Caressed By Ice (7 page)

“Then I don't think you have to worry about brain damage—those scanning machines catch the tiniest tears and lesions. I should know. While in the Net, I was scanned on a regular basis.”

The practical reminder grounded Brenna. She'd seen the scans herself, seen the lack of damage. “So what do you think he did?”

“Well, Enrique did say he experimented on changeling women. We read that as the justification of a madman, but perhaps it wasn't. Perhaps he succeeded with you.”

“He still would've killed me.” Enrique had been pleased with her, but only as you'd be pleased with a lab rat. It, too, was disposable. “Is there any way to find out what his goal was?” And whether he'd torn into her brain for reasons other than psychopathic pleasure.

“He has to have kept records.” Faith sounded very sure. “I'll ask those I can, but it's almost certain that they're in the Council's hands by now.”

In other words, utterly out of their reach. “If you had to guess, what would you say he was trying to achieve?”

“Let me think.” Faith picked up a handful of snow and began to sift it through her fingers. Flakes caught on the dark green of her gloves. “Do you mind if I ask Sascha? I won't tell her details about the dreams—just what Enrique might've done to your mind.”

Brenna looked at the waterfall rather than at Faith. “Ask.”

Faith's eyes lost focus for a microsecond before brightening again. “Okay, I've got her.” A pause. “Apparently,” she said into the silence, “Enrique thought that changeling women were perfect because of their ability to bear emotion without breaking.”

“Could he have been trying to create a hybrid?” Brenna scowled. “But that's stupid—he could have as easily spliced DNA, or gotten a changeling woman pregnant.” But though he had violated her in so many ways, ways she still couldn't think about without her vision hazing over with the dark red of blood, he hadn't tried to impregnate her.

“Sascha agrees. So do I.” The F-Psy dusted off her hands. “From my own experience, I'd say it was more likely Enrique somehow ripped open a previously dormant section of your brain.”

“A part that was probably meant to stay that way.”

“Yes. What was done to you wasn't natural. But it was done.”

“And I have to learn to live with it.” The monster had stolen her right to choose.

“I'll give you what help I can. Sascha, too—she'll understand, you know.” Faith's voice was gentle. “You don't have to worry that she'll judge you.”

Brenna's throat burned with withheld tears. “How could she not? What I feel during those nightmares…it's twisted and
wrong
. And she's so good, so kind.”

“Being an empath means she feels what you feel, including your pain and your horror. And she may be kind”—Faith smiled—“but she's assuredly not perfect. Ask her mate if you don't believe me. But that's a decision for you. As to our help, we'll do our best, but I'm not sure how much we can do.”

“At least I know I'm not crazy.” She tried to sound confident but the truth was, she wasn't sure. Maybe she was sane now, but what if the nightmare visions succeeded in changing that? It made her face heat up in raw panic, her heart stutter…and her eyes search for the cold comfort of a Psy lethal enough to vanquish all her demons. Her face flushed again, but this time, it wasn't fear that prompted it. “Can I ask you about something else?”

“Of course. Brenna…” Faith seemed momentarily lost for words, awkward. “I would call you a friend.”

Before today, Brenna would have said that there were no two women further part. Faith was very composed, very
together
, while she was a mess. But now she realized that both of them knew what it was like to be forced to bear witness to things they'd rather not see. “I'd like that.”

Faith's smile made her even more beautiful. “What did you want to ask me?”

“It's about—” She paused, knowing the second she asked this question, there would be no more hiding from the truth—that she'd gone to Judd for reasons other than his being Psy, reasons that had nothing to do with practicality and everything to do with how he made her feel as a woman. “You were conditioned not to feel.”

“Yes. All Psy are.”

“But you broke it. I heard it didn't take you that long after you met Vaughn.”

Faith's nod was slow. “I think I know what you want to ask.” The redhead's expression grew pensive. “Judd?”

Relieved at not having to articulate her complicated and confusing feelings for a man who had none, she nodded. “He's been out much longer than you, but he's completely shut in, completely Silent.”

“The difference
between us is that both Sascha and I had our abilities turn on us in a sense. We had to embrace emotion or drown. I don't think that's the case with Judd.”

You don't need any more nightmares.

“No.” It hurt her to remember the bleak darkness in his eyes. “He was a soldier, I think.”

Faith seemed about to say something, but then shook her head as if clearing the thought. “Aside from that, he's male.”

Brenna had definitely noticed that fact. She'd never seen a man she wanted to stroke more than Judd. “You think that changes things?”

“If you'd asked me while I was part of the PsyNet, I would've said no, that we're all the same. Now”—she took a deep breath of the cold air—“I know that to be a lie. Men and women are fundamentally different. I don't think it was a coincidence that the first two to drop out of the Net because of emotion were female.”

She understood the distinction at once. “Judd defected to protect the kids from rehabilitation, not because he felt things he shouldn't.”

“Yes. But that in itself is a hopeful sign—that he did it to protect. If he—” Faith turned away. “I don't know if I should say this.”

“Please. He won't talk.” And a deep, unknown part of her flat out refused to do the sensible thing and walk away. She knew that a wolf male—able to give and accept the touch and affection she needed to be fully alive—would make her far happier. But it wasn't a wolf male she wanted.

Faith relented. “If Judd was who I think he was in the Net, I'm fairly certain he must have been offered a chance to escape the sentence of rehabilitation. That he didn't take it but embraced the likelihood of death to save the children…well, that says something about your Psy, doesn't it?”

Brenna had her own suspicions about who Judd had been in his other life, but she'd ask those questions to his face. “To reach that part of him—” She kicked at the snow, sending it sparking into the sunshine. “He's as stubborn as any wolf, and with the conditioning on top of that—”

“Would you like some advice?”

“Everything you have.”

“Leave it.” Faith's expression was solemn. “He's probably never going to break Silence—he's done and seen too much to chance feeling.”

“No.” She would not believe that. “It can be broken.”

“It'll hurt. Both of you.” The voice of experience. “And, Brenna, he's not the kind of man you need, to heal.”

She gave a frustrated little cry. “Everyone thinks I should be wrapped up in cotton wool and babied—when I'm not being pitied, that is! But I'm no tame housecat. I never have been. What was done to me didn't alter that. I'm attracted to Judd's strength—give me a nice gentle puppy dog of a man and I'd drive him to tears within the hour.”

Faith's lips curved upward, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Then I almost pity Judd.” Leaning in, she whispered, “Make him uncomfortable. Don't take no for an answer.
Push.
Push him until he loses control. Remember, fire melts ice.”

Brenna looked into those eerie night-sky eyes as Faith drew back. “Could be a dangerous game.”

“You don't seem to be the kind of woman content with safe and easy.”

“No.” She also wasn't the kind of woman who gave up at the first obstacle. Judd might be categorically Psy, but she was a SnowDancer.

 

Almost eleven hours
later, Judd found himself thinking of the way Brenna had watched him that morning as they made their way back to the den. Her gaze had been so intent, it had felt disconcertingly like a touch, no matter how impossible that was. However, the second they had actually entered the den, she'd left him and—

He shook his head in a futile attempt to wipe her from his mind. He had to concentrate. Thinking about Brenna had a dangerous way of derailing that. She was up to something, of that he was certain. Her expression had been—

Focus!

The church appeared on the other side of the street like an architectural specter, reminding him of who he was and what he did when darkness fell and people thought themselves safe in their beds. He wasn't so different from Enrique—death was his gift and the only thing he could offer Brenna. That thought finally cemented his focus. He extended his stride, concentrating on the yellow light spilling from the church's curved windows.

He had never decided whether the Ghost had chosen this as their meeting place out of perversity or hope. The church was small. It had been built after the Second Reformation half a century ago and was filled not with stained glass and candles, but leafy green plants and, in the daytime, bright sunshine. Tonight he entered to find it empty but for a solitary woman kneeling at the altar. He slid into a pew at the back, his eyes on the stars visible through the transparent dome of the roof. It made him remember what he'd given up when he'd left the PsyNet—the cool darkness, the icy flare of millions of minds.

“The young ones don't kneel, but the old grew up in the time of Rome.” The voice was male and full of the same peace that soaked the walls of this building. It was the single thing this church had in common with the more ornate pre–Second Reformation churches—the sense of hushed reverence, a quiet that was so pervasive it was almost sound.

Judd glanced at the man who'd taken a seat beside him. “Father Perez.”

Perez smiled, teeth flashing white against his teak skin. “That makes me sound like a candidate for the senior citizens' pension. I'm only twenty-nine.” Wearing the winter uniform of a Second Reformation priest—loose white pants and shirt, the latter bearing a panel on the left side patterned with blue snowflakes, he looked even younger. It was the knowledge in his eyes that made him old.

Judd thought of him not as a priest, but as a fellow soldier. “It's your title.”

“We've been working together for close to six years. Why won't you call me Xavier? Even our shy friend calls me by my given name.”

Because using Father Perez's given name would be the first step on the road to friendship and Judd didn't want a friend. To do what he did, to be what he was, he had to retain his distance. From those who would be friends and the one woman who might be…more. “Did he give you something for me?”

A sigh. “No matter what you've done, Judd, judgment is not yours to make.” Perez passed over a data crystal encased in protective plasglass. The crystals cost more than the ubiquitous discs, but they were more secure and held larger amounts of data.

Judd slid it into an inner pants pocket. “Thank you.” He didn't need the data for tonight's operation, but he would for the next hit.

“The New Book says God does not wish to punish or harm us. God wishes us to learn and grow, to become better souls through the ages.”

To believe that, he'd have to possess a soul. “What about true evil?” Judd asked, mind awash in memories of a blood-drenched room and a woman with bruises ringing her neck. “What does your book say about that?”

“That good men must fight the evil and that bad men will be judged in death.”

Judd looked at the lone parishioner still kneeling at the altar. She was sobbing, the sound soft and almost apologetic. “Sometimes, evil needs to be judged in the moment, before it kills the good, destroys all light.”

“Yes.” Perez's eyes went to the woman. “That is why I sit with you.”

“How do you balance the two halves of your self—the priest and the soldier?”
The light and the darkness
. It was not a question he should've asked, not a possibility he should've considered, but it was done and now he waited. Because he needed the answer.

“The same way you balance your todays and tomorrows. With hope and forgiveness.” The other man rose. “I must comfort her. Only you can comfort yourself.”

Judd watched Perez walk down the wide aisle and kneel to place his arm around the shoulders of the woman who wept. She turned into his embrace, finding succor. A simple act, but one that Judd was incapable of. He was a naked blade, his purpose—his gift—to kill. As a child, he'd been deemed unfit to live with others and relocated, brought up among the shadows. He had no business being in the SnowDancer den now that the rest of the family was safe, and absolutely no right to do what he'd been doing with Brenna.

And he had been actively
doing
, allowing her to get closer than he allowed any other being, coming perilously close to breaching Silence. That could not be permitted. Ever. Because while Brenna might see him as a man, the cold, hard truth was that he wasn't—he was an assassin. Trained. Honed.

And blooded.

 

Remember,
fire melts ice.

Brenna blushed at the memory of Faith's words and straightened her short black skirt. Teamed with a soft V-neck sweater in red, it was a perfectly acceptable outfit. Except that the sweater caressed her curves and the skirt shaped her bottom. Her hair still looked like hell, but the rest would do.

Drew scowled when she walked through the living room of the family quarters, but let her go without argument, probably guessing she was going to visit one of her girlfriends—especially since she'd deliberately hinted at that earlier. She knew she was procrastinating, but she had no time to bring up the topic of separate quarters right then. At least her brothers were no longer trying to confine her to quarters now that she'd shown she'd take off if they tried.

She got several slow male grins as she walked down the corridor and one outright request for a date. Though she had to refuse, the invitation bolstered her confidence—SnowDancer men could be incredibly charming when they put their minds to it.
Too bad I seem to have a fixation on the Man of Ice
.

It had taken her all day to work up the courage to follow Faith's advice. Frankly, part of her remained terrified that she wouldn't be able to handle anything sexual. It was the first time since the rescue that she'd even contemplated being with a man, the first time the idea hadn't made her break out in a cold sweat. Santano Enrique had tied her to a bed, kept her naked for his experiments, done other, sickening things…things she wanted to erase from her mind.

“Breathe.” Reaching Judd's door, she unclenched her hands and rubbed them on her skirt before knocking. The memories she crushed into that locked box in her mind. She wasn't some
victim
, she thought, blood pounding a harsh drumbeat in her skull, she was an adult wolf in full sensual glory.

“Judd,” she called sotto voce when the door remained closed. No response. Her nose backed up the fact that he was out—his scent was there but not as concentrated as it would have been had he been inside. “Brenna, you idiot.” She wanted to kick herself. All this nerve-wracking preparation and she hadn't bothered to check if he was in. Now what?

Returning to her quarters—thank God neither of her brothers was still home—she put through a call to Judd's cell phone, expecting to find him elsewhere in the den. It didn't connect. “Turn it on,” she muttered, then hung up.

Feeling a tad pathetic at being all dressed up with nowhere to go, she got undressed, crawled into her pj's and took out a book—a hardcover—Riley had given her for her birthday.

“Bloody expensive,” he'd said, but there had been a grin in his eyes.

Her elder brother didn't smile like that anymore. She knew he blamed himself for not keeping her safe from Enrique, despite the fact that there was nothing he could have done. Riley had always been serious—ten years her senior, he'd pretty much raised both her and Drew, with the pack's help, after their parents died—but now he never so much as smiled. Drew put on a good front, but her wonderful, funny, smart middle brother was so angry.

Someone knocked on her door. “Bren, you back, too? Want some pizza?”

Tears pricked her eyes as she leaned against the metal bars of the headboard she'd fashioned using nineteenth-century patterns for inspiration. “What're you doing eating pizza at this hour, Andrew Liam Kincaid?” she said, forcing a smile.

Sure enough, Drew cracked open the door to throw her a grin. “I'm a growing boy.”

“Well, I'm not, so don't tempt me.” She opened the book. “Shoo.”

“Your loss, baby sister.” Sending her another grin, he pulled the door shut.

She squeezed her eyes closed and then took several deep breaths to think past the lump choking up her throat. But no matter how hard she concentrated, she was too emotionally torn up to focus on anything, much less the book in her hands. All she could think was that she needed Judd, needed him to hold her. She knew that to be a foolish, impossible wish, but the animal in her didn't care. Where was he? She tried calling him several more times, until finally, she could no longer fight the enveloping wings of sleep. What awaited her was anything but restful.