Slave to Sensation

CHAPTER 2

Lucas prowled to the edge of his office and stared down at the narrow streets that led into the sensory explosion that was Chinatown, his mind on Sascha Duncan’s night-sky eyes. His animal nature had sniffed something in her that didn’t quite fit, wasn’t quite… right. And yet, she didn’t have the sickly smell of insanity but a delectably enticing scent that was at odds with the metallic stink of most Psy.

“Lucas?”

He had no need to turn around to identify his visitor. “What is it, Dorian?”

Dorian came to stand beside him. With his blond hair and blue eyes, he could’ve passed for a surfer hanging out, waiting for the right wave. Except for the feral edge in those eyes. Dorian was a latent leopard. Something had gone wrong in the womb and he’d been born changeling in all ways except one—he lacked the ability to shift forms. “How did it go?”

“I have a Psy shadow.” He watched a car glide by on the darkening street, the energy cells that powered it leaving no trace of their passage. The cells had been created by changelings. Without their race, the world would’ve sunk into a quagmire of pollution by now.

The Psy thought themselves the leaders of the planet, but it was the changelings who were attuned to the Earth’s heartbeat, the changelings who saw the intertwined streams of life. Changelings and the occasional human.

“Think you can pump her?”

Lucas shrugged. “She’s like the rest of them. But I’m in. And she’s a cardinal.”

Dorian rocked back on his heels. “If one of them knows about the killer, they all do. Their web keeps every single one of them in contact.”

“They call it the PsyNet.” Lucas leaned forward and pressed his palms to the glass, luxuriating in the cool kiss. “I’m not so sure that’s how it works.”

“It’s a damn hive mind. How else could it work?”

“They’re very hierarchical—it doesn’t track that the masses would be allowed access to everything. Democratic is the one thing they’re not.” The Psy world of cold, calm survival of the fittest was as cruel as anything he’d ever seen.

“But your cardinal would know.”

As the daughter of a Councilor and a powerful mind in her own right, it was almost certain that Sascha was a member of the inner circle. “Yes.” And he had every intention of finding out what she knew.

“Ever slept with a Psy?”

Lucas finally turned to glance at Dorian, amused. “You’re saying I should seduce the information out of her?” The idea should’ve revolted him but both man and beast were intrigued.

Dorian laughed. “Yeah right, your cock’d probably freeze off.” Something bright and angry glittered in those blue eyes. “I was going to say that they really don’t feel anything. I went to bed with one back when I was young and stupid. I was drunk and she invited me to her dorm room.”

“Unusual.” The Psy liked to keep to themselves.

“I think I was some kind of experiment to her. She was a science major. We had sex but I swear it was like being with a block of concrete. No life, no emotion.”

Lucas let the image of Sascha Duncan run through his mind. His panther senses stilled, sniffing at the echo of her memory. She was ice but she was also something more. “We can only pity them.”

“They deserve our claws, not our pity.”

Lucas looked back at the city. He hid it better but his anger was as deep as Dorian’s. He’d been with the other man when they’d discovered Dorian’s sister’s body six months ago. Kylie had been butchered. Coldly. Clinically. Mercilessly. Her blood had been spilled with no thought to the beautiful, vibrant woman she’d been.

There had been no animal scent at the scene but Lucas had picked up the metallic stink of the Psy. The other changelings had seen the brutal efficiency of the kill and known exactly what type of monster had done this. But the Psy Council had claimed to know nothing, and the authorities in Enforcement had done so little, it was almost as if they didn’t want to find the murderer.

After DarkRiver had started digging, they’d discovered several other murders with the same signature. All buried so deep that only one organization could’ve been behind it. The Psy Council was like a spider and every Enforcement station in the country was caught in its web.

The changelings had had enough. Enough of Psy arrogance. Enough of Psy politics. Enough of Psy manipulation. Decades of resentment and fury had built up into a powder keg that the Psy had unknowingly ignited with their latest atrocity.

Now it was war.

And one very unusual Psy was about to be trapped in the middle.

When Sascha arrived at the DarkRiver building at seven thirty sharp, it was to find Lucas waiting for her by the entrance. Dressed in jeans, white T-shirt, and black leather-synth jacket, he looked nothing like the businessman she’d faced yesterday. “Good morning, Sascha.” His slow smile invited a similar response.

This time she was prepared for him. “Good morning. Shall we proceed to the meeting?” Nothing but the coldest practicality would serve to keep this male at a distance—she didn’t have to be a genius to understand that he was used to getting what he wanted.

“I’m afraid there’s been a change in plans.” He raised his hands in a placatory gesture but there was nothing submissive about him. “One of my team couldn’t get into the city in time so I postponed the meeting until three.”

She smelled deception. What she couldn’t figure out was whether it was because he was trying to charm her or because he was lying. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“I thought that since you were already on your way, we might as well go check out the site I’ve scouted.” He smiled. “A very efficient use of our time.”

She knew he was laughing at her. “Let’s go.”

“In my car.”

She didn’t protest. No real Psy would. He knew the way so it made sense for him to drive. But she wasn’t a normal Psy and she wanted to tell him to keep his autocratic commands to himself.

“Have you had breakfast?” he asked when they were both in the car and he’d brought up the manual controls.

She’d been too nervous to eat. Something about Lucas Hunter was accelerating her descent into madness but she couldn’t stop the tumble, couldn’t stop herself from continuing to tangle with him. “Yes,” she lied, not quite sure why.

“Good. Wouldn’t want you to faint on me.”

“I’ve never fainted in my life so you’re safe.” She watched the city flash by as they neared the Bay Bridge. San Francisco was a glittering jewel by the sea but she preferred the areas beyond, where nature held full sway. In some cases the forests stretched all the way to the border with Nevada and kept going.

Yosemite National Park was one of the bigger wilderness areas. At one stage a couple of centuries in the past, it had been mooted that the park be limited to an area east of Mariposa. The changelings had won that war and Yosemite had been left to sprawl to the extent that it had merged into several other forested areas, including the El Dorado and Tahoe forests, though the lake city of Tahoe continued to thrive.

It now covered half of Sacramento and curved around the lucrative wine-growing region of Napa to hug Santa Rosa to the north. To the southeast of San Francisco, it had almost swallowed Modesto. Because of its ongoing sprawl, only part of Yosemite was now a national park. The rest was protected from general development but habitation was allowed under certain circumstances.

As far as she knew, no Psy had ever sought permission to live so close to the wild. It made her wonder what their green, wooded land would’ve looked like had the Psy had total control of it. Somehow, she doubted that most of California would’ve been a series of giant national parks and forests.

Suddenly aware of Lucas sending her a questioning glance, she realized she’d been silent for over forty minutes. Luckily for her, lack of small talk was a Psy trait. “If we agree to buy the site you’ve chosen, how long will it take to close the deal?”

He looked back at the road. “A day. The land is in DarkRiver territory but owned by the SnowDancers through an accident of history. They’re happy to sell for the right price.”

“Are you an impartial party?” She took the chance afforded by his concentration on driving to look her fill of the markings on his face. Savage and primitive, they tugged at something hidden inside of her. She couldn’t help thinking that they likely told the true story of his nature, the smooth business persona merely a mask.

“No. But they’re not going to deal with anyone else so you’ll just have to hope I don’t screw you over.”

She wasn’t sure whether to take him seriously. “We’re well aware of property values. No one has yet managed to ‘screw’ us.”

His lips curved. “It’s the best location for what you want. The thought of living in that area gives most changelings wet dreams.”

Sascha wondered if he was being crude in an effort to rattle her. Had this far too intelligent leopard figured out that she was flawed in the most basic way? Hoping to throw him off the scent, she made her next words completely toneless. “Very colorful, but I don’t care about their dreams. I simply want them to buy the properties.”

“They will.” Of that Lucas had no doubt. “We’re almost there.” He pulled off the side road they were on and headed down another before parking the car beside a huge open space dotted with trees. Situated near Manteca, the area wasn’t heavily forested but it was definitely wooded.

He slid open his door and stepped out, frustrated by his inability to penetrate the layer of ice Sascha had wrapped around herself like steel. He’d engineered this drive and site visit in order to start probing her for information. But getting a Psy to open up was like trying to get a SnowDancer to turn into a leopard.

The worst part was, he found himself fascinated by everything about his quarry. Like how the rich silk of her hair turned impossibly darker in the sun as she moved to stretch out her legs. Or how her skin gleamed a dark honey. “May I ask you a question?” The hunger came from the panther inside but the man saw the possibilities in this line of questioning.

Sascha glanced up. “By all means.”

“Your mother’s ancestry is clearly Asiatic but your first names are Slavic and your last, Scottish. I’m curious.” He walked beside her as she started to explore the site.

“That’s not a question.”

Lucas narrowed his eyes. He had the feeling she was teasing him but of course the Psy never teased. “How did you end up with such an interesting mixture?” he asked, far from convinced about this Psy.

To his surprise, she answered without hesitation. “Depending on the family structure, we take the names of either our maternal or paternal line. In our family, the last name has been maternal for the last three generations. However, my great-grandmother, Ai Kumamoto, took her husband’s name. He was Andrew Duncan.”

“She was Japanese?”

She nodded. “Their daughter was Reina Duncan, my grandmother. Reina had a child with Dmitri Kukovich and he chose the first name of their child—Nikita. My mother continued that naming tradition, as our psychologists believe a sense of history better enables a child to adapt to society.”

“Your mother looks very Japanese, while you don’t.” Her features were so unique that they defied definition. Nothing about her said she’d been manufactured in the same machine as the rest of the bloodless, robotic Psy.

“The paternal genes appear to have held sway in my case, while in hers, the maternal ones prevailed.”

He couldn’t imagine ever speaking of his parents in such a cool fashion. They’d loved him, raised him, and died for him. Their memory deserved to be honored with the most powerful depths of emotion. “And your father? What did he add into the exotic mix?”

“He was of Anglo-Indian descent.”

Something in her voice set off the protective instincts of his beast. “He’s not in your life any longer?”

“He never was.” Sascha continued walking along the pathway, trying not to feel the pain of this oldest of wounds. It was nothing that would ever change. Her father was as Psy as her mother.

“I don’t understand.”

This time she didn’t tease him about it not being a question. “My mother chose a scientific method of conception.”

Lucas stopped so suddenly, she almost betrayed surprise. “What? She went to a sperm bank and picked out a donor with good genes?” He appeared astounded.

“Very crudely put, but yes. It’s now the most widely used form of conception among the Psy.” Sascha knew Nikita expected her to follow the same path. Not many of their race chose the old-fashioned method any longer. It was apparently messy, wasted time that could be put to more cost-effective use, and had no advantages over medico-psychic selection.

“The process is both safe and practical.” But she was never going to undergo it. There was no way she’d ever chance condemning a child to the flaw already pushing her to the brink of insanity. “We can weed out sperm and eggs that are damaged in any way. It’s why the Psy have a negligible rate of childhood diseases.” Yet mistakes were made—she was living proof.

Lucas shook his head and it was such a feline movement, her heart jumped. Sometimes he was so smooth, so charming, she forgot his animal nature. And then he looked at her with that naked heat in his eyes and she knew that what prowled behind the civilized facade was nothing tame.

“You don’t know what you’re missing out on,” he said, standing just a little too close.

She didn’t move. He might be an alpha used to obedience but she wasn’t one of his pack. “On the contrary. I was taught animal reproduction at an early age.”

He chuckled and she felt the stroke of his laughter deep inside where no one should’ve been able to reach. “Animal reproduction? That’s one way to put it. Have you ever tried it?”

She was having trouble concentrating on his words with him so near… so touchable. He smelled of danger and wildness and passion, all the things she could never allow herself to feel. It was the ultimate temptation. “No. Why would I?”

He leaned infinitesimally closer. “Because, darling, you might find that the animal in you likes it.”

“I’m not your darling.” As soon as the words were out, her soul froze. No Psy would’ve ever risen to the bait.

Lucas’s eyes blazed with challenge. “Maybe I can change your mind.”

Despite the teasing words, she knew he’d picked up her lapse and was even now considering what it meant. There was nothing she could do to retract the slip but she could bring the conversation back to purely business. “What did you want to show me?”

His wicked smile shot to pieces her hopes of getting this meeting under control. “Lots of things, darling. Lots of things.”

Lucas watched Sascha move around the lot and savored the lingering taste of her, as warm and exotic as her history.

The panther prowling the cage of his mind was intrigued by her, intent on licking at her to see if she tasted as good as he imagined. Her golden skin enticed the tactile nature of his changeling soul, while the lushness of her lips made him want to bite… in the most erotic way. Everything about her invited the senses.

What had him fighting the urge was the knowledge that it had to be some kind of Psy trick. Had they finally figured out a way to exert psychic control over changelings? His people had always been safe because the Psy were too cold to figure out what made them tick. Life, hunger, sensation, touch, sex. Not cold, ascetic sex like Dorian had described, but passionate, sweaty, low-down and dirty sex.

Lucas loved the scent of both human and changeling women, adored their soft skin and cries of pleasure, but never before had he been drawn to one of the enemy. He fought the attraction even as he traced the shape of Sascha’s body with his eyes.

She was tall but there was nothing willowy about her. The woman’s body had more dangerous curves than should be legal on one of her race. In spite of the black pantsuit and stiff white shirt she wore like corporate armor, he could tell her breasts would overflow his hands. When she bent to examine something on the ground, he almost gave in to the urgings of his beast. The curve of her hip was sensually female, her bottom a heart-shaped enticement.

Her head turned as if in response to his intent gaze, and, despite the distance separating them, he could almost taste the earthy sensuality she tried to bury. Frowning at his own thoughts, he began to walk toward her. The Psy weren’t sensual. They were about as close to mechanical as you could get and still remain human. But there was something different about this one, something he wanted to sink his teeth into.

“Why did you choose these sections?” she asked as he approached. Her night-sky eyes watched him without blinking.

“It’s rumored that the sparks of white light in a cardinal’s eyes can turn into a thousand colors under certain circumstances.” He searched her face for an answer to the puzzle of her. “Is that true?”

“No. Cardinal eyes can go pure black but that’s about it.” She looked away from him and he wanted to believe it was because she found him disturbing to her senses. It annoyed the panther that he was mesmerized by her while she remained unmoved. “Tell me about this lot.”

“It’s prime changeling real estate—just over an hour out of the city, in an area that’s forested enough to feed the soul.” He looked down at her sedate plait. The compulsion to reach over and tug at it was so strong, he didn’t bother to resist.

She jerked away. “What are you doing?”

“I wanted to feel what your hair was like.” Sensation was as necessary to him as breathing.

“Why?”

No other Psy he’d ever met had asked that question. “It feels good. I like touching soft, silky things.”

“I see.”

Was that a tremor he heard in her response? “Try it.”

“What?”

He bent a little in invitation. “Go on. Changelings don’t mind touch like the Psy.”

“It’s well known that you’re territorial,” she said. “You don’t let just anyone touch you.”

“No. Only Pack, mates, and lovers have skin privileges. But we don’t go crazy like the Psy if someone unknown touches us.” For some inexplicable reason, he wanted her to touch him. And it had nothing to do with learning about a killer. That should’ve given him pause but it was the panther who was in charge at this moment and he wanted to be stroked.

She lifted her hand and then paused. “There’s no reason to do this.”

He wondered which one of them she was trying to convince. “Think of it as research. Ever touched a changeling before?”

Shaking her head, she bridged the remaining distance and ran her fingers through his hair in a wave that made him want to purr. He’d expected her to back off after a single stroke but she surprised him by doing it again. And again.

“It’s an unusual sensation.” Her hand seemed to linger before dropping. “Your hair is cool and heavy and the texture is similar to a satin-silk I once touched.”

Trust a Psy to analyze something as simple as touch. “May I?”

“What?”

He touched her plait. This time she didn’t react. “Can I undo it?”

“No.”

The panther in him froze, sniffing a hint of panic in her tone. “Why?”