ears in the wider pack had him on the road much of the time, he also functioned as a senior-level soldier during the times he was in the den.

Hawke made a note. “Indigo, you good with continuing to coordinate our resources?”

“Yes.” Indigo’s tone was calm, practical, with not the slightest hint of the passionate nature he’d glimpsed for a brief moment last night. “Are you handling the liaison with the leopards?”

Hawke’s scowl had Andrew fighting a grin. “Yeah. Do you know how many juveniles I had to spring from cat territory yesterday?
Five
,” he said without waiting for an answer. “They’d gotten the bright idea to catch a leopard juvenile in animal form and cover him in blue and silver paint.”

Andrew snorted. “At least they chose the pack’s colors.”

“Yeah, too bad for them that the ‘juvenile’ they caught was actually a full-fledged female soldier who just happens to be slightly smaller in size.”

Indigo’s wince was a hiss of air. “How bad did she slice them up?”

“They’ll live.” Hawke’s wolf was in his eyes, clearly amused. “My punishment was probably worse. I doused the idiots in their own paint and told them they’re not allowed to shift to get rid of it. It washes off in the shower, or it doesn’t come off.”

That, Andrew thought, explained the sheepish-looking teenager he’d seen on the way here, his hair sticking up in stiff blue spikes. “You want me to handle any of that?”

“No.” Hawke shook his head. “Indigo or I will move you around as we see a gap. Riaz will be arriving later today, so we’ll have another lieutenant soon, but he’ll need a few days to rest and get himself up to speed.”

Indigo leaned forward a bare fraction. “I didn’t know he was coming home.”

Andrew’s wolf growled a warning inside his mind at the sign of her interest in the other man. Riaz, he knew, was around Indigo’s age and ranked just below her in the hierarchy. The male had spent most of the past couple of years away from SnowDancer territory, roaming through various parts of the country and the world to gather information; to function as the pack’s business representative when necessary; and more recently, to initiate contact and/or informal alliances with other changeling groups.

But none of that was important to his wolf. What made its fur bristle was one simple, inescapable fact: Riaz and Indigo had once been lovers. His hand clenched on the arm of his chair, his claws slicing out to dig into the leather-synth. He retracted the physical evidence of his emotions before anyone could notice, but there was nothing he could do about the claws slicing at the insides of his skin as the wolf paced, a low growl humming at the back of its throat.