BRANDED BY FIRE

“No, he’ll leave it to Mercy to sort out. Like I’ll leave it to you.”


“I can’t just treat her as a sentinel now.” It was impossible. He saw her as a woman first—an intelligent, beautiful, strong woman.

Hawke thrust a hand through his hair. “Then I need to assign someone else as liaison.”

“Do it and I’ll rip your throat out.”

“Think for a second,” Hawke said, tone granite-hard. “I chose you as liaison because I knew you weren’t hotheaded. I need someone who isn’t going to jeopardize this alliance.”

If there was one thing Riley had never been accused of being, it was hotheaded. “I’ll work it out with Mercy.”

“She really gets to you.” Hawke’s voice was contemplative. “As the SnowDancer alpha, I want to tell you to back off before things get even more messed up.”

Riley waited.

“But as your friend, I say go for it … Women who get to you that deep don’t come along more than once in a lifetime.”

Riley caught something in that statement, was ready to follow it, but the truth when it came to him wasn’t soft, wasn’t gradual. It was a head-ringing mental slap that left him stunned. “I’m so blind.”

“Talking to yourself?” Hawke rubbed at his jaw. “Want me to leave you alone?”

Riley barely heard him, and when, ten minutes later, Hawke followed through on his offer, he hardly noticed. Because—“I never figured it’d be her.” And he’d known her for a long time. Had respected her strength even as she drove him insane. Hell, he’d admired the lithe sexiness of her body more than once—he was male, after all. But why had he never known it was her?

It didn’t matter. Because now he did … and there was no way he was ever letting her go.





CHAPTER 35





Councilor Nikita Duncan stared at the book sitting in the center of her desk, bound in leather that was stained and marked with coffee rings, the edges curling, and asked herself why she’d tracked down a copy of this very rare, very out-of-print volume. It had cost her a considerable amount of cash to acquire.

She could, of course, have infected the bookseller’s mind with a mental virus and simply taken it, but she’d wanted to do this without attracting any attention whatsoever. So she’d created a false identity, that of an eccentric human collector. Because the bookseller would never ever have knowingly let this volume fall into Psy hands.

She’d patiently ensured his security checks came back to the same rich human identity. And then she’d paid the exorbitant price for this stained, browned book. The pages were moth-eaten at the edges, but the words … the words were visible. That was why it had been so expensive. Nothing was missing, nothing had been torn out.

Nikita knew she should destroy it and reclaim the cost from the Council coffers. None of her fellow Councilors would blink an eyelash—this was a legitimate expense. But she hadn’t bought it to destroy it, though if anyone did ever track the sale back to her, that was what she’d tell them.

She picked up the book, redid the packaging, and put it in a simple brown waterproof envelope. Then she wrote the name of the recipient on the top: Sascha Duncan.

Again, she asked herself why she was doing this. “Power,” she told herself. That was why she did anything.





CHAPTER 36





Mercy had just walked into her cabin after working late when the comm panel flashed an incoming call. She answered audio-only. “Hi, Gran.”

“Don’t ‘hi, Gran’ me,” Isabella snapped back. “What’s this I hear about you and a wolf?”

“I’m going to kill Eduardo and Joaquin.” They had to have caught an airjet to get home so fast.

“Those two didn’t say a word except to tell me anyone else I send up had better be prepared to come back sans body parts.”

“Then how do you know anything about my life?”

“I have ears. I use them.” An impatient sound. “Put me on the viewscreen so I can see your face.”

Blowing out a breath, Mercy did as ordered. An instant later, her maternal grandmother’s face appeared on-screen, beautiful, determined, and dangerously intelligent. Isabella was on oddity in her part of the world, with pale cream skin and hair that had been a rich dark gold before it turned a stunning white, traits she’d bequeathed her daughter, Lia—Mercy’s mom. Family legend said some bandido way back when had stolen away with the daughter of a French admiral, and now, every so often, the genetics kicked up an unexpected blonde. Mercy didn’t know if that was true, but Isabella was certainly regal. She’d undoubtedly look as haughty at a hundred and thirty.

“A wolf?” Isabella repeated.

“No.”

Isabella narrowed her dark brown eyes. “Lying to your grandmother is a mortal sin.”

“It’s not a lie. He’s an ass.”

“I could’ve told you that.” A sniff. “I know wolves can be attractive, but seriou—”

“Back up.” Mercy held up a hand. “How do you know?”

“None of your business.”