Wolf Rain (Psy-Changeling Trinity #3)(40)

When he didn’t respond to her comment, she literally poked him in the arm.

His growl filled the air, the look he shot her hot amber. “Keep that up and I will bite you.” The threat was very calm, very serious, and it caused a strange flutter in the pit of her stomach.

A discreet cough from the backseat reminded Memory they had an audience. Amusement rippled outward from Sascha. Settling back in her seat on the unspoken promise that she’d aggravate Alexei again if that was what it took to breach the wall he seemed to pull around himself at times, Memory stared at the green all around her and imagined leopards prowling within.

“What was that?” She jerked, pressing her nose to the window. “I’m sure I saw a flash of gold and black.”

“It’ll be pack,” Sascha said, as if it was perfectly normal to actually see leopards prowling around.

Before Memory could question Sascha further, Alexei brought the vehicle to a stop in front of a small cabin surrounded by fallen pine needles. Another rugged vehicle already sat on the far side of the cabin. Heart thundering and mouth suddenly a desert, she opened her door and stepped out.

She’d just shut the door when a glorious creature of black and gold prowled out of the trees. The leopard went straight to Sascha, pressing its body against her legs. Memory watched wide-eyed as the cardinal leaned down to run her hand over the leopard’s fur. “Any problems?”

The leopard shook its head. Then it yawned, showing a whole lot of sharp teeth.

She backed up into Alexei, who’d come around the vehicle to stand behind her. “Don’t bite me with your wolf teeth.”

A huff of air that she thought might’ve been a laugh, but when she risked looking away from the leopard to glance up at him, she saw that his expression was closed, unreadable. It made her skin itch for reasons she couldn’t name; she just knew she far preferred it when he was growling or scowling at her.

Perhaps she would’ve poked at his abdomen, simply to see what he’d do, but the first whisper of cold nothingness touched her mind at that instant, chilling her to the bone. Hugging herself, she stared at the old cabin as a battle-weary and bloody gladiator might’ve looked at the maw from which the lions would be released.

Like that long-ago gladiator, Memory knew that one day, the lion would be too strong and she’d end up a meal.

A hand on her abdomen, the rough warmth of Alexei’s body against her back as he held her to him. “Breathe.” A gravelly murmur. “Amara doesn’t feed on fear, but she picks up on weakness.”

As she tried to suck in air, find balance, Sascha and the leopard moved toward the cabin. The leopard curled up on the porch and put its head on its paws, a big cat readying itself for a nap. Sascha glanced over her shoulder at Memory with an encouraging smile before she walked into the cabin.

Memory exhaled, the air coming out ragged. “I have to do this. So you know what I am.”

Alexei didn’t say a word, but he was a deadly, protective presence at her back as she walked onto the porch. Ignoring her, the leopard raised its head and snarled at Alexei.

He said, “Yeah? Well, your fur looks ratty, you overgrown tomcat.”

The leopard, its fur a gleaming and glossy coat, bared its teeth at him. She had a feeling that if she looked back and up at Alexei, he’d be baring his own back. Yet the cat didn’t attempt to stop Alexei from entering the cabin with her.

The void of nothingness hit her like a cold scream.

Sucking in a breath that was as sharp as broken razors in her lungs, she focused on the woman who sat straight-backed in the wooden chair directly across from the door. She was aware of another woman seated on a threadbare sofa to the right, and of Sascha beside her, but her attention stayed locked on the woman with eyes of light blue-gray, and tightly curled hair of darkest brown pulled away from her face into a precise bun at the back of her head.

Her skin was an intense and rich brown, and Memory could tell she’d be tall when she stood. She wore a charcoal gray skirt-suit paired with a crisp white shirt, her legs crossed and her feet shod in black heels.

On a purely physical level, she was striking.

But when she spoke, her voice was eerily flat. “You must be Memory. I am your experimental subject, Amara Aleine.”

Memory forced herself to step forward to take the chair that sat across from the sofa—after moving it so that she faced Amara. “Thank you for agreeing to this.” Her tongue felt numb from the coldness spreading over her.

“I am intrigued to discover what an empath wants with me.”

None of the words evidenced emotion—there was no emotion in Amara; her intrigue was icily intellectual.

“Most Es tend to give me a wide berth,” the disturbing woman added. “I made one empath throw up simply by shaking her hand. I would like to repeat that action to see if it was a one-time incident or has a high chance of recurrence, but no one will volunteer.”

Memory’s fingers were numb now, too, the nothingness seeping through her like a dark tide. “I’ll need to make physical contact to run this experiment.”

“Excellent. Do you need to be inside my shields?”

“No.” Whatever it was that Memory did, it worked on physical contact. “Sascha, you need to watch.” Though her gorge roiled at having another presence in her mind, she lowered her paltry shields when Sascha knocked.