Slave to Sensation (11 page)

The deal, Sascha thought, not her daughter. Even though she should've been used to the heartlessness of the Psy after a lifetime of living with them, she felt a sharp stab of hurt.
Then I'm free to concentrate on the development and keep you up to speed?

Yes
.

With that, Nikita was gone. Sascha allowed herself a huge sigh of relief and dropped her head into her hands. Something was wrong. It wasn't paranoia. Why was Enrique suddenly so concerned with a failed cardinal most of the Psy ignored? Doubly troubling was the extent of Nikita's cooperation with the other Councilor.

Her gut twisted. She had a feeling she was being used as a pawn in a game for which she didn't know the rules. What worried her even more was that she didn't know the consequences of checkmate . . . or how to stop it.

Suddenly realizing she'd been sitting there staring into nothingness, she stood up and only then did the ridiculousness of her situation strike her. She'd just had conversations with two members of the Council while sitting on the closed lid of a toilet. The thought had her stifling giggles as she lifted the lid and opened the door.

When she checked her appearance in the mirror above the basin, she was surprised to find that nothing betrayed her slight case of hysteria. Her physical masks were holding, even as the mental ones broke down piece by piece. Glancing at her timepiece, she saw that she'd been in here for almost thirty minutes. The changelings would be full of questions and she'd better have answers for them.

Before heading out, she ensured that she looked exactly as she should—every hair on her head smoothed into a tight braid, the cuffs of her dark gray suit perfectly aligned, and her face so calm that she almost convinced herself her stomach wasn't tied up in knots.

Nobody was in the corridor but heads turned the instant she walked back into the room used by Clay Bennett and the others. One particular pair of green eyes tracked her every move. “I apologize for keeping you waiting,” she said, before anyone could speak. “I was called into conference.”

Lucas tapped at the side of his head with a finger. “That kind of conference?” His lips curved.

She wanted to tease him back so badly. “Yes.”

“Strange place for one,” Kit remarked, tongue in cheek. It was a measure of her distraction that it took the comment for her to notice the young male who'd entered the room in her absence.

She couldn't help herself. “In what way?”

Kit stopped looking through some papers on Clay's desk and stared at her. When she calmly stared back, he started to turn red, looking as young and adorable as the two cubs she'd been allowed to touch. “Um, well . . . d-don't you . . . I have to get these upstairs.” He grabbed what looked like a random pile of papers and almost ran from the room.

“You should be more merciful—he's only recently grown out of being a cub.” Lucas's chuckle held real amusement.

She fought not to let her lips twitch. “I was merely asking a question.”

His eyes narrowed. “Sure you were.”

“When do you consider your children full grown?” she asked, trying to get him to stop thinking about her impulsive decision to tease Kit.

An odd tension seemed to infiltrate the room.

“Sugar for sugar, darling.” The Hunter marks were starkly beautiful against the stillness of his expression.

“We're considered adults when we turn twenty.” Conditioning was officially complete at eighteen, though in reality, most Psy were fully conditioned by sixteen. Two more years were given to allow any slipups to come to light.

“There's quite a difference between being considered adult and being adult.”

“You don't think twenty is old enough?”

“Our juveniles have to prove their maturity before they're accorded adult status.” Lucas was convinced Sascha had meant to tease Kit. Her expression betrayed nothing, but he wasn't Psy and he didn't disregard his feelings.

As he'd suspected from the start, this Psy was different, very different. Different enough to be dangerous . . . unless her own people hadn't picked up on her uniqueness. It wasn't impossible—in some matters the Psy were quite blind, blinkered by their belief in their own superiority.

Lucas's gut said that Sascha was the key to everything. If he solved the mystery of her, he might come close to shattering the closed walls of the most inhuman of races.

“A harsh law,” she said.

“Our world is harsh.” Especially with the Psy in charge. Without changeling heart and human spirit, the world would've been hell.

 

 

Lucas called Clay into his office after Sascha had returned to Duncan headquarters. “What did you think?”

“She's smart. Those eyes miss nothing.”

“That's a given with cardinals.”

To his surprise, Clay shook his head. “Some of them are so cerebral that they barely notice anything physical.”

“You've had contact with them.” It was a statement, not a request for information. Clay's past was shrouded in mystery but Lucas trusted the leopard to tell him anything he needed to know.

“Some,” Clay confirmed. “I'm no expert but the one thing I can tell you for sure is that something about Sascha doesn't fit.”

The confirmation of his own instincts added impetus to his determination to solve the mystery that was Sascha. “What did the background check turn up?”

“She's what she seems—a cardinal Psy who hasn't been co-opted into their power structure.” Clay rubbed at the stubble on his jaw. “That in itself 's weird enough to make her stand out. Every other adult cardinal we've tracked works for the Council in some way.”

Lucas rocked back on his heels, thinking. “Which means it's either all a front and she's a Council spy . . .”

“. . . or there's something wrong with her,” Clay finished, verbalizing what Lucas didn't want to admit. “If she's been shoved out of the inner circle, she's of no use to us.”

The panther inside Lucas flexed its claws—there was nothing wrong with the female who'd caught its attention.

“Let's give it a few more days,” he said, fighting the animal. “We don't have any other option at this point. The other Psy won't even talk deals with us.”

“We could let the SnowDancers do what they want.”

“If they start taking out high-level Psy, any hope of ending this without massive loss of life goes out the window.” The SnowDancers wanted to torture information out of those they blamed for condoning the killings, including Nikita Duncan. “The Psy will retaliate against all of us and they won't spare the cubs.”

Clay nodded. They'd been through this before and the same thing had swayed them back then. DarkRiver was a powerful but young pack. They had a lot of cubs and juveniles under their protection. If the Psy struck back after a SnowDancer attack, the entire next generation could be wiped out in one bloody wave. Even Dorian's thirst for vengeance had been overpowered by his deep-rooted need to keep their young safe.

“Setting the wolves loose has to be our last choice.”

It was a choice he hoped he never had to make but he wasn't naïve enough to believe that it wouldn't end in violence. Too many changeling women had died and they were all out for blood. Psy blood.

That night,
when he finally went to bed after a lengthy meeting with his sentinels, his mind was full of images of death. His desire to find justice for their women warred with his unexpected need to protect Sascha from harm. It was baffling but he was beginning to feel as if she had a prior claim on his loyalty.

It only seemed fitting that his dreams should echo his very real hunger. When he “woke” inside the dreamworld, it was to find himself sprawled on his front as a feminine hand stroked the back of his thigh. The touch was familiar and as acceptable to the panther who was his other half as it was to the human male. She had skin privileges. He looked over his shoulder. “You're back.”

Sascha jerked away. “You're talking.”

“I thought we figured this out last time around,” he teased. “Why are you wearing clothes?” Not that she didn't look delectable in the white bra and panties she had on, but he preferred seeing her naked, skin gleaming and flushed. In his dreams she was the woman he needed her to be—hot and needy and wild enough to tantalize.

“I thought it might help slow matters down.” Calm words but her cheeks were flushed, her body taut in expectation.

He chuckled. “I'm sorry, kitten. Was I too fast for you last time?”

“Why are you remembering the other dream?” Tiny lines appeared on her forehead.

“Why shouldn't I?” He turned onto his side and curved one hand over her waist as she knelt beside him.

“Because it was my dream, my fantasy.” Breathy and soft, her voice was a stroke to his senses.

“Maybe me remembering is part of your fantasy. Otherwise how would things progress?” he said, playing along. Was this how Sascha would've acted had she not been born one of the Psy? If he'd met this sensual, stubborn creature in reality, he would've made it his goal to seduce her until she belonged to him without compromise.

Tapping at her lower lip with a finger, she nodded. “That makes sense.”

He reached out and pulled her down beside him without warning. Night-sky eyes went huge in surprise. When he rose so that he was braced over her, she couldn't hold back her gasp. His erection was hot and hard between them. Given that “she” had imagined him naked on a large bed, it was difficult to ignore, especially since it was nudging at her navel.

Before she could tell him that this was
her
dream and he shouldn't be interfering, he leaned down and nuzzled at her neck, taking her scent into his bloodstream. “I'm never going to be an easily controllable lover, in your dreams or out of them.”

Her hands clenched on his biceps. “But—”

“Shh.” He nipped gently at her chin. Her hands gripped him tighter. “If you want to fantasize about me, don't try and turn me into someone else. Take me as I am, rough edges, dominance, and all.” Trailing his lips across her jaw and back, he kissed her. Hard. Fast. His way. “I love your mouth,” he murmured. “So, how about it?”

She took a ragged breath. “I don't want to fantasize about anyone else.”

The panther let out an almost subvocal growl. Running his hand down her side, he said, “I'm possessive and I'm territorial. Can you handle that?” Under his palm, the supple skin of her bottom felt beautifully bitable.

“I can always wake up if I can't.” Fire glittered in her eyes. “Don't try to intimidate me.”

He smiled and began to kiss and suck at the side of her neck. “I'll always try but it would be no fun if you didn't push back.” He liked her spirit, her stubborn will, her refusal to bend to his every demand.

Her hands slid to his shoulders, then tunneled into his hair, her body moving restlessly against his. He let her feel more of his weight, bracing himself on one arm so he could move the other up and down her body. On the upward stroke, he cupped her breast, shaping and petting.

“Stop.” It was a sharp cry.

He froze at the sound of real distress. “Did I hurt you?” Looking up, he searched her face.

She shook her head. “I can't feel so much so soon.” Panic shimmered in the dark skies he was getting used to seeing in his dreams.

“Pleasure is nothing to fear.” He kept his hand on her breast. “Stop fighting it.”

“I'm afraid.” It was a husky whisper.

“Afraid enough to let it control you?”

A short pause and then she shook her head, the defiant nature of her personality asserting itself. “If I'm going to go down, at least I'll know what I died for.”

His hackles rose. “Who are you frightened of?”

“No.” She touched his lips with a finger. “This dream is about pleasure. We can talk about death in the real world. Show me pleasure, Lucas. Show me the things I've never known.”

Protective instincts vied with arousal. In the end they both won. If pleasure was what it would take to banish the fear from her eyes, then he'd drown her in it. Claiming her mouth in a kiss that was just this side of savage, he let the leopard out to play. The growl at the back of his throat poured into her mouth and he felt her entire body vibrate in response.

The sound she made fed the hunger but it also fed the protectiveness. He let her catch her breath before taking her lips in another kiss, but this time he gentled himself. This time, he used his tongue to tangle with hers. The surprised jerk of her body gave way to enthusiastic participation only seconds later.

Certain that she was ready to embrace the next step of their dance, he bit her lower lip as he broke the kiss and moved down the slender vulnerability of her neck. Half covered by the lace of her bra, the tender upper curves of her breasts teased at his every male instinct. She was more than a handful and he was delighted.

“Purr for me, kitten.” He kissed his way across the bared expanse of skin.

She shuddered. “I'm n-not a cat.”

Chuckling, he let his thumb and forefinger play with the taut bud of one nipple. Her fingers dug into his skull. He arched into the caress and she understood, raking her hands through his hair hard enough for him to feel the pressure against his scalp. Just like he'd taught her last time. “You remember, too.” He replaced his fingers with his mouth, sucking the nipple hard and tight through the lace.

“Oh! Please! Please.” Her hands gripped frantically at his shoulders, but he had no intention of rushing this. He intended for the waves of pleasure to lap at her before consuming her, before turning her into passion and heat, surrender and demand.