Hostage to Pleasure

Vasic nodded. “As soon as she lost consciousness. Per previous orders, I teleported it to your desk. Would you like me to retrieve it?”


“No.” Ming stared at the other male, one of his most elite soldiers. As an Arrow, Vasic’s loyalty should have been beyond doubt. It wasn’t anything left to chance—Arrows were all placed on a regimen of drugs meant to turn them into the most unwavering of killing machines. “No alarms were tripped, no other monitors aside from those in this section tampered with. What does that mean?”

“A teleport-capable Tk,” Vasic replied, completely unmoved. “Officially, there were none in the immediate vicinity at the time.”

“Unofficially?”

Vasic glanced at the recording devices in the room, and “knocked” telepathically. When Ming gave him permission for Tp contact, the soldier said, The insurgency is gaining in strength. There may be rebels with abilities we aren’t aware of.

A Tk that strong would have been recorded by now.

Then, Vasic responded, still pure calm as all Arrows were, it was a traitor.

Open your mind for a scan.

Negative, sir. That would leave me defenseless.

And Arrows never let themselves be defenseless. It was part of their training. Ming himself had taught them that lesson. Where were you at the pertinent time?

In Europe. Data flowed from Vasic’s mind to his. After teleporting M-Psy Aleine’s organizer to your desk, I rejoined my team as part of an operation to delve into the recent surge in activity within the Human Alliance.

Ming nodded, having already checked that information. Not only was Vasic the most powerful teleporter he’d ever known, the man was incorruptible—there was nothing left of him to corrupt. However, Ming trusted no one. As of now you’re attached to me. I want you on standby.

Yes, sir.

Withdrawing from the mental contact, Ming dismissed Vasic and stared down at the cold slab of the morgue table. Ashaya’s disappearance could be explained in one of two ways. One, she was dead but her body had been taken because it contained valuable data. That was a real possibility. She’d been behaving erratically the past few weeks—she may even have implanted herself as a test subject.

The second possibility was even more dangerous. That Ashaya Aleine was alive and out of Council control.

She couldn’t be allowed to stay that way.



Even as Ming focused his attention on finding Ashaya, several men got off an airjet at San Francisco International Airport. Their job was to blend in and watch—the leopards, the wolves, but most especially, the Psy.

No one noticed them. Then. Or later.





CHAPTER 7


It’s becoming an obsession—my fascination with the sniper. Today, in the lab, I felt his breath on my nape. It swept like fire across my skin. I am a scientist, a being of logic and reason, but part of me is convinced that he was real, that I could have raised a hand and brushed my fingertips across his lips.



—From the encrypted personal files of Ashaya Aleine





When the changeling carrying her finally came to a halt, Ashaya wasn’t sure he had. Her body felt as if it was still in motion. Forcing open eyes that seemed glued together, she found herself near a small cabin lit up from within. There was a pine needle-strewn clearing around the house, and what looked like wildflowers crawling up one wall, though in the dark she couldn’t be sure.

“Can you keep your feet?” her rescuer asked as he helped her off his back.

“No.” Her legs threatened to crumple when she released his shoulders, the injured one useless, the other stiff with the way she’d had to clamp it around him.

One of his arms was around her waist before she saw him move. “I’ve got you.”

“Thank you.”

Quiet. But it was a quiet unlike any she’d felt in the Net, filled with emotions that battered at her conditioning with unrelenting force.

The door to the cabin swung open even as she fought to maintain her death grip on Silence. “Dorian? Who’s that with you?” The speaker was female, her hair a vibrant red that touched the curve of her spine.

“You didn’t get a message from Vaughn?” The sniper—Dorian, his name is Dorian—all but carried her inside the cabin and put her in a chair in front of the fireplace. His words might’ve been harsh, but he was careful with her, almost . . . gentle.

The female closed the door, frowned. “No, I just got back from—She’s Psy!”

“Keenan’s mother.” When he returned his attention to Ashaya, the absolute blue of his eyes felt like flames licking at her, a weapon against which she had no defense. “She’s injured. Needs stitches.” The words were bitten out.

“Get me the kit. You know where it is.” The woman moved to Ashaya. “Name’s Mercy.”