Slave to Sensation

CHAPTER 25

“Some of my talents are rather unusual, sir.” That told him nothing. Her hidden talents could include a degree of foresight she didn’t want competitors to know about or a hundred other things.

“I always knew you were an interesting woman, but I never guessed you were so perfect.”

In the dark velvet night of the PsyNet, Sascha felt shivers crawl along her nerves. Perfect. What was she perfect for? “A high compliment.” She couldn’t move. Enrique’s power was everywhere—he’d surrounded her as stealthily as a hunting leopard.

“I thought you were like me,” he said, his tone shifting to something so polite it was a mockery. “But you’re something else altogether.”

If she hadn’t intended to drop out of the Net, she would’ve panicked at the way his shields had spread to encompass her star. Because this was a trap. Nikita had taught her this variation long ago. Sometimes it paid to have a mother whose power lay in murder and poison.

Enrique believed her to be telepathing. Once he’d finished encircling her star, he’d lure her out into the PsyNet. The instant she emerged, he’d lock a shield around the partial “self” she’d send out to meet with him. For the first milliseconds after a Psy manifested on the psychic plane, he or she was vulnerable. It took that long for the mobile firewalls to rise. Almost no one had the power to spring a trap in that infinitesimal amount of time.

However, Enrique was no ordinary Psy—he could possibly pull it off. If he succeeded, he’d cut off the roaming part of her psyche from the rest. A successful capture was one of the more brutal ways to paralyze the physical body of a Psy. If the paralysis was maintained too long, the underlying connection between self and mind snapped, the two parts of the psyche unable to survive the separation.

The result was death and the absorption of that roaming part of the victim’s consciousness into the vastness of the PsyNet. Some theorized that that was how the NetMind had begun—with the lost minds of Psy who’d been ambushed or otherwise lost in the dark skies of the Net.

“I’m not sure what you mean, sir.”

“I think it’s time we discussed this, Sascha.” He was everywhere. Cold and focused like the finest of lasers.

“I’m in a meeting.”

“Cancel it.” The walls around her began to constrict.

“Mother has given me instructions to close this deal.” This was bad, very bad. What she couldn’t understand was why Enrique was coming after her.

There was nothing overtly “wrong” about the patterns she was leaking. The traces were both very faint and came from a deep part of the changeling consciousness that Psy couldn’t usually access, not without ripping open minds. Only a Psy who’d done that would understand what it was that he was seeing.

“I’m tired of waiting for you to make time. Unless you want to find yourself pulled up before the Council, I want to see you. Now.”

“On what basis would you call me before the Council?” She filled her mental tone with the confidence of someone who’d been born a cardinal, someone whose mother was a Councilor.

“You’re not pure, Sascha. You think like them.” It was an accusation that held supreme confidence. “Like the animals you work so well with.”

Caught utterly off guard, she almost gave herself away. She’d never known Enrique to have any contact with changelings. How did he recognize the taint in her mental signature? “I’m sure you’re mistaken.”

“I’ve been in their minds. I know exactly what they look like.” His mental trap was almost solid. There was no way she would’ve been able to break out if she’d planned on doing so. Enrique was stronger than she’d ever guessed, possibly the strongest cardinal in the Net.

“How?” Confusion and desperation were taking their toll. Murder sprang from rage, fury, jealousy. Enrique didn’t feel anything, so how could he be the violence that had stolen so many lives?

“The Council likes to know the enemy. We’ve been using volunteers to study their mental patterns.” He pushed at the flaw in her mind as one would poke at a wound.

It hurt. “Sir, what are you doing?”

“I don’t like waiting, Sascha.”

But he liked talking, she thought. “I’m tying up the meeting. If I leave suddenly, it’ll negate everything we’ve achieved to date. I didn’t realize the Council was running such research.”

“Call it a private interest. Their women make the best subjects—there’s something perfect about them.”

I never guessed you were so perfect.

“They’re weak,” she said, prodding him on. “They feel. It’s the Psy who are perfect.”

Enrique’s energy whirled cold and menacing around her as she started to inch back toward the hidden doorway into her mind. She had to get inside before she dropped out of the PsyNet. If Enrique succeeded in infiltrating her defenses, he’d destroy Lucas along with her. No, she thought, furious. Her mate would not die.

A whisper of the forest in her mind. The panther hidden deep within her was pleased by her thoughts but its attention was fixed on Enrique, on the threat to its mate. Claws slid out and she felt her fingertips tingle.

“Psy have to suppress emotion in order to survive, but changelings thrive without breaking under the pressure. I’d say that makes them the stronger species.” He paused and she froze her creeping progress. “Are you almost done?”

“Yes, sir.” She made her voice hold the faintest thread of fear, let him pick up the emotion.

The walls of his mind went blue like the deepest oceanic ice. It was frighteningly beautiful. “Sascha, Sascha,” he whispered. “You’re truly extraordinary.”

She didn’t respond, every ounce of concentration focused on getting back into her mind. His comments had her convinced he was the killer one second and confused the next. How could he be the serial? How? Those women had been torn part, annihilated from the mind out. Enrique was a man who didn’t feel any negative emotion. Not rage. Not anger. Not hatred.

Was he simply out for her because she was flawed? Had he driven away the real murderer, the one who’d infected the Net with traces of violence? Disappointment tightened her gut. She couldn’t fail, couldn’t let the need for revenge plunge DarkRiver and the SnowDancers into war. They were her people now.

“You’re even more perfect than the changeling women.”

“Who were these women?” she asked, nearly to the doorway. “I’d like to speak to them as well. The leopards tell me nothing.”

“I’m afraid the experiments were a little taxing. They don’t like to let Psy into their minds. I had to damage them in order to gain an in-depth understanding.”

Horror stopped her in midstep. “You killed them?”

Lucas lunged at the walls of her mind, wanting to go for Enrique’s throat.

“Lab animals often die.”

If she’d been in her physical body, she would’ve thrown up then and there. It was crystal clear that Enrique was happy to tell her everything—his only audience—because he thought he had her trapped. He was closing around her like a giant pincer.

“There’s pressure on my mind.” She could start to feel it but it wasn’t dangerous, not yet.

“I’m at the end of my patience. Either you speak to me or I execute you. I assure you, the Council would back me fully for dealing with a defective Psy.”

It was the word “defective” that got her moving again. She wasn’t defective and the changelings weren’t lab animals. They were the most beautiful, most alive, most passionate beings she’d ever met. But before she broke away, she had to make sure she had the right evil, the right killer. “Why seventy-nine?” she asked softly.

“Nineteen seventy-nine, Sascha, 1979. It’s my little way of celebrating what I see as the true birth of our race.” He paused. “How did you know about that?” The crushing walls of his mind came to a standstill.

She used that moment to push through the hidden door and lock it behind her. Something slammed into it a second later—Enrique’s mind trying to shove into hers, destroy hers. Cracks appeared in the already fragmented shields around the doorway.

“Very clever, Sascha,” he said. “How long have you been hiding out here?”

She didn’t answer, trying to patch up the door enough that she could run into the second layer of her shields. Even so close to him, her senses picked up nothing of the deep-seated rage she’d expected from the murderer. Enrique didn’t feel. And yet he killed.

You’re a race of psychopaths!

Dorian’s accusation ripped open from some forgotten pocket of memory.

No conscience, no heart, no feelings! How else do you define psychopath?

The true horror of Silence hit her so hard, her inner walls shook. But there was no time to think. Enrique was close to breaking through. Slamming a temporary block on the door to her mind, she ran through the second layer of shields just as the block on the outer shields shattered.

He was inside her mind.

His power crashed into her, shocking pain into every synapse. Shaking, she threw everything she had into her inner shields and went even deeper, until she was behind a third layer. Enrique couldn’t violate these so easily. They were the natural walls of the mind—the walls he’d ripped open in the changeling women he’d taken. She had no doubt he’d tear her apart, too, if she gave him the time.

Fed by adrenaline, she found her mental link to the PsyNet. Even Enrique’s trap couldn’t cut that link. It went too deep, was too instinctive. She touched the lifeline for the last time and whispered, “Good-bye.”

Enrique hit her with another Shockwave of pain and at that exact instant, she sliced the link into two. Everything stopped for her. Her mind was silent. Alone. There were no stars in the darkness, nothing but emptiness.

Death opened its arms.

She screamed awake in Lucas’s hold. Excruciating agony cramped every nerve in her body and she could feel her mind desperately trying to re-create the link. Forcing herself to think despite the red-hot torture sparking through her, she cauterized the wound and shut down the instinctive reaching. It hurt. Like being shot point-blank in the face.

The agony was everywhere. Her skin felt as if it was being flayed off her. Her mind screamed and screamed, gasping for the feedback it needed to survive. She clawed at Lucas’s chest, unable to breathe. Claustrophobia closed around her, the darkness pressing down deeper than Enrique’s attempts at crushing her mind. She was going to choke to death. Alone. She was so alone.

Alone. Dark. Black. Cold.

Lucas was terrified by what he saw in Sascha’s eyes. All the stars had disappeared in a blink when she’d opened her eyes and now there was such deep ebony in the depths, he thought he could see eternity.

“Sascha!” He shook her, ignoring the others who’d run into the room at the sound of her screams. It didn’t occur to him that he knew the killer’s name, that he could start the hunt for vengeance. Only she mattered. “Sascha!” She didn’t respond. It was as if she couldn’t see him.

He wasn’t Psy. He couldn’t get into her mind. But he could anchor her another way. Wrapping one hand around her nape, he pulled her close and kissed her. Hard. Without mercy. It was a brutal, savage, possessive kiss and it held every emotion he felt for her. He poured it all into her mouth, calling her back with touch. Her claw-like grip eased but she clung to him, wrapping her arms and legs around him as if she wanted to crawl into his soul.

Alone. So alone.

It was as if he heard the words in his mind. Had she linked? Had she followed through on her promise? Was that why he could feel the load of darkness pressing down on her? He pushed it back with heat and fire and emotion, squeezing her body close.

When he broke the kiss so she could breathe, she whimpered, “No, no, no, no.” He pressed his lips against hers once again. The darkness was no longer so heavy but it wasn’t disappearing. Why not? She was linked to him. She wasn’t alone. Not anymore. Never again.

The next time the kiss broke, she took a deep breath and said, “It’s Councilor Santano Enrique. He feels nothing. Doesn’t know about you. Thinks I’m just flawed.” It came out in a staccato rush—as if she were spitting things out before they were forever lost.

Lucas looked at Hawke, who’d been first into the room. “Go. Dorian. Vaughn.” His eyes locked with the jaguar’s. Vaughn gave a slight nod. He understood his job—to protect Dorian from his own rage. Lucas couldn’t go with them, not with his mate growing alarmingly weak in his arms.

Hawke’s eyes slid to Sascha, who was starting to draw shallow breaths that sounded like fatal whispers. “What’s wrong with her?” He held his arm out to stop Brenna’s two brothers from leaving the room in pursuit of their quarry. It was an indication of his power that they paused though their eyes had gone wolf.

“She’s dying.” Tamsyn pushed between the males to touch Sascha’s cheek.

Sascha jerked. “Enrique lives in… uh…” Her teeth began to chatter.

“We have the address.” Hawke’s face was a study in the most chilling fury. “I’ll take care of him.” The words were directed at Lucas.

It was time to trust the wolf.

“Complete the plan.” They’d hatched it between them early this morning. It was designed to keep Sascha safe… forever. “Go.” He was entrusting Hawke with his mate’s life. The plan had called for Lucas to ensure this part of their strategy was implemented, but not for anything would he leave Sascha.

“Your Psy belongs to us, too. We won’t fail her.” Hawke moved and the four wolves in the room, along with Dorian and Vaughn, streamed out with him.

Tamsyn dropped a throw around Sascha’s shaking body. “I don’t understand. Your mind should be feeding hers.”

Lucas suddenly understood. “You haven’t tried to initiate a link, have you?” Terror and fury combined to chill his heart.

Sascha smiled and shook her head. “You have to live.”

“You promised!” he yelled, driven beyond patience, beyond anything but demand and need. His mate couldn’t die.

Those beautiful eyes were fading. “I’m sorry.”

“No! No!” He cradled her in his arms, his voice shaking. “Link, damn you! Link!”

Her hand rose to lie against his heartbeat. “Love you.” A single tear fell from eyes gone charcoal gray.

“Tammy! Do something!”

The healer was trembling, her eyes wet. “I can’t, Lucas. She has to…”

“Do it, Sascha!” he ordered, crushing her to him. “Don’t you leave me.”

She gasped and the fingers on his chest curled. But she didn’t reach out to his mind, didn’t take the step that would complete the mating dance.

“If you don’t, I’ll start taking out the Councilors,” he threatened. “They’ll hunt me down and kill me anyway.”

But his mate was beyond hearing. Her eyes drifted shut and her face smoothed out as her shivers faded.

“No!” His scream was of purest rage. “I won’t let you die! You’re mine and damn if I’m ever going to let you go. You’re mine. Mine.” The panther clawed to the surface and let out a roar that was nothing human.

That was when he felt it. The bond between them snapping taut. The panther recognized the bond, though it had never before felt it. It calmed him enough to let Lucas think, holding fast even as Sascha’s heartbeat stuttered. Lucas closed his eyes and fed her. He didn’t know what he was doing, just knew that as long as the bond stayed strong, Sascha would live.

A minute later, her eyes fluttered open again. The deathly gray was being replaced by dark ebony. “Lucas? What’s happening?”

“You’re going to live.” It was nonnegotiable.

He felt her search for and find the link. Felt her try to cut it—his heart stopped—but it wasn’t something she could influence. This link wasn’t Psy. It was changeling and it was unbreakable. The cat began to smile—her safety was no longer out of his grasp.

“You can’t,” she whispered. “Stop doing what you’re doing. You’re giving me your lifeforce. It’s worse than if I simply accepted the bond and let it keep me alive.”

“Then accept, because I’m not going to stop.” He poured even more of himself into her.

Futility darkened her expression. “Damn you for being so stubborn!”

“Accept.”

Her shoulders fell. She shot back along that bond, dropping the barriers she’d erected in an effort to prevent their mating. Suddenly, she was a rainbow inside him, a sparkling fountain of such beauty that he felt blessed to have been allowed to see her. For one instant, their minds were one and he saw how desperately, how wildly, how unreasonably she loved him—enough to break a promise, to choose death so he could live.

She saw how much her panther adored her, how his heart beat for her alone, how life would turn into death after she was gone. The beast was angry at her for attempting to deny him his mate, and the man was beyond angry, but beneath the anger was hunger, need, love. Such intense, furious love that it had no beginning and no end.

She pulled back with a gasp, allowing their two minds to separate, allowing them to think private thoughts once more. Somehow, Lucas knew that if he should ever ask, she’d open to him again. She was his and he was hers. They had under-the-skin privileges.

Those dark eyes looked up at him. Tears streamed down her face. “I’ve killed you. I’ve killed you. I’ve killed you!”

Sascha knew Lucas was enraged with her but she was too mad to care. How could he have forced her into this? It didn’t matter that the mating bond wasn’t controllable. As far as she was concerned, if he’d accepted her choice, if he’d let her go, it wouldn’t have come into being. Even now, she was sucking his life away so she could be healthy and strong. Her life at the price of his. Damn him!

Ten hours had passed since the plan had been successfully executed. Depleted by his attempt at trapping her, Enrique’s powers hadn’t been strong enough to withstand the changelings. Improbably, he’d kept Brenna caged in his large soundproofed apartment, safe because no Psy could feel her pain. She was alive. The SnowDancers and DarkRiver’s soldiers had also ensured Sascha’s safety. No one was going to be hunting her or the changelings.

“We took what was due us,” Hawke told her in the living room of the safe house. His gaze included Dorian. “And we left them a message. Should anything ever happen to you, we’ll go after each and every one of the Council, no matter who it was that set the dogs on you. What we did to Enrique will seem like a picnic.”

“How can you be sure that’ll keep them contained?” Sascha knew the Council too well.

“The message we left,” Hawke said, his eyes pure blue flame. “It was stapled to Enrique’s tongue. Tatiana Rika-Smythe got the tongue in a velvet jewelry box inside her bedroom. Nikita got the remainder of the head.”

She couldn’t breathe. She tried to speak but nothing came out. Hawke continued his bloody narrative.

“The Councilors outside the immediate area have been promised personal delivery of a piece of Enrique—I’m thinking we’ll leave the gifts on their pillows.”

Sascha felt her gorge rise. She gripped Lucas’s hand. “How could you…?”

“We did nothing to him he didn’t do to our women,” Dorian gritted out. “We did less—he raped their minds!”

She looked at him, felt his anguish—anguish that vengeance hadn’t calmed—and knew he needed her to accept what he’d done. She was his alpha’s mate and for the first time, she saw what that entailed. Not quite sure what she was doing, she crossed the room and took his face in her hands. He stilled. When she brushed her lips over his, a sigh seemed to ripple through his body.