CARESSED BY ICE

It was as if she’d been waiting for this moment, for this man, because she opened her mouth without any forethought and admitted the secret she’d gone to such great lengths to hide. “I can’t go wolf.” She hadn’t meant to sound so shattered, but now a tear was streaking down her face and it was hot and wet and angry. “He broke me! That goddamn bastard broke me!” She turned and slammed her fisted hands against the trunk of a nearby tree. “He broke me!” Her bones vibrated from the impact as she brought her fists down for the second time.

“Stop.” Male hands closed over her own from behind. “You’ll injure yourself.”

Lured by the touch, by the scent of him, she leaned back against his body. “I can’t go wolf.” It was a whisper this time, the anger washed away in that single pained outburst.

“I’ve seen you use your claws.” His tone was icily Psy as always, but he’d curved his body protectively over hers.

The realization calmed her but not enough to stop her voice from trembling. “I can change in parts—claws, sometimes the teeth, but that’s harder. My strength and speed haven’t been affected. Same with my sense of smell and sight.”

“Like Dorian.”

“Yes.” The DarkRiver leopard had been born lacking the ability to shift, but was, in all other ways, changeling. “But I wasn’t born latent. He crippled me.” Hawke’s earlier words now took on new resonance. What would he say when he realized the extent of her impairment? “I’m damaged . . . maimed.”

Judd didn’t release her hands even when she dropped them to her sides, his touch firm and cool against the heat of her skin. “Have you told the healers about this? It may simply be that your body hasn’t had enough time to fully recover from your injuries.”

“I haven’t told anyone.”

Except him. Judd knew that should’ve made no difference, but it did. “Come. We’ll talk inside.” He tried to release her hands but she held on, her back pressing harder against his chest. He allowed her to prolong the contact. That was when the first warning signal flared in his brain, but there was no pain. Not yet. “What is it?”

“I’m scared.” A tiny, shaken whisper. “It must be nice to not feel, to never be afraid.”

“It’s also a kind of crippling.” Done by parents to their own children. “You don’t want to be what I am.” The idea of a cold, emotionless Brenna made him tighten his hold on her. A second warning sparked to life.

Pulling away her hands in a changeling-swift move, she twisted to put her arms around him. “Please.”

There would be a price to pay. There always was. But Judd raised his arms and wrapped them around her smaller frame anyway, tucking her head under his chin. He could feel her trembling from the force of her tears. He wanted to halt those tears but didn’t know how. So he did as she’d asked and held her, aware all the while of the building strain at the back of his head, the dull thud that announced an impending psychic backlash.

That backlash—the use of pain to coerce compliance—was called dissonance. Judd had found the term in an old and highly classified Psy-Med Journal article, an article he’d hacked into after figuring out something as a teenager—that Silence, at its simplest, was built on a foundation of reward and punishment. The larger the breach of conditioning, the stronger the pain.

The journal article had referenced a scientist named Pavlov’s early experiments with dogs, as well as several later papers that expanded on his theory. Judd hadn’t been able to access all those papers, but he had found enough to confirm his suspicions . . . and understand that his Council had trained him the same way you would a dog. Burn a dog enough times and he’ll begin to fear fire. Shock a child with pain every time he laughs and he’ll learn to never so much as smile. A dehumanizing equation but one Judd could not permit himself to break. No matter what the temptation.

“Brenna, you must stop,” he said after several long minutes—her sobs had turned raw and painful. “Stop or you’ll hurt yourself.” He was holding her so tightly, he wondered that she could draw breath. But instead of complaint, her fingers clawed into his back, further strengthening the connection. “No more tears.” His harsh order didn’t have any effect. He’d never seen her so distraught. During the healing sessions, she’d been this angry, half-feral thing who’d refused to give in, refused to let Enrique win.

Finding the answer in that memory, he bent his head until his lips brushed her ear as he spoke. “You will defeat this as you’ve defeated every other thing he did to you. You are not crippled, not now, not ever.” He’d kill anyone who implied otherwise. “You survived once and you’ll keep spitting in his face by continuing to survive again and again.”