The Psy-Changeling Collection (178 page)
“—the attempt will do more harm than good,” Nikita completed. “Ashaya Aleine’s child?”
“Dead, but we haven’t yet found a body.”
“Convenient, but it matters little,” Tatiana said. “The boy lost his value as a hostage the instant Ashaya escaped our control. Getting back to Amara Aleine, do we need her anymore? The inception of Protocol I is now highly unlikely.”
“I predict that will change,” Shoshanna said. “We need to be ready with a functioning implant when that happens.”
Kaleb knew she was right. Tides changed swiftly in the rapidly flowing rivers of the PsyNet. A man who intended to hold the Net in the palm of his hand had to be careful which rapids he rode.
“The most efficient way to stop discontent would be to take Ashaya out of the equation,” Henry said, breaking his silence.
Kaleb watched the other Councilor. Of course, the man’s shields made it impossible for Kaleb to read his patterns, but the fact that Henry had put forth such a radical idea without input from Shoshanna was another piece of the puzzle he’d suddenly become.
“She’s high-profile,” Nikita pointed out. “It could backfire.”
“But Henry is correct—dead women can’t speak.” Tatiana’s practical mind. “It may take years to recover from the effect of Aleine’s revelations, but the process will go much faster if she’s not around to feed the populace on rebellion.”
“I’d advise caution.” Anthony’s compelling voice. “Ashaya has influence in intellectual circles. If we attempt to assassinate her, we chance alienating the very scientists we’ll need if she carries through her implied threat and releases a bioagent as a weapon.”
“Surely you’re reaching with that interpretation,” Tatiana said. “This is a political issue. Ashaya won’t take it to the level of war.”
“We’re the ones who’ve become too political, too worried about perception,” Shoshanna said, pure ice in her tone. “There was a time when we would’ve had no hesitation in executing Ashaya, as well as any who dared stand with her.”
Kaleb waited, expecting Nikita to speak. She did.
“Times have changed,” she said. “We are—through our own mistakes—no longer the sole powers in the world. If we become too openly manipulative, the defectors may decide to look to the changelings for protection.”
“They’re not that much of a threat,” Shoshanna retorted. “Perhaps in California, yes, but elsewhere? They’re too caught up in their petty animal concerns.”
“But are you willing to chance a war on US soil for the sake of a single scientist?” Kaleb asked, backing Nikita. “If we do come down hard and even a small percentage of the populace decides to turn to the changelings, we’ll have the beginnings of an untenable rupture in the Net.” He would not allow war to shatter that which would one day be his.
“Might I suggest a two-step approach,” Anthony said into the silence. “As a first step, we attempt to recapture her, with the aim of forcing her to recant. We’re all capable of overcoming her psychic defenses—she’s an M-Psy, with no offensive abilities.”
“An excellent point,” Shoshanna accepted. “And step two?”
“We take her out of the equation.”
“It’s a sound plan,” Tatiana said. “It won’t only silence her, it’ll have the dual effect of demoralizing the rebels—they’ll see that even if they manage to get their voices heard, it means nothing.”
“Agreed.” It was a unanimous decision.
Kaleb was about
to move back to his study when he caught the edge of a different newscast burning up the Net. He made immediate telepathic contact.
Ming, I assume you’re behind this?
It’s a message. Ashaya Aleine is not a stupid woman. She’ll understand.
I’ve just seen a broadcast that could change everything. We need to meet. 0800 hours. Tell the others.
—Handwritten note slipped under an apartment door in the sunken city of Venice
Dorian had trapped
her against the balcony railing and Amara was trying to claw into her very psyche. Ashaya snapped, and, mind screaming at the sense of entrapment, shoved at Dorian’s chest. “Get away from me.” She snatched back her hands as the heat and power of him soaked through her palms.
He smiled and it wasn’t pleasant. “Scared?”
“I’m Psy.” Reminding herself of that helped block Amara. She was safe. This time. “I feel nothing.” It was the same lie she’d told herself her entire adult life, only allowing the truth to surface in the deepest depths of night, when she was sure Amara slept. To leash her sister, and survive in the Net, she’d
become
the creature everyone expected her to be. The unrelenting charade had taken a toll, but she refused to crack. Not yet. Not while Keenan remained at risk.
“My conditioning may have malfunctioned once or twice,” she said, since he’d caught her lapses, “but it’s now repaired. I’m fully enmeshed in Silence.”
“Liar. You’re hiding behind the conditioning like a scared child.”
She held her ground. “Believe that if you want. It doesn’t change the truth.”
He snorted. “You know what, Ashaya, I thought you had a heart of fucking ice the first time I met you”—he leaned so close, his breath whispered across the curls that had escaped the knot at the back of her head—“but I never took you for a coward.”
For a moment, claustrophobia retreated under the thundering force of a clean, bright wave that fired energy through her body. It undermined every one of her efforts to keep Amara at bay, but for that single instant, she didn’t care. “What right do you have to call me anything? You, with your prejudice and your self-pity.”
Golden skin pulled taut over his cheekbones. “Careful, sugar. I’m not real nice when I’m pissed.”
“How would I know the difference? You’ve been unpleasant to me every chance you get. If that’s the result of a lifetime of emotion,” she said, deliberately coating each word with frost, “then I prefer Silence.”
The door to the balcony swung open, hitting Dorian on the shoulder. He didn’t turn, but Ashaya glanced over—to meet the vivid green eyes of a man with savage clawlike markings on one side of his face. He raised an eyebrow. “Takes most people a few days at least to get Dorian that close to a killing frame of mind. You have talent, Ms. Aleine.”
Dorian growled low in his throat, warning Lucas to back off. This was between him and Ashaya. “What the hell are you doing here?” He took his hands off the railing on either side of Ashaya and shifted so the door could be pushed fully open.
His alpha leaned against the wall opposite the door, looking like a fucking CEO with his dark gray suit and crisp white shirt. And a tie. Jesus H. Christ. “I just had some information come through,” Lucas said, “thought Ms. Aleine might be interested.”
Dorian shifted to place himself between Lucas and Ashaya. He saw Luc note the move, and knew the other man understood the way of things when he kept his distance, though he spoke directly to Ashaya. “We need to get you to a safe house. That broadcast didn’t declaw the beast.”
Some of the anger riding Dorian shifted into steely focus. “You sound sure.”
Lucas jerked his head in the direction of the subbasement. “Follow me.”
Dorian moved to let Ashaya brush past him. When she
hesitated at going down the steps, he leaned in to whisper in her ear. “Want to stay up here with me, instead?”
“I’d rather eat dirt.”
The cat liked that acerbic response. So did the man. Biting back a smile, he followed her down into the now empty studio. Only one of the control screens was on, the image paused. “This transmission came through in bits and pieces through various networks,” Lucas said. “The fact it got through at all, given the current state of communications, speaks for itself.” Without further explanation, he touched the screen and the recording began to play. Images of smoke and debris, the reporter shouting through a face mask.
“… massive underground explosion in … ebraska. Possible covert … facility. Casualities …”—crackling white noise, but the last words were clear—“We’re told there was no time to warn anyone of the malfunction. There were no survivors.”
Dorian watched as Ashaya reached forward, rewound the broadcast, and watched it again. And again. He gripped her wrist when she would’ve done it a third time, aware it was her former lab that had been buried—he recognized the area from the mission to rescue Jon and Noor.
Her bones were fragile under his as she stood there unresisting, the complete opposite of the woman who’d shoved at him bare minutes ago.
“Ekaterina was in there.” Her voice was as cool as always but he felt the finest of tremors beneath her skin. “You met her, interrogated her.”
Dorian recalled the blonde at once. “Shit. She was one of yours.”
“Most of them were mine. And that’s why they died.” She looked at the screen, eyes strangely flat. “I’m responsible for this. If I had run—”
“—they’d have hunted you down like a rabid dog.” Of that, Dorian had no doubt. The Council maintained its power by cold-bloodedly wiping out any opposition. Except, most of the time, it was done in darkness and shadow, with assassins and poisons. “All you did was bring their bullying tactics out into the open.”
Ashaya didn’t answer him, her gaze locked on the screen.
* * *
Dorian closed the
car door behind Ashaya’s still figure and turned to Lucas. “If she wasn’t Psy, I’d say she was in shock.” Though the window was down, Ashaya gave no indication of having heard him.
Lucas narrowed his eyes. “Might help if she sees her son.”
“Any change since this morning?” Protective instincts rose to the fore.
“I talked to Sascha before that transmission came through. She said he seems okay, but quiet. Even Tally couldn’t get him to talk and she can get anyone to open up.”
“Don’t call her Tally in front of Clay,” Dorian said, thinking of the small human female who loved Clay so desperately. “He’s a little territorial.”
Lucas’s eyes flicked to Ashaya. “So are you.”
Dorian wanted to bare his teeth, warn Lucas off against interfering. “Yeah, I am.”
“I know better than to step in between,” Lucas said, as they both moved far enough away that Ashaya couldn’t hear them. “But you might be better off gaining some distance so you can think—right now, your aggression levels are through the roof.”
“I can handle it.”
“But does she want to be handled?” A question that cut out the bullshit. “Doesn’t look like she’s going to hop into bed with you anytime soon—and from what I saw on that balcony, that’s what your cat wants. You’re getting belligerent because you’re frustrated.” Blunt words from one man to another, a warning from an alpha to a sentinel. “I don’t care if she is the enemy— you don’t touch her unless she agrees.”
Dorian felt his leopard thrust its claws out under his skin. “That’s a fucking insult.”
“Then tone it down.” Lucas’s markings stood out starkly against his skin. “Or I’m pulling you off protection detail.”
“Try it.” Dorian made his tone sniper flat.
“Damn it, Dorian, stop being so fucking pigheaded. We both know you’re not rational where Psy are concerned.”
“Yeah? I seem to get along fine with Sascha.”
“She’s Pack, and so is Faith. Judd’s close to Pack.” Lucas shook his head. “Any Psy outside the tight circle of what you consider family is automatically an enemy in your eyes. That makes you the worst person to guard Ashaya.”
Dorian fisted his hands. “Back off, Luc. I don’t know what the fuck is going on with me and Ashaya, but I’ll sort it out. Bloody hell, you know me better than to think I’d ever force a woman, no matter who she is.”
Lucas stared at him for several minutes before giving a slow nod. “She might never be willing—the first time you met her, you told us she was so cold you got frostbite.”
“I was wrong.” He’d seen the desperate flashes of love in her eyes when she spoke of Keenan, felt her hand tremble as she realized her colleagues were dead. “She’s not who I thought she was.” He just had to coax the real Ashaya Aleine out of hiding.
“Doesn’t matter.” Lucas glanced at the car. “She doesn’t seem to like you any.”
“I’ve been less than charming.” He gritted his teeth. “I’ll work on that. She’ll thaw out.” She had to, because he sure as hell wasn’t going to walk around with blue balls for the rest of his life. The sexual nature of the thought was a deliberate attempt to offset a more worrisome emotion—it disturbed him how protective he’d begun to feel toward her.
Lucas’s eyes gleamed with feline humor. “Can you lay on the charm and protect her at the same time?”
“Keep insulting me, and I’ll forget you’re my alpha.” It was said without heat, both their beasts having retreated from the razor-sharp edge of violence. “What’s the security plan?”
“You’re her shadow,” Lucas said, humor replaced by the keen intelligence that made him an alpha who commanded respect as well as obedience. “Anthony doesn’t want her dead and he’s not an ally we can afford to lose.”
“What about his own resources?”
“They’re at our disposal, but things are a little hot for him right now—he doesn’t want to tip his hand if we’re willing to cover.”
Dorian nodded. “Council needs at least one sane member.”
“Yeah.” A grim look. “Our job is to keep Ashaya alive. Nothing else. Anthony might be family through Faith, but I won’t put my pack in the middle of an internal Psy war.”
Dorian raised an eyebrow. “That’s a load of shit. We’ve been involved from day one.”
Lucas looked at the woman sitting in the car. “You’re right.
But this particular storm is all about them. We facilitate the transmissions—”
“That’s not involvement?”
“It’s the scoop of the century.” He shrugged. “It’s business.”
Dorian saw his point. “The fact that we get to irritate them is a nice bonus, but not one that’ll put us on their shit list.” Psy understood business.
“This time, they’re looking at their own.”
“She’s not theirs anymore.” The denial came out without thought, from the heart of the cat he was.
Lucas glanced at him. “Are you sure? From what I’ve seen, she’s got the balls to pull off a double cross.”
