Wolf Rain (Psy-Changeling Trinity #3)(102)

His skin was tougher than hers, the surroundings part of his natural habitat. Turning so he was on his side, he placed one hand on her abdomen because he couldn’t stop touching her. Couldn’t stop touching his mate.

Of course it was her.

Tough, defiant, a survivor. An empath who looked at him and saw not just the pretty face, but the darkness beyond—and who touched him with an unguarded affection he shouldn’t crave. But he’d kill any other man who dared touch her—where Memory was concerned, he was selfish and possessive and not the least bit rational.

He’d never let her go.

“I like that,” she whispered sleepily. “A lot.” Curling into him, she petted his chest. “Can we dance naked every night?”

Cupping her breast, Alexei pressed a kiss to her shoulder. “Every morning, too,” he rumbled, both parts of his nature in favor of arousing a sleepy, warm Memory and sliding into her body as the first action of the day.

She rubbed her nose against his chest. “Can we stay out here?”

“You’ll get too cold.” He wrapped her up in his arms, his mate with the heart of a lioness. In his mind flickered images of Etta’s mauled body, blood bubbling out of her mouth as she breathed her final breath.

Her mate had done that to her.

Brodie had done that to her.

Alexei’s wolf brushed against the inside of his skin, its hunger for its own mate a visceral pain.





Chapter 47


I am losing myself piece by piece. So today, I choose to go out on my terms, when I know myself . . . and before I can commit the heinous crimes this madness demands.

—Suicide note left by Scarab subject Ricky J.


THERE WERE REPORTS all over the PsyNet of an attack against Es in San Francisco’s Chinatown . . . and he’d had a second blackout on his walk home. He’d woken in his bed with blood dripping from his nose and his heart pounding.

At least he remembered the conversation with the women on the street. Unless that had been a hallucination created by his fractured mind. Maybe he’d never left his apartment, had instead spent the lost hours locked in fever dreams.

Seated on the side of his bed, he dropped his head, rubbed his face. It was pure luck that he hadn’t made any critical business errors that exposed his erratic sanity. Now this report of Es being attacked by an unknown mind during a block of time for which he had no memories. He had to know what he’d been doing during that time. He had contacts in Enforcement, might be able to gain access to surveillance— His eye caught on something clinging to the edge of his shirt cuff. A white piece of paper, possibly part of a decoration. Printed with rabbits. The symbol of the new year, according to Chinese culture.

“I was in Chinatown.” He had to say it out loud, had to accept that his life was spiraling out of control. Yes, it was possible he’d picked up the small piece of flotsam just walking the streets, but the blotter pages he kept in his bedside drawer didn’t lie.

Pulling open that drawer, he lifted out the sheet: the words Honeycomb-Designation E crawled across the page over and over again. He had no memory of writing them, but they were in his hand and he’d discovered the pages after another lost block of time. Another fugue.

Now Es were being attacked by a powerful mind that more than one person had dubbed “ill-disciplined,” but no one could identify. It was a mystery when such powers were generally well-known. The reporters had begun to theorize about “emergent Psy.”

Paper crackled as he fisted the blotter pages in his hand.

He wasn’t psychotic or blind to reality: the PsyNet needed empaths. Never while conscious would he assault any member of Designation E, but he wasn’t conscious much these days.

He had to return to the crystalline sanity of the past, had to shut down this rogue power. There was just one problem: he’d already tried more than once and failed.





Chapter 48


Access denied. Breach of Enforcement seal will result in a five-year jail term.

—Computer response to E. David Renault’s attempts to enter any of his properties, including those purchased over a decade earlier using false identification papers


MEMORY WOKE WITH a smile and an ache low in her body that made her blush. Turning in bed, she ran her hand over the imprint Alexei had left beside her and bit down on her lower lip, her cheeks aching from happiness. He’d held her all night, her golden wolf, had only left before dawn because he had duties at his den.

“I’ll be seeing you soon, lioness.” A promise sealed with a predator’s demanding kiss.

Happily breathless at the thought, Memory got out of bed and headed into the bathroom. She cherished the aches in her body, ran her fingers tenderly over the reddened patches on her skin. She’d gained those marks playing with a wolf.

Her wolf.

The smile held until her eye fell on a scar on her ribs. It was small, barely there. She’d been bitten by an insect in the bunker when she’d been about thirteen—the tiny creature must’ve entered via a ventilation duct. It turned out she was allergic to it. She’d had a fever by the time Renault checked on her and the infection had left a scar.

Frowning, she showered, then got dressed for the day: a button-down shirt in fuchsia-pink with white piping on the sleeves, paired with dark blue jeans and a thin purple belt. Her socks were blue-green with pink polka dots, and she tied a cute purple scarf with a tiny white print around her throat. She’d finally given back Alexei’s jacket, so she picked her own out of the closet: a dark olive-green, it had epaulets on the shoulders.