Hostage to Pleasure

“One night,” Ashaya continued tonelessly, “I went to sleep in my bed and woke up in a room at the Center. I was told that my fallopian tubes had been tied.” Her expression didn’t change but he saw her hands clench on the holoframe she’d been attempting to slide quietly out of sight before he’d put her on the spot.

The gesture set all his sense to humming. It was the first true indication she’d given that maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t the perfect Psy everyone believed her to be-Psy fully enmeshed in Silence never made any physical movements without purpose. Either it was an act to put him off guard, or M-Psy Ashaya Aleine had more secrets than anyone knew. There was nothing Dorian’s cat loved better than a mystery.

He turned his mind to what she’d said. “I don’t get it. It’s reversible, right?”

“The technique they chose, yes.”

“Then?”

“The point wasn’t to make me infertile,” Ashaya said with frightening calm. “The point was to teach me that they had control over every aspect of my life, including my body itself. I was told that if I dared reverse the procedure and get pregnant, they’d make sure my child was aborted.”

Fury boiled in his gut. He stared at her, somehow knowing that that wasn’t the worst of it. “And if you continued to defy them, they’d do worse?” The torture of it, of never knowing when you’d be violated, it gave him one hell of an insight into this woman’s internal strength.

“They said they would remove my uterus and cause enough scar tissue that even a cloned organ wouldn’t heal me.”

“Okay,” he said, clamping down on the need to touch her, to give comfort in the affectionate changeling way, “that leaves Keenan as your only child. But there’s no emotional connection, so why would the threat to him hold you?”

“Psy are quite fanatical about bloodlines. Did you know?”

He shook his head, intrigued by the changes in her scent as she spoke. Snaps of cold, flares of heat. As if she was fighting a silent battle to maintain her conditioning-and yet nothing showed on her face. She was a very good actress, something he’d do well to remember, he thought, even as he said, “Enlighten me.”

She seemed to take his words at face value. “We’re a race that leaves behind no art, no music, no literature. Our immortality lies in the genetic inheritance we pass on to our offspring. Without that, we’re nothing once we cease to exist. Our psychologists believe it’s a primitive need for continuity, as well, of course, for the perpetuation of the species, that makes us reproduce, though children suck up time and effort that could be better spent elsewhere.”

Smart words, cold words, but her tone was just a fraction off. “So that was all they had on you-if you didn’t cooperate, there goes your genetic legacy?” Perhaps the Council had believed her motivation, but Dorian had seen her bleeding and wounded… and the only thing she’d cared about was whether Keenan was safe.

“No, there goes my immortality.” She refused to break their locked gazes and the leopard approved. “You have no hope of understanding,” she added. “You’re changeling.”

He scowled. “We love children.”

“Children are commodities,” she corrected. “Keenan, by virtue of being the single child it appeared I would ever produce, gained a higher market value. He was worth enough to me that I agreed to the Council’s demands.” She could’ve been talking about stocks and bonds. “Now that I’m out of their reach, I’m free to bear other children. Keenan is no longer important.”

“Callous,” he said, but he was watching that betraying hand. Those clever scientist’s fingers were wrapped around the edge of the holoframe so tightly that bone pushed white against the thin membrane of her smooth, coffee and cream skin. “Except for one thing-why did you go to so much trouble to get Keenan out if you don’t care if he lives or dies?”

A minuscule pause. “Because I knew changelings would be more inclined to help me if I showed some kind of an attachment toward a child.” She looked down and began to shift things in the pack, finally releasing the holoframe. “I knew I’d need changeling assistance in certain matters, and your race’s attitude toward the young is well-known.”

What a load of crock. Dorian smiled behind her back, and it was a smile that held a bite. He’d caught the first hint of the true scent of his prey. Now it was a case of hunting her down until he could work off the fire in his blood, the darkly sexual craving in his gut. Because if sex was the only way to fight this, he’d swallow his damn principles and take her. Once he’d indulged the need, it would most likely abate.

She blinked those big brown-wrong color, the cat growled-eyes. “May I attempt the password now?”

“By all means.” He echoed her arch tone, but his mind was busy going over everything she’d said and done since that night two months ago. An intricate game of subterfuge? Or something more intriguing? “Here.”