Slave to Sensation

“No Psy is going to want to live out here.” This much space scared most of her race. They preferred to live in nice square boxes with defined limits. “It’s not worth fighting over and we don’t have to pay Lucas his million if he doesn’t sell all the units.”

“Make sure he understands that.”

“I will.” Her gut said that the panther was way ahead of them. Lucas didn’t strike her as anybody’s fool.

“Call me if you have any problems.”

Nikita’s presence winked out. When Sascha returned to Lucas, she found him rubbing the back of his neck as if something had irritated it. Her eyes followed the motion of his arm, fascinated by the sleek lines of muscle obvious even under the leather-synth jacket. Every move he made was fluid, graceful, like a big cat on the prowl.

It was only when he raised a brow that she realized she’d been staring. Fighting a blush, she said, “We’ll agree to their demands if they agree to be a silent party. And that means not a sound out of them.”

He dropped his hand from the back of his neck and put the phone to his ear. “They agree-I’ll draft the contract.” He closed the small flat communicator.

“We’re not going to forget that you have to sell all the residences to receive that final million.”

There was something distinctly smug about his slow smile. “Not a problem, darling.”

It was as they were getting back into the car that she realized this was the first Psy-changeling fifty-fifty business deal she’d ever heard of. That didn’t bother her-her instincts said they’d do very well out of this. Too bad that mentioning the word “instincts” would get her chemically lobotomized.

* * *

Lucas was utterly frustrated. Not only was Sascha refusing to reveal anything useful, she kept picking up on small changeling traits no Psy should’ve been able to sense. Even worse, he was having to fight the urge to educate her rather than subtly interrogating her for answers.

“How about this?” He showed her another line of the proposed contract. They were sitting in his office at the top of the DarkRiver building. He’d found her an office right next door. It was the perfect setup. If she’d talk.

She looked at the piece of paper and slid it back across the dark wood of the desk. “If you change the word ‘at’ to ‘in,’ it’s fine with me.”

He thought over the change. “All right. The SnowDancer aren’t going to fight you over that.”

“But they will fight me?”

“Not if the contract is fair.” He wondered if a Psy even understood the meaning of integrity. “They trust me and I’ll tell them the truth. So long as you don’t try anything underhanded, they’ll stick to their word.”

“A changeling’s word can be trusted?”

“Probably far more than a Psy’s.” He felt his jaw tighten as he thought of the self-righteous way the Psy claimed to be without anger and violence, when it was becoming damn clear they were anything but.

“You’re right. Subtle prevarication is considered an efficient bargaining tool in my world.”

He was more than surprised by her acceptance of his point. “Just subtle?”

“Perhaps some take it too far.”

There was a stillness to her that made him want to cover the space between them and stroke his hand over her body. Perhaps touch would achieve what words hadn’t. “Who punishes the ones who take it too far?”

“The Council.” The statement was absolute.

“What if the Council is wrong?”

Her eyes met his, unflinching and eerily beautiful. “They know everything that goes on in the PsyNet. How could they be wrong?”

Which meant, he deduced, that not everyone was privy to the secrets of the Net. “But if no one else has access to all the information, how can they be held accountable?”

“Who holds you accountable?” she asked instead of answering. “Who punishes the alpha?”

He wished he were on the other side of the desk so he could touch her and find out if she was fighting fire with fire, or simply being practical. “If I break Pack law, the sentinels will take me down. Who takes down your Council?”

He almost thought she wouldn’t answer. Then she said, “They are Council. They are above the law.”

Lucas wondered if she understood what she’d just admitted. More than that, he wanted to know if she cared. That was truly madness, because the only thing the Psy cared about was the cold sterility of their lives. Except every instinct he had said that Sascha was different.

He had to uncover the truth about her before he did something he regretted. And the best way to crack that impenetrable Psy shell might be to yank her from the safety of the world she knew and throw her into the flames. “How about lunch?”

“I can meet you back here in an hour,” she began.

“That was an invitation, darling.” He added the endearment as a tease. She’d reacted last time and he wanted to see if she’d slip again. “Or do you have a date?”

“We don’t date. And I accept your invitation.” No obvious reaction but he felt the spike of temper.

He stood, satisfaction thrumming in his veins-the trap had sprung. “Let’s go feed the hunger.”