Hostage to Pleasure

A growl that sounded very, very real.

“Listen.” She fisted her hand against him. “She was always a little different, but most geniuses are—even in the Net. Things really only began to deteriorate after my claustrophobia developed. My emotional control or lack of it feeds her instability. That’s part of why I became so good at hiding my emotions. Even inside my own mind, I had to believe the lie—anytime I slipped, Amara degenerated.”

Both Dorian’s arms came around her, unbreakable steel bands. “If she’s that smart, she has to know the triggers, too. But she’s let you be the one to carry the weight. Enough, Shaya.” The leopard was still in his voice, rough and protective. “You’re not to blame.”

Shuddering, she buried her face against him. “I have to stop.” The memories were sucking her under, taking her back to that grave. “I’m not strong enough to do this.”

“You stood up to a sniper—most people start running when they see me.” Hard words, but his fingertips were tracing the shell of her ear with utter gentleness.

She’d never expected tenderness from her sniper. It kept startling her. “Probably because tales of your meanness precede you.”

“That’s my girl.” Pride overlaid with a raw kind of possessiveness. “You’ve kept it inside you long enough.” Lips brushing over her hair, a firm hand stroking down her back. “It’s time to let it go.”

She wondered what it would be like to have that extraordinary strength of will always by her side. Dorian would never surrender, no matter what.

“Why did you stay conscious?” he asked. “How?”

“She was in my head the entire time.” The memory of violation caused bile to rise in her throat. “She’d been doing that since childhood. That’s why my shields are pretty much impenetrable under normal circumstances”—when she wasn’t drowning in emotion—“sheer self-defense.”

“And the intrusions weren’t picked up when you were younger?”

It was a good question. “Most telepathic children slip in and out of younger siblings’ minds until around the age of two. With twins that goes both ways. It’s an accepted part of a Psy child’s development—it teaches us shielding, and most kids stop spontaneously when the time comes.”

“They learn it’s not an acceptable thing to do,” Dorian said. “Like cubs learning it’s not okay to bite or claw.”

Ashaya nodded. “Amara never made that cognitive leap—to her, we’re not two people at all.”

“Obviously, you learned to block her, or you wouldn’t have developed a personality.”

“You’re extremely intelligent.” Not many non-Psy would’ve understood the consequences of such long-term telepathic interference.

“No way. I’m here for the beer and the babes.” The tone was pure California surfer. “Now, stop stalling.” And the lethal DarkRiver sentinel was back.

Anyone who fell for that harmless act, she thought, deserved what they got. “You’re right. If a child is psychically directed from an early age, that child becomes nothing more than a shadow, a living echo of the controlling personality. I was lucky because Amara never did anything when we were young. She just liked being with me all the time.”

“You’re the stronger personality,” he said quietly. “You could’ve controlled her.”

“I never wanted to.” Even the idea nauseated her. “Eventually, I got very good at blocking her. But in that grave, I fractured . . . and she slipped in. She spied on my emotions, prodded me when I threatened to lose consciousness, made sure I lived every moment.”

Wakey, wakey, big sister. Tell me some more, show me.

“She knew how afraid I was of being in a small, dark place. She was curious about where that fear came from, since she’d been buried right beside me in the earthquake when we were fourteen and had had no adverse reaction. That was her justification for what she did.” Ashaya felt a cool trail down her cheek, and didn’t know what it was until the salt of it touched her lips.

Tears.

She was crying. She hadn’t shed a single tear since those mindless hours trapped in a pitch-black grave. “But still, I protected her. Because she was—is—broken, and I couldn’t let them destroy her, and because—” Her breathing caught, becoming so ragged, she could barely form words. But she had to finish, had to make Dorian see. “She was the single person in the whole world whom I was certain would never betray me to others, not for money, or status, not even to save her own life.”