Designation: X.
Rating on the Gradient: Cardinal.
She was, in fact, the only cardinal X ever to survive to adulthood according to the records in the PsyNet. Perhaps the only cardinal X ever to have been born. The mutation was rare—so rare that she hadn't been properly classified until she was five.
She'd almost killed her mother that day.
Dropping the duffel on the bed when she reached her quarters, she shoved the unbearable memory to the darkest recesses of her mind and sat cross-legged on the floor to do mental exercises designed to wrench her abilities back under the strictest control. An hour later, her T-shirt was plastered to her body, her hair sticking to her face, but she'd safely corralled the raging ferocity of her power.
It was as she was stepping out of the shower that she got the call and invite. "I'm in," she said, because staying here with the gnawing cruelty of her own thoughts was not an option.
Hanging up, she pulled on some panties before beginning to rummage through her clothes—both what she'd carried over in the duffel and the things she'd stored in the closet here, most of them items she rarely wore. First, skintight jeans. They were all but painted onto her body by the time she managed to twist, shimmy, and curse her way into them—she'd never have bought them on her own, but one of the leopards near her own age, Nicki, had dragged her along on a shopping expedition not long ago.
Sienna had glanced down at the plain jeans and gray sweatshirt she'd been wearing at the time. "What's wrong with the way I dress?"
The petite honey blonde's response had been a despairing shake of the head. "It says you're two hundred and counting."
Sometimes, Sienna felt exactly that, but that day, she'd given in to Nicki and gone wild. Kit had whistled the first time he'd seen her in the jeans, while Cory had fallen to his knees, hand over his heart. Sienna hadn't yet worn them around the wolves . . . around Hawke, but her pride wouldn't allow her to sit in her room while he put those strong hands all over another woman.
Her own hands fisted. No. No. No.
He wasn't hers, had made it clear in a hundred different ways that he didn't want to be hers. Fine.
Jeans on, she clipped on a red satin bra edged with white lace—one that plumped up her chest in a way that had had her arguing with Nicki in the dressing room. "I can't wear this. It's like I'm advertising!"
"Sweetie, if I had ta-tas like that, I'd advertise, too." Nicki had looked down at her own smaller breasts with a mournful sigh.
"Jase seems to like yours fine."
A peach-colored blush. "Now, tops. Come on."
Sienna pulled out one of the resulting purchases and slipped it on. A black shirt with long sleeves, it fit snug to her body and made it unmistakable that she had curves. The buttons were snaps of pounded metal, the only other decoration two tiny black pockets with the same type of buttons above her breasts. While she didn't usually wear things that followed her shape with such caressing closeness, she had to admit she liked the way the shirt made her feel.
Sexy.
Then there were the boots. Slick and black, they encased her legs to the knees, the heels wickedly spiked.
Her cell phone beeped as she was zipping up the second boot. "Hello."
"Sin, it's Evie. You ready?"
"Almost." She paused. "We are getting dressed up, right?"
"Of course! I'm wearing my silver dress."
Evie's enthusiasm had Sienna setting her jaw, determination arcing through her veins. "That dress will get you arrested."
Her best friend laughed. "You know you'd bail me out. See you in ten!"
Hanging up, Sienna quickly put in her special contacts, hiding the night-sky gaze that betrayed her identity, then pulled her hair back into a tight ponytail. She'd spoken to Indigo and her own family about her hair, and everyone had agreed the unusual color was no longer an issue, it had changed so much since she'd joined the den. Added to the fact that her friends had taken to calling her "Sin," plus the contacts, it turned her into someone Ming LeBon wouldn't even consider worthy of his attention.
That done, she pulled out the cosmetics case Judd's mate, Brenna, had given her, making up her eyes in a "smoky" way she'd learned from Indigo. Nicki had liked the effect so much, she'd asked Sienna to teach her. That had felt good—being able to share such an innocent thing with a friend. It had made her feel young, not the old woman she'd been since the day she first understood why Ming LeBon wanted her by his side, his own personal monster on a psychic leash.
"Stop," she ordered the brown-eyed woman in the mirror. "Not tonight. Be young and carefree tonight. Dance, drink, and laugh." With that, she slicked on poppy red lip color, grabbed a small purse, and stepped out.
"Oh, Jesus Christ, thank you God."
Startled by the masculine exclamation, she looked up to find herself facing Riordan, a novice soldier a year older than her. "Are you coming out with us?" she asked, closing her door.