Hostage to Pleasure

“Yes.” She pressed herself deeper into the living warmth of him, so strong, so safe. “At that age, we were valued but not invaluable. They would’ve rehabilitated us in a second, wiping our minds until we were little more than walking vegetables. I knew to survive, I had to wait Amara out. And… I knew some of it was my fault.”

A growl that sounded very, very real.

“Listen.” She fisted her hand against him. “She was always a little different, but most geniuses are—even in the Net. Things really only began to deteriorate after my claustrophobia developed. My emotional control or lack of it feeds her instability. That’s part of why I became so good at hiding my emotions. Even inside my own mind, I had to believe the lie—anytime I slipped, Amara degenerated.”

Both Dorian’s arms came around her, unbreakable steel bands. “If she’s that smart, she has to know the triggers, too. But she’s let you be the one to carry the weight. Enough, Shaya.” The leopard was still in his voice, rough and protective. “You’re not to blame.”

Shuddering, she buried her face against him. “I have to stop.” The memories were sucking her under, taking her back to that grave. “I’m not strong enough to do this.”

“You stood up to a sniper—most people start running when they see me.” Hard words, but his fingertips were tracing the shell of her ear with utter gentleness.

She’d never expected tenderness from her sniper. It kept startling her. “Probably because tales of your meanness precede you.”

“That’s my girl.” Pride overlaid with a raw kind of possessiveness. “You’ve kept it inside you long enough.” Lips brushing over her hair, a firm hand stroking down her back. “It’s time to let it go.”

She wondered what it would be like to have that extraordinary strength of will always by her side. Dorian would never surrender, no matter what.

“Why did you stay conscious?” he asked. “How?”

“She was in my head the entire time.” The memory of violation caused bile to rise in her throat. “She’d been doing that since childhood. That’s why my shields are pretty much impenetrable under normal circumstances”— when she wasn’t drowning in emotion—“sheer self-defense.”

“And the intrusions weren’t picked up when you were younger?”

It was a good question. “Most telepathic children slip in and out of younger siblings’ minds until around the age of two. With twins that goes both ways. It’s an accepted part of a Psy child’s development—it teaches us shielding, and most kids stop spontaneously when the time comes.”

“They learn it’s not an acceptable thing to do,” Dorian said. “Like cubs learning it’s not okay to bite or claw.”

Ashaya nodded. “Amara never made that cognitive leap—to her, we’re not two people at all.”

“Obviously, you learned to block her, or you wouldn’t have developed a personality.”

“You’re extremely intelligent.” Not many non-Psy would’ve understood the consequences of such long-term telepathic interference.

“No way. I’m here for the beer and the babes.” The tone was pure California surfer. “Now, stop stalling.” And the lethal DarkRiver sentinel was back.

Anyone who fell for that harmless act, she thought, deserved what they got. “You’re right. If a child is psychically directed from an early age, that child becomes nothing more than a shadow, a living echo of the controlling personality. I was lucky because Amara never did anything when we were young. She just liked being with me all the time.”

“You’re the stronger personality,” he said quietly. “You could’ve controlled her.”

“I never wanted to.” Even the idea nauseated her. “Eventually, I got very good at blocking her. But in that grave, I fractured… and she slipped in. She spied on my emotions, prodded me when I threatened to lose consciousness, made sure I lived every moment.”

Wakey, wakey, big sister. Tell me some more, show me.

“She knew how afraid I was of being in a small, dark place. She was curious about where that fear came from, since she’d been buried right beside me in the earthquake when we were fourteen and had had no adverse reaction. That was her justification for what she did.” Ashaya felt a cool trail down her cheek, and didn’t know what it was until the salt of it touched her lips.

Tears.

She was crying. She hadn’t shed a single tear since those mindless hours trapped in a pitch-black grave. “But still, I protected her. Because she was—is—broken, and I couldn’t let them destroy her, and because—” Her breathing caught, becoming so ragged, she could barely form words. But she had to finish, had to make Dorian see. “She was the single person in the whole world whom I was certain would never betray me to others, not for money, or status, not even to save her own life.”

Dorian understood the ties of family, of Pack, and today, he began to understand what drove Ashaya to protect Amara. “She didn’t care that you weren’t the perfect Psy.”

“Back then, she was the more outwardly Silent of the two of us. She would’ve been believed, but she never threatened to tell on me. Never. Not once.” Ashaya’s voice hitched as she tried to speak through her tears. “Whatever happened, whatever she did or I did, it was only ever between the two of us. I’ve never betrayed her and she won’t ever betray me.” A sob that made her entire body tremble. “But I’m tired, Dorian. I’m so tired. I don’t want to be stuck in this twisted bond forever, but I can’t see a way out.”

Dorian could, but the catch was, not everyone would come out of it alive. Leopard and man both agreed— Ashaya and Keenan were his to protect. Amara Aleine was a threat. A simple equation. And one that, if it came down to the killing fields, might just shatter Ashaya’s mind. To lose a twin…

“Make me forget.” A whisper, a plea.

Not giving her what she wanted wasn’t even an option. He switched their positions so she was under him. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll take advantage?”

She wiped away her tears. “Please do.”

“Ask nice.”

“Why don’t I make you angry instead? That gets me kissed a lot.”

He smiled and began to place kisses along the rim of her lips. He had no intention of abusing her trust by taking her while she was so distraught. But, he thought, sliding his lips over hers, changelings understood all there was to know about healing through touch. If Shaya needed a little stroking, he was more than happy to do the job. “Open your mouth.”

She did.

And his erection threatened to poke a fucking hole in his jeans.

Ashaya shifted instinctively beneath him, cradling him right where he wanted to be. Groaning into the kiss, he tried to stop himself from thrusting. Then she arched up, rubbing her body against his.

He tore his lips away. “Shaya, baby, I’m not that good.”

“I called you ‘the sniper’ in my journal. I know exactly how bad you are.” Her hands slid under his T-shirt to lie flat against his back.

Sizzle. “Harder,” he told her when her nails dug into him.

“Like this?”

“Mmm.” Dropping his head, even as he smoothed his hand down her back to tilt her heat tight against him, he began to kiss the sensitive line of her neck. Ashaya needed release. He’d damn well give her release. And he’d keep his promise to never hurt her. Even if she was driving him insane with those urgent little movements of her body. “That’s it, baby. Let me take you over.” He ground himself against her, startling a sharp little cry from her throat. “Shh, darling. Hold on to me.”

The scent of her was hot, wild, arousing as hell.

At the edge of his control, he took her mouth in an open-mouthed kiss, insinuating his hand between their bodies at the same time, and using the heel of his hand to give her the sexual friction she needed. He couldn’t handle any more. “Come on, sweet darling. Come for me.”

“Dorian.” It was a gasp as her eyes went pure black and her body arched like a bow, her breasts crushed against him.

“Good girl,” he whispered. “Good girl. I should get sainthood for this.”

She didn’t hear him, and that was fine. He liked seeing her like this, all loose and relaxed… and his.