Wolf Rain (Psy-Changeling Trinity #3)(91)

“Lexie hold.” Bright green eyes angled to look at Memory.

She felt as if she was being weighed, judged, and when the little girl smiled and held out a hand, the joy she felt was a wave. “I can’t,” she said, her voice husky, scared the darkness in her would somehow hurt this innocent child brought up in love.

Sascha’s gaze caught hers. I don’t think you’re a threat to her, or I would’ve never called out to you, the cardinal said telepathically. But I appreciate the care.

Smoothing her hand over her daughter’s hair, Sascha spoke her next words aloud. “Memory’s a special kind of E, baby. She’s still learning how to control her powers and she has to be careful who she touches. Like how you’re learning not to use your claws or your telepathy while playing with your friends.”

“Memi, be good,” Naya instructed in a very serious tone. “No caws.”

Memory nodded. “No claws,” she agreed solemnly, and the five of them continued to move up the sidewalk. When Naya cried out, “Ro! Jule!” on a wave of sweet excitement colored by pure joy, she went to follow the little girl’s gaze . . . and a curdling fear bloomed in the pit of her stomach.

Sucking in a breath, she glanced around in a frantic search, but the crushing darkness was everywhere. It wasn’t the nothingness, wasn’t the abyss. This was far worse. It had taken Yuri, nearly taken Abbot.

“Memory? What is it?” Alexei’s voice seemed to come from the end of a long tunnel, echoing and faint.

A rough-skinned palm sliding over hers, strong fingers enclosing hers.

Heat, a primal power, an anchor.

Her lungs expanded, the scents and flavors of Chinatown exploding against senses that had threatened to go numb under the deluge of darkness. “The mind behind the attack on the compound,” she said as she raced to pinpoint the exact location of the threat. “He’s here. He wants to hurt Sascha, the other empaths.”

Listening to instinct, Memory turned to the left. Her eyes locked on a knot of Psy who’d been standing quietly together in readiness to watch today’s parade. All four had gone stiff, their eyes black. “It has them. Go.”

The pressure intensified the instant Alexei was no longer touching her.

She could barely breathe under the crushing weight of the shadowy darkness. He’d become stronger since the assault against Yuri and Abbot and the others. The air was too heavy, her lungs incapable of translating it into breath. When she felt a trickle at her nose, she lifted a fingertip to touch it . . . and it came away red.

“Here.” Sascha thrust a small pack of tissues into her hand. “Come with me.”

Alexei and Lucas were nearly at the knot of Psy—the quartet had just begun to stride toward a group of empaths. “Why are so many Es here?” Memory asked as she stumbled in Sascha’s wake.

In front of her, Naya was protesting and dragging her feet. “Mama! Ro! Jule!”

But Sascha was relentless—she lifted her squirming little girl up into her arms and ran toward a store. “Memory!” she yelled back when Memory became distracted by another wave of violent power.

Memory got moving, stepping into the store just behind Sascha and Naya.

“Mrs. Wembley,” Sascha was saying to the shopkeeper, a slender woman with Eurasian features, her hair cut into a blunt bob, the color an inky black. “I need you to take Naya into your basement and stay there.”

The other woman, her face unlined but a weight to her presence that said she was at least a couple of decades older than Sascha, didn’t ask any questions or voice worry about leaving her shop unattended. Her emotions, too, were streamlined—she switched modes from happy festival mood to protectively maternal within heartbeats. “Come on, munchkin,” she said, and reached out to take Naya.

But Lucas and Sascha’s daughter refused to go until Sascha put her on her feet, then hunkered down and pressed her forehead to Naya’s. “I need you to be a good girl for Mialin’s grandma, baby. There’s a bad person outside. I have to help your papa handle it so this person doesn’t hurt anyone.”

Tiny features awash in worry, Naya said something too fast for Memory to understand. But Sascha kissed her cub and said, “Yes, I promise I’ll make sure Roman and Julian and Nate and Tamsyn are safe. Go with Mrs. Wembley now.”

“We’ll go do some coloring in the basement room—it’s very nice, with a sofa and a soft rug,” Mrs. Wembley said as she led Naya away, one little hand tucked trustingly in hers. “You can help me with my latest page. It’s got so many colors, I get very tired.”

Naya’s response showed that she was the daughter of an empath and an alpha. “Mia come base’nt too?”

“Oh, you sweet baby, Mialin’s quite all right. She’s at home in DarkRiver territory with her mama and papa.”

The rest of their conversation faded as Mrs. Wembley and Naya disappeared behind a door that must’ve led to the basement. She heard the loud slide of a dead bolt, then three other clicks.

“Basement’s secured,” Sascha told her, her voice grim as she moved to the doorway of the shop.

Memory was already there, attempting to pinpoint the murderous mind’s next move.

“I spotted a high-Gradient E out there,” Sascha added. “I’ve telepathed her to begin crowd control while I attempt to aim a terminal field at the ones being used as puppets—I can’t spread the field far yet, so I have to target it.”