Wolf Rain (Psy-Changeling Trinity #3)(75)

A small giggle. “DarkRiver had a . . . picnic.” Words that were a touch breathless. “My dad took me . . . I played . . . with . . . Noor.” Sucked-in air that had Memory urging Clay to hurry. “She’s younger . . . but smart. She . . . gave me her . . . hair bow.”

“Next time we meet, you wear it so I can see,” Alexei said. “Stay with me, Vashti. Open those pretty eyes. There you go.” His voice was calm, steady. “I bet the cats tell all kinds of stories about wolves, don’t they? I’m gonna let you in on a secret—they’re just sore because we’re better-looking. I mean those cats are covered in black spots, while we’re sleek and handsome. Clear winners of the wild beauty contest.”

As the little girl giggled again, the sound scarily weak, Memory opened out her senses in an effort not to miss Renault should he decide to chance a return. She didn’t want him anywhere near the little girl he’d hurt for no reason but that he could—he was a teleporter, hadn’t needed the distraction to get away.

A thousand emotions slammed into her the instant she lowered her first shield, the festival area bursting with minds upon minds. Gritting her teeth, she narrowed the aperture in her shield until it was on the edge of pain but bearable.

“Alexei,” she asked. “Do you have a knife?” Unlike Vasic, Nerida, and Abbot, Renault couldn’t teleport another person without physical contact, and at this point in the day’s events, he wouldn’t have enough Tk energy left to hold her in place and teleport out with her.

Jabbing at him with a knife would work to keep him at bay.

“Here.” A metallic rasp against stone as Alexei slid across what proved to be a hunting blade. She gripped it, held watch, while Alexei fought to keep Vashti from slipping into unconsciousness.

Memory feared no one would get here in time, not with the crowd, and second-guessed her decision to veto a teleporter. But Vashti had been so afraid. Panic could cause her mind to short out, her heart to stop. But if there was no choice—

Feet pounded down the stairs.

The woman who entered with Clay was statuesque, with rich brown hair to her waist and a body that was all dangerous curves and power. She was dressed in dark blue jeans that hugged her legs, black ankle boots, and a fuzzy red sweater with gold threads woven into it. On her head was a band that glowed with blue liquid and had wobbling eyes on top of it.

And inside her flowed the same deep well of wild compassion that Memory had felt from Lucy.

The healer ran directly toward Vashti, Clay following with a satchel in hand. “Tammy’s emergency kit,” the leopard said to Alexei, his chest heaving. “I directed her here while I ran to her car to grab the kit. You know healers—everyone in the pack is coded into her car’s security.”

“That’s because if anyone dares take my car for a joyride, they’ll be in big doo-doo with every single other member of the pack.” The brunette smiled at Vashti as she got to work, her hands gentle and competent, and her voice soothing and warm.

“Doo-doo?” Alexei shook his head. “What did I tell you, sweetheart? Wolves are definitely more sophisticated and elegant.”

The healer snorted. “Ignore him, kitten. He’s a boy, and as I’m raising two boys, I can tell you they’re mostly dirt and mischief—with a side helping of interesting bugs.”

Memory knew they were joking around in an effort to raise Vashti’s spirits, and it was working. The girl’s joy was an innocent thing, her pain and fear forgotten for short bursts as she tried to laugh. All the while, her blood continued to flow.

Clay cradled the little girl’s head with one hand, his other holding hers. “Noor can’t stop talking about you,” he said in his deep timbre. “She’s very proud to have a ‘big girl’ friend. I’m going to talk to your dad about bringing her over to visit you.”

Vashti’s happiness bubbled again.

Memory clenched her gut and hoped. Vashti was bleeding out, her psychic presence weaker and weaker because Renault wanted Memory. If Vashti died . . . Memory bit down so hard on her lower lip that she tasted blood.





Chapter 35


Psychopaths who kill for killing’s sake are ill-disciplined individuals who waste resources. At the core, they are driven by primordial urges that negate any assertions of intelligence.

—Amara Aleine RENAULT’S PULSE RACED. He wasn’t used to the lack of control. Neither was he used to being the one who ran, being the weak one. But he’d realized he was outnumbered the instant the two changelings entered the basement—he’d already stretched his telekinetic abilities; he hadn’t had enough power to hold off the two aggressors.

As it was, he’d barely made it to his hiding place.

That he now lay on the floor, his cheek resting on the rough carpet, was a humiliation he would not forget. He’d punish Memory for this, for running from him, for her disloyalty after all he’d done for her, how well he’d kept her.

She would pay and pay again.

The next time he drew her out, he’d have to ensure she came alone. It could be done. He knew everything about Memory, every fear and every guilt. Something crackled in his pocket as he turned. His ace in the hole: the lock of hair that belonged to Memory’s mother, a memento he always kept close because it marked the day he’d found Memory.