She made a quick rising movement. He was faster. He trapped her with his body around hers, his leg at her back and his arms around her torso. "Where are you going?"
"You're letting emotion control you. Perhaps we should continue this when you're calmer."
The words sounded right, sounded like something a Psy would say, but he could hear an almost subvocal tremor, something no one but a changeling could've detected - a changeling who'd been marked as a Hunter since birth. Remorse thrust back the clawing anger of the beast.
"I'm sorry, kitten. That was uncalled for." He ran the hand on her back into her curls and to the nape of her neck. "I'm taking my anger out on you."
"It's understandable." She pushed at the arm holding her to him but not with enough force to make him think of it as a serious protest. "I represent the race you hold responsible for the death of your packmate and Dorian's hurt."
He ran his thumb against the warm skin of her nape, anchoring himself in the softness of her. The beast understood why she was able to do that for him but the man wasn't ready to face that truth. "The Psy are responsible."
"Perhaps the killer is Psy, but you have no proof of the Council being involved." Her hands clenched on his forearm.
The panther growled but the man knew enough not to point out the slip and risk shocking her back inside her mask. "They're the only body with the power to conceal something this bad. They have to know."
"No," she argued, staring at him with those beautiful, haunting eyes. "What possible reason could they have to hide a killer?"
"What's the basis of the Council's control of your people? What do they constantly point out to us changelings and humans?" He kept his tone consciously gentle, having no desire to hurt her again. But she had to face facts. And then she had to decide which side she was on.
"Non-violence," she said at once. "The Psy have no violent crime compared to the other races."
"Supposedly." He shifted until she was almost cradled in the vee of his legs. "If people find out that that's a lie, your whole structure crumbles and the Council falls."
"My mother is Council." It was a whispered plea.
He'd almost forgotten. "I'm sorry, Sascha. She has to know."
She shook her head, silky curls tumbling everywhere. "No. She's powerful and ruthless, yes, but she's not evil."
Chapter 11
Evil. An interesting word choice from a Psy. "Nikita likes power. If the Council goes down, so does that power." He raised a hand and rubbed his knuckles along her cheek. "Think about it."
"I need time."
"You don't have long. He usually keeps them for seven days before killing them."
"Seven days of torture."
"Yes."
Silence descended over them. Even the forest outside had stopped whispering. It felt as if the whole world was holding its breath. He continued to caress her nape, her cheek, her chin. Her skin was as tempting as warm silk.
"You don't have skin privileges," she said, after what seemed like forever.
"What if I said I wanted them?" He didn't stop touching her, didn't stop gentling her as he would a changeling woman of whom he'd asked too much too soon. He'd taken a risk in telling her everything but it had had to be done. Sascha was their last chance.
"It's useless to have such privileges with the Psy. We can't return them." There was something defeated about her.
Lucas didn't like seeing her this way, hurt and bruised. Guilt squeezed his heart. It shouldn't have torn him up that he'd done this to her. Everything he did was for Pack. It was part of the price of being alpha. For the first time, he resented paying that price, resented having to hurt this woman.
He shifted an inch closer, deciding to let the panther's sensuality out to play in order to make it up to her. They'd discussed darkness and death, horror and evil. But that wasn't all he was, all she was. If he wanted to pull her out of the Psy armor she wore like a second skin, he'd have to tempt her with the beautiful side of emotion, rather than burying her in ugliness. "Was Dorian right?"
She finally turned her head to face him. "About what?"
"He said that sleeping with one of the Psy was like sleeping with a hunk of concrete."
"I wouldn't know." Her shoulders squared.
"Never slept with one of your brethren?"
"Why would I? Procreation, if desired, can be done far more efficiently using scientific methods." She sounded so prim it was a provocation.
"What about fun?"
"I'm Psy, remember? We don't have fun." A small pause. "In any case, I don't see the point of sex. It appears messy and completely impractical."
"Don't knock it till you've tried it, darling." He wanted to grin. Her stiff posture and oh-so-practical words were textbook Psy... as if she'd studied them.
"That's an unlikely possibility," she said, and sounded almost as if she believed. "I think it's time I left - it's after five." She glanced at her timepiece.
"A kiss," he whispered in her ear.
"What?" Her body stilled.
"I'm giving you a chance to try out some of that messy, purposeless interaction you don't understand." Taking her earlobe between his teeth, he bit down gently. The slight jerk of her body was unmistakable. Letting go, he cupped her cheek with one hand and turned her face toward his. "How about it?"
"I don't see why - "
"Think of it as an experiment." He ran his thumb over the softness of her lower lip, wanting to taste her more than he wanted to breathe. The urge to tease had turned into a craving to take. "You Psy like your experiments, don't you?"