Wolf Rain (Psy-Changeling Trinity #3)(116)

When asked by an anonymous benefactor if he’d treated an Arrow at any point recently, he’d cracked under the offered financial incentive and shared that he’d been called in to consult on a comatose Arrow who’d suffered brain damage. “He’s on life support and I’m fairly sure the squad is readying itself to turn it off. I wanted to help him—who wouldn’t want the Arrows in their debt? But there’s nothing man or machine can do for him. Not with that kind of damage.”

At least with the squad, he could justify it. Surely the comatose Arrow had killed in his life? He was no innocent. But there was no justifying his attack on the empaths in Chinatown. He’d crossed a critical line. He lived by very few “human” rules, but not taking out innocents was one he’d never broken.

Not for the first time, his mind flashed with split-second images of an unusual empathic mind. It was the first memory he’d recovered after the Chinatown incident, and he’d been able to track down the owner of that mind—it hadn’t been difficult given her unusual appearance on the PsyNet. Others, too, were fascinated by the “midnight empath.”

Slipping back into the Net, he made his way to her as he’d been compelled to do over the hours since he’d found her . . . and saw the primal bond that tied her to another. In his room in San Francisco, his hands curled into fists in his pockets. Her mind was anchored at the empathic compound in DarkRiver-SnowDancer territory, so chances were she’d mated either a wolf or a leopard.

Abducting her wasn’t an option, even if the madness whispered at him to take her. Use her. That the insane thoughts were now filtering into his everyday life . . . His time was running out.





Chapter 55


I live in the den. The den is gynomus. It has a lot of rooms. Even mor than one hundred! My frends and I like to run in the grass outsyde and stawk the groanups. It is fun. Some days we go to the kichin and steel extra cookies and eat them. We love the den. We love pack.

—Composition by Benjamin Stone (Age 7)


DESPITE ALEXEI’S REASSURANCE that his packmates would accept her not just because she was his mate but for herself, Memory’s nerves were in a thousand knots by the time she stepped out of the trees and into a wild grassy area in front of what Alexei said was the den.

It was now nine-thirty; she’d had a prearranged session with Amara at seven-thirty and she’d kept to it. In her own way, Amara was trying, and Memory didn’t want to interrupt any progress she’d made. Because something very weird had begun to happen: Amara’s lab mates and twin had reported instances of normal empathy at random times between sessions.

One time, she’d noticed when a colleague cut his finger and gotten him a Band-Aid.

Another time, she’d helped a pregnant colleague move lab equipment.

In neither case had her actions helped Amara in any way.

Renault had never shown any long-term changes. Whether it was because Renault had been a murderous psychopath and Amara wasn’t compelled to murder, or because Memory was working voluntarily with Amara while she’d been forced by Renault, no one knew. It was also possible the effects were blips that’d never be repeated, but Memory wasn’t about to give up if there was any hope. Especially as she had Amara’s full agreement.

“I have never seen a lack in me,” Amara had said. “But I cannot evaluate a life of which I have no comprehension. As a scientist, I must experience both, then make the call. If the effect of your ability sticks, at some point, I will reach an equilibrium where I will see both sides with equal clarity—that moment is far distant, and so we continue.”

Memory had also shared how thinking like Amara had helped her escape Renault. As she’d expected, Amara had been overcome with amusement. “I’m glad the wolf tore out his throat,” she’d said later. “An individual stupid enough to get between a wolf and his mate is clearly no loss to the genetic tree.”

No matter what, Amara was still Amara.

Memory would continue to both work with her and attend sessions at the compound, even though she was moving into the den. Right now, she couldn’t see anything beyond the clearing but for a mountain overgrown with plants and moss. The snow had melted away at this elevation and the grass in the clearing was tall and green under the brilliant morning sun, only the odd droplet of dew still clinging to the blades.

Despite the sense of emptiness, she knew other wolves were around, their wild emotions music in the air. Many were distant echoes but a couple seemed so close and so bright that she felt as if she was right on top of them. Frowning, she glanced at Alexei . . . to see he was grinning. As she watched, he put two fingers to his mouth and whistled.

A small wolf pup who’d been nosing around in the long grass popped up his head, ears pricked. Delight emanated from him, but he didn’t race over. Instead, he glanced to his left.

“Oh, my goodness.” Memory raised a hand to her mouth as an even tinier wolf pup tried to poke her nose up out of the grass. She was too little to truly succeed, but her delight in spotting them was as innocent and shining a joy as his.

She began to run over—more enthusiasm than coordination.

The bigger pup ran beside her, holding himself back to her slow pace. Loyalty, love, protectiveness, exasperation, his emotions were so clearly of a big brother that Memory laughed a little, her heart so full it could burst. The tiny pup, her sides heaving, flopped down to rest on reaching them, while the other one bounced up on Alexei’s boots, his paws small and perfect, and growled up in what appeared to be a hello.