Hostage to Pleasure

—From a handwritten letter signed “Iliana,” circa September 2069





Dorian was pulling on a white T-shirt when his phone beeped. “Yeah?” he snarled.

“Make sure you get Ashaya out without anyone spotting her.” Clay’s voice. “Teijan says people have been sniffing around.”

“Gee, that’s a news flash. We know the Council is hunting her.”

“Not Psy. Humans.”

That gave him pause. “Shit. The Omega virus. Some lame-brain wants to use it as a bioweapon.”

Clay grunted in agreement. “One way to take out the Psy.”

Dorian thought of a world without Psy. His gut twisted at the wrongness of the idea. “Genocide isn’t pretty, no matter the target.”

“I’m not going to argue with you. Tally’s three percent Psy—Damn it, she hit me.”

Clay’s joking comment caused something to click in Dorian’s brain. “Don’t these idiots realize the virus would jump the race barrier so fast it’d give us whiplash? Before Silence, Psy were having children with the rest of us—hell, half the planet probably has some Psy blood. Like you said, Tally’s—”

“Did I say you could call her Tally, Boy Genius?”

“And didn’t I tell you to stop using that nickname or I’d throw Talin in the nearest body of ice-cold water?” Dorian shot back, but some of his tension receded. He frowned. “Talin’s Psy blood is negligible, but if Sascha and Lucas have a kid, or Faith and Vaughn . . .”

“Council had to know,” Clay said. “Omega would keep their people in line. And as a bonus, it’d wipe out the humans and pesky little changelings.” A pause. “Tally says they’d probably keep some humans around to clean, sweep, and bow to their greatness in the streets.”

Dorian smiled. Tally had that effect on him. If he’d expected anything, he’d expected to fall for a woman like her. Hot-tempered, crazy possessive, and loyal as hell. Instead, he found himself drawn to a woman he—He blew out a breath, trying to get a handle on his reignited temper. “Council might know, but I bet you the people trying to get their hands on the data haven’t thought this through. You can’t contain a virus to one race, no matter how you engineer it.”

“Yeah, well, the world is full of idiots. Just keep Aleine safe.” Another pause. “Tally says be nice to her—she’s the reason Jon and Noor are alive. If you hurt her, I’ve been ordered to kick your pretty ass.”

“Tell Tally thanks for the compliment.” He hung up to the sound of Clay’s growl. The instant he stopped concentrating on something else, Ashaya’s scent rushed back into him in a wave of intoxication. Wild honey and the lush, hot bite of woman. His body grew heavy. Hungry.

I’ve protected a sociopath for most of my life . . .

And still he wanted her.

He didn’t know who he was more disgusted with—her or himself.



They were in the car, heading out of the city, when Ashaya finally asked Dorian where they were going.

“Someone’s coming to see you.”

She thought that over. The list of people who might know to contact DarkRiver to reach her was very, very short. “Where’s this meeting going to take place?”

“A location that won’t compromise the pack.”

That told her less than nothing. But she was patient. Her ability required hours upon hours of pure thought. Falling back on that ability, she brought out the slide she’d put into the small knapsack at her feet and began to focus her psychic eye. It was the part of her mind that saw not a spot of blood but the clear shapes of cells, of chromosomes, of genes.

Of the three races, it was the changelings who’d proved the most difficult to fully fingerprint. Whatever it was that allowed them to shift, it had refused to give up its genetic secrets. Ashaya knew the likelihood of her finding an anomaly, where others had failed, was very low. But for that very reason, the task was intellectually stimulating, a puzzle she was confident would take her mind off the changeling sitting only a foot from her.

She was wrong.

It was as if there was a wash of psychic heat coming off Dorian. When she paused to push up the sleeves of her white shirt, it was to find the tiny hairs on her arms standing up. “Can you tone down your energy?”

“I’m not Psy.”

She pushed her sleeves back down, covering up the evidence of her unruly physical response to his proximity. “You’re not a restful individual to be around.”

“And if that’s a surprise, you really know shit-all about changeling males.” He snorted, wondering what kind of men she was used to. Then he remembered. “Larsen.” The other scientist had taken, experimented on, and killed children. “You’re used to reptiles.”