Wolf Rain (Psy-Changeling Trinity #3)(56)

“Did the ceiling strike you as low?”

Matthias took a second, frowned. “Yeah, now that you mention it. I’m used to being too tall for a lot of spaces so I didn’t really think it was odd. What’re you thinking?”

Alexei’s claws sliced out of his fingers. “We may have a hidden compartment.”

Everyone switched focus with predator speed.

It was Matthias who spotted that the carpet was only lightly pinned down along one edge. After Judd lifted the small side table sitting on that part of the carpet, Alexei peeled the carpet up and back.

“It’s big enough for a person.” Sing-Liu’s words were quiet. “What’s that smell? Bleach?”

“No, a specialized dehumidifying compound,” Judd said, old nightmares in his voice. “Used to dry flesh out, halt putrefaction and the attendant smells.”

“Looks like a goddamn coffin.” Hawke’s eyes didn’t move off the abomination they’d uncovered. “I can scent a bare hint of decay below the chemicals.”

So could Alexei, the scent a sly intruder that’d finally taken ugly shape.

Blood cold, he took hold of one circular pull, Matthias the other, and the two of them lifted the large lid open. As he did so, he tried not to wonder if the psychopathic bastard had ever put Memory in one of these boxes.

Then the lid was open.

Sing-Liu was the first one to speak. “No one is going to argue with our laws now.”

Inside the space were the mummified remains of a woman with skin that looked ebony now but had probably been dark brown at death. Tucked around her were sealed but transparent packets that appeared to hold hair clippings.

When Hawke found a tissue and used it to lift out one of the packets, they saw that a name and a date were written on the label: Hanna, December 2075.

Alexei’s gaze snagged on the corpse’s hair. She’d had wild black curls, the woman who’d died in this coffin—or been placed there after death. Hair just like an empath Alexei had pulled out of another box. And he knew in his gut that Memory’s mother must’ve had the same hair, and that her skin had been a shade of brown.

Just like her.

He understood in that moment that Memory had been meant to die alongside her mother—two victims who fueled Renault’s murderous fantasies. Then the killer had touched her and discovered what she could do.

But had he succeeded in overusing Memory to the point where her mind broke under the pressure, he’d have reduced her to a lock of hair in his sick trophy case. He’d have destroyed her vibrant light before it ever had the chance to shine. “I get to rip his head off,” Alexei said very, very quietly. “He’s mine.”

No one argued.





Chapter 26


Jaya Laila Storm is to be the Beacon’s new Social Interaction columnist. In the wake of the fall of Silence, as our people grapple with emotion, we are facing questions about love, about hate, about courtship, about friendship, and the Beacon has always been on the cutting edge of news. In this, too, we will not fail.

As a Gradient 8.8 medical empath who survived Silence unbroken and who has psychically bonded with an Arrow, and who maintains friendships with individuals of all three races, we believe she is uniquely qualified to lead Beacon readers through the minefield that is emotion.

Initially, the Beacon senior team objected to my choice of Jaya as columnist because she has barely entered her twenties, but in the end, it was decided that this is a new age. It should be led by the young.

—Madrigal Esperanza, Editorial Director, PsyNet Beacon


MEMORY SLEPT DEEPLY that night, cocooned in a familiar male scent and tired from the sessions with Amara and Sascha. When she woke, it was with a delicious heaviness in her limbs. She yawned.

“Jitterbug?” She rubbed her eyes as she rose into a sitting position. “I’ll get you—”

Reality intruded along with the beams of the cabin around her, the light coming through the crack in her curtains. This wasn’t a prison, and her beloved pet wouldn’t amble over from his position at the foot of her bed to nuzzle against her face.

Eyes hot, she touched the spot on the bed where Jitterbug would’ve curled up had he been alive. “You’re free,” she said through the tears that wanted to fall. “And so am I.” Now, she had to become strong enough to take on Renault when he came after her. Because as Amara had confirmed, she was a drug to psychopaths. Renault wouldn’t give up.

Rising, she took a long shower, then dressed in the fresh clothing that had been left for her. After making her bed, she folded up Alexei’s T-shirt and put it under her pillow. It was hers now and tough luck to him. He could fight her if he wanted it back.

Her stomach fluttered, the sadness of the past beginning to be outweighed by the unfurling wonder of the present. She had curtains she could pull to allow in daylight, a window she could open, a door of her own. She could choose what to eat, what to wear. Her heart threatened to explode, it was so full.

As she fluffed up her pillows, she wondered when the new clothes she’d ordered would arrive. Though the Empathic Collective stipend was a generous one, she’d been careful to use only a small percentage of it. Until she knew when it would be renewed, if it would be renewed, she had to hoard her resources. But clothes were a necessity . . . to her body, and to her soul.