Caressed by Ice

CHAPTER 6

It wasn’t until the morning of the fifth day after the murder that Judd saw Brenna again. He was on his way to speak to Hawke when she walked into him from the opposite direction, destroying his decision to keep her at a distance—Brenna might look soft and harmless, but she had a way of turning his behavior treacherously unpredictable. Like now.

Catching her by her upper arms was reflex. Continuing to hold on afterward was a small but significant deviation from the Protocol. And he didn’t care. “Where are—” He cut himself off when she lifted her face.

Her skin was drawn, her eyes almost sunken.

“Talk to me.” An order.

Where she would’ve normally sharpened her claws on him for daring to give her one, today she shot a nervous glance over her shoulder before putting her fisted hands on his chest. “I was looking for you,” she whispered, while he was still trying to assimilate the impact of her touch. “Drew and Riley haven’t let me leave the apartment since after I returned from talking to you—someone saw us together. I only got out now by sheer luck.”

Judd felt ice spread through his veins but it was a cold that burned. “I’ll talk to them.” No one was going to lock Brenna in again.

“Just take me outside, far enough away that they can’t track my scent.” A ragged plea. “Please get me out before I lose my mind.”

“Follow me.” Releasing his hold on her, he turned to lead her out. A feminine hand curved around his upper left arm, over the leather-synth of his jacket.

It if had been any other woman, he would’ve broken the contact and made very sure it wouldn’t be repeated. But this wasn’t another woman. “How far?” He asked because she’d become almost agoraphobic since the abduction—though she did sometimes venture a small distance beyond the den, she’d stopped attending college and never went for runs with her packmates.

“Far.” Her voice was resolute but her hand a vise around his arm.

He took her through several back tunnels to an exit that he knew was kept less well guarded than others because it opened directly into a garden in the White Zone. That zone was the closest section of the inner perimeter and was considered safe enough for pups to play in unattended. “Wait here while I check the area.”

It took a few seconds for her to let go. “Sorry I’m—”

“If I had wanted an apology, I would have asked for it.”

Her mouth snapped shut. “Where did you learn your charm—the gulag?”

“Something like that.” He stepped out to find the garden empty. The pups had probably been herded inside when the sky grew heavy with the promise of more snow. Completing the visual scan, he did a telepathic one to confirm his findings. “It’s clear.”

Brenna emerged from the door with a confident expression, but the second she hit open air, her breathing went from smooth to rocky. He could sense her fear as if it were a physical wave smashing repeatedly into his body. Reaching back, he took her hand. Changelings craved touch. It centered them as much as it did the opposite to those of his race.

“Stay with me.” Refusing to think about why he’d done something so alien to his nature, he pulled her through the garden and toward a narrow pathway. “Farther?”

“Yes.” Her husky voice took on a hard edge. “I’m sick of being afraid. He’s not going to win.”

“You’re too strong for that to ever be a possibility.” After learning of what Enrique had done to her, Judd had expected Brenna’s to be a shattered mind twisted through with madness. But not only had she survived, she was sane.

Her hand tightened on his. “Judd—”

Something brushed the edge of the telepathic scan he’d continued to run. “Quiet.” He was conscious of Brenna’s eyes on him as she stood close enough that her body heat reached him even through the enhanced insulation of his jacket. Consigning that knowledge to a dark corner of his mind, he refocused the scan. There were two soldiers walking in this direction, likely returning from a watch on the outer perimeter.

They wouldn’t stop him, but he didn’t intend to have his whereabouts tracked. That was why he’d worked out several discreet ways to ensure his frequent trips in and out of SnowDancer territory were never logged. However, if they saw Brenna, they would certainly try to hold her until they received instructions from either Andrew or Riley.

“Can you smudge their minds?” Brenna asked in a low whisper, pressing even closer to his body. “Make them look the other way?”

“Changeling minds are harder for us to influence than human.” Strong Psy could kill changelings with a blast of sheer power but manipulating them was a different proposition. “There may be another option.”

Sending out his senses again, he found six unshielded minds. Taking control was easy—young black bears didn’t have much of a defense, especially this deep into hibernation. “Can you stay here by yourself for a few minutes?”

Skin pulled taut over her cheekbones as she nodded. “Go.” Releasing his hand with notable reluctance, she backed up and moved behind a tree.

“I won’t be long.” He could see how close she was to panic, but to her credit, she only nodded when he gave the next order. “When you hear the guards begin to move, run southeast. No hesitation.”

He headed toward the two men, making sure he was out of Brenna’s line of sight before he blurred himself. Not even the other men in his highly specialized Arrow unit had possessed this ability. Most blurring, or “smudging” as Brenna had put it, occurred on the mental plane, with the Psy casting telepathic interference across the viewer’s mind.

Judd was different. He could alter his own physical form. The skill was telekinetic rather than telepathic. Because Judd wasn’t simply a strong telepath, nor was Tp his main ability, as was widely believed—as he’d gone to great lengths to make people believe. What would Brenna say if she realized he was an extremely powerful telekinetic—a Tk, the same designation as the killer who had tortured her in that blood-soaked room?

It was a question he’d never have answered, as he had no intention of telling Brenna the truth of what he was. Shifting his cells a fraction more out of sync with the world, he moved out past the two other men—when he blurred, changelings couldn’t see him except as a shadow out of the corner of their eye. More importantly, they couldn’t scent him either, a fact that supported his personal theory of how his ability worked.

A minute later, he sent the bears crashing through the forest on the right-hand side, and downwind, of the soldiers. The creatures made enough noise to distract them into changing direction. Settling his molecules back into sync, Judd deliberately crossed paths with the men—as if he were on his way back to the den.

“Anyone come past you?” Elias stopped, while his partner, Dieter, kept going.

“No.”

Nodding, Elias took off after Dieter. Judd used the opportunity to lay a false trail all the way back to the den. Then, taking the time to hide Brenna’s trail even as he hid his own, he headed southeast. He thrust some Tk through the air as he ran, muddying up and dispersing their scents so they couldn’t be tracked that way either.

Brenna was fast. When he found her, she was well out of the White Zone, and in the central core of the inner perimeter—considered safe for adults but not children. There were sentries in this section, too, but they were stationed some distance away, on the border where the inner perimeter gave way to the outer. Around Judd and Brenna the forest was quiet, sound muffled by the thick blanket of snow. The trees were blue with it this far up in the Sierra, icicles hanging off the branches like transparent blades.

“Careful.” He moved to cover her when she passed under a particularly lethal spike.

“What?” She looked up and behind herself, then shivered, shifting to lean her side against his chest. He froze, unmoving as the trees. His reaction didn’t escape her notice. “I’m sorry, I know you don’t like being touched. But I need it right now.”

He’d come to expect bluntness from her. “You’re not dressed for this weather.” She wasn’t wearing a coat, just jeans and a pink turtleneck, though her feet were encased in solid boots. He should have noted and remedied the lack before they left the den.

“I’m changeling. I don’t feel the cold.” Usually true, except that she was burrowing into his body, her hands raised between them as she turned slightly. One thigh pressed into his. “What about you?”

“I’m fine.” He truly didn’t feel the cold, but in his case, it had to do with his telekinetic abilities. “Take this.” He shrugged off his jacket. It left him clad in a thin round-necked sweater as black as his jeans.

“I told you I d-d-don’t feel the c-c-cold.”

“Your lips are blue.” He put the jacket around her shoulders. At the same instant, he extended his cold-deflecting Tk shield to cover her. The shield was created by reordering the air and dust particles to form a thin but highly impermeable—and invisible—wall.

She shuddered and began to push her arms into the sleeves. “You win. This is so warm.”

Swimming in his jacket, she returned to her position against him. Neither of them spoke or moved for the next ten minutes. Brenna seemed content to simply gaze at the blue and white spread of the forest around them, but he was aware of every breath she took, every beat of her heart, every shift of her soft, warm body inside his jacket. The strength of that final thought sparked a warning in his brain that he chose to ignore.

Suddenly, the blinding light of the sun was reflecting off the snow and into his eyes. He glanced up to discover the clouds had dissipated while they stood in silence.

“Beautiful,” Brenna sighed, hooking one arm into his, “but hard on the eyes. Come on. There’s a lake this way. The area around it is a bit more shaded.” Glinting off her cap of hair, the sun was a sharp knife that made him question what he was doing here. But he didn’t stop walking until she did.

“There, see?” Looking out at the snow-covered surface of the small lake that during warmer months was painted with reflected images of mountains and trees, Brenna suddenly felt freer than she had in months. The fear that had trapped her inside the den was gone, crushed under the aching beauty of the wilderness she called home. All she’d needed was someone to walk with her this far.

Smiling, she looked up at the dark angel by her side. Dressed in black, with that hair and those eyes, there was no other way to describe him. “Thank you.”

His lips were a beautiful shape, full enough to tempt but with a hard edge that made her stomach twist. Then he spoke and it was a brutal reminder that he wasn’t simply a strong, sexy male. He was Psy. “Don’t thank me. I’ve been unable to find any concrete answers for you in relation to the dream-visions. You need to talk to someone more knowledgeable—the dreams could be a sign of mental degradation.”

She withdrew her arm from his and shoved both hands into the pockets of his jacket. The scent of him, powerful and intrinsically masculine, was intoxicating to her changeling senses, but she no longer wanted to be surrounded by it. “You think I’m losing my mind?” It was her secret fear, the monster under the bed, the cold chill down her spine.

“Psy don’t dance around the facts. I meant exactly what I said.”

God, but he sounded arrogant. “That’s a load of bull.” She scowled. “Your Council has double-talk down to a fine art.”

Dark eyes with snow reflected in their depths turned to her. “They are not my Council and I am not their puppet.” Icy enough to flay off her skin.

She winced. “Mental degradation? If that doesn’t mean madness…”

“Enrique may have damaged parts of your organic brain tissue while running his psychic experiments, caused lesions or bruises.” He watched her with the unblinking stare of a predator, as if gauging her strength. “He was a Tk and the use of telekinetic powers almost always has a physical effect. The autopsies of his other victims revealed them to have suffered major brain injuries.”

Pictures. The butcher had shown her pictures of the others. “I remember.”

“However, the likelihood of such damage is minimal. Sascha and Lara made sure to repair all organic tears before they began healing things on any other level.”

Brenna bit her lower lip and took a deep, shaky breath. “Sascha said that that part should’ve taken longer, but that I was so determined to have my mind back, it was as if I willed the broken parts to heal.” Almost as if she were Psy. “Maybe I rushed her.”

“I called her after you spoke to me,” he said, continuing to watch her with that hunter’s gaze. “You did rush her, but not in the physical healing.”

She wanted to smack him for his presumption, despite the fact that she’d asked for his help. “None of that changes the fact that Sascha doesn’t have experience with this kind of thing.” And the empath, who had the ability to sense and heal the darkest of emotional wounds, had already seen her broken and bloody too many times. No matter her kindness, Sascha reminded Brenna of things she’d rather forget.

“No. But Faith does.” Judd folded his arms. “You need to talk to someone.”

“I’m talking to you.” Why, she couldn’t rationally explain. He was cold and merciless, had all the charm of a feral wolf.

“I’ll set up the meeting with Faith.”

She gritted her teeth. “I’ll do it. Vaughn doesn’t like you, in case you hadn’t noticed.” She’d met both Faith and her mate, Vaughn, when the foreseer had come up to the den to accept a gift made for her by the nursery children, children who were alive because of a vision Faith had had. Without her warning, they would’ve lost several pups. “Not that you go out of your way to be friendly.”

“That’s irrelevant.” Turning away, he looked out over the frozen vista. “Emotion is not one of my weaknesses.”

Faith had just ended a short but disturbing conversation with Brenna Kincaid when Anthony Kyriakus, head of the NightStar Group—and her father—walked into the meeting room. Putting the phone in her pocket, she leaned into Vaughn, waiting for Anthony to speak.

“There’s a Ghost in the Net.” He circled to stand on the other side of the table.

It wasn’t what she had wanted to hear, the child in her still hungry for things she knew Anthony might never be able to give her. Hurt was a dull ache in her body. Then Vaughn closed a hand over her nape and the sadness passed—she was loved, cherished, adored. “A ghost?” She sat and the men followed.

“No one knows the identity of this individual, but he or she is being credited with a number of insurgent activities.” Anthony passed her a disc containing the names of companies that had requested a forecast since they last spoke—forecasts she provided under a subcontracting agreement with NightStar.

She put the disc to one side, more interested in this Ghost. “Is he one of us?” If there was one thing Faith and her father both agreed on, it was that they wanted their people freed from a Silence that was false—Anthony might be coldly Psy, but he was also the leader of a quiet revolution against the Council.

“There’s no way to know. However, it is evident that the Ghost is part of the Council’s superstructure—he or she has access to classified data, but hasn’t acted on anything above a certain level. That could be because this individual doesn’t have higher access, or because he—”

“—is being very careful not to do anything that might narrow the focus of inquiry as to his, or her, identity,” Faith completed.

“Good strategy.” The jaguar at her side finally spoke, his thumb continuing to stroke over her nape. “The Council’s got to be pissed if this rebel is leaking classified data.”

“Yes.” Anthony turned back to Faith. “The Ghost was active while you were still part of the Net. Do you recall the explosion at Exogenesis Labs?”

“The place where they’re theorizing about implants that might lower the percentage of defects?” She spit out the last word. It was the label the Council used to describe those who refused to buckle under the emotionless regime of the Silence Protocol. “They want to cut into developing brains and initiate Silence on an organic level.”

Anthony didn’t react to her open emotionalism. “The Exogenesis strike killed two of the lead scientists on the implant team and destroyed months of work.”

“Your Ghost isn’t afraid to kill.”

Faith heard no judgment in Vaughn’s tone—her cat had killed to protect the innocent. And children, the first victims of implantation should the procedure be put into practice, were the most innocent of all.