Wolf Rain (Psy-Changeling Trinity #3)(93)

“Teleporter?” Alexei’s gaze continued to sweep the area.

“No, I didn’t feel a sudden disconnect. It was more a . . . fading. As if he drew the darkness inside himself.” Memory shoved her curls behind her ears, told herself to think. “How can a person disappear while physically here?”

Krychek walked down the street toward them, the starlight of his eyes speaking to her of cold, distant places where it was never warm. “Our quarry has escaped?”

Shivering, Memory backed into Alexei. “Yes,” she managed to get out past her overwhelming awareness of Krychek’s lethal power. Yet this man was mated, was said to be devoted to his lover. Did he show this same deadly face to—

Oh.

“Two faces,” she blurted out on a wave of realization. “He has two faces.” One that was normal, could fool the world, the other a creature of darkness and madness with that odd blankness at its heart.

Memory worried over that blankness, but couldn’t explain it. She had, however, picked up more than she’d realized during that fleeting moment of telepathic contact—she’d never attempt to hack another mind, but his was so fragmented that his hidden thoughts had leaked through on their own. “He hates Es, wants to wipe us out of existence.”

A cold wind swept down the street, raising every tiny hair on her body.





Chapter 43


Though this be madness, yet there is method in’t.

—From Hamlet, by the human artist William Shakespeare (17th century)


WHERE AM I?

He “woke” on an unfamiliar street in the smudged dark of night that had just fallen, his heart thumping and his body sweaty under a thin gray sweater and black pants he didn’t remember putting on. He’d been wearing a suit when he left the office. The cologne he drew in with every breath was far denser than his usual crisp choice.

His pulse hammered at his throat.

Forcing himself to keep moving, he reached into his pants pockets, but there was no phone there, and his wrist was bare of his usual unit. His hands curled into fists inside the pockets, but he kept his face expressionless; from the way others on the street glanced at him before carrying on their way, he must’ve appeared normal enough.

No one blanched. No one tried to run.

Swallowing to wet his dry throat, he paid careful attention to the architecture and the geography. Unless he’d lost days instead of hours, he must be in his own city.

A woman laughed up ahead and opened out a lace parasol.

Next to her were several other women in pretty dresses. Nothing about them gave him a location. He could’ve looked in the PsyNet to orient himself, but with his mind as chaotic as it was, he didn’t want to risk suffering a fugue while only partially in his body.

“Good evening, ladies,” he said with a smile he’d learned to produce on cue because it put humans and nonpredatory changelings at ease.

The women looked at one another and giggled.

He deepened the smile; he knew from a lifetime of experience that he had a pleasing aesthetic appearance, one that appealed to women. He’d never had much reason to use that tool in his arsenal, but today, it might gain him some desperately needed answers. “I was wondering if you could help me,” he said. “I’m a visitor just arrived in your beautiful city. I don’t suppose you have recommendations about what I could do this evening?”

The women giggled again, before one said, “You’re not far from Chinatown, and the Chinese New Year festival is uh-mazing.”

“Oh, and Fisherman’s Wharf is jumping,” her friend added. “They’ve got circus performers there tonight. While we were there, one of the DarkRiver cats shifted and dove through a ring of fire on a dare!”

The rest of their words faded into the background.

Fisherman’s Wharf. Chinatown. DarkRiver. He was in San Francisco. Where he kept an apartment because he flew in and out for business. Right now, that included a major deal with the SnowDancer wolves.

Many of those wolves had to be on the streets attending the festival, but no one called him out. It wasn’t until five minutes later, when he passed by a glossy shop window that he realized why: his hair was the wrong color and he was wearing the paper-thin latex mask that he’d used for the medical appointment. It altered his features beyond recognition.

Red trickled out of his nose as he watched.

His head began to pound.





Chapter 44


Project Scarab: Closed. All outstanding matters cleared.

—Psy Council (2004)


ALEXEI THUMPED A nutrient drink down on the conference table in front of Memory. He’d brought her to DarkRiver HQ for a debrief, but like hell he’d let anyone else near her until she’d gotten some food in her. “I can see your cheekbones cutting against your skin.” Whatever she did when she tracked the unknown mind, she used up the same massive amount of psychic energy as when she worked with Amara.

“Drink.” It came out a growled order, his wolf’s chest heaving with its worry for her. “Judd says the stuff’s still the best way to get a calorie hit after a psychic burn.”

Memory folded her arms across her chest and refused to reach for the glass. “I swore I’d never take nutrients again.”

“It’s not the same as the old stuff. It’s flavored—pomegranate and peach.”