Hostage to Pleasure

Right now, she had to lay the framework of a chaos that would disrupt everything in the Net, hiding the truth in the midst of lies—lies that would ensure Keenan’s safety. That was the only thing that mattered.

She ignored the burst of activity in that now familiar primitive section of her brain. Dorian intrigued her to the depths of her being—she’d never met anyone so complex. He was light and shadow, savagery and charm, predatory fury and sniper calm. She found herself wondering what it would take for him to drop his guard, and allow a woman to see beyond the surface. Perhaps, in another life, she might’ve taken up the invitation to play his double-edged cat games, and discovered the answer. But in this life, she had no such choice.

“Ready, Ms. Aleine?” The producer had listening devices clipped to both his ears, but appeared to be focusing on her.

He was changeling, too, a leopard; handsome, she supposed, But he didn’t awaken that primitive set of neurons the way Dorian did, didn’t threaten to derail a plan she’d died to put into place. “Let’s go.” She began walking alongside him, very aware of Dorian’s alert presence at her back. He didn’t particularly like her, that much was obvious, but he wouldn’t let her be assassinated. No, if this cat wanted to get rid of her, he’d do it himself.

Oddly reassured by the thought, she stepped in front of the camera, looked it straight in the eye, and waited for the signal to proceed.

“Three, two, one . . . we’re live.”



Dorian watched Ashaya’s absolute stillness, her unfractured composure, and knew it for a lie.

It’s the only way I know to protect him.

He’d been considering the implications of that unguarded statement ever since their arrival at the basement studio—it put her seemingly reckless broadcast in a whole new light. Somehow, some way, this was meant to help Keenan live a life free of fear.

Ashaya Aleine, he thought, was the most intricate of puzzles. The layers of deceit and truth only added to the challenge of her. It was tempting to push her until she surrendered, but sometimes in a hunt, you had to play nice. That thought in mind, he shifted so that he was in her line of sight. It was a silent promise of safety, of protection.

She understood, the knowledge betrayed by the barest flicker of an eyelash. And then she began to speak.

“My name is Ashaya Aleine. I’m a Gradient 9.9 M-Psy and the scientist formerly in charge of Protocol I, otherwise known as the Implant Protocol.”

Her tone was cold enough to freeze summer rain. For the first time, he saw exactly how she’d survived detection in the PsyNet. It created an unexpected burst of pride in his gut—this woman was made of ice-fired steel. She might bend, but Ashaya Aleine would never, ever, break.

“The information I’m about to share is highly classified,” she continued. “In doing so, I break my contract with the Council, but keep the one I made as a scientist—to pursue the truth.”



In the PsyNet, a red alert blasted into the mind of every Councilor.



“While the theoretical research behind the Implant Protocol is common knowledge,” Ashaya continued, “what is not widely known is that the Council is going ahead with the Protocol, in direct violation of its duty to consult the populace on matters of this scale.

“Silence itself took ten years of debate before it was implemented, and yet this implant, an implant that would enable the imposition of Silence on the biological level, turning many into one—in effect, creating a hive mind—is being railroaded through without even cursory consultation.”



Across the country, across the world, power started failing in a relentless cascade. Entire towns, then cities, were blacked out as the Council shut down every one of its power providers.



“Not long ago, an attack on my lab put the development of the implant back to square one. But it can be rebuilt. I’m not the only scientist with the capacity to do the work.”



Psy telekinetics were dispatched to cause “accidental” breakdowns in media outlets not under the Council’s direct control, including the usually ignored highways of the Internet. The blackout continued to explode across the world in a violent wave. Then the satellites started to blink.



“This information is classified but has been the subject of widespread rumor.” Ashaya paused. “But what I tell you next is known only to a select few. The Council-funded research on Protocol I speaks of absolute equality. That is a categorical lie. The implants were never intended to make us all the same. Their purpose is simple—to create a society of ciphers, slaves for whom obedience to the Council and its favored associates is a biological imperative.”



Hackers—Psy, human, and changeling—worked furiously to reboot systems. They failed. Humans swore, changelings threw things, Psy began a rapid-fire telepathic “tree” to link to anyone who had a signal and could feed them the broadcast.