MINE TO POSSESS

“Tell me about it.” So proud, so unwilling to accept the helping hand she offered. “I get all sorts. Runaways, nice but poor kids, gang members who want out.”


“What’s your success rate?”

“About seventy percent.” The other thirty, the lost ones, they broke her heart, but she kept going. She couldn’t afford not to or the ones she could help would suffer.

“You said Mickey was yours.”

She gave a jerky nod. “So was Diana. She was found this week, around the same time as Iain. He belonged to one of my colleagues in San Francisco. Thirteen and already able to speak seven languages—can you imagine what he might’ve become?”

“Three Shine kids? Interesting coincidence.”

“Not really. The killers and the foundation work in the same pool—marginalized and vulnerable children.”

He nodded. “True.”

“And the other seven Max told me about were scattered across the country. None were Shine scholars.”

“So there’s no specific connection to San Francisco. Why come here?”

“To set up Jonquil. He’s fourteen, ex-gang. This was a new start.” Her voice broke.

Getting up, Clay walked around the table and tugged her to her feet. The simple contact destroyed her center of gravity even as it gave her courage. “Clay.”

“What happened to force you to come to me?”

The turbulence of his renewed anger was a wall between them. “I finally confirmed you really were here two weeks ago but—” No, she thought. Enough. Clay deserved absolute honesty, even if that meant she had to rip open every painful scar. “Jon disappeared.” And all she’d been able to think was that she needed Clay, the same thought she’d had a thousand times before. Except this time, he had been within reach.

He curved his hand around the side of her neck. “Why are you sure the killers have him? One of your feelings, Tally?”

A knot in her throat at the way he understood her without words. Nobody else ever had. “Yeah.” Instead of fighting the blatant possessiveness of his touch, she found herself leaning into it, soaking up the heated strength of him. “We had a fight before he ran away. I lost my temper, Clay.” She’d just had another small sign of her medical degeneration, had been so scared she’d run out of time to help that bright, hurt boy. “I took out my frustration on him.”

“Teenagers are good at getting on your last nerve.” Pragmatic. Oddly comforting. “So he was pissed at you?”

“Yes, but my gut says he would’ve contacted me by now if he had been able to—even if was to flip me off. He was no angel, but he was mine.” The things that boy had survived, the things he had done and still come out sane, it humbled her.

Clay’s hand tightened on her neck, warm, solid … suddenly dangerous. “When did this boy disappear?”

She didn’t move, though her mind wanted to panic at her vulnerability to this predator. “Four to seven days ago,” she said, trying to focus. “I traced him after the foster family reported him missing and had fairly reliable sightings for the next three days, then nothing. It’s like he vanished into thin air.”

Clay’s head lifted without warning. “We’ve got visitors.”

An odd kind of fear clamped over her chest and she could feel her heartbeat accelerate. “Your pack?” People who mattered to him, but wouldn’t necessarily like her. Probably wouldn’t.

“Yes.” Clay released her. “Wait here. And, Tally, try not to hyperventilate.” He was gone through the trapdoor in the blink of an eye, moving with inhuman speed—because, of course, he wasn’t human. He was changeling. He’d heard her racing heartbeat, smelled the sweat beading along her spine. Sometimes, she thought, being human sucked.

Unable to sit still, she cleared the table and was about to wipe it down when Clay called for her. Taking a deep breath and feeling very vulnerable, she went down, not looking up until she was standing beside Clay. As it was, she didn’t know which of the two strangers shocked her more.





CHAPTER 11


Even at rest, leaning against the wall, the male—tall, dark, startlingly handsome—exuded a sense of lethal danger. Once you added in the savage clawlike markings on the right side of his face, well, it made her want to take a wary step back and hide behind Clay. Except she had a feeling that her long-ago playmate posed far more of a threat to her than this watchful stranger with eyes a paler shade of green than Clay’s.

Still shaky, she turned her attention to the woman who stood in the loose circle formed by the male’s arms. Black hair in a braid, skin a deep honey, and eyes of midnight with pinpricks of white. “You’re Psy.” Not just any Psy. A cardinal. Those eyes …

“I’m Sascha.” Her expression was guarded. She turned slightly. “My mate, Lucas.”