SLAVE TO SENSATION

The shower shut off. Funnily enough, she was calmer. Throwing the cold water of reality over her fantasies had proven a far more effective counter to her hunger than any Psy trick. When she heard him moving into the sleeping area, she walked back to the kitchen. Another teasing shadow-play might undo everything.

The coffee wasn’t done. “What would you like to eat?” she asked without shouting, cognizant of his superb hearing. “I can start it.”

“Thanks. Why don’t you heat up some of the pizza Rina left last night? It’s in the cooler.”

Her jaw set. Rina? Had she met that leopard? What did it matter if she had? So what if the other female had been in Lucas’s home? Finding the cleverly camouflaged cooler, she grabbed several slices of pizza and put them in a special container before placing it on the heating unit.

The thought of Lucas with another woman coated her with another icy layer of control. So much so that by the time the freshly washed scent of him invaded the air of the kitchen, she was back in the prison of her mind, back behind the walls she’d learned to put up before she could walk. “I’ll wait for you in the living room,” she told him, when she turned to find him facing her.

He let her pass with no trouble. “Thanks.”

Lucas watched Sascha walk away, his eyes narrowed. Something had changed. Her body was stiff and if she hadn’t been Psy, he’d have said she was angry. But her race were known to adopt stiff postures in their efforts to turn themselves into robots. The heating unit flicked off and he reached out to transfer the pizza onto a big plate.

Rina had brought too much. Even with two other soldiers there wolfing it down, they’d ended up with almost a whole pizza left over. The three had come over to talk to him about security for one of the safe houses but Rina had stayed behind to discuss Dorian. She was still young and seeing the sentinel almost lose it had shaken her.

Lucas picked up the plate and only then noticed that the coffee was ready. Sascha. She kept surprising him. Carrying the plate into the living room, he put it on a low table that sat in one corner of the room, before dragging the table to the cushion that Sascha had curled up against.

The cushions had been designed by Tara, a packmate. Meant to accommodate leopard bodies as well as human, there really was no way to sit stiffly in them.

Pleased by the liquid softness of her limbs, he smiled. “Grab a piece. I’ll get the coffee.”

“No coffee for me.”

“Why?”

“I don’t . . . require it.”

“Water?”

“Thank you.”

As he poured the coffee, he thought back over that small hesitation. Had she been about to say that she didn’t like the taste of coffee? Or was he trying to convince himself of things that didn’t exist in order to justify this inappropriate attraction?

He was alpha, used to putting the pack above everything. This hunger for Sascha was a threat to that loyalty, a temptation that might lead to sleeping with the worst sort of enemy. But walking away wasn’t an option—he’d never been a quitter and he was determined to find out what lay beneath that hard Psy shell.

All their lives might depend upon it.

Sascha was sitting in the same position when he returned. Putting her water and his coffee beside the pizza, he took a slice and deliberately collapsed on the same sofa she’d chosen, letting his body lie loosely against the cushion a scant couple of inches from hers. “Give it a try.” He raised the slice to her mouth.

She hesitated and then took a small bite. “What flavor is this?”

He shrugged. “Mexican, I think.” Taking a big bite, he watched her face as she analyzed the textures. Or was she savoring them? He raised it to her mouth again. “Bite.”

Those eerie eyes seem to flash. “I’m not one of your pack to be given orders.”

Temper, temper, he thought, the panther in him intrigued by that hint of fire. “Please.”

After another small pause, she leaned forward and bit. This time she took more . . . and confirmed every one of his beliefs about her. Demolishing the rest of the piece, he picked up another one. She ate a good third.

“Enough?”

“Yes, thank you.” She reached for her water. “Do you want your coffee?”

“Thanks.” The mug was warm in his hands but it was the heat of her that he could feel most strongly. Her body was alive. Her body felt. Her body knew sensation. The crucial question was, was her mind strong enough to overpower her animal instincts?

They sat quietly until Sascha put down her water and turned to him. “Tell me about the murders.”

A chill cooled the heat of his body. Getting rid of his own empty mug, he dropped his head against the cushion back. “We’ve tracked down seven confirmed victims in the past three years. Kylie was number eight. And Brenna, the SnowDancer who was taken, will be the ninth if we don’t find her in time.”

“So many?” It was a whisper.

“Yeah. But my gut says we haven’t tagged all of his past kills—he’s too good at this.”

“Are you sure it’s a man?”

He clenched his fists hard enough to hurt. “Yes.”