Slave to Sensation (14 page)

A stab of pain slashed across her heart. She gasped and tried to stifle it but it only grew worse. She had to stop it, had to find some way of helping Dorian before he killed her. Locating the leopard was easy. He pulsated with anger and rage, the air around him pure darkness churning with endless echoes of pain.

Psychically, she didn't know what she was doing. No one had ever trained her in this. She didn't even know what it was that she was trying to do. Reaching into the darkness enclosing him, she gathered up his pain into her arms. There was so much of it that it overflowed. Determined, she kept gathering until the shadows around him softened and the agony in her heart became easier to endure.

Her arms were full of sorrow and she could think of only one way to destroy it, an instinctive understanding that came from a buried part of her mind. But she couldn't do it here. Barely able to see, she walked out of the building, still holding her incomprehensible harvest.

Getting into her vehicle, she programmed in the destination and set the car to automatic. The sorrow was getting heavier and heavier. She had to get to the safety of her apartment before her mind cracked wide open under the pressure. Already her flaw was obvious in the tremble in her fingertips, in the hollow beat of her heart.

With most of her remaining energy, she reinforced her mental shields against the PsyNet. The energy that kept her alive was tied into those shields. If they failed, it would be because she'd died and there was nothing left to sustain them. She only hoped she made it inside the walls of her apartment before the darkness became too much, before it destroyed her from the inside out.

 

 

Lucas felt the pain being drawn away out of Dorian. From his position cradling the other man's body against his chest, he said, “Tamsyn, what did you do?”

The healer ran her hands over Dorian's face. “I've barely started. This wasn't me. Dorian, what did you feel?”

“Like someone took the pain and left . . . peace behind.” He shook his head and sat up. There was no shame in him at having leaned on Pack. That was what they were there for—if Lucas fell, Dorian would do the same for him.

Rina linked her fingers to Dorian's. “You feel . . .” Lost for words, the soldier turned to Tamsyn.

“Balanced,” Tamsyn said, as Lucas got to his feet.

Dorian frowned and pushed back his hair. “It was the damnedest thing. If felt like warmth spreading inside me, shoving out the rage. I can think again. For the first time since Kylie was taken, I can think.” He let Rina wrap her arms around him and lay her head against his chest.

Dorian ran his hand over Rina's bare arm and Lucas knew he was grounding himself in the feel of her skin, in the way she smelled of Pack. This had nothing to do with male-female sharing and everything to do with Pack healing.

“If it wasn't you, then who?” Lucas's heart was thumping with a suspicion so outlandish, he could barely bring himself to believe it. But his instincts had never lied about this one thing and he'd felt the flare of power.

“I don't know anyone who could do what Dorian's described.” Tamsyn paused. “I've heard rumors but they're just that—rumors.”

Dorian looked at Lucas. “It doesn't matter. Not now. We have to find the SnowDancer female before the wolves go berserk. At this point they're in shock but that's going to turn into rage.”

“We'll find her.” It was an alpha's promise. “I'm going to ask Sascha to help us.”

“A Psy?” Rina's voice was harsh. “They don't even help their own children.”

“We don't have a choice.” There was no other way to infiltrate the PsyNet.

 

 

Sascha was gone. According to the ground-floor receptionist, she hadn't looked so good.

“Got in her car and took off.” The woman shrugged. “I was going to ask if she was okay but you know, she's one of
them
so I figured she wouldn't want to be bothered.”

“Thanks.” Lucas shoved both his hands into his pockets.

Rina, who'd come down with him, said, “Think she's gone back to report to the Council?”

It was a valid suspicion but something in Lucas rebelled against accepting it. Pulling out his phone, he pressed her code and waited. No answer. “I guess we'll know soon enough. Tell the sentinels to alert the pack.” If the Council discovered that DarkRiver was working to bring them down, they'd launch a preemptive strike.

The Psy might not be able to manipulate the minds of changelings without a huge expenditure of power, but they could kill if they were determined enough. The most vulnerable were the cubs, who hadn't yet finished developing the natural shields which made older changelings that much harder to hurt.

He watched Rina take off as he pushed in another code. Within ten minutes, every member of DarkRiver would be contacted. The weaker ones would head to the safe houses, where Pack soldiers could protect them. The one advantage changelings had was that the Psy had to come very close to attack them through psychic means. No Psy had ever killed a changeling from afar.

The call was
answered. “Hawke.”

“We might've had a leak to the Council about the hunt. Protect your pack.”

“Anyone touches another one of my people, I'll gut them.” The ruthless alpha of the SnowDancers wasn't kidding. “I'm declaring open season on the Psy.”

An image of Sascha's bloodied body flashed into Lucas's mind. His hand squeezed the phone. “We might be able to find your packmate in time.”

“How sure are you?”

“The probability is low but there
is
a chance. If you move now, we'll lose the opportunity and large numbers of both our packs.” The SnowDancers were merciless killers but so were the Psy. Both sides would suffer massive casualties.

A pause that hummed with anger. “I won't be able to control my people once the body is found.”

“I wouldn't want you to.” Lucas had barely managed to restrain DarkRiver after Kylie's murder. The only reason they'd listened to him was that three of their females had recently birthed cubs. No one had wanted to leave the babies vulnerable. Because once the alphas and soldiers were gone, the cubs and their mothers would simply be exterminated. The Psy had no sense of mercy.

“If you go to war, we'll go with you.” It was a promise that Lucas had made to his pack. In the months since burying Kylie, they'd made arrangements to hide the cubs with other packs, packs which had seeded from DarkRiver and would raise the children as their own if everything went to hell.

A short silence. The SnowDancers didn't play well with others but Lucas hoped that Hawke would listen to the voice of reason, that he'd trust in the strength of their alliance. The alternative was carnage on a scale the world hadn't seen in centuries.

“You're asking me to wait while Brenna dies.”

“Seven days, Hawke. Time enough to track her.” He trusted his gut. Sascha wouldn't betray them . . . betray him. “You know I'm right. Once the Psy realize we're hunting them, she
will
die. They'll do anything to cover their trail.”

Hawke spit out a curse. “You'd better be right, cat.
Seven days.
Find my female alive and you'll never have to worry about territorial threats again. If her body turns up, we go for blood.”

“For blood.”

 

 

Sascha woke to the chime of the communication console. She was collapsed in the entry of her apartment, slumped against the closed door with her legs spread out in front of her. She had no memory of anything after exiting the elevator that had brought her to this floor.

Forcing herself to her feet, she clutched the door and walls for support as she somehow made her way to the console. Nikita's name flashed up. Too exhausted to do anything but stand there, she let her mother leave a message and then glanced at her watch.

It was ten at night. That meant she'd lost in excess of seven hours to unconsciousness. Frantic, she checked her shields. They'd held. Her relief made her aware of something else—the pain of the grief and rage that had been crushing her was gone. She couldn't remember how she'd defused it and she didn't want to think about it either. Didn't want to think about anything.

A long shower took her mind off matters for a few minutes. She followed that by sitting still and trying to meditate herself into a trancelike state, unwilling to face up to what she'd learned that day. It had been one straw too many. Her brain was in danger of overloading. She did mental calisthenic after mental calisthenic.

By the time she made herself return Nikita's call, she'd achieved a measure of outward calm. Her mother's face flashed up on the screen. “Sascha. You got my message.”

“I'm sorry I was out of touch, Mother.” She didn't explain where she'd been. As an adult Psy, she had the right to her own life.

“I wanted an update on the changeling situation.”

“I have nothing to report but I'm sure that'll change.” Right now she was hanging on to her sanity by a thread and didn't know what to believe.

“Don't let me down, Sascha.” Nikita's brown eyes probed her face. “Enrique isn't happy with you—we need to give him something.”

“Why do we need to give him anything?”

Nikita paused and then nodded as if she'd decided something. “Come up to my suite.”

Ten minutes later, Sascha found herself standing beside her mother, looking out at the glimmering darkness of a city going to sleep.

“What does it remind you of?” Nikita asked.

“The PsyNet.” It was a very crude approximation.

“Weak lights. Strong lights. Flickering lights. Dead lights.” Nikita linked her hands loosely in front of her.

“Yes.” Sascha felt a slight pounding at the back of her neck, more irritating than painful. A leftover from whatever had happened this afternoon? If anything had happened. What if she'd imagined the entire psychic scenario? Perhaps it was a sign of her accelerating insanity. What proof did she have that she'd done anything other than collapse? Nothing.

The more she thought about it, the more convinced she became that she'd constructed the entire episode in an attempt to explain the fragmentation of her psyche. There was no other viable explanation. What she'd imagined doing was like no psychic power she'd ever heard of.

“Enrique is a very bright light.”

She forced herself to pay attention. “So are you. You're both Council.” Just like Enrique, Nikita was dangerous, the poison of her mind as lethal as the deadliest biological virus.

“Several other Councilors would gladly see me dead.”

“More than Councilors alone.”

“Yes. There are always aspirants.” Nikita continued to stare out at the night. “Allies are necessary.”

“Enrique is yours?”

“In a way. He has his own agenda but he watches my back and I watch his.”

“So we can't afford to alienate him?”

“It would make things difficult.”

Sascha read between the lines. If Enrique didn't get what he wanted, Nikita's life might well be forfeit. “I'll find some information for him. But tell him if I push, we might get nothing.”

“You sound very sure.”

“The first thing you can share with him is that contrary to popular Psy belief, changelings aren't stupid.” No one who'd met the hard blaze of intelligence in Lucas's eyes could ever believe anything that asinine. “They're not going to open up to a Psy who's clearly out to gather data. If I go softly, we'll get more. We have months.”

But she didn't. As today had demonstrated far too clearly, she was coming apart at the seams, breaking into a thousand pieces. She no longer understood her own actions. Right at that instant, she was standing there lying to her mother through her teeth, keeping everything she'd learned to herself. Why?

“I'll tell him. Good night, Sascha.”

“Good night, Mother.”

 

 

Sascha couldn't sleep. She'd tried every trick she could think of to put herself under and failed. After the lush dreams of the past few days, it was a rude awakening to reality. Ever since she'd met Lucas, the physical symptoms of her accelerating mental disintegration had leveled off. She'd become used to a good night's sleep, free of night terrors or muscle spasms.

She finally gave up and began to pace up and down the confines of her room, back wall to front wall, front wall to back wall, side to side, left to right. And back again.