VISIONS OF HEAT

“Faith, your monitoring levels have dropped off considerably recently.”


Meaning she was no longer spied on every minute of every day. “I’ve cleared it with my father.” A stopgap measure at best. Anthony would soon realize that she wasn’t reaching for induction into the Council ranks—then what excuse would she use to escape the stranglehold of surveillance?

Having made it to her bedroom, she peeled off the dress at the same time as ingesting a nutrition bar, then had a quick shower before pulling on cotton pajama bottoms and a singlet top. Ready, she took a classic cross-legged yoga position on the bed and began to calm the rivers of her mind in preparation for entry into the Net.

It wasn’t necessary to be in such a state—Psy entered and left the Net at will. The difference was that Faith wasn’t used to opening herself up to the massive information archive. Even in her last foray, she’d remained out of the most data-rich, and therefore most chaotic, areas. But she was through with being a perfect conditioned machine; she would not let programmed stress responses imprison her.

So, what other physiological factors did you experience?

Vaughn’s amused voice drifted into her mind and threatened to negate the fruits of her meditation. She told herself to forget the scent of his skin, the heavy heat of his jaguar form as he’d brushed past her legs, the sensation of his lips.

“Focus,” she muttered, and began to recite the list of companies on the waiting list for a prediction. It took her twenty minutes to complete and her mind was pure calm by the end.

Opening her mind’s eye, she stepped out into the biggest and most constantly updated data archive in the world, ready to search for information on the F-Psy, on herself. But today the Net granted her nothing, despite her concentration. Her F designation abilities did pick up something below the surface, but whether it was an echo or a forecast, she had no way of knowing.

Hours later, she finally gave up the fruitless quest and, eschewing another nutrition bar or a cup of soup, curled up under the thin blanket on her bed. Usually when she was so mentally tired, there were no visions, or if there were, she remained unconscious of them. But the darkness hadn’t been satisfied the last time it had invaded.

Now, it was going to make her pay.





Vaughn completed his watch on the extended boundary and met up with his replacement, Dorian. The latent male was in human form, as he had no ability to go leopard. That made him no less capable or lethal. He’d never have reached the rank of sentinel otherwise.

Like all of them, Dorian also had an immutable core of loyalty. No sentinel could ever be tempted into betrayal. But being tempted into something else was another matter altogether.

“You know the grid?”

Nodding, Dorian slung a rifle across his back. It was his single visible weapon. “Any problems?”

“Some wolf juveniles are playing at hunting in the east quadrant.”

“Can I shoot them?”

“We’re friends now.” The two packs were, in fact, blood-bonded. But given that Lucas and Hawke, the SnowDancer alpha, had agreed on the bond only a few months ago, it was taking both packs time to adapt. “No using them for target practice.”

Dorian’s smile was feral. “I promise I’ll only shoot to wound.”

“I’m sure Lucas and Hawke would appreciate that.” Giving the younger sentinel a quick rundown on the other movements in the grid, he changed back to jaguar form and took off.

He should’ve been going to his own lair to catch up on some sleep—his body had kept him up most of last night. When he had slept, it was to find himself waking from heavy dreams of sensation, more than ready to roll over and sink himself into a very specific female body.

If he’d believed that the hunger could be sated with another, he would’ve had no trouble finding a willing lover. He might be jaguar to their leopard, but the females in DarkRiver had always considered him a more than satisfactory sexual partner. And they weren’t the kind of women who hesitated to let a man know if he wasn’t up to scratch.

However, he ran not in the direction of one of those welcoming felines, but toward a Psy who might overload into a seizure at the fury within him. That was unacceptable to either half of his self. He’d marked her and he would have her, even if he had to coax her kiss by slow kiss. Cats were good at coaxing. It was only a more sensual aspect of their favorite game—stalking.

The jaguar covered the distance between his watch and her home with the efficient confidence that came from being the most dangerous thing in the forest. But tonight he had no interest in the small creatures that darted into the shadows at the sound of his approach.

Because tonight, he was hunting pleasure.