CARESSED BY ICE

Judd felt his mind stop at that single affectionate word. He recognized affection, had been around changelings long enough to understand the import of such seemingly light-hearted comments. However, it had never occurred to him that he might one day be on the receiving end of this most sensual form of it. Especially from a woman who had been so angry with him bare hours ago. “A dangerous accusation.” In the PsyNet, that would’ve been true. No one wanted to be indicted of having a flaw.

Brenna chuckled and tugged at the arm he’d placed across her pillow until she could rest her head on it. Her weight was slight, but he knew he wouldn’t be moving before she did. “Promise I won’t tell,” she teased, breath whispering over the skin of his neck. “Your tough-as-nails image is safe with me.”

It was difficult to focus with her curves pressed into him. He reached into the depths of his Arrow training and forced absolute restraint over his instincts. It was the only way he could allow himself this forbidden contact. “Why do you think I was dreaming?”

The atmosphere changed and though he wasn’t looking at her, he picked up her distress from the sudden tenseness of her muscles. “Brenna?”

“I saw it.”

The words hit him like bullets fired at close range. He knew what he’d been dreaming about—he always remembered the images he saw in sleep. “What did you see?”

“You killed someone.” Said in a breathless whisper. “Then you discovered he didn’t deserve to die.”

Judd’s brain shifted into automatic damage-control mode, spitting out option after option. At the top of the list was denial.

Never get into a situation where your status may become known.

If you are, however, trapped in such a situation, never admit anything.

Maintain control of your physical reactions if placed under duress and answer all accusations in the negative. Denial is key to protecting the squad.

Deny everything.

It was one of the very first things he’d been taught after being removed from his family and taken to the training facility. But he’d stopped running from the truth a long time ago. “It wasn’t a dream but a memory.” He braced himself against the horror, disgust, and rejection to come.

One of her hands rose to lie against his chest. “Why that man?”

He told her the truth—he would not defend himself with hypocrisy and lies. “His name was on a list given to me by Ming LeBon.”

“Councilor LeBon? The Arrows work for the Council?”

“No.” That had never been their raison d’être. “The fact that the squad is currently under the direct command of LeBon arises from him being a senior Arrow himself, rather than his Council rank. Arrows are a force independent of politics and money. The man you saw me kill, however, was no threat to anyone but Ming. He had the unfortunate distinction of having cut into the Councilor’s business interests.”

“You weren’t to know that. You trusted your leader.” Her fingers spread on his chest, began to stroke. “It’s what any soldier does.”

“I was an assassin, Brenna,” he said in a blunt repudiation of her attempt to find good in him. “I was given targets, told the preferred mode of death, and set a time limit. I never asked questions about who they were or what they’d done.”

“Then how did you find out about the guy you were dreaming about?”

“A year into my work with the squad”—too late, far too late—“I did finally begin to ask those questions. The answers I received didn’t ring true so I went searching.” What he’d discovered had changed his identity from loyal soldier to cold-blooded murderer.

It was the second time in his life that his identity had been stolen from him. He had vowed that there wasn’t going to be a third. “In the PsyNet, some segments of the populace call the Arrows a death squad, but we thought of ourselves as the first line of defense, protecting our people before they even knew they were in danger. Ming changed that, made us into bringers of death.”

“Then you shouldn’t blame yourself.” Her voice was quiet, accepting. “You were—”

“Acting on orders?” he interrupted. “That’s an excuse. I stopped making it the day I realized what I truly was.”

Hand pressing down on his chest, she rose up on her elbow, eyes stormy. “Instead you’re going to beat yourself up about it forever?”

“I’m Psy—I don’t feel guilt.”

A very unfeminine snort was his answer. “What do you call those nightmares?”

“You aren’t seeing what I’m telling you,” he said, staring into those extraordinary eyes. “I was the Council’s pet assassin. There is nothing good or acceptable about that. Evil is the only applicable word.” He paused. “This does clear up one thing.”

“What?” Brenna asked, not yet finished with him.

“You have no need to worry that Enrique left some part of himself behind in you.”

“Of course he did—otherwise I wouldn’t be seeing your dreams.”

“No, Brenna. You were afraid you were turning into a monster. But tonight, did you feel the same emotions you did when you saw the vision of Tim’s death?”

Her eyes widened. “Oh.” Dropping her head back down to his shoulder, she took several deep breaths. “I was seeing his dream, the person who killed Timothy, feeling his emotions as he thought about what he was going to do.”

“Everything points to that conclusion.”