“Well, I kept expecting you to do so . . .”
“I planned to,” she said, rolling the marble between thumb and forefinger and wondering why she’d ever thought anything could remain a secret from her mom.
“It doesn’t matter, baby. I took matters into my own hands.” A familiar hint of steel.
Mercy’s leopard sat up. “Oh?”
“I called Riley a few minutes ago. He’s coming to dinner tomorrow at seven. Don’t be late, sweetheart.”
Mercy hung up after a few more words, knowing a summons when she heard one. If she didn’t turn up, well, Mount Vesuvius had nothing on her mom.
It seemed to be her day for calls because no sooner had she gone to shove the phone into a pocket than Ashaya rang through. “We did a very, very quick run-through with the samples you brought up from the body,” the scientist told her, her voice excited.
Too
excited. Mercy went to ask what was wrong, but Ashaya was already continuing to speak. “He had traces of the same drug in him that we found on the men who tried to kidnap me.”
“Damn.” Mercy closed her fist around the marble. “You figured out what’s so special about it yet?”
“Possibly.” Ashaya paused. “I’m supposed to make sure I deliver reports to DarkRiver and SnowDancer simultaneously on this issue.”
It was normal procedure, but after the call with Lucas, she found herself irritated. Fighting the irrational emotion, she said, “Riley’s in the city. I’ll get him to meet me at HQ.”
Hanging up, she called Riley with the message before making her way back to the medium-sized office building DarkRiver owned near Chinatown. She should’ve felt more comfortable in her own office, but her cat refused to settle, its hackles rose—as if it could sense a danger the human side of her was too dense to see. Frustrated, she pushed the amorphous knowing to the back of her mind. Nothing, she thought, could be worse than having her loyalty questioned—if only by implication.
“You called?” Riley pushed through the office door, locking it behind him.
The leopard didn’t like that, seeing in it a possession that threatened an integral part of her life. “Ashaya’s got something to tell us.” Switching the clear screen of her computer to the comm function, she coded in the call.
Riley walked around to stand beside her chair, one arm along the back, fingers grazing the top of her head. She flicked him off, to his surprised expression. When he frowned, she concentrated on the screen, knowing that to him, her behavior had to be inexplicable. “Ashaya, we’re ready.”
The scientist came on-screen, blue-gray eyes vivid against smooth mocha-dark skin. “Alright,” she said, and recapped what she’d already told Mercy. “I’ve been working with Amara on this in order to speed things up, and we believe we’ve discovered the purpose of the drug.”
“Go on,” Mercy said, at the same time that Riley said, “What is it?”
Folding her arms, Mercy leaned back in her chair.
Ashaya looked from one to the other, but didn’t ask questions. “We can thank Amara for this. My twin decided that since it appears the targets of this substance are Psy, she’d inject herself.” Her hand was shaking when she lifted it to push back her hair—which was secured in two tight braids.
Mercy jerked upright. “Is she okay?”
“Yes, yes. She’s fine. Now.” Ashaya dropped her hand. “She took a very small amount.”
“And?” Riley prompted.
“And she found she couldn’t use any of her psychic abilities for five minutes.”
Annoyance forgotten, Mercy caught Riley’s eye. She saw the same tight excitement in him that she felt in her own gut. Glancing back to Ashaya, she said, “Can we replicate it?”
Ashaya didn’t look happy. “It’s like a drug that would stop you shifting, Mercy. How can I possibly justify reverse engineering something that painful? Amara would’ve had a breakdown if I hadn’t been linked with her through the entire process.”
“Shit, I didn’t think of it that way.” Mercy rubbed her face. “The thing is, if we had that drug, then we wouldn’t have to kill Psy on sight.” Right now, there was no talking, no negotiation. If a Psy came after a changeling, the changeling aimed to kill.
“It’d be a deterrent,” Riley added.
Ashaya shook her head. “Amara’s heart stopped.”
Mercy froze. All at once, she remembered the sudden, odd panic she’d felt on patrol a couple of hours earlier. She’d put the fleeting emotion down to her hyperawareness of her surroundings, but what if it had been something else, Ashaya’s scream for help? After all, as Dorian’s mate, Ashaya was in the Web of Stars, the blood-bonded network that connected DarkRiver sentinels to Lucas. “I thought you said she was okay.”
“I managed to get it restarted.” Trembling fingers pressed to her lips. “Amara couldn’t use her abilities for five minutes, but she crashed at the thirty-minute mark. Depending on the dosage, the drug could stop a Psy heart in any time range.”
Mercy brushed aside the information for the moment. “I’m going to call Dorian for you.”
“He’s almost here.” Ashaya lifted her hand in silent thanks, even as anger filled her expression. “They likely developed this drug to block Psy powers, but now they’re using it to weaken and kill.”
“Do you think they know?” Riley asked.
“It has to have been tested. They must’ve decided the risk was worth it.”
“Why?” Riley persisted. “What’s the point if the target dies?”
“Given the dosage we found in the darts, if they’d shot me during the kidnapping attempt, they would’ve had at least a ten-minute window either to give me some kind of an antidote—one that would’ve neutralized the fatal element—or be ready with equipment to restart the heart.” She took a deep breath. “They’re being extremely confident about its use, which makes me believe there is an antidote. There was medical equipment in one of the vehicles they drove to the ambush site.”
“But no possible trace of an antidote.” Mercy shook her head. “I’m more inclined to think they’re playing Russian roulette. Hearts don’t always restart.”
Ashaya nodded. “Either way, the Human Alliance is a real threat.” With that, she clicked off.
Riley rose to his full height. “If this drug didn’t have lethal side effects, would the ethics worry you?”
She took time to think about it. “It would devastate me if I couldn’t shift, but if the hit was temporary, I’d live. Right now, we don’t allow any Psy aggressors to live.” Because Psy could kill with a single violent mental blow.
“Still, to have a limb or a sense cut off, that’s brutal stuff.” His words were solemn, his presence intrinsically dominant.
“This is war.” A quiet one. A stealthy one—until the Human Alliance had started to take it public. But a war nonetheless. “And a drug like this
could
act as a very strong deterrent, keep the Psy from picking fights.” Looking at him, she suddenly knew why she’d reacted so strongly to Lucas’s admission, and then to Riley himself. It was a vicious kick to the gut.
Oh, Jesus.
“I have to get back to work. Bye.”
“Mercy.”
“Go away, wolf.” She stood, and strode over to unlock and pull open the door. “Don’t push me.” An angry truth churned in her, violent and distrustful. Had he known? But she wouldn’t ask him that right this moment, when the leopard was riding her with brutal ferocity.
He came to stand toe to toe with her. When he angled his head for a kiss, she showed him teeth. So he nipped her on the neck instead. Angered at the wildfire that streaked through her at the fleeting caress, she shoved at his chest and sent him out the door. “And don’t come back tonight, either. I’ve got better things to do—”
A hand flat against her door, holding it open. “You’re not the kind to blow hot and cold. So what the fuck is this?”
She was so emotionally ravaged by the realization she’d just had that she clawed at him, the words coming out in an unthinking rush. “This is me being real. I’m busy—I don’t want to play tonsil hockey. Look, you’re okay in the sack, and we work well together, but I need my space. I don’t particularly want a man full-time in my life.”
His hand fell away. “I guess that’s going to make this mating hell for both of us.”
CHAPTER 42
The Ghost watched as word spread of the offer of voluntary mild rehabilitation—a process that would strengthen the basis of the conditioning that was Silence. For the first time, going to the Center didn’t mean death, but life . . . and people were beginning to seriously consider it. Predictably, the idea appealed most strongly to those with the most dangerous abilities.
The Ghost understood. His own ability could be incredibly destructive. But never would he submit to the M-Psy at the Center. Perhaps Silence was a cage that kept the monsters inside, but it was a cage nonetheless. He knew what it was to grow up inside a cage—a cage so tight, so restrictive that he’d almost forgotten how to breathe.
To willingly embrace the silver bars of another prison was not something he’d ever countenance. But he found himself hesitant to step in the path of those who were making the opposite choice. Did he have the right to turn them away from that which might save them? So many were cracking, breaking, shattering. Murders had increased in the past few months, a slow creep that tainted the Net with darkness. Even at that very moment, violence flickered on the edges of his vision.
That violence had always been a part of the Net, but now it was starting to rise to the surface, to grab control. But there was no symmetry to it, no sense of the scales being balanced. These bursts were like mini eruptions, destroying all in their path. Could he blame those who chose the cage of Silence if chaos was the only alternative?
He realized he didn’t have the tools to answer that question.
For the first time, the Ghost, a being of Silence, found he needed answers from someone who understood emotion.
CHAPTER 43
Mercy didn’t like feeling like a bitch. And she didn’t think of herself as one. But she’d been a bitch to Riley today. Pushing him away like that. Telling him the one thing she’d known would make him back off. Predatory male changelings were
proud
.
And it wasn’t as if he’d done anything to provoke her. He’d been acting exactly who he was, and she’d savaged him for it. “Damn it!” She clenched her hands on the steering wheel, feeling worse with every passing second.
Of course he hadn’t known and hidden the truth from her. Riley wasn’t a liar. He’d never have held back something this important, not when he’d given her his word that he’d try. For her. For a cat who had hurt him so much today.
I guess that’s going to make this mating hell for both of us.
Her leopard didn’t want that. But neither did it want to face the inevitable repercussion of mating with him. However, one thing was certain—Riley would come after her again. He wouldn’t be able to help himself. She was his mate, and given the fever of the mating dance, the depth of his hunger had to be driving him half-insane. So he’d bury his pride and he’d return—probably to shake some sense into her.
Her lips quirked, but she removed her hands from the steering wheel and got out of the car. The SnowDancer den was an easy fifteen-minute run from this point. It was tempting to call and ask him to meet her outside, but that would be cowardly. And Mercy was no coward. Taking a deep breath, and paying no overt attention to the scents that told her she was being watched by an invisible screen of guards, she headed in.
Andrew was waiting for her by the open door. His eyes were twinkling. “Hello, future sister-in-law.”
“Out of my way, shrimp.”
“My heart bleeds.” He put a hand to said heart, melodramatic in the way only younger brothers could be. “Are you the reason Riley almost ripped off my head a few minutes ago?”
“None of your business.” She pushed past him. “Show me the way to his quarters.”
“Shouldn’t you talk to Hawke, make sure it’s alright for you to be up here?”
“Drew, today is really not a good day to mess with me.”
Andrew walked beside her, pointing left when they reached a fork in the tunnels that made up the den. “In that case, rest assured I’ll take care of the formalities.”
“Thanks.” She shot him a suspicious look. “Why are you being so helpful?”
He shrugged. “I like my brother. And I especially like watching him off balance.” An evil grin. “You and he are the best entertainment I’ve had in years.”
“Why hasn’t Riley killed you yet?”
“I keep bouncing back.” A shrug, wide-eyed innocence.
Charmed despite herself, she came to a stop in front of the door he’d led her to. “Now, listen carefully,” she said, leaning close, “if you dare come back here tonight, be prepared to sing soprano the rest of your life.
Capisce?
”
Andrew’s eyes widened. “Man, you’re scary. Lucky Riley.” And she could tell he meant it, too. “I’m outa here.” But he paused. “Be gentle with him, Mercy. He’s got a heart as big as Texas—he’ll die for you without blinking. But he doesn’t expect anyone to do the same for him.”
Knot in her throat at the unexpected burst of seriousness, she nodded and watched him walk away. Then, straightening her shoulders—and ignoring the large number of wolves who seemed to have something to do in this corridor all of a sudden—she knocked. Riley had to have scented her by now, so the fact that the door had remained closed didn’t bode well.
Several seconds passed.
Frowning because such pettiness wasn’t like him, she went to knock again when the door was wrenched open and she was pulled inside. Against a warm, wet, very naked male chest. “Oh,” she whispered, leaning back against the door he’d shoved shut, “you were in the shower.”
Pushing damp hair out of his eyes, he put his hands on either side of her shoulders and said, “What are you doing here?”
She was too interested in the view to reply. He’d hitched a towel around his waist, but it looked precarious. She bit her lip in an effort to fight the urge to accidentally-on-purpose nudge it out of the way. ’Cause Riley all wet and smoldering got her motor running in a serious way. His body was pure muscle, muscle she’d touched more than once, and yet she found her mouth watering as if she’d never seen him before.
Mine,
part of her purred, even as another part threw the solemn ramifications of that thought into her face.