“What I want to know is where did a Psy learn how to climb?” He stopped at an angle to the branch where she was perched, able to see one sneakered foot.
“A gymnasium climbing machine,” came the cool answer. “I’m afraid I’ll have difficulty with the return trip.”
He didn’t move, fighting his beast’s instinctive need to protect. “Clawed?”
“Or bitten. On my calf.”
He could hear movement now, knew she was attempting to make her way back down. The cat in him was chauvinistic. It liked to help women. And this woman, it wanted to bite, taste, savor. But that cat, despite its inexplicable and deeply sexual pull toward the icy Ashaya Aleine, was also a cool, calculating predator that knew one of the Silent had killed blood of its blood, heart of its heart. Forgiveness was impossible. “We’re even,” he said, staying in place. “The debt has been paid.”
A pause. “My son is safe?”
No emotion in that. So why had she asked the question? “We keep our promises.”
“I don’t know who you are. Only that you’re Talin McKade’s friend.” A burst of blood scent, followed by the sound of cloth sliding over wood.
He kept watch, ready to catch her if she fell. “How did you keep the cats from climbing up? There’s blood up the trunk, along the branch. Catnip.”
She didn’t return his verbal volley for several seconds and he heard labored breathing. “I hit them with short bursts of Tp, enough to discourage.”
His hackles rose. “Why not just smash their minds, turn their brains to jelly?” Psy had done exactly that in the past. It was why changelings had a policy of kill first, question later, with the emotionless race.
Another pause, more pained breathing. He guessed she’d reached the trunk, and was bracing herself to come down. The scent of iron had become darker, richer. She was bleeding badly. Instinct and anger collided, fought, came away scratched and torn.
“Not all Psy are born equal,” she said, her voice taut with strain. “I only have enough Tp to have kept them away from me one at a time. The big burst I tried was barely enough to give me time to climb—even then, they recovered fast.”
“You don’t have to be a powerful telepath to kill.” He was climbing the tree before he’d consciously made the decision to help her.
“No, but you need to have the ability to focus your other abilities in a lethal fashion. It’s a talent in itself. One I don’t have.” Her voice quieted. “Why am I giving away so much information?”
He reached the top to find her with her eyes closed, her legs straddling the branch. “Because,” he said, watching those eyes snap open, “you’re tired and weak from blood loss.” He pulled her toward him. “Shift the leg over.”
She obeyed, until she was sitting with both legs on one side. “I may not have the strength to make the climb.”
He put one arm under her thighs, the other at her back. And jumped. He landed on his feet, absorbing the shock of the sudden impact with the feline grace built into his genes. He confused medical personnel, had done so since childhood. Everything about him was cat, except that he couldn’t become the very thing he was. He’d never run on four feet, never felt the wind rustle through his fur, never bitten down on the neck of prey, taking it down in a furious rush of adrenaline and hunger.
“Impressive.”
He glanced down at the woman in his arms but didn’t speak as he lowered her body to the ground. She sat up, her hands going to her right calf. From the amount of blood, he knew she’d need stitches at the very least. Grabbing the pack the lynx had been mauling, he began to undo the closures. “Do you have a first aid kit in here?” Made of a durable material, the pack had survived relatively unscathed. If there was no kit, he could at least grab something with which to wrap her bloody leg.
“I don’t know,” Ashaya said.
The first thing he found was a small stunner. It didn’t bother him—he was too fast to make an easy target. And, since she didn’t appear to have claws of her own, having a weapon was smart. But—“Doesn’t do you much good in the pack.”
“Unfortunately, I appear to have forgotten to prepare for a wild animal attack.”
“Mine is more than a little uncontrollable.”
He could feel her watching him as he went through her things. Luck was with her—he found the small kit emblazoned with the globally recognized red cross symbol within seconds. The tube of dry antiseptic was right on top. “Lie on your stomach. It’s the easiest way to get this stuff in.” He kept his voice controlled and to the point, though his leopard was trying to shove through his skin, agitated by the scent of her blood. “Quickly.”
She turned and lay down on the carpet of dry pine needles without argument. Using one of his knives, he sliced away the shredded material above the wound and dusted the antiseptic over it. The fast-acting stuff melted, clotting up the wound within seconds. “This’ll give us time to get you to a medic.” The antiseptic was an emergency measure. It healed nothing, its function being to keep bacteria from getting in and blood from leaking out. The fact that it was working meant the lynx hadn’t damaged anything major.
The kit also came with a stack of “thin skin” bandages. Despite the nickname, the bandages were as tough as stretched steel. “Any pain?” he asked as he wrapped one around her calf, unaccountably infuriated by the damage done to her smooth skin.
“Nothing medically significant.”
He sat back on his haunches and watched her get back up into a sitting position. Her eyes went to his handiwork. “You’ve had some training.”
He bit back the urge to snarl at her frigid tone. The ice of it was a fist around his cock, arousing him against all reason, all sense. “First aid.” He shrugged, stuffed everything back into her pack, then paused. “You need anything from here?”
“Everything.”
“Tough.” He did up the straps. “I have to carry you as it is—”
“I can—”
“Yeah, you can crawl,” he snapped, “but that isn’t going to get me home in time to catch a few z’s.” And nowhere near fast enough to contain the leopard’s enraged attempts at exploding from within his skin. He couldn’t shift, had never been able to. But the cat didn’t know it was trapped. Right now, it wasn’t even sure if it wanted to savage Ashaya or fuck her. “Since I can’t dump you here, I might as well get rid of you as fast as I can.”
It was a deliberate attempt to provoke, but her face, a face that had haunted his dreams for two months, remained expressionless. Two damn months, he thought again. Endless nights of waking in a sweat, frustrated and hard. And angry, so
The sole thing that had kept him from going out and hunting her down had been an enraged defiance against a sexual pull that had begun to turn into an obsession.
Now here she sat, looking up at him with those eyes that were the wrong color—and that blatant lie only stoked his fury.
“You have a lot of antipathy toward me.”
No, what he had was a bad case of lust. But he wasn’t an animal in rut. And his one stupid, drunken mistake in college aside, he didn’t sleep with women who might just freeze his balls off in the night. “I’m going to stash your pack up in the branches. The lynx won’t come near it now that it has my scent on it. Someone can grab it for you tomorrow.”
Ashaya didn’t argue, knowing she had nothing with which to bargain. “Another debt?” She’d recognized his voice at once as that of the sniper. After all, she’d been hearing it in her dreams for eight long weeks.
“Don’t worry. We’ll collect.” With those words, he shrugged into the pack and began climbing.
She couldn’t believe the way he moved. It was so smooth, it appeared effortless. He was ten times faster
