“Then how do you know?”
“Know what?!” Her voice rose. Again, it wasn’t particularly Psy. “Drive, Dorian.”
He thought he heard a plea in those words, told himself he was imagining it. This woman would never unbend enough to beg anyone for anything. “Not until you tell me why we’re going where we are.”
“I don’t know where we’re going,” she said, eyes wild. “I’m just following his voice.”
His cat stilled. “Whose?”
“Keenan’s.” Her own voice was a fierce whisper as she touched her fingertips to the windshield. “My son is screaming for me. If you won’t drive me, I’ll walk.” Her hand went to the door.
He hit the child lock. “You aren’t going anywhere in this condition.” She wasn’t acting like herself. The ice had well and truly cracked, but it hadn’t cracked right. She was unbalanced, not thinking straight, not functioning on all levels.
She slammed a fist against the door without warning. “I have to get to him.”
He scented blood and he realized she’d broken skin with that single hit. Swearing, he reached over and grabbed her hands. “I’ll take you.”
She stared, as if she didn’t believe him. “Then drive.” Another order.
Releasing her hands, he did as directed. He didn’t need her to tell him where to go anymore but she did so anyway, as if she couldn’t control herself. The second they pulled up in front of the ranch-style house, she began to try to open her door. He hit the unlock button and she was out a second later. Even with his changeling speed, she was on the porch by the time he caught up.
He wrapped an arm around her waist. “Wait.”
She twisted. “I need to—”
“You go into a leopard home without invitation, be prepared to get your face torn off.” He forced her to look at him. “There might be cubs in there—their mother will rip you to shreds first and ask questions later.”
Something of his words seemed to get through. “I… see.” A battle for rational thought that made her cheekbones cut sharply against her skin. “I need to get inside.”
Continuing to hold her, he pushed open the door, knowing it wouldn’t be locked. Tamsyn wasn’t stupid, but she also knew this home was guarded around the clock by changeling soldiers. They hadn’t challenged Ashaya, but only because he was with her.
The instant they stepped foot inside the house, she elbowed him in the ribs, brought a booted foot down on his own, and took off up the steps. Too late, he remembered that Ashaya Aleine was very good at faking calm.
“Son of a—” Growl building inside his chest, he went after her.
He caught her in his arms in front of an open upstairs bedroom. He could scent Pack, but he could also scent Keenan Aleine. When he glanced inside, it was to meet Tamsyn’s surprised expression as she looked up from her kneeling position beside the boy’s bed. The child was lying on his side in the fetal position, apparently asleep. Tammy’s cubs were nowhere to be seen so they were probably still at their grandparents’ but Kit, one of the older juveniles, knelt on the other side of the bed, a frown on his face.
“Dorian?” Tammy said, her eyes flicking to Ashaya.
The sound seemed to snap her out of her shock. “Let me go!” Another elbow jab but he was already releasing her. Because there was something seriously wrong with Keenan. Dorian could feel it in his chest, a dark knot of dread, a psychic cry for help his changeling brain hadn’t been able to translate into words.
But Ashaya had known.
Now, she ignored everyone to crawl into the bed and take Keenan in her arms. As Dorian watched, stunned by her transformation from logical scientist to this… this leopardess with her cub, she gathered the boy into her lap and spoke. “Keenan, stop it.” Her voice was an unsheathed blade, ruthless and cutting.
Tammy sucked in a breath, disapproval apparent in every line of her face. “He’s a child. Tone it down.”
Ashaya didn’t seem to hear her. “Snap out of it right this second. Do it!” Another order, this one frosted over with Psy ice.
When it looked like Tammy was going to physically intervene, Dorian stepped between her and the pair on the bed. “No,” he said, not sure why he was supporting Ashaya, not sure what the hell was happening. All he knew was that Keenan was in deep trouble. “Kit,” he said, when the juvenile moved, “don’t touch her.” Kit froze, caught between a sentinel and a healer, in a situation where rank was unclear.
Aggression rose, filling the air with the promise of violence.
CHAPTER 22
Tammy glared at Dorian. “She’s whipping the boy with that voice.”
“What’s wrong with him?” Dorian asked, his eyes on Ashaya as she rocked back and forth, her son held fiercely tight. “I thought Sascha was staying here.”
“I don’t know.” Tammy shoved a hand through her hair. “Sascha was here—she just popped out to deal with another situation. I was about to call her back.”
“I came by for breakfast a few minutes ago,” Kit picked up. “And Tammy sent me up to wake this little guy. I found him like this—he’s alive, but it’s like he’s in a coma.”
“Keenan,” Ashaya said again, in that same strict voice, “if you don’t stop this, you’ll die.”
The words were grenades thrown into the hush of the room.
“What’s she talking about?” Kit whispered.
Dorian had no answers for him, but he recognized the apparent heartlessness in Ashaya’s voice for what it was—sheer, maternal terror. Whatever this was, it was deadly serious. He found himself moving to put his hand on the boy’s soft hair. “Keenan, wake up.” A command given in the tone he usually reserved for misbehaving juveniles.
Ashaya’s head jerked up. Those eerie midnight eyes held a fear so deep, he wondered how he could’ve possibly not seen it at the very start. She looked back down an instant later. “Keenan,” she said once more, but this time it was a whisper… a welcome.
The boy’s lids lifted. “You came.” It was that old-man tone in a child’s voice.
He saw Ashaya’s arms clench. “I told you to never do that.
“I wanted you to come,” Keenan said in response, staring up at his mother, but making no move to touch her.
Ashaya said nothing, but the way she looked at that boy’s face… it wasn’t anything Dorian could’ve imagined. “Go,” he said to Kit. This was a private moment, a moment he had to protect for Ashaya because she was too shattered to do it herself.
The boy left without a word. Tamsyn shot him a worried glance, but followed Kit out. Closing the door behind them, Dorian walked to stand at the side of the bed.
The boy’s eyes flicked to him, then away.
Dorian didn’t know much about Psy children, but he’d seen that same expression on too many changeling kids to count. Relief sang through his veins—Keenan truly was okay. “He broke the rules, didn’t he?” He folded his arms, trying to maintain a stern expression when all he wanted to do was pick the damn cub up and make sure he hadn’t harmed himself doing whatever it was he’d done.
Ashaya looked up. “Yes. What he did, it’s highly dangerous.” Her tone was beginning to lose that edge of panic, but she continued to crush Keenan to her. “He promised me he’d never do it again.”
Dorian met Keenan’s eyes. “You make a promise, you don’t break it.”
Keenan was only four and a half. He swallowed under the force of Dorian’s quiet disapproval. “I wanted her to come.”
Dorian felt for the kid. But Keenan had put himself into lethal danger. “No excuses,” Dorian said, enunciating a rule taught to all cubs in DarkRiver. “If you can’t keep a promise, you don’t make it.”
Keenan struggled to sit up in his mother’s arms. After a pause when Ashaya seemed unable to let him go, she allowed him to perch in her lap. But the boy’s attention was on Dorian. “I’m sorry.”
