Psy & Changelings 05 - Hostage to Pleasure

he was going to get. Because he wasn’t human. He was changeling. And the animal’s heart wasn’t always rational.
    “The mating bond,” she said instead of answering, “it’s pulling at me, trying to tear me from the PsyNet. I should be afraid. But I want to go.”
    His mind blanked for a second. “Come, then,” he said at last. “I’ll catch you.”
    Ashaya’s fingers on his face, delicate, impossible touches as fleeting as the brush of a butterfly’s wings. “You can’t imagine how much I want to follow that pull. I would give my life for it. But . . .”
    He cupped her cheek, bending down to press his forehead against hers. “But what, Shaya? I get that you love Amara, but to allow her to imprison you?”
    “For better or worse, I was born her keeper, Dorian. Sometimes”—a little of her shell cracked, exposing the raw center—“sometimes, the choking suffocation of that responsibility makes me want to scream and run. But I know if I let go, if I leave her completely on her own, I’m signing her death warrant.”
    “Because she’ll attempt to kill me?” he guessed, his attention momentarily diverted to an opaque-windowed vehicle in the back of the lot. It wasn’t a Pack car.
    Ashaya’s next words had him forgetting all about the suspect vehicle. “We both know who would win.” Whispers against his lips, the ice melting moment by moment.
    “Oh, hell, Shaya. Don’t you dare tell me you’re fighting the mating to protect me!”
    A stubborn silence.
    “Shit.” The animal in him was not pleased. “I’m a DarkRiver sentinel, sugar. We’re so fucking mean even the Council takes us seriously. I can take on Amara.”
    Stroking her fingers along his shadowed jaw, she shook her head in a gentle reprimand. “And what will it do to you to kill a sister?”
    He couldn’t breathe for a single, frozen instant.
    “Oh, Christ.” He trembled, physically nauseated by the thought. As long as he hadn’t allowed himself to think of it that way, he’d been able to ignore the white elephant standing right in front of him. “Fuck.”
     
Sascha sat across from Amara. The other woman had been given a chance to shower and now sat unrestrained. Lucas was outside by the front door, Jamie by the back, while Clay and Dezi ran perimeter watch. Sascha herself was in no way helpless. She had low-level telekinetic and telepathic abilities that she’d learned to use aggressively; and she’d spent many a sweaty afternoon with Lucas over the past year—getting yelled at and learning self-defense. She’d done some yelling of her own, too, she admitted. The outcome of it all was that even if Amara attacked, she wouldn’t get very far.
    Right this second, Ashaya’s twin gave every indication of utter contentment. “One of the mysterious E-Psy,” she murmured with perfect sincerity. “You look like any other person.”
    “Did you expect different?”
    “I expected a corpse. No one survives outside the PsyNet.”
    Sascha gave a tight smile. “How did you know my designation?”
    “Whispers in the PsyNet. It’s not like you tried to hide it.”
    “No.” She knew there was something very wrong with Amara, but it was eerie how very sane she seemed on the surface. “Why did you come after Ashaya?”
    “She’s mine.” Flat, implacable.
    Sascha saw a chink. “You’d never hurt her.”
    Silence, as if the question was too stupid to answer.
    “She’s yours, so if you hurt her,” Sascha said, “it’ll hurt you.”
    A glimmer of interest. “You’re quite smart.”
    And Amara was a complete narcissist. “Dorian is Ashaya’s,” she said. “If you hurt him, it’ll hurt her.”
    A blank stare. “She’s mine.”
    Sascha had been straining to sense even a hint of emotion from Amara, but all she got were faint echoes whenever Ashaya was mentioned. She didn’t know how to deal with this woman. Her gift lay in emotion—how was she supposed to reach someone who had none? She’d had a short conversation on the topic with Judd before heading over here.
    “Maybe you should talk to her,” she’d suggested to the face on the communications screen. “You’re better with the darker aspects of our abilities.”
    “Sascha, I can break open her mind and I can kill her.” Judd had shrugged. “Pick.”
    “Can’t you talk to her some way? Understand her?”
    Judd’s lips had curved. “I’m a bad son of a bitch, but I have emotions despite all indications to the contrary. So we’re not going to