Psy & Changelings 06 - Branded by Fire

he’d found had discovered very well that Devraj Santos had never left his military background behind. Now, as he looked down into the woman’s bruised, scratched, and emaciated face, he considered whether he’d be able to snap her neck with cold-blooded precision should the time come.
    His fingers dug into his palms, instinct coming up hard against the icy practicality that drove the director of the Shine Foundation. It was as well that the decision didn’t have to be made right then. Turning away from that still yet oddly compelling face, he was about to leave the room when he noticed her eyes moving rapidly under her lids. “Psy,” he murmured, “aren’t supposed to dream.”
     
    “Tell me.”
    She swallowed the blood on her tongue. “I’ve told you everything. You’ve taken everything.”
    Eyes as black as night with a bare few flecks of white stared down at her as mental fingers spread in her mind, thrusting, clawing, destroying. She swallowed a scream, bit another line in her tongue.
    “Yes,” her torturer said. “It does seem as if I’ve stripped you of all your secrets.”
    She didn’t respond, didn’t relax. He’d done this before. So many times. But the next minute, the questions would begin again. She didn’t know what he wanted, didn’t know what he searched for. All she knew was that she’d broken. There was nothing left in her now. She was cracked, shattered, gone.
    “Now,” he said, in that same always-patient voice. “Tell me about the experiments.”
    She opened her mouth and repeated what she’d already confessed over and over again. “We doctored the results.” He’d known that from the start, that was no betrayal. “We never gave you the actual data.”
    “Tell me the truth. Tell me what you found.”
    Those fingers gouged mercilessly at her brain, shooting red fire that threatened to obliterate her very self. She couldn’t hold on, couldn’t protect them, couldn’t even protect herself—because through it all he sat, a large black spider within her mind, watching, learning, knowing. In the end, he took her secrets, her honor, her loyalty, and when he was done, the only thing she remembered was the rich copper scent of blood.
     
    She came awake with a jagged scream stuck in her throat. “He knows.”
    Brown eyes looking down into hers again. “Who knows?”
    The name formed on her tongue and then was lost in the miasma of her ravaged mind. “He knows,” she repeated, desperate that someone understand what she’d done. “He knows .” Her fingers gripped his.
    “What does he know?” Electricity arced like an inferno beneath his skin.
    “About the children,” she whispered, as her head grew heavy again, as her eyes grew dark again. “About the boy.”
    Gold turned to bronze and she wanted to watch, but it was too late.