Hostage to Pleasure

“Yes.” Her voice came out husky. “Give me a minute.”


As the other woman turned away, Ashaya focused on the contents of the sink and, to her relief, found the chip she’d swallowed—her digestive tract had shut down with the rest of her body, leaving the chip in her stomach. Rinsing it clean as she washed out the sink, she wrapped the priceless object in a piece of tissue and went back to the table.

The stranger had laid out an outfit, and Ashaya wasted no time in pulling it on—underwear, jeans, and a long-sleeved white T-shirt followed by a short-sleeved navy blue one. Spring was heating into summer, but the nights could be cool depending on the location. Putting the chip into a pocket, she braided her hair and stuffed it under the black beret her rescuer held out.

Contact lenses came next. Her pale blue gray eyes were unusual for her dark skin tone. Now they turned brown. That done, she pulled on the socks and sneakers laid out on the morgue slab. Remnants of the poison continued to send twinges through her body, and her stomach was a raw mess, but it was nothing compared to when she’d first woken.

“There’s a small stunner in the front pocket—it’s a weapon you’re trained to use, correct?” Not waiting for an answer, the woman helped Ashaya with the pack. It fit neatly across her back, with straps across her chest and around her hips. “Cosmetics and cheap jewelry in the side pocket. Use them to further your disguise. Misdirection is key. You’re not Ashaya Aleine, M-Psy, you’re Chantelle James, art student. I’m telepathing the profile.”

“I have it.” But Ashaya had no intention of using that profile, of escaping one cage only to enter another. To force her child—and he had to be alive—into a lifetime spent looking over his shoulder, a lifetime of secrets and lies . . . no, she would not do that to Keenan. He’d been hurt enough.

“Stick to the profile, and keep your PsyNet shields at maximum. We were able to hide your reentry into the Net, but we can’t spare the manpower to give you around-the-clock protection.”

“I understand.” She turned to face her rescuer. “Thank you.”

“Keep yourself safe.” The woman’s eyes were dark, but there was a strange awareness in them. “When this breaks and the war begins in earnest, we’ll need your skills to battle the bioagents they use against us.”

This. Silence. The protocol that kept them sane while removing their emotions. The protocol that put sociopaths at the top of their hierarchy. But when that Silence fell, minds were going to crack. Emotion could not simply come rushing back . . . not without causing permanent, irreversible fractures in the psyche. Ashaya knew that far too well.

“I’ll try my best.” But she would not deviate from the path she’d set herself. “How do I get out of here?”

“A teleporter will take you out.” She went motionless. “We’ve run out of time.”

The same man who’d teleported Ashaya to the Center—Vasic—was suddenly beside her. An instant later, her bones melted from the inside out and she was falling, falling. She staggered and almost crashed to her knees as they reached their destination. “Where—” she began, but Vasic was already blinking out.

She rubbed her forehead, guessing things had gotten hot very fast. Vasic had most likely returned to get the other woman out. The man had to be the rarest of the rare—a Traveler. Most strong telekinetics could ’port, but not even a cardinal Tk could do so with such effortless speed. Only a true teleporter. A Traveler. Designation Tk. Subdesignation V.

But where had this Traveler brought her?

She turned, hoping to see some indication of her location. But there were no roads. No buildings. No lights. Just trees, what seemed like thousands of them in every direction. A solid wall of green. Realization dawned—Vasic had clearly had to cut her teleport short in order to get back in time to rescue the other woman. As a result, she was alone in the wilderness, when she’d spent most of her life behind lab walls.

Then something growled, the sound so lethal, the hairs on the back of her neck rose in primordial warning. Those reactions, even the Psy hadn’t been able to train out of themselves. Another growl, followed by a hissing sound that froze her to the spot.



Dorian was heading back to Tammy’s after his run when the call came through. “Yeah?”

“How close are you to the Grove?” Vaughn’s voice.

“Maybe an hour at a hard run. Why?”

“Shit.” Vaughn muttered something to a third person, then came back on the line. “You’re the closest. Pickup ASAP.”

Who or what the hell was out there? The Grove was a large tract of land deep in their territory, home to feral creatures with a hunger for blood and tearing flesh. “I’m on my way.” He was already changing direction.

“You have a gun?”

“Stupid question.” He was always armed, an automatic compensation for his lack of ability to go cat.