He was too startled by her knowledge to answer.
"Didn't think I saw the way you looked at my hands, did you?" Sliding those hands under his T-shirt, she ran her nails gently down his back. "Poor guy - blinded by testosterone."
Now she was laughing at him. He should've snarled. Instead, he relaxed his hold on her hair so she could more easily claim a kiss. She was the uncontested aggressor this time. He let her taste his mouth, let her lick her tongue over his lip. Cat. She was such a cat. Stroking him with those cat claws, nipping at his lip with feline flirtatiousness.
When she broke the kiss to tug at his T-shirt, he cooperated and pulled it over his head. Her lashes dropped to shade the expression in her eyes as she shaped him with her hands, stroking down the planes of his chest. His hand was back in her hair, but he was no longer as wound up, no longer as close to going wolf.
Then she pressed an openmouthed kiss to his chest and he felt another kind of hunger overtake him. "More." It was a raw demand.
She laughed softly and leaned into him, tracing circles around one flat nipple. "I think you're fine, now."
"More." His hand tightened in her hair.
She stroked her own hand down his body . . . and stopped an inch from the erection threatening to poke a hole in his jeans. "Play nice." Fingers tap dancing a quarter of an inch from his straining cock.
"No." He pulled back her head, baring her neck . . . then let go.
She held the position, offering him her throat. A gift of trust, because in changeling combat, you could lose your life to jaws clamping over your throat. Relaxing completely, he slid a hand over her nape and kissed his way up the arch of her neck. She tasted of -
Air under his palms. A red-haired cat with her hands on her hips several feet away.
He narrowed his eyes. "Teasing?"
"You know that wasn't what I was doing."
He showed her his teeth. "Coward."
"See if I pet you next time you go all crazy."
Good going, Riley. "I didn't like seeing you hurt."
"We've been over this - I'm not your concern. The only reason I'm not spitting at you is because I know you literally can't help it." Then she was gone.
Riley shrugged into his T-shirt, his stomach taut with a knowledge he didn't want to consider. She was right - predatory changeling men were protective as a rule. But Riley was his alpha's second. His control over his reactions was legendary. He protected, but he didn't go feral. Not like this.
Today, he'd become a wolf in human form, a wolf fixated on Mercy alone.
Wanting to prowl after her but knowing that would be the absolute wrong move with this cat, he was about to leave when he caught two distinct and unfamiliar male scents on the air currents.
The wolf exploded to the forefront of his mind.
He was at the cabin before he knew it - to find Mercy standing at the foot of the steps that led up to her porch, facing off against two strangers he immediately categorized as threats. The growl that started at the back of his throat turned into cold focus between one instant and the next. His claws sliced out.
Chapter 13
At the same instant, Councilors Henry Scott and Anthony Kyriakus walked into the observation chamber opposite the would-be shooter's room.
"Has he said anything?" Henry asked.
"He's been mumbling that he has to do something," the head M-Psy said, "but we don't know what."
Henry stared through the glass. "The mind scan should give us the answer."
Anthony knew Henry was the Councilor most involved with Pure Psy, the group that had vowed to maintain Silence at all costs. He wondered what their reaction would be to these acts of violence, acts that showed the clear disintegration of the Protocol. "Let's go," he said quietly.
As they went to move into the room, they glimpsed an orderly undoing the straps on the patient's arm. Anthony blasted out with a telepathic order to stop . . . but it was too late. The patient wrenched out his hand, pulled a pen from the orderly's front pocket, and stabbed himself through the ear in the space of a single fractured second.
Anthony sensed the M-Psy running toward the bed, but he focused on the man's dying mind, reading what he could before the shock of death petrified everything to stone. He caught the edge of compulsion, knew someone had been pulling this man's strings. He'd been nothing more than a puppet.