Psy & Changelings 01 - Slave to Sensation

calmer.”
    The words sounded right, sounded like something a Psy would say, but he could hear an almost subvocal tremor, something no one but a changeling could’ve detected—a changeling who’d been marked as a Hunter since birth. Remorse thrust back the clawing anger of the beast.
    â€œI’m sorry, kitten. That was uncalled for.” He ran the hand on her back into her curls and to the nape of her neck. “I’m taking my anger out on you.”
    â€œIt’s understandable.” She pushed at the arm holding her to him but not with enough force to make him think of it as a serious protest. “I represent the race you hold responsible for the death of your packmate and Dorian’s hurt.”
    He ran his thumb against the warm skin of her nape, anchoring himself in the softness of her. The beast understood why she was able to do that for him but the man wasn’t ready to face that truth. “The Psy are responsible.”
    â€œPerhaps the killer is Psy, but you have no proof of the Council being involved.” Her hands clenched on his forearm.
    The panther growled but the man knew enough not to point out the slip and risk shocking her back inside her mask. “They’re the only body with the power to conceal something this bad. They have to know.”
    â€œNo,” she argued, staring at him with those beautiful, haunting eyes. “What possible reason could they have to hide a killer?”
    â€œWhat’s the basis of the Council’s control of your people? What do they constantly point out to us changelings and humans?” He kept his tone consciously gentle, having no desire to hurt her again. But she had to face facts. And then she had to decide which side she was on.
    â€œNonviolence,” she said at once. “The Psy have no violent crime compared to the other races.”
    â€œSupposedly.” He shifted until she was almost cradled in the vee of his legs. “If people find out that that’s a lie, your whole structure crumbles and the Council falls.”
    â€œMy mother is Council.” It was a whispered plea.
    He’d almost forgotten. “I’m sorry, Sascha. She has to know.”
    She shook her head, silky curls tumbling everywhere. “No. She’s powerful and ruthless, yes, but she’s not evil.”

CHAPTER 11
    Evil. An interesting word choice from a Psy. “Nikita likes power. If the Council goes down, so does that power.” He raised a hand and rubbed his knuckles along her cheek. “Think about it.”
    â€œI need time.”
    â€œYou don’t have long. He usually keeps them for seven days before killing them.”
    â€œSeven days of torture.”
    â€œYes.”
    Silence descended over them. Even the forest outside had stopped whispering. It felt as if the whole world was holding its breath. He continued to caress her nape, her cheek, her chin. Her skin was as tempting as warm silk.
    â€œYou don’t have skin privileges,” she said, after what seemed like forever.
    â€œWhat if I said I wanted them?” He didn’t stop touching her, didn’t stop gentling her as he would a changeling woman of whom he’d asked too much too soon. He’d taken a risk in telling her everything but it had had to be done. Sascha was their last chance.
    â€œIt’s useless to have such privileges with the Psy. We can’t return them.” There was something defeated about her.
    Lucas didn’t like seeing her this way, hurt and bruised. Guilt squeezed his heart. It shouldn’t have torn him up that he’d done this to her. Everything he did was for Pack. It was part of the price of being alpha. For the first time, he resented paying that price, resented having to hurt this woman.
    He shifted an inch closer, deciding to let the panther ’s sensuality out to play in order to make it up to her. They’d discussed darkness and death, horror and evil. But that wasn’t all he was, all she was. If he wanted to pull her out of the Psy armor she wore like a second skin, he’d have to tempt her with the beautiful side of emotion, rather than burying her in ugliness. “Was Dorian right?”
    She finally turned her head to face him. “About what?”
    â€œHe said that sleeping with one of the Psy was like sleeping with a hunk of concrete.”
    â€œI wouldn’t know.” Her shoulders squared.
    â€œNever slept with one of