The Psy-Changeling Series, Books 6-10 (27 page)

Nikita knew she should destroy it and reclaim the cost from the Council coffers. None of her fellow Councilors would blink an eyelash—this was a legitimate expense. But she hadn’t bought it to destroy it, though if anyone did ever track the sale back to her, that was what she’d tell them.

She picked up the book, redid the packaging, and put it in a simple brown waterproof envelope. Then she wrote the name of the recipient on the top:
Sascha Duncan
.

Again, she asked herself why she was doing this. “Power,” she told herself. That was why she did anything.

CHAPTER 36

Mercy had just walked into her cabin after working late when the comm panel flashed an incoming call. She answered audio-only. “Hi, Gran.”

“Don’t ‘hi, Gran’ me,” Isabella snapped back. “What’s this I hear about you and a wolf?”

“I’m going to kill Eduardo and Joaquin.” They had to have caught an airjet to get home so fast.

“Those two didn’t say a word except to tell me anyone else I send up had better be prepared to come back sans body parts.”

“Then how do you know anything about my life?”

“I have ears. I use them.” An impatient sound. “Put me on the viewscreen so I can see your face.”

Blowing out a breath, Mercy did as ordered. An instant later, her maternal grandmother’s face appeared on-screen, beautiful, determined, and dangerously intelligent. Isabella was on oddity in her part of the world, with pale cream skin and hair that had been a rich dark gold before it turned a stunning white, traits she’d bequeathed her daughter, Lia—Mercy’s mom. Family legend said some
bandido
way back when had stolen away with the daughter of a French admiral, and now, every so often, the genetics kicked up an unexpected blonde. Mercy didn’t know if that was true, but Isabella was certainly regal. She’d undoubtedly look as haughty at a hundred and thirty.

“A wolf?” Isabella repeated.

“No.”

Isabella narrowed her dark brown eyes. “Lying to your grandmother is a mortal sin.”

“It’s not a lie. He’s an ass.”

“I could’ve told you that.” A sniff. “I know wolves can be attractive, but seriou—”

“Back up.” Mercy held up a hand. “How do you know?”

“None of your business.”

Mercy grinned. “Played with a wolf, did you?”

“If I did, I came to my senses in time.” But her lips were twitching. “Be careful, Mercy girl. They’re different from us.”

“Gran.”

“No, you have to know—they are different. They tend to be more brutal in their pack structure, for one.”

Mercy thought of Hawke’s rule, compared it with Lucas’s. Yeah, there were differences, but both men would kill for those under their care. “We’re the same as far as the things that matter.”

“If you mate with him—”

Mercy all but screamed. “Who said anything about mating? I just had my own bit of fun. End of story.”

Isabella raised an eyebrow. “Never seen a man rile you up like this before.”

“I’ll get over it.” She had to. Because what he’d done . . . “He fucking hurt me, Gran.”

 

 

Sascha lay curled up in bed beside Lucas, playing her fingers over his chest. “Do you think Sienna’s alright?” They’d decided to stick with the girl’s real name. With her eyes covered up and her hair dyed a temporary brunette, she looked nothing like her old self.

“Kit knows who she is—he’ll make sure she’s not overwhelmed.”

“At least it’s an outdoor dance, easier for her to acclimate—she can walk off if things get too much.” The older juveniles and young adults had thrown together the dance/dinner/ excuse for flirting after Sienna had “come to visit from Talin’s hometown.”

The fact that she was actually sleeping at Lucas and Sascha’s fazed no one—packmates were used to accommodating others and Tally’s house was full. So the logistics had been neatly skirted, but still . . . “She’s been so sheltered, first in the Net, then in the SnowDancer den.”

“She’ll be fine. I made sure everyone knows she’s under my protection.” He squeezed her. “Not that it’s necessary—Kit won’t leave her side.”

“I’m worried it’s too soon.”

“The whole point of this week is to give her some time out.” He spread his fingers over her lower back. “If she can get things under better control—”

“She’s already more stable,” Sascha said, having felt the girl settle as soon as they left the den.

“Good. That’ll give her more time.”

But Sascha knew what he wasn’t saying—sooner or later, Sienna was going to need more training than anyone in either pack could provide. No one knew, however, just who might be able to train a cardinal with her destructive abilities. “She’s safe around the pack,” Sascha said. “Judd and Walker have an eye on her through the LaurenNet, and she knows to contact me for telepathic assistance the instant something happens.”

“Can you calm her down?”

“Yes, for a while. We decided that if she gets really bad, Judd will hit her with a telepathic blow that’ll cause unconsciousness. Not what I would’ve chosen, but it gives her the confidence to move about without worry.”

“Which means we have the aerie to ourselves.” He grinned. “Kit said she could crash at his and Rina’s tonight since it’s closer, but I want you to check she’s comfortable doing that, with it being her first night.”

“Hold on.” Her telepathy was enough for a quick conversation with Sienna, given the girl’s much longer reach. Sienna could “hear” the barest whisper.

First, a polite mental knock. When Sienna responded, she asked,
Are you still fine with staying over at Rina and Kit’s?

No, Rina told me he’s soldier-neat.
A pause.
I’m okay, Sascha. I’ll ’path you if anything happens?

Catching the rising intonation, Sascha said,
Of course. Now go enjoy yourself.

Dropping from the link, she pressed a kiss to Lucas’s shoulder. “She’s coping. But I can already feel her itching to return to the den.”

“I don’t think that’s anything either of us can change.” Worry laced his tone. “Hawke called to check that she was settling in—I talked him into letting her stay with us indefinitely, with regular visits up to see Toby and the others.”

It was more than Sascha had ever expected. “How?”

“I told him the truth—she’s better down here.” He blew out a breath. “Keep an eye on her, kitten. That kid’s got a hard road ahead of her.”

Sascha nodded. “Do you think . . . maybe?”

“Even the panther doesn’t know the answer to that.” Turning, he looked down at her, bright green eyes gone night-glow. “But it knows it wants to pet its mate.”

“Well, it just so happens that I need some petting,” Sascha murmured and was about to kiss him when he went hunting-quiet, then relaxed.

“Dorian’s here—let me see what it’s about.”

“I hope nothing’s wrong.” She sat up, sheets clutched to her breasts.

Kissing her on the lips, Lucas got out and pulled on a pair of jeans, which, Sascha thought, was a shame. As if he’d heard the thought—and he might have, through the mating bond—he turned to throw her a grin. “You can bite my ass in a minute.”

She threw a pillow at him but she was laughing. Falling back onto the bed, she realized she really did want him—quite desperately. The need between her and Lucas was a wild, growing thing, but she’d been extra aroused this past week. She’d never had a problem with letting Lucas know she wanted him—it was easy when the man could tell by her scent. But she’d all but ripped off his shirt an hour ago.

He’d loved it. She thought she was turning into a sex ma niac.

“Sascha.” The tone of his voice had her sitting up.

She glanced over his shoulder. “Where’s Dorian?”

“Gone.” Walking over, he sat beside her, a package in his hand. “He took Ashaya and Keenan out to dinner, popped into HQ to pick up something, and was there when this was delivered. There’s no return address, but . . .”

“But what?” She swallowed, scooting closer to his warmth. “Lucas?”

“It has Nikita’s scent on it.”

Whatever she’d expected, that wasn’t it. “It’s not—”

“Not dangerous,” he reassured her. “You know Dorian—he ran every diagnostic test he could on it. It’s inert. A book, from the weight and size.”

“Why would my mother send me a book?”

He handed it to her. “Let’s find out.”

“I—” Her fingers were trembling too much to undo the packaging.

Lucas’s hands closed over them. “She can’t hurt you here.” Panther-green eyes looking into hers. “You’re stronger, far stronger, than she’ll ever be.”

He knew that for the truth with everything in him. Sascha was a healer of minds, of souls. She walked undaunted into darkness, into nightmare, for no reason than to help others. It took a courage Councilor Nikita Duncan would never possess.

Now he saw her straighten her shoulders, tuck the edges of the sheets firmly under her arms—the burst of familiar modesty delighted and amused him in equal measures—and take a deep breath. “If you would, Mr. Alpha,” she requested.

“As you please, Mrs. Alpha.” Sliding out one lethally sharp claw, he tucked it under the flap and slit it open.

“You’re awfully convenient to have around,” she said in her best prissy Psy voice, and he knew his Sascha, with her quiet strength and warm heart, was back.

Wrapping an arm around her, he said, “I live to please,” and watched as she slid out a book that had been meticulously wrapped.

“So much packaging,” she said as she peeled off layer by layer. “Must be something important.”

Or Nikita could be playing with her mind. He didn’t want to say it, knew that Sascha was still vulnerable where her mother was concerned—and how could he not understand that? “Kitten,” he began.

“I know, darling.” A shaky smile. “I know. I lived with Nikita’s politics and ethics for most of my life.” Reaching out as she found herself at the last layer of fine tissue, she gripped his thigh and peeled the edges of the paper apart with one hand to uncover the title. “
The Mysterious E Designation
,” she read out loud. “
Empathic Gifts & Shadows.
By Alice Eldridge.”

 

 

Mercy kicked out a leg and spun, hitting her target—her favorite tree. She called it Riley, having been driven to kick it after their first real meeting. Now she “ran” up the tree and did a backflip, coming down on her feet, no wobbles. Though it was closing on eleven o’clock, she was too wired to sleep. Even talking to her gran hadn’t helped with the angry pain that continued to rip through her veins.

Another kick. “Stupid.” Slap. “Male.” Slap. “Wolf.”

Fury expressed—at least for now—she took a deep breath, centered herself, and began going through the martial arts routine her original trainer had helped her devise. She’d embellished and changed it over the years to take her increasing strength and flexibility into account, and Dorian had taught her several new moves, but as a training routine, it still worked perfectly. It kept her toned and supple, something that was often more of an advantage than brute strength.

As she moved, she felt joy. This was who she was. And it felt good. A dance of the soul. One no one had the right to steal from her. Not even the man who made every female instinct in her sit up and pay attention. Her anger threatened to derail her rhythm, but she gritted her teeth and kept going.

Once, a long time ago, she’d worried about her tendencies—she’d been a young teen and, like her peers, had just wanted to fit in. The phase hadn’t lasted long. How could it? Her mentor, Juanita, had been a soldier, her grandmother an alpha, and even her nondominant mother had a spine of pure steel. They’d all taught her that being a strong female was a good thing, a thing to be cherished.

Too bad Mercy had had to go and find herself attracted to a throwback like Riley who wanted little wifey at home with an apron and a dress and a “Oh, honey, I missed you—I can’t do anything without you” smile on her face.

“Ha!” She speeded up the routine, hoping it would stop her brain cells from firing.

No such luck. Instead, she began to scent Riley on the air currents. At this rate, she’d be seeing him—“Fuck!” She continued with the workout, knowing he was watching her. She hid nothing of her speed or strength, doing her best to intimidate him.

To show him the truth of who she was.

He leaned against the tree and watched her with the intense focus of a soldier who’d trained more than a few young ones. He was watching for mistakes, errors, not because he’d get pleasure in pointing them out, but because it was habit—it was better to warn a fighter in training, than have them fail when it meant life or death. Mercy knew—she did the same thing herself.

Finally, a good twenty minutes later, she lowered her speed and began to go through a cool-down routine.

Riley didn’t speak until she’d finished and was wiping the sweat off her face using the towel she’d hung on a tree branch.

“You move like liquid lightning,” he said quietly. “I’ve never seen anything that beautiful.”

Her mouth dried out. Damn it. She’d been good and mad at him. And now . . . “You’re a lieutenant. You’ll have seen lots of people train.”

“No one like you.” He shook his head. “It’s like you’re dancing. I almost wanted to put two swords in your hands.”

“I can do that, too,” she told him, grinning at the unhidden spike of interest in his eyes. “Someday, when I’m in a good mood, ask me and maybe I’ll play with knives for you.”

“Why do I get the feeling that if any blood was spilled, it would be mine?” Dark eyes, steadfast gaze.

She shrugged, very aware of the sweat molding her black sports bra to her body, the airy thinness of the loose white
gi
style pants she preferred over tights. “No pain for Riley, no fun for Mercy.” She was still so mad at him, but now that he was here, the anger was dulled, covered by . . . hope. Because he’d come. The arrogant bastard had come to her.