Slave to Sensation

No longer surprised at her understanding of the emotions that drove people, Lucas nodded. “When we got there, Kylie’s body was warm to the touch but she was gone and so was the killer. However, he’d left behind a scent, one that’s unmistakable to us.”

He’d also left behind a faint psychic vibration in the air, something that Lucas alone had picked up. He knew the ability stemmed from the same sense that warned him when Psy power was being used. It wasn’t something he was ready to share with his Psy, though he was almost certain that she was far more akin to him than she was to the people she called her own-almost wasn’t good enough for an alpha.

“Is that the best evidence you have?”

He stopped playing with her curls. “He cut her. Precisely. Neatly. No mistakes. No hesitations. No cut deeper or shallower than the others. No cut shorter or longer. He cut her exactly seventy-nine times.”

“Seventy-nine?”

“Just like in the last four kills.” The Psy had been unable to bury that fact, because though the Arizona medical examiner was human, one of her older cousins was married to a changeling. They were a very close-knit extended family-something the Psy hadn’t taken into account, crippled as they were by their inability to understand the bonds of blood. Dr. Cecily Montford had been so disturbed by the careless way her reports were being treated that she’d been more than willing to break confidentiality and talk to DarkRiver.

“Tell me, Sascha,” he asked, not letting her look away, “can you think of any other race on the face of this planet with the control to do something that heinous and keep exactly to a set pattern?” His voice dropped an octave, the craving for vengeance bringing out the beast.

“He didn’t make a single deviation in the length, depth, or width of those cuts across the five bodies we were able to get information on. He sliced them like they were lab rats. None of those cuts was fatal except the last.”

Rage was powering him, making him push her in a way that he would’ve never pushed any other woman. He was used to protecting but Sascha’s calm evaluation of the violent deaths of eight women-women who’d mattered, who’d been loved-had turned him savage. “Oh, and the autopsies showed that their minds were literally mush though their skulls hadn’t been damaged. Who can do that aside from the Psy, Sascha? Who?”

She made a quick rising movement. He was faster. He trapped her with his body around hers, his leg at her back and his arms around her torso. “Where are you going?”

“You’re letting emotion control you. Perhaps we should continue this when you’re 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.

“I’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.”

“It’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.”

“Perhaps 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.”

“No,” she argued, staring at him with those beautiful, haunting eyes. “What possible reason could they have to hide a killer?”

“What’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.

“Non-violence,” she said at once. “The Psy have no violent crime compared to the other races.”

“Supposedly.” 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.”

“My 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.”

“I need time.”

“You don’t have long. He usually keeps them for seven days before killing them.”