MINE TO POSSESS

“I have some friends in this city who’ll step in if necessary,” Max answered, “but yeah. The M.E.s usually get excited about unusual murders, and with the organ removals, these would qualify, but all I got this time were by-the-numbers reports. There’s pressure coming from somewhere, but hell if I know where. Especially if Shine is clean.” He tapped the side of his beer bottle.

“And,” he continued, “whatever marked these children’s brains as different, well, we don’t have it to work with. I’ve been able to get hold of some medical scans taken prior to death—usually as part of a Shine eval. Maybe you’ll spot something the M.E.s didn’t. Won’t be hard. I’m not sure they even looked.” A cynical smile. “Enforcement, the great protectors.”

“I don’t have medical training.” Frustrated, she clenched her hand against Clay’s T-shirt again, gripping the soft material in her fist.

“I know someone.” Clay fingers stilled before he cupped his hand boldly over her hip and squeezed. Stomach tight with awareness, she released his T-shirt but remained tucked against him, needing him more than she feared whatever it was that was growing between them. “You have any issue with me sharing the files?”

“I asked for your help. I have to trust you.” Max’s face took on a thoughtful cast. “You know the one thing I’ve always admired about the Psy?”

Startled by the sudden change in the direction of the conversation, Talin asked, “What?”

“They might be a race of ice-cold bastards, but they don’t abuse their kids. I’ve never heard of any sexual or physical abuse within a Psy household. Leave it to us animal races to sink that low.”

“Don’t be impressed.” Clay’s voice vibrated with withheld fury. “They begin their abuse at birth. Psy aren’t born emotionless, they’re conditioned into it. Their children have no choice but to obey—refusal gets you rehabilitated.”

Max frowned. “Rehab?”

“The process wipes memory, destroys mental capacity, basically turns them into walking vegetables.”

“Christ.” Max shook his head. “But even with that, I’m not convinced they didn’t make the better choice. Their children aren’t the ones being beaten to death.”


Talin was still wrestling with what Max had told them when they reached Clay’s lair late that night. He pushed something on the Tank’s dash. “I’ve unarmed the lair’s defenses. Get your butt inside before you start snoring right here.”

“I’m not the one who snores,” she muttered, walking away from the vehicle and into the lair.

Darkness, complete darkness.

“Lights.” Her breath began to come in panicked bursts. “Full power.”

Nothing.

Strangling fear threatened to close around her throat as she scrabbled at the wall, trying to find the computronics panel. She was sure she’d seen it earlier today. God, she had to find it. The dark, it was closing around her. Suffoca—

“Talin, breathe.”

She spun around, gasped at the sight of him. His eyes were night-glow, an eerie green-silver that was completely cat. “You can see in the dark!”

“Of course I can.” He said it like it was the most normal thing in the world. “Panel’s five inches to your left. Middle pad.”

She tried to pretend calm as she found it, then pressed the central pad. Light poured out from a ceiling fixture. “You don’t have voice activation.”

He grunted. “Does this look like a palace?” A pause. “I’ll get one of the techs to put it in tomorrow.”

“No, you don’t have—”

“I said I’ll get it done.” His tone told her he was just itching for a fight.

She decided for grace instead. “Thank you.”

A dark scowl as he began to unbutton his shirt.

Her barely steady heartbeat took another jagged leap. “What are you doing?”

“Not attacking you.” He turned to throw the shirt on one of the large cushions that acted as his sofas. “I’m going for a run. I prefer that my clothes not disintegrate when I shift.”

“Oh.” She couldn’t take her eyes off the shifting muscles of his back. Clay had always been strong, but now … now he could break her like a twig. And yet even as she thought that, she couldn’t get past his beauty. Her fingertips tingled, her thighs clenched. She wanted to reach out and trace that tattoo high on his left shoulder, wanted to taste—

“Scat.” His hands went to the snap of his jeans.

She jumped, heart racing for a completely new reason. “We need to talk.”

“You need to sleep.” He stalked toward her, revealing a chest thick with muscle. Dark curls of hair stroked over that luscious, glowing skin, arrowing down in a viscerally male fashion. “Get upstairs.” His jaw was tight, his eyes anger bright.

Her jaw dropped. “You’re still mad at me. God, you’re stubborn!”

“I’m a hell of a lot more than mad.” Turning, he kicked off his shoes and began to undo his jeans. “I’m through talking. Leave unless you want a peep show.”

She could feel her cheeks flaming. “I don’t like you very much right this second.”