“Why? The lab had to have backup files hidden away,” Perez said.
“The recent loss of several of their top scientists negates the value of any such backups—they alone knew what their notes meant. Unfortunately Aleine’s too well protected.”
Perez sighed. “I was hoping you hadn’t taken that route.” His voice held sorrow. “You kill too easily.”
The Ghost shifted in the darkness. “If I hadn’t removed the scientists from the equation, all our work would have meant nothing. They would’ve begun implanting test subjects within the year. In a decade, we would have become a single hive mind.”
“Not single,” Judd said. “Psy wouldn’t all be equal under Protocol I. There will be puppets and puppet masters.” As an Arrow programmed to kill, Judd knew the truth of what happened when some were given absolute control over others. Power was the most rapacious of drugs.
“And so we spill more blood?” Perez asked. “Is that right?”
“I have no right to judge anyone else, Father.” No matter what the Ghost had done, Judd knew he’d done worse. “Tell me what else you have—quickly.”
By the time
Judd left, the chill winter rain was coming down in a steady beat. He let it fall on him, let it wash away the death-soaked taste of this latest meeting. The dehumanizing cruelty that was the Implant Protocol was evil, but in fighting it, Judd knew that they, too, could become evil. The understanding came from some buried part of him, a part inextricably linked to what he
felt
for Brenna.
The thought further heightened his urgency to return to her. Speeding up his pace, he breathed in the scent of ozone and city. The street was deserted, the glow of the laz-lamps muted by the rain. Walking across, he stepped into the darkness of the park. As a child, he’d never once played in a place like this. His training runs had been supervised, his exercises regimented. Shaping him. Making him.
Pushing aside the memories, he traversed the park with long steady strides, heading for the car he’d left on the other side. He could run the new data crystal the Ghost had passed him in the car’s system, but preferred to wait and do it on his personal organizer, which was double-firewalled against interference.
Movement!
The warning shot through his head before he consciously realized what he was seeing. He twisted his body to lessen the damage as the large wolf slammed him to the ground. Air smashed out of his lungs and he had barely enough time to get up his arm before the wolf’s fangs snapped down, going through skin and muscle to hit bone.
Cauterizing the pain, he shoved with enough Tk that the wolf released him, giving him a chance to get back on his feet. His arm hung by his side, useless until he could knit the nerve and muscle together. Bleeding from the arm and from deep gashes in his chest, he arrowed his abilities and forced power into his right fist. When the wolf launched himself a second time, he smashed his fist into the animal’s windpipe. It went down but only for a second before slamming into his chest and bringing him to the ground once again.
Wolf jaws neared, their lethal intent clear—to crush his neck.
Judd had been trying not to kill, certain this was a SnowDancer—and which one. He hadn’t forgotten Riley’s calculating calm at the meeting today. But now he had no choice. He was bleeding too badly. Gathering everything he had, he prepared to punch into the changeling’s mind. The wolf would be dead in about one second flat.
CHAPTER 23
“Judd!”
The scream was so unexpected, he froze. So did the wolf. A second later, it jumped off his body and streaked off into the darkness. He could have reached out and destroyed it at that distance, but he held back. If that wolf was one of Brenna’s brothers . . .
“Judd.” Hands cradled his face as he sat up. Trembling fingers wiped raindrops from his skin. “My God! Your arm is shredded!”
“Brenna, what are you doing here?” He was already sending power down his arm, starting to knit the bone—the capability to heal himself was an adjunct of his Tk-Cell abilities.
“I can’t believe you’re giving me shit when you’re bleeding to death!” She grabbed his uninjured arm, slung it around her shoulders, and pulled him to his feet. She was slight, so even with her changeling strength, it took considerable effort.
He’d lost more blood that he’d realized—his thinking was going fuzzy, causing him to fumble as he tried to fix the damage done to him. He should’ve killed his attacker in that split-second window between sound and hit, instead of trying to deflect. But then Brenna would’ve looked at him with hate in her eyes. Unacceptable.
“Come on, the car’s not far.” She put an arm around his waist. “Why didn’t you teleport away when he attacked?”
“Requires concentration.” He’d had no time to settle his thoughts into the right patterns. “I’ll drive,” he said as they reached the car.
She deactivated the lock by placing his thumb against it, then slid back the passenger door. “I thought you Psy were logical. You’re in no condition to drive.”
But he wanted to. Vaguely aware that that wasn’t a rational desire, he let her half drop him into the passenger seat and close the door. Only when she was inside, too, did he start using all available power to minimize the injuries. Despite his erratic concentration, his arm was nearly back to functional, though it looked mauled. However, the blood loss was having a cumulative impact. He could hardly think, much less focus on fixing the holes in his torso. As a result, the gaping cuts continued to bleed.
“Lara’s too far.” Brenna started the car. “Hospital! There’s one—”
“No.”
When it looked as if she was going to ignore him, he grabbed her with his injured arm, shooting pain up his body. “I can’t be DNA traced. The kids.”
“Oh, God, I forgot.” She wrapped something around his arm. “You’re losing too much blood to wait till we get back to the den.” It was already soaking through what he now realized was the damp wool of her coat. “Your chest, baby, your chest!”
He knew he needed help—the wolf had damaged a major artery or vein, he couldn’t tell which at this point. He was able to keep the wounds from bleeding out but that was all. “Tamsyn’s close. Coordinates.” He managed to tell her the location of the DarkRiver healer’s home before blackness descended.
Brenna brought
the car to a screeching halt in front of a large ranch-style home about twenty minutes later. A scowling DarkRiver male opened the door before she’d even gotten around the engine. She recognized him as Tamsyn’s mate. “Help me!”
He ran to the passenger-side door. “Shit,” he said when he saw Judd. “Move.” Pushing her aside, he grabbed Judd’s unconscious form and went to put him in a fireman’s carry.
“No!” She slapped a hand on Nate’s back, bare since he was dressed only in a pair of old jeans. “His chest—”
Nate looked down and seemed to notice what Judd’s torn sweater and jacket had hidden. “Christ.” Slinging Judd’s arm around his neck, he half dragged, half carried the other man into the house. “Damn Psy’s heavier than he looks.”
She’d noticed that, too. Judd seemed to have a higher bone mass than most other Psy. But right at that moment, all she cared about was the fact that he was breathing. Following on Nate’s heels, she barely remembered to close the door behind her.
“Put him on the table.” A crisp feminine command. “Kit—go up and make sure the cubs don’t come down.”
“Sure.” A tall auburn-haired teenager with sleepy eyes slipped past her.
“Chair.” Judd’s voice kicked her heart into hyperdrive. “Not table.” A demand.
“He’s as stubborn as the rest of you,” Tamsyn muttered, belting her robe. “Put him in the chair before he collapses and makes a mess of my floor.”
Brenna hovered as Nate obeyed Tamsyn’s command. “Who did he piss off this time?” the leopard asked, as Judd dragged himself upright in the chair, eyes not fully focused.
“Honey, could you get me the stitch gun?” Tamsyn was already working with healer efficiency, cutting off the clothing on Judd’s upper body.
Judd didn’t make a sound or betray pain in any other way. But when his eyes met Brenna’s, she was sure she saw worry in them. For her. Why? Not wanting to be in Tamsyn’s way but needing to touch him, she waited until the healer had disposed of the clothing before going to stand at his uninjured side, one hand on his shoulder. His skin
burned
.
Startled, she bit back her gasp. Judd’s skin had always felt slightly cooler than hers, as did Sascha’s and Faith’s. But tonight, he was an open flame. “Can I do anything to help?” she asked when he didn’t push off her hand.
“Here.” The healer handed her a damp cloth. “Gently wipe off the blood on his chest so I can see how deep the wounds are.”
“Not that deep,” Judd muttered, the words slurred but understandable.
“Be quiet.” Tamsyn’s tone was pure steel. “You could be a cat—bleeding to death but refusing to admit it.”
Nate walked in at that moment with a small metal case. “Julian’s still asleep. Roman woke, but Kit’s got him occupied.”
Nodding, Tamsyn began to clean the obvious blood off Judd’s arm as Brenna did the same to his chest. At least he’d stopped dripping fresh blood; it was clotting faster than she would’ve believed possible even a few minutes ago.
“Changeling wolf claws and teeth, if I’m not mistaken,” Tamsyn said, looking to Brenna for confirmation.
“Yes. In full wolf form.” She didn’t know if that made any difference, but it seemed to be the sort of thing a healer would want to know.
“That shouldn’t be a problem, but I’ll give him an antibiotic shot anyway. Judd, are you allergic to anything?”
Judd shook his head very slowly. “Antibiotic fine.”
“Good thing we’re not infectious,” Nate said from his position leaning against the counter, “or you’d be going furry pretty damn soon.”
Brenna jerked up her head, about to tell him to stop with the cracks, when she realized he was trying to distract Judd from what had to be excruciating pain. Not that you could tell from looking at him.
She’d grown up around hard men—Riley was a SnowDancer lieutenant and when Andrew wasn’t babysitting her, he controlled the volatile San Diego sector for Hawke. Her father had been a soldier, too. But even her brothers would’ve winced at least once by now, and she knew for sure that they’d have sworn a blue streak and probably picked a fight with Nate to keep their minds off their mangled skin.
Not Judd. He was as unmoving as a statue.
Cleaning away the blood, she accidentally touched the raw edge of a wound. Her stomach clenched as if the hurt were her own. “I’m sorry, baby.” Just because he showed nothing didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. Surely even Psy were incapable of shutting down their pain receptors.
His gaze never moved off her. The contact was intense in spite of the creeping fog in his eyes, but she held it, unable and unwilling to leave him to suffer in the cold loneliness of Psy Silence.
“I’m going to start stitching you up,” Tamsyn said, breaking the heart-pounding connection. “Here comes the antiseptic.”
Brenna had her hand on Judd’s chest as she wiped away a final red streak and even so close, she didn’t feel him flinch. That was beyond control—it was terrifying. What had Judd been through to gain such merciless command over his physical responses?
She saw Tamsyn pull out the stitch gun. “Wait! Aren’t you going to anesthetize him?” Those snapping stitches
hurt
.
“Psy have odd reactions to drugs, anesthetics included. Sascha and Faith put themselves under.” The healer met Judd’s eyes. “Can you do that for me?”
He gave a small nod. “Yes.” Closing his eyes, he went absolutely still. Brenna couldn’t even hear him breathe.
Handing Nate the bloody towel, Brenna gripped Judd’s hand and watched Tamsyn begin repairing muscle damage with a tiny internal-use stitch gun. “You’re very good.”
“I have a medical degree. Figured I might as well back up the healing gifts with good solid knowledge and equipment so I don’t spend my healing energy unnecessarily.” There was a darkness to the other woman’s tone, as if she were remembering a time when her gifts hadn’t been enough to save a life. “And you know how it is—we can assist each other with ideas and strategies, but changeling healers’ gifts only really work well within our own animal species. I can’t even get the gift to recognize Judd.”
Brenna nodded. “What did you mean about the drugs?”
“Hmmm.” She handed a slender metallic torch over to Brenna. “Shine that here so I can see what I’m doing.”
Keeping one hand on Judd’s, she did as asked. The beam delineated every tear, every shredded piece of flesh. Worry clawed through her veins, but she made sure her hand didn’t shake.
“It’s got something to do with their abilities and how energy is processed,” Tamsyn said, picking up the thread of the conversation. “That’s why Jax messes them up so bad.”
Nate’s explanation was blunter. “Drugs fuck with their powers. Sascha refuses to touch even beer or wine.”
It put a whole new spin on what Judd had told her about Jax. “I didn’t know that.”
“Makes you wonder why they take Jax in the first place,” Nate said. “Doesn’t go with their need for control.”
“Maybe they want to forget what they’ve become.” Tamsyn’s tone was sad. “Jax degrades memory, too.”
Nate grunted. “Whatever the reason, it’s still the weak ones who take it.”
She understood. No matter what the race—changeling, human, or Psy—it was the weak, broken, or damaged members who succumbed. Brenna’s lips tightened. Pain was no excuse for becoming an addict—she hadn’t taken the easy way out and oh, how she’d wanted to. But the worst were the dealers, the scum who preyed on the vulnerable.
“So,” Nate asked, “you know who did this?”
Her stomach curdled. “Can we talk about that afterward? I think Judd should be awake for it.”
“Fair enough. I have to let Lucas and Hawke know you’re here.”
“Can you hold off for a few hours?” It would give Judd time to recover at least a little and she needed him at her back. If what she believed was true, then she couldn’t do this alone.