Caressed By Ice (12 page)

“Judd!” She stamped her foot. “Walking away isn't going to solve anything.”

He pulled open the door and strode out into the cold. Small flakes of snow fell on his hair and the wind burned across his unprotected face, but he barely noticed, his mind still in the cabin. Tonight, he'd come shockingly close to breaking Silence and
feeling
anger of the most violent kind. The anger of a Tk with his subset of powers wasn't normal in any sense—he'd found that out as a ten-year-old boy standing over another child's corpse.

Leaving Brenna might not fix anything, but it would keep her safe. From him. He'd known that should she say that last word, it would push him too far. He continued to feel the texture of her skin under his fingertips—warm, smooth, touchable. Gritting his teeth, he walked deeper into the winter-cloaked night, hoping the snow would chill the fire in what should have been the pure, unbroken ice of his heart.

 

Brenna threw
her boot against the wall. “Men!” She considered running after Judd—she was fast even if she couldn't go wolf—but abandoned the idea in a fit of female fury. She was through with chasing him! He could chase after her for once.

Except that two hours later, he still hadn't made an appearance. “Fine,” she said, turning over in the bed she'd appropriated. “I'll leave tomorrow if that's what he wants.” How dare he say those things to her?

You need to examine the reasons behind those emotions.

His words wouldn't leave her alone, no matter how much she tried to forget them. Was that what she was doing—using Judd to get past her own fear? And she
was
afraid. Everyone thought she was so brave and strong because she'd survived with her sanity intact. It made her want to laugh, but with nothing even close to happiness. Because as she'd told Judd, and no matter what he'd said to the contrary, she was broken. Enrique had destroyed her spirit, made her suspicious and insular, where before she'd been easy to extend the hand of friendship, easy to smile, easy to see joy.

Today she faced the horror that he'd made her such a weak woman, she'd been ready to use another man to find her own courage. Something told her that Judd Lauren had been used quite enough. She didn't have to know the facts. She saw the truth in the shadows behind his eyes—he expected her to take what she needed and then leave.

She pulled the blanket up her body in a vain effort to warm the cold in her soul. “
No
. This isn't about Judd being Psy.” It if had been, she would have gone to Walker. He was no less Psy and far more approachable. Or was that the attraction, another part of her asked—the fact that Judd was so damn dangerous, more than tough enough to take on her demons?

“So what if I'm attracted to him because of what happened?” She'd changed in her fight to survive the evil that had touched her, lost part of her innocence. But she'd also gained knowledge, learned who she was and what she could endure. The new woman she'd become found Judd Lauren fascinating.

Well, she had. Now she was too mad to care.

Judd didn't return
until he was confident Brenna would be fast asleep. He entered to find her cuddled up in front of the fire—in the middle of a camp bed she'd apparently dragged out of storage. She made a noise at the soft click of the door closing and he paused, waiting for her to wake up. But she continued to breathe in the rhythms of sleep.

Relaxing, he took off his jacket and quietly removed his boots and socks before going down on his haunches by the fire. Even his skull ached from the dampness caused by the snow—he'd deliberately not used his abilities to protect himself. But despite his need to regain control, he hadn't gone far from this woman who threatened him on a visceral level, unable to leave her alone in the darkness. So he'd stood watch and attempted, once again, to repair the most critical of the new flaws in the wall of Silence around his mind.

He wasn't a stupid man. He understood that Silence had been imposed on him, and was in no way natural. For most of his people, it was a violation of their freedom to choose. Protocol I, with its aspiration to cut into the Psy brain itself, would only further that violation. But notwithstanding all that, he also understood and accepted that for a small minority, Silence was a choice they would have made if given the option.

He was one of them.

For him, Silence was the answer to a prayer, a gift that allowed him to live a full life, not be caged behind bars or banished to complete isolation. His eyes fell on Brenna's slumbering form. No, he thought, he was wrong. His life wasn't full, not when he couldn't have her in it. But at least Silence allowed him to talk to her, to protect her, to be with her even if it was for mere fragments of time. Without the conditioning, he wouldn't have trusted himself within sight of her.

Unable to resist this chance to get even closer, he crossed the carpet and looked down at her. Under her lids, her eyes moved in the rapid movements that denoted deep sleep, perhaps a dream, but there was no sign of fear in either her face or her body. In other words, she was perfectly fine and didn't need him standing watch. He told himself to move, that this fascination he felt was exactly what he'd been trying to head off out in the snow.

Instead, his fingers curled as he fought the urge to reach out and test the fragile shadows thrown on her skin by her lashes. At that moment, Brenna gave a choked little cry, her skin suddenly marred by wrinkles that spoke of pain. Shivers followed, her whole body trembling despite the warmth of the laz-fire.

He knew what a changeling male would've done in this situation. It was the same thing his instincts were telling him to do, no matter that the action would undo any good the cold outside had done. The dissonance disagreed, shooting hot darts of pain into his eyes.

Then a sob caught in the back of her throat, making his decision for him.

Getting on the bed, he propped himself up on one elbow beside her and stroked his free hand over her hair in a gentle caress, excruciatingly aware that his body was a bare inch from hers. “Shh. Sleep. I'll keep you safe.” It was a promise he'd give everything to honor.

Her trembling stopped after a few seconds and she closed that one-inch gap to press into him. The heat of her seeped through her T-shirt, the blanket, and his sweater to burn his skin. Impossible. Yet with Brenna, it wasn't. When her hand rose out of the blanket to curl between their bodies, it was all he could do to keep from taking her into his arms.

Every warning beacon in his head flashed red. To expose himself to more contact would spell trouble for both of them. So he kept his distance—except for the fingers stroking through her hair—and watched her sleep.

 

Brenna knew
she was dreaming. She also knew she couldn't try to wake. There was something she had to see, had to understand.

It was a true dream. Fractured, fragmented. But the strange thing was that it was black-and-white. She'd never dreamed in monochrome before. Her dreams were drenched in color, in scent. But this place was cold…metallic.

Power
.

She had such power. And it was so finely controlled. One thought and the target's heart simply stopped beating. The man was dead before he hit the ground. She'd killed before. This one had been almost too easy.

For her people.

She did this for her people.

The cold water was cutting against her skin, but she had to wash away the blood. Blood no one else could see. Because she had executed an innocent. They'd—

Fragments of sound dampened by shadows of black and white, icy clawing fingers born of her own mind. A sense of danger closing in.

But no fear. No rage. No anger.

And that was when she knew.

This wasn't her dream
.

Her heart began to race the second she opened her eyes. Until the moment she'd woken, it had been absolutely calm. Frighteningly controlled. She blinked several times to clear the images that continued to dance in front of her eyes, slowly becoming aware of the glow of the laz-fire in the hearth…and the fact that she was no longer alone in the bed.

Judd
. His familiar scent calmed her panic before it could begin. Rising onto her elbow, she found him asleep on top of the sheets. One arm lay along the back of her pillow, while the other was braced over his forehead. He was still. Silent.

She couldn't even hear him breathe.

It scared her. “Wake up.” She touched her fingers to the roughness of his cheek. It was the first time she'd seen him less than clean shaven. “You're having a nightmare.”

His hand closed around her wrist with such unbelievable speed that she actually squeaked in surprise. He released her as quickly. “I apologize.”

She put that same hand on his shoulder when it looked like he was planning to get up. “Stay.” For a long moment filled only with the sound of her breathing, she didn't think he'd acquiesce, but then he gave a slight nod.

She didn't move her hand off his shoulder, hyperconscious of the muscle and strength beneath the black of his sweater. “Want to talk about it?”

“About what?” No tremor in his voice, nothing to betray the impact of a dream that would have terrified her had it been her own.

“Your nightmare.” She knew what she'd seen even if she couldn't explain how.

“I told you, Psy don't dream.”

Sighing, she snuggled impossibly closer, the wolf in her craving contact. It probably made Judd very uncomfortable, but he didn't make any move to break away. “Liar.”

Judd felt his mind stop at that single affectionate word. He recognized affection, had been around changelings long enough to understand the import of such seemingly lighthearted comments. However, it had never occurred to him that he might one day be on the receiving end of this most sensual form of it. Especially from a woman who had been so angry with him bare hours ago. “A dangerous accusation.” In the PsyNet, that would've been true. No one wanted to be indicted of having a flaw.

Brenna chuckled and tugged at the arm he'd placed across her pillow until she could rest her head on it. Her weight was slight, but he knew he wouldn't be moving before she did. “Promise I won't tell,” she teased, breath whispering over the skin of his neck. “Your tough-as-nails image is safe with me.”

It was difficult to focus with her curves pressed into him. He reached into the depths of his Arrow training and forced absolute restraint over his instincts. It was the only way he could allow himself this forbidden contact. “Why do you think I was dreaming?”

The atmosphere changed and though he wasn't looking at her, he picked up her distress from the sudden tenseness of her muscles. “Brenna?”

“I saw it.”

The words hit him like bullets fired at close range. He knew what he'd been dreaming about—he always remembered the images he saw in sleep. “What did you see?”

“You killed someone.” Said in a breathless whisper. “Then you discovered he didn't deserve to die.”

Judd's brain shifted into automatic damage-control mode, spitting out option after option. At the top of the list was denial.

Never get into a situation where your status may become known.

If you are, however, trapped in such a situation, never admit anything.

Maintain control of your physical reactions if placed under duress and answer all accusations in the negative. Denial is key to protecting the squad.

Deny everything.

It was one of the very first things he'd been taught after being removed from his family and taken to the training facility. But he'd stopped running from the truth a long time ago. “It wasn't a dream but a memory.” He braced himself against the horror, disgust, and rejection to come.

One of her hands rose to lie against his chest. “Why that man?”

He told her the truth—he would not defend himself with hypocrisy and lies. “His name was on a list given to me by Ming LeBon.”

“Councilor LeBon? The Arrows work for the Council?”

“No.” That had never been their raison d'être. “The fact that the squad is currently under the direct command of LeBon arises from him being a senior Arrow himself, rather than his Council rank. Arrows are a force independent of politics and money. The man you saw me kill, however, was no threat to anyone but Ming. He had the unfortunate distinction of having cut into the Councilor's business interests.”

“You weren't to know that. You trusted your leader.” Her fingers spread on his chest, began to stroke. “It's what any soldier does.”

“I was an assassin, Brenna,” he said in a blunt repudiation of her attempt to find good in him. “I was given targets, told the preferred mode of death, and set a time limit. I never asked questions about who they were or what they'd done.”

“Then how did you find out about the guy you were dreaming about?”

“A year into my work with the squad”—too late, far too late—“I did finally begin to ask those questions. The answers I received didn't ring true so I went searching.” What he'd discovered had changed his identity from loyal soldier to cold-blooded murderer.

It was the second time in his life that his identity had been stolen from him. He had vowed that there wasn't going to be a third. “In the PsyNet, some segments of the populace call the Arrows a death squad, but we thought of ourselves as the first line of defense, protecting our people before they even knew they were in danger. Ming changed that, made us into bringers of death.”

“Then you shouldn't blame yourself.” Her voice was quiet, accepting. “You were—”

“Acting on orders?” he interrupted. “That's an excuse. I stopped making it the day I realized what I truly was.”

Hand pressing down on his chest, she rose up on her elbow, eyes stormy. “Instead you're going to beat yourself up about it forever?”

“I'm Psy—I don't feel guilt.”

A very unfeminine snort was his answer. “What do you call those nightmares?”

“You aren't seeing what I'm telling you,” he said, staring into those extraordinary eyes. “I was the Council's pet assassin. There is nothing good or acceptable about that. Evil is the only applicable word.” He paused. “This does clear up one thing.”

“What?” Brenna asked, not yet finished with him.

“You have no need to worry that Enrique left some part of himself behind in you.”

“Of course he did—otherwise I wouldn't be seeing your dreams.”

“No, Brenna. You were afraid you were turning into a monster. But tonight, did you feel the same emotions you did when you saw the vision of Tim's death?”

Her eyes widened. “Oh.” Dropping her head back down to his shoulder, she took several deep breaths. “I was seeing his dream, the person who killed Timothy, feeling
his
emotions as he thought about what he was going to do.”

“Everything points to that conclusion.”

Relief rushed through her like a flash flood. “I—” She shuddered.

“I know.” Stark, unemotional words. More disturbingly, though he'd come to her last night, he didn't move to hold her as a changeling male would have done in the same situation. And she needed to be held.

But Judd wasn't changeling. He never would be.