Mine to Possess (33 page)

The Psy male began to slow down. As he bent over in a dark alleyway, breathing hard, Clay's earpiece activated. It was Lucas. “We've got her—blindfolded. She can't ID us and doesn't want to. Says she's one of Ashaya Aleine's people, and she fits Jon's description of the blonde he saw with Ashaya. She confirms the Psy you're chasing is Larsen Brandell, the man behind the experiments. Gradient 7.”

A Psy that strong could shove enough power through a changeling's mind to cause instantaneous death. So Clay gave Larsen no warning. Slicing out with his claws, he cut through the man's jugular in a clean sweep.

Blood spurted in a dark splash, coloring the ground and the wall beside the Psy. A gurgling sound followed. Larsen was dead before he hit the asphalt.

It was an execution. And that he felt no pity or guilt should have made Clay a monster. Perhaps it did. But as blood scented the air, sharp and metallic, he wondered if it took a monster to kill a monster.

Dressed only in
a pair of loose black pants, his body covered with sweat, Councilor Kaleb Krychek walked to the edge of his balcony and looked down into the gorge that fell away an inch from his feet. But he didn't notice the dangerous view, his mind on the problem of Shoshanna and Henry Scott. While Nikita, Tatiana, and Ming were all dangerous adversaries, the Scotts were particularly problematic because they worked as a unit. Neither of the two was cardinal strength, but together, they were a lethal combination.

With Marshall gone, Shoshanna had begun jockeying for control of the Council. Kaleb had won the first skirmish, but he was under no illusion the battle would be easy. He glanced down at the mark branded onto his forearm, a deceptively clean-appearing shape that had shifted the course of his life beyond redemption. It was a reminder of what he was, what he was willing to do.

Something brushed his mind then, an oily darkness that looked to him for comfort. It was the voiceless twin of the NetMind, the neosentient entity that kept order in the PsyNet. The DarkMind, by comparison, was pure chaos. Very, very few people knew about the DarkMind. And only one could assert any control over it.

As a cardinal telekinetic, Kaleb had a natural affinity with both the NetMind and the DarkMind. Now he reached out a psychic hand and touched the DarkMind.

Sleep,
he said.
Sleep.

The DarkMind was tired today. So it slept. Kaleb knew the respite was temporary at best. The DarkMind carried within it all the violence and pain, the rage and the insanity that the Psy refused to feel. It had no voice but spoke through the acts of violence it perpetrated via the weak minds of compromised Psy. It was, in a sense, a lost child. It was also pure evil.

Kaleb had first spoken to it at seven years of age.

Satisfied the DarkMind would cause no more chaos for the next few hours, he returned his attention to the problem at hand. If either of the Scotts discovered the truth behind the mark that branded him, it would give them the weapon they needed to challenge his meticulously planned takeover of the Council. That could not be allowed to happen.

He glanced at his watch. While the sun shone in Moscow, it was now three a.m. in San Francisco. But this conversation could not be delayed. Retrieving a secure phone from inside the house, he punched in a code. “Put me through to Anthony Kyriakus. PsyClan NightStar.”

“Tell me,” Talin
said to Clay hours later.

He'd come to her an hour before dawn, after he and the others had cleaned up the evidence and buried the body so far in the forest that no one would ever find it. Larsen Brandell had, for all intents and purposes, disappeared without a trace.

Judd had left the woman's mind unharmed. There was nothing anyone could learn from her other than that she'd been interrogated by two unknown men, men who had taken her organizer before setting her free.

DarkRiver and SnowDancer didn't mind going up against the Psy, but sometimes it was better to work in the shadows, to become stronger than your enemy could imagine. They now had further evidence of the failure of Silence, evidence Clay had a feeling would end up being used as a weapon in the building revolution in the Net.

“Clay,” Talin prompted, as they lay face-to-face in bed. “Talk to me, darling. Tell me what's put that look in your eyes.”

And because this was Tally, the one person to whom he'd never been able to lie, he told her everything. “I'm happy he's dead,” he said, drinking her in as she leaned on her elbow and looked down at him, that glorious mane tumbling over one shoulder. “It had to be done.”

“Was it like before?”

“No.” He surprised himself with that answer. “That was rage. Rage and protectiveness and helplessness. But it wasn't like the soldier when we rescued Jon and Noor, either—that was in the heat of battle. This was a cold-blooded execution.” He refused to dress up the truth. Tally had to accept him, animal brutality and all. If she couldn't…It would claw into his predator's heart, but it wouldn't make him set her free. He wasn't ever letting her go. “I cut his throat.”

Instead of exhibiting disgust, she spread one hand over his heartbeat. “Why did you execute him?”

“If I hadn't, he would have found a way to go on killing children.” Larsen's own plans—stored in the organizer they had found in his pocket—had provided ample proof of his murderous tendencies.

Talin bent her head until their foreheads touched, her hair a shimmering curtain around them. “If that bastard was standing here right this second, I'd drive a knife into his black heart without hesitation.”

He put his hands on her hips. “Would you?”

“Yes.” Her lips brushed his. “He hurt my children. Ask any other woman in your pack and they'll give you the same answer. Do you think I'm a monster for admitting that?”

“No.”

“Then how can you possibly be?”

Something tight unfurled inside him and he lay quiescent as she kissed him with delicate feminine sweetness, as if savoring the taste of him. “Still adore me?” he said into that kiss, his tone husky. A tone between lovers, between mates, between a man and the only woman he had ever wanted.

“Too much,” was her response. “I only feel whole when I'm with you. Does that make me weak?”

The cat stretched out inside him as she pressed kisses along his jawline, down his neck. “If you're weak, then so am I.” He could function without her but in the way a machine functions. His heart, his soul, he had given to her a long time ago. Her hair stroked over him as she began to kiss her way downward. “Tally—”

“Shh.” She put her hand over his heart again and looked up, such tenderness in her gaze that he felt captured, contained, caged. But his jailer was soft and so sweet, he was completely in her thrall. “Let me love you tonight.”

“Just tonight?” he teased, pushing one of his hands in her hair.

Her smile lit up the whole room. “Maybe I'll do it again…if you behave.” Dipping her head, she pressed more of those delicate kisses to his skin. “Are you sensitive here?” She flicked her tongue across one flat nipple.

Clay sucked in a breath, felt more than heard her laugh. Then she blew a breath across the damp flesh and he groaned. That was when she used her teeth on him. The cat growled but Tally didn't stop what she was doing. He hadn't wanted her to. The cat liked her teeth, her claws, her scent, everything about her.

Her scent? For a second, he thought he should remember something, but Tally was moving to the other side of his chest and he was having trouble thinking about anything but the soft curves of her body. Under his hands, he felt satin and lace. “What's this?”

“The women gave it to me. Hmm.” The sound vibrated through him as she reached the waistband of the sweatpants he'd worn to bed. “Why did you get dressed?”

His abdomen grew rock hard as he tensed his muscles in an attempt to keep his dominant instincts in check. “I thought you were tired.”

She ran her tongue along the waistband, excruciatingly close to his cock. “You're not tired.” Raising her head, she brought up her hand to clasp him through the material.

His back arched. “Tally.” It was both warning and plea.

She snapped her teeth at him. “Should I bite?”

His cock jumped. “I thought you liked me.”

Her laugh was husky. Releasing him, she sat up on her knees and hooked her hands into the sides of his sweatpants. He let her draw them down, fascinated by the vision of her in that pink satin and white lace thing she was wearing. It was strappy and about as substantial as cotton candy. “You look like strawberry ice cream,” he managed to say as she got rid of his clothing and retook her kneeling position between his thighs.

“Do you like strawberry ice cream?” She shrugged and one strap slid down, exposing the upper curve of her breast.

He dug his hands into the bed, cursing the freckles that laid a teasing path across her creamy flesh. “Oh, yeah. I like to lap it straight up.” His mouth watered.

“Nuh-uh.” She waved a finger in warning. “I get to do the lapping—and licking—today.” The other strap went down, lace catching on the peak of her nipple.

“Jesus, Tally.” His gaze was fixated in the shadowed valley between her breasts. “When did you get this mean?”

She ran her finger down that valley, teasing him. “You ain't seen nothing yet.” Talin was…having fun. It was the oddest thing for her. Sex wasn't about fun. With Clay, it was wonderful and hot and pleasurable beyond her understanding, but she'd never expected this. It made her want to laugh and pepper his face with kisses.

“Drop the slip,” he said, voice raw. “Please.”

She fisted him instead, delighting in his bitten-off curse, in the way he lay there and let her play. Loving this man was so easy, it almost terrified her. Almost. “What do I get in return?”

“My damn cock thrusting you into orgasm.”

Her hand tightened. He hissed out a breath but seemed to like it. So she kept it that way. “Well, that is very tempting.” She stroked up, then down. “But I have a feeling I'll get that anyway.”

His eyes became slits, cat-bright in the muted light of the room. And that was another thing—Clay never forced her into the dark, never belittled her for her childish fear. He just fixed the lights so no room was ever wholly without illumination. How could she possibly not be crazy for him?

“You want something,” he accused.

She smiled and bent down to flick her tongue across the head of his erection. He almost came off the bed and the swear word he used this time was considerably bluer. “Nice,” she murmured, licking her lips, hovering inches from his aroused length.

“What do you want?” He was breathing hard. She thought she heard something rip, wondered if he'd torn into the bed-sheets with his claws. She waited for the spike of fear. What came was another rush of damp need. Her body had learned that for her, his strength meant only pleasure. She loved the way he could pick her up and do all sorts of wicked things…when she wasn't in control, that is.

“I want you,” she said. “Naked.”

His nostrils flared as if he was soaking in the scent of her arousal. “Tally, honey, I can't get any more naked. That's my cock you're playing with.”

She grazed him lightly, very lightly, with her teeth for that remark. He swore again but didn't make any attempt to take control. “I want you,” she said, “naked and on your front.”

“Why?” A suspicious growl.

“So I can stroke you. Pet you. Love you.” She ran her nails along the inside of one thigh, felt him shudder. “At least half an hour.” Bending again, she closed her mouth over the top of his erection without warning.

Something definitely tore this time. “Fuck!”

She released him. “Yes?”

“Yes! Damn it, yes! Now suck me or I'm going to have you on your back so fast, you'll—” His threat ended in a roar as she took as much of him in her mouth as she could fit.

Clay, she decided, tasted good. Very good. She liked giving him this pleasure. But more, she liked that he allowed her to see the extremity of his reaction, no holds barred. So she loved him, learned him, tasted him. And when he tugged at her hair to pull her off him, she resisted. But Clay had reached the end of his patience.

Reaching down, he pulled her up by her shoulders and flipped her onto her back. His hand was tearing away her panties a second later and then he thrust into her in one solid stroke. It made her scream.

He froze. “Tally?”

She gripped his shoulders. “Move!” And that was all she had breath to say because he did exactly that. Wrapping her legs around him, she urged him on, vaguely aware that he'd snapped the straps of her flimsy little slip and that the material lay crushed between them, an erotic sensation. But nothing was as erotic as his hand on her breast, his hardness moving inside of her.

Then he licked a line across the freckles decorating her breasts. “I want to eat you up.” His teeth closed over her nipple.

Her mind went blank.

“So this stroking
thing,” Clay asked some time later, his chest against her back. “When were you thinking of doing it?”

She snuggled into his embrace. “Whenever I want. So be ready to drop 'em and spread 'em.”

He stroked his hand into the curls at the apex of her thighs, tugged. “Brat.”

“Bully.” With that familiar exchange, she suddenly knew the answer to the question she hadn't yet asked. “We're mated, aren't we?”

His hand rose up to lie flat on her abdomen. “Yes.”

“How long?”

“Always.”

She couldn't argue with that, because the truth was, she had been born for Clay. “I'm sick—”

“It doesn't matter.”

“It matters,” she whispered. “Leopards only bond once.”

“Would you leave me if I was sick?”

“That's not fair.”

“Hell it isn't.” He enclosed her in the circle of his arms. “We're stuck, me and you. It was never going to be anyone else for either of us.” Clay waited for her to argue but she didn't. The leopard inside him stopped pacing, hackles smoothing down. Satisfied that she'd accepted the truth, he pulled at the material still bunched around her waist. “Want me to tear this off?”

She slapped at his hand. “Don't you dare. I'll have to sew the straps back on as it is.”

“Sorry.” He nuzzled at her neck.

“No, you're not.”

No, he wasn't. Hiding his smile against her, he bit back a groan as she wiggled and did little female movements that succeeded in getting the slip to the bottom of her legs, where she kicked it off. Now she was fully naked, all glorious golden skin and pretty freckles for him to stroke. “Skin privileges,” he murmured, his hand on her hip.

Talin smiled. Part of her—the part that had never quite believed Clay wouldn't one day leave her again—was now at peace. Mating was forever. But a far bigger part of her was distraught. What would happen to him if she died? She had to make sure he didn't fall back into the darkness. “Promise me something.”

“No.” His tone said he knew what she was going to ask. “Don't you dare ask that of me, Tally.”

She ignored the growled order. “I need to know you'll be there for Noor and Jon.” It was manipulative to bring up the children, but she'd do anything to keep Clay safe, give up her pride, her soul.

“No.”

“Promise me.”

He released her, rolled off the bed, and stood. “You aren't going to die, so this conversation doesn't need to happen.”

She sat up, tears in her throat. “Ignoring the truth won't make it any less true, you damn arrogant leopard!”

He shifted in a shower of brilliant multicolored sparks.

She was so startled, she couldn't speak. And then the most beautiful leopard was in the room with her, a glorious creature with defiance in its eyes. “Not fair,” she whispered, throwing off the sheet to crawl over the side of the bed and slide onto the floor.

He came to her, laying his head on her thigh. She should have berated him for choosing to end the argument this way but what she did was stroke him. “Beautiful,” she whispered, sinking her hand into the black and gold fir. “Magnificent.” Petting words, because while he was big and tough, he was also hers to love, hers to adore.