Dragon Dance

from Beyond the Dark Anthology

By

Angela Knight

Contents

CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
EPILOGUE

 

CHAPTER ONE

Sergeant Arial Dean strode toward the command van, the beam of flashlight bouncing ahead of her, illuminating dead brush and icy ground. For once she was grateful for the heavy weight of the bulletproof vest that provided extra warmth in the December cold. In summer, the vest quickly became a sodden, sweaty mini-sauna, tolerable only because it kept her from taking a round in the chest.

The white, blocky bulk of the RV loomed before her, emblazoned with the gold and blue James County Sheriff's Office shield that matched the badge on Arial's blue-jeaned waist. She hesitated at the narrow door and scanned the surrounding woods. Through the skeletal winter branches, a double-wide mobile home sat gleaming in the moonlight. White icicle lights hung from its eaves, their dim glow illuminating the beer cans lying in the patchy grass.

The patrol cars that were parked up and down the road weren't visible from the double-wide. Neither were the SWAT team members who'd surrounded the trailer in their black fatigues, lying belly-down and patient in the frosty leaves, rifles at the ready.

The sheriff was being extremely low key. Arial approved. The last thing they needed was to spook the asshole in the trailer into doing something stupid. They needed him to start using his pea brain before somebody got killed.

Like the little girls he'd taken hostage.

Arial slapped a hand on the RV's door. It opened with a creak and thump, and she scrambled up the narrow steps, nodding at the uniformed deputy in the driver's seat.

Sheriff Bill Davis turned looked up from his spot behind the bomb squad specialist. Davis was a tall, wiry man with a rawboned face who looked as if he should be riding the range. Like the bomb tech, he wore green fatigues and black combat boots. A green ball cap with an embroidered sheriff's star rode his thinning red hair. "Glad you're here, Dean. You gonna get this joker out of his hole for me?"

"I'm sure going to try, Sheriff." She made her way down the narrow passage between the RV's seats. "What have we got?"

"Tommy Phillips, thirty-five, white male. His wife is Charlotte. They've got two kids, Rebecca, who's three, and Mary, who's five." The sheriff pushed his ball cap up and leaned on the back of the bomb tech's padded seat. "Charlotte called 911 saying her husband was threatening to kill them all. When deputies arrived on the scene, Tommy informed them he was going to fry them and his wife and kids."

"Fry?" Arial frowned. "I don't like his choice of words. Do we know if he's armed?"

"No idea. He hasn't fired on anybody yet. Could be he's running a bluff…"

"Or he could have more weapons than Al Qaeda." And it was best to assume he did. This was the most dangerous kind of hostage incident. Unlike a cornered robber in a bank, a man who took his family hostage had no interest in negotiating with police. His objective was simply to kill his captives and probably himself. His wife and children weren't really hostages at all, but victims-to-be. "Have we made contact yet?"

"Nope. I've called him repeatedly, but our guys say they don't hear a phone ringing. Either he's just not answering—"

"Or he pulled it out of the wall. We need to get him a throw phone."

"Already on it." The bomb tech glanced up from the remote controls of the squad's robot and gave her a thin smile. His dark eyes glittered with an adrenalin junkie's intensity under his cap.

"I figured you were." Smiling grimly, Arial leaned over his shoulder to look at the black and white image on his laptop screen. The picture jounced, showing the view from the robot's camera as the little machine trundled toward the trailer on its caterpillar treads. It gripped a cell phone in one claw.

The department had bought the robot with Homeland Security funding a couple of years before to deal with suspicious packages, but it also did double duty in hostage situations. Sometimes subjects even surrendered to it, realizing that where the robot was, there were probably lots of cops with lots of guns.

Arial had a feeling Phillips wasn't going to be that accommodating.

The robot reached the trailer steps and stopped. The tech manipulated the joystick on his laptop to aim the camera at the door, then handed Arial a small microphone.

Her mouth went dry as she accepted it. She'd been a hostage negotiator for three years, but her first contact with a suspect never failed to tie her stomach in knots. She keyed the mike. "Tommy Phillips?" Her voice sounded steady and cool despite her nerves.

After a tense pause, the robot's microphone picked up Phillips's voice as he yelled through the trailer door. "What the hell do you want? And what the fuck is that thing?"

"It's a robot, Tommy. It's got a cell phone. We just want to talk to you. Nobody's been hurt, and we want to keep it that way." She hoped he picked up the subtext: But if you get stupid, we're going to shoot you full of more holes than a hunk of deli Swiss.

"Who are you?"

"Sergeant Arial Dean, Tommy. I'm the department's senior negotiator."

"Uh-huh." A short, calculating silence followed before Tommy said, "Okay, put the cell in front of the door and have Robbie back the fuck off."

Arial nodded at the bomb tech, who busied himself with the robot's joystick. The view from the camera jostled as the machine crept up the steps and extended its clawed arm, depositing the cell on the small wooden porch. That done, the robot headed back down the stairs and started off through the woods. Its camera was still pointed back at the trailer.

The door opened a few inches, and a man's hand appeared to grab the cell. He drew the phone inside, then extended his hand again, fingers spread wide. Arial tensed. "What the hell is he—"

A bright hot flare shot from the man's palm. The picture flared into static.

"Fuck!" yelped the deputy in the RV's driver's seat. "He just blew up the robot!"

As the tech cursed, Arial and the sheriff ran to the front of the RV to stare out the windshield. The robot burned like a torch, sixty-thousand dollars in grant money going up in smoke.

"Oh, hell," Arial breathed, meeting the sheriff's wide-eyed stare. "Phillips is a Hyper!"

"MY team isn't equipped to deal with a Hyper." Captain Joe Gaines was a short, broad-shouldered, beefy man who'd commanded the SWAT unit for ten years. He was the kind of coolheaded commander who could be trusted not to overreact in even the worst situation, but he was visibly sweating now. "Especially not one who can do that." He gestured out the windshield, where a fire department brush truck was spraying the flaming robot with a deluge gun. None of the volunteer firefighters wanted to get out of the truck to attack the blaze with hoses.

Arial couldn't blame them. Hypers had first appeared five years before: seemingly ordinary people who abruptly developed abilities straight out of some kind of demented comic book. Flight, fantastic strength, the ability to control weather, telekinesis, other talents even more exotic. Abilities neither physics nor biology could explain. They weren't mutants, though that had been the initial theory. There was absolutely nothing about them that was genetically abnormal. They weren't angels or devils or witches, either, though those theories had gained proponents once science failed to offer anything better.

There was one thing everybody agreed on: Many of them were nuts. This wasn't the first time unlucky cops had found themselves in a standoff with a Hyper. Confrontations the cops tended to lose, with bloody results.

Yet somehow Arial was going to have to talk this particular lunatic out of his hole without getting anybody killed. Especially not his family or anybody in a uniform. She felt her palms start sweating at the thought.

Come on, Dean, she told herself. This is what you've dedicated your whole life to: making sure no more innocents end up dead.

Innocents like Jenny.

An image popped through Arial's mind: her best friend's pale, terrified face, huge blue eyes meeting hers. Jenny's father, the barrel of his gun shoved against the little girl's head. His slurred voice screaming threats at the cops.

The boom of his gun had sounded like the end of the world.

Arial thrust the memory away. She didn't have time for that. Not now. Not here.

Davis pulled off his cap and scratched his balding head. "Where the hell did this guy come from? We've never had a Hyper in this county. That's the kind of thing you get in New York or San Francisco, not James County, South Carolina."

"He may have picked Hyperism up somewhere else," Arial told him. "There's a theory that it's communicable."

Gaines stared at her. "So his wife and kids could catch it? My guys could catch it?"

She shrugged. "It's possible, but they don't think it spreads that easily. Otherwise there'd be a hell of a lot more Hyper humans than there are."

"Let's hope so. The one we've got now is more than enough." Davis glowered furiously, gnawing on his lower lip a moment. Finally he said, "I'm calling the Feds in on this. They've got agents on standby for shit like this. And we're going to need some means of containing this jackass once we take him down."

"It's going to take time for anybody like that to get here," Gaines pointed out. "The closest guy they've got is Tracker, and he's a couple hours away."

"I'll see if I can get Phillips on the phone," Arial told them. "Maybe I can keep him from killing anybody until Tracker can drive in from Charlotte."

***

THE barbell was loaded with eight hundred pounds as Josiah Ridge pumped out another set of repetitions. It was cold as a bitch in the basement, and steam rose from his bare shoulders, tempting him to turn on the heat in the barren cement-block room. He didn't. Being cold was the whole idea of this little exercise in masochism. He was trying to discourage the aching hard-on in his sweats. The damn thing looked like baseball bat.

Celibacy sucked.

Christ, sometimes he'd kill just to sit in a coffee shop and look into a woman's eyes. Listen to her talk about her day, her newest pair of pumps, anything. Unfortunately, he doubted he had the self-control to restrict himself to conversation. And he just couldn't take the chance.

Not with his Beast clawing for control.

To distract himself from his burning biceps and hungry dick, Josiah listened to the police scanner crackling on the weight bench behind him. If he got really lucky, the cops would need Tracker. A good fight would burn off a lot of frustration.

As if on cue, a series of high-pitched beeps sounded.

"Thank you, Jesus." Somehow he managed to resist the urge to drop the barbell and lunge for his beeper. Last time he'd done that, he'd cracked the concrete floor. Instead he forced himself to gently lower the weights to the ground before plucking the beeper off the bench.

His brows flew upward when he saw the number on the tiny screen. It was John Myers, his FBI contact.

This promised to be a hell of a lot more interesting than the convenience store robbery he'd expected. If John was calling, it meant there was Hyper trouble.

Which meant he was either going to get the fight he was spoiling for…

Or he was going to end up dead.

***

"SHE thinks she can leave me," Phillips snarled. In the background, a dog yapped furiously. The microphone planted in the throw phone picked up the sound clearly, just as it carried the sound of muffled sobbing. "Well, hell with that. I'm gonna fry the bitch. Her and her brats."

Arial's palm felt slick around the phone. Her sweat-damp T-shirt felt glued to her back under her Kevlar vest. Her throat was hoarse from trying to talk sense into him over the past two hours.

Groping for inspiration, she glanced down at the file that had been compiled by another negotiator, who'd been calling Phillips's friends and relatives. "Tommy, we've talked to your mother. She said this isn't like you—you love Charlotte, Rebecca, and Mary. They're great kids, beautiful kids. Charlotte's a good mother. If you do this, you're going to regret it the rest of your life. And think about the rest of your folks, your brothers, their kids. They'll never get over it." Arial certainly never had.

"This ain't my fucking fault!" Phillips yelled over the dog's high-pitched barks. "I didn't ask for this—becoming a Hyper. I was normal! Just fueling my rig in a truck stop in Mobile when this bitch came up and blasted me. For no reason!"

Arial frowned. "A woman attacked you? And that's how you became a Hyper?"

"Oh, yeah. I came to lyin' beside my truck, and the bitch was gone. The next day, fire starts shooting from my hands. I caught my own fucking rig on fire. Company canned me! It was an accident, but the bastards fired me anyway. Fuckers."

She winced. Lost job, wife walking out—it was the classic nightmare recipe guaranteed to push a control-freak male into killing somebody. "There's no doubt you got a raw deal, Tommy. But what you're doing now—"

"Now this bitch says she's gonna walk on me. Says I'm dangerous!" He lifted his voice and yelled at the animal, "Dammit, Pugly, shut the fuck up!"

"Don't kill him, Daddy!" one of the little girls screamed.

Arial tensed. If he went off on the dog, it could trigger him into attacking the rest of his family. She had to get him calmed down before the situation spiraled into murder. "Becoming a hyper isn't your fault." But taking your family hostage is, you selfish shit. "But it's not your wife's either, or those pretty little kids'. Turn 'em loose, Tommy."

"Yeah, right. I do that, and you cops'll kill me."

"We're not going to hurt you. Not if you let your family go." But if you kill them, I'll personally put a bullet between your eyes. Even if it's the last thing I ever do.

Arial took a deep breath and fought to inject her voice with a calm she didn't feel. "Look, nobody's been injured. We can still help you. But if you let your anger run away with you, you're going to ruin everything for your children, your wife, and yourself. There won't be any going back."

"You think you can take me?" He'd reeled from fear back to defiance. "Did you see what I did to that robot?"

"I saw. But we're still not going to let you kill those people, Tommy. Let us help you."

He fell silent. Children sobbed softly. A woman's voice spoke. "Listen to her, Tommy! I won't leave you, I swear. Just don't hurt the kids—"

"You're lying," he roared. "You think I don't know what you're doing? You're trying to play me!"

The call cut off.

"Shit." Arial hit redial. The phone rang repeatedly, but there was no answer.

Sheriff Davis walked over to her, the captain of the SWAT team at his heels. Davis's normally ruddy face looked pale. "Are we out of time?"

She raked her hair back from her face. "Let me try to get him back on the phone. As long as I've got him talking, he's not cooking anybody." The fact that she'd kept him talking for two hours was actually a good sign. At least he was willing to talk. Too often in this kind of situation, the hostage taker wouldn't answer the phone at all.

"You think he's going to blow?"

Arial shrugged. "Blasting the robot was a bad sign. And from what I gather, new Hypers are emotionally unstable. Something about the brain chemistry…"

"So if I lead my guys in, we could end up like the robot." Gaines drummed his gloved fingers on his holster, a ferocious frown on his face. "But if we don't go in, the woman and the kids could end up crispy critters. I don't like either of those options."

"Neither do I. Let me get Phillips back on the phone. Maybe I can still talk him out." She hit redial again.

No answer.

Suddenly the radio crackled. "Hey, Sheriff? Tracker's here."

"Thank God!" Davis said. "Let him through."

Arial hit redial again. "Answer, dammit."

She was listening to the phone ring when the RV's door slid open. A man stepped onto the bus and strode down the aisle toward them. Arial looked up—and almost dropped her cell.

A long duster swung around his booted ankles, emphasizing the width of broad shoulders and powerful chest. He wore something black and gleaming beneath the coat, a one-piece suit constructed in jointed segments that suggested very expensive, very high-tech body armor. A black mask covered his head and the upper part of his face, its thickness obviously designed more to protect his skull than disguise his identity. Red lenses shielded his eyes, making it impossible to determine their color. The end result called attention to the broad line of his jaw and the sensuality of his mouth.

He sure as hell didn't look like any Fed she'd ever seen.

"Hello, Sheriff," he said in a deep male rumble. "I gather there's a problem."

"You could say that," Arial muttered, hitting redial.

"All right, bitch," Phillips growled, picking up at last. "Tell me again why I shouldn't blow this trailer to Kingdom Come—along with every cop for ten miles around."

"Yeah," Tracker said. "That does sound like a problem."

***

AFTER a less than encouraging briefing from Sheriff Davis, Josiah stepped outside the RV to sample the air and listen. With his Hyper senses, he could easily pick out the sounds of muffled sobbing coming from the trailer. It made his gut coil into a knot. Keeping Phillips's wife and little girls alive was going to take every bit of skill and strength he had. Not to mention sheer, dumb luck.

He wondered if the asshole had any other powers than the ability to melt robots into slag. He hated dealing with new Hypers. You never knew what they were capable of. Plus, they tended to be batshit crazy. It could be weeks before they regained enough judgment and experience to control their powers, and in the meantime, they could do a hell of a lot of damage.

Josiah's initial delight at getting the call from John Myers had vanished as soon as the agent started describing the situation. Unless he could get his ass to James County in a hurry, he was about to have a lot of dead cops and civilians on his hands.

Five minutes later, he'd hit I-85 with light and sirens screaming. He'd floored his black SUV all the way.

Though he wasn't technically an employee of the federal government, Josiah's quasi-official status made his life much simpler. For one thing, it meant he didn't have to worry about being arrested as an unlicensed Hyper vigilante.

The badge did come with strings, of course: the understanding that if he screwed up, he could go to jail. The Feds had his true identity on record, though it was kept secret to protect any family and friends from other Hypers who might be harboring a grudge. And of course, the deal also meant he had to answer midnight calls to risk his ass against nut jobs like Phillips.

His armor might be fire resistant, but he had the ugly feeling this new Hyper could dish out more than it could take. If he wasn't fast—and lucky—he could end up a crispy critter himself.

But better him than Phillips's wife and kids.

Josiah glanced back at the RV. The pretty hostage negotiator was still sweet-talking, which was why he hadn't already kicked in the trailer door. He'd rather give her the chance to get the bastard out peacefully than risk a confrontation that might end with dead bodies.

One of the dim interior lights spilled across the woman's face, illuminating her elegant profile. Her eyes were large, a deep, lustrous brown that precisely matched the long, straight sweep of her hair.

She had the kind of bone structure a supermodel would envy, and her mouth was full, sensual, and soft. The only flaw he could see was a small silver scar that sliced down her stubborn little chin. The contrast between the looks and the scar was intriguing. He wondered how she'd gotten it.

Her voice went with the face, a husky whiskey purr that gave a hint of phone sex to even the deadly serious conversation she was having with Phillips. No wonder the asshole was willing to stay on the line with her. That voice was a weapon all by itself.

Once Tracker would have taken one look and started making plans to seduce himself a pretty cop. But even if that had been an option now, his Hyper senses picked up a faint smoky blue glow surrounding her. He scratched his jaw and sighed. He'd have to warn her before she got herself into real trouble.

She glanced out the window at him. He gave her a smile, but she didn't smile back.

Great. She was one of those. A lot of people hated Hypers, even the good guys. He'd encountered that kind of bigotry more times than he could count in the five years since his transformation, but he'd never gotten used to it.

He looked back across the woods. The dog was yapping again, shrill and relentless. It was getting on his nerves.

As if on cue, a male voice rang through the trees. "Pugly, shut the fuck up!"

BOOM!

A single, agonized yelp. Three female voices began to scream.

Josiah's head jerked around, and he met the negotiator's horrified eyes. He could see in her face exactly what he was thinking.

The kids are next.

***

ARIAL saw Tracker run for the trailer at a speed an Olympic sprinter would envy. She was up and running for the RV's exit before she even had time to process what she was going to do. "Sheriff, Tracker's going in!"

Someone cursed as she stopped at the door to jerk the fire extinguisher out of its rack. She slammed the door open and hit the ground running. Behind her, Davis bellowed, "Dean! What the hell are you doing?"

He was right. I'm the hostage negotiator. I don't do this. This is SWAT's job.

But there were little girls in that trailer. Little girls like Jenny. Somebody had to get them to safety, and Tracker was going to have his hands full with Phillips.

Swinging the fire extinguisher up on her shoulder, Arial ran faster. As she raced through the woods, she heard Gaines bellow behind her, "We're going in!"

The members of the SWAT team lunged from their concealment in the surrounding woods, vengeful black-clad ghosts. Brush crunched as they began to run, male voices rising in shouts. "Police!"

Just ahead, Tracker cleared the railing of the trailer's tiny porch and hit the door in midair. It crumpled like tin foil with a thunderous screech. Shrieks rang—the cry of the mother, the shriller screams of the children. Phillips howled obscenities.

Arial leaped up the steps after Tracker to find the minuscule den full of smoke. She coughed and squinted, barely making out the two male figures writhing on the floor in the thick black cloud.

Tracker was straddling his opponent face-down on the ground, holding Phillips's palms pinned against the back of his head. Smart. Phillips couldn't blast without incinerating himself. The agent's massive arms bulged as he fought to control the Hyper, who heaved and bucked in an effort to throw him off.

Beside them, an overturned coffee table blazed furiously, the flames licking at the surrounding carpet, edging dangerously close to the drapes. If they caught, the whole trailer would go up in five minutes flat.

Arial shouldered past the broken door and pointed the extinguisher at the fire. A stream of cold foam snuffed it with a hiss.

"Get the kids out!" she yelled at Phillips's wife, who huddled on the couch with her children, one of whom clutched a small, cowering dog.

What do you know, Phillips's potshot at the dog missed.

Jolted, the woman jerked her youngest into her arms, grabbed her five-year-old by the hand, and darted past Arial, dragging the child behind her. The dog fled after them, tail tucked. All four hesitated at the bent and broken door that blocked their escape.

Arial turned and kicked the door the rest of the way open. The woman scurried outside just as the SWAT team arrived at the front steps. One of the men swept the five-year-old into his arms, while two others hustled Mrs. Phillips and her daughter to safety, the dog yapping in pursuit.

Arial started to step back for the rest of the team. As she pivoted, she felt something clamp ferociously hard around her ankle. She looked down and realized, with a sense of sick horror, that Phillips had grabbed her leg.

The world went a sharp, electric blue. Pain smashed into her consciousness like a freight train.

And then she saw nothing at all.

CHAPTER TWO

Josiah watched in horror as a blue-white crackle of energy threw Phillips and the hostage negotiator in opposite directions. She slammed into the wall as the fire extinguisher went flying. Cursing himself, he pounced on Phillips.

Not only was the fucker a fire-caster, he was also strong as a bull. Which was how he'd managed to slam an elbow into Josiah's head and get away.

But he'd miscalculated badly in his choice of hostage. Phillips obviously hadn't realized the consequences of grabbing a Potential. The energy discharge had knocked him for a loop.

He was too stunned to resist as Josiah grabbed him and slammed a fist in his face. The Hyper's eyes rolled back in his head, and he slumped to the floor, unconscious.

Snarling a curse, Josiah straddled him and dragged his lax arms behind his back, then pulled a pair of blocker cuffs out of his coat pocket. He clamped them on the Hyper's thick wrists and sat back with a mental sigh of relief. The cuffs would nullify Phillips's powers until the Feds could get him into a cell.

Wearily, Josiah climbed to his feet and turned to see several members of the SWAT team gathered around the negotiator, who was out cold.

Well, Josiah thought grimly, this sucks.

***

INVISIBLE thanks to the slave by her side, Kali stared through the trailer doorway, thoroughly disgusted. If Tommy Phillips had held off his meltdown for one more day, she could have gotten to him before the cops did.

She'd spotted him at the truck stop the week before. The smoking glow around him told her Phillips was a Potential, so she'd touched him. It had been pure whim; she'd had no idea what he'd turn out to be.

Finding out was half the fun.

Kali did wish she'd been able to track Phillips down sooner—preferably before he attracted the attention of the cops. A fire-caster would have been a useful addition to her stable. And adding him would have been no problem, since from what she'd seen, Phillips's will would have been no match for her psi. She'd have put him under control with very little effort.

Unlike Tracker, who'd damn near ripped her head off, when she'd tried that trick on him.

She was tempted to send a team in to recover Phillips anyway. Brute's strength was very nearly a match for Tracker's, and with Ghost making him invisible, he could keep the bastard busy while the others grabbed the fire-caster.

But that would have gotten the Feds involved. They could command a far larger stable of Hypers than Kali could, and she had no desire to end up wearing a pair of blocker cuffs. The minute she lost her powers, one of her slaves would probably kill her.

So, no. She had no choice except to write Phillips off as a loss.

Brooding, Kali watched as one of the SWAT team officers helped the female cop to her feet. Seen with Kali's Hyper senses, energy popped and flared around the woman, who staggered woozily.

Kali's eyes narrowed as she watched the play of developing forces surging through her aura. Phillips, the idiot, had Triggered the cop's powers when he'd grabbed her. Kali had a feeling her abilities would turn out to be really impressive, though it was impossible to tell exactly what they were this early.

Perhaps this little adventure hadn't been a total loss after all. "Come on, boys," she murmured to the six slaves surrounding her. Together, they faded back into the woods to watch.

***

PALE blue lights flashed like fireflies in Arial's peripheral vision. Automatically, she waved a hand to shoo them away—and realized the sheriff was eyeing her as he drove. He'd insisted on taking her home from the hospital, despite her protests.

Pulling up in front of her apartment complex, he stopped the big unmarked Crown Vic and turned to her. She resisted the urge to squirm as he studied her in the light of a streetlamp. "I want you to take the next couple of days off, Sergeant."

"Thanks, Sheriff, but that's not necessary. You heard the ER doc. The X-rays and CT scan were fine."

"Yeah, I can tell that by the way you're batting at things that aren't there. Phillips blew your ass across the room, Dean, and you were out cold for fifteen minutes. I want you to make an appointment with your doctor. I don't like the look in your eyes."

She stiffened. "I'm fine."

"I'm sure you will be." The steely note in his voice told her it was time to stop arguing.

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." Arial swung open the car door and got out, somehow managing not to stagger as those damn blue lights darted around her head.

The sheriff frowned at her, his sharp eyes missing nothing. "You get some rest now."

She gave him a stiff nod and closed the car door. He flicked her a half-salute and pulled off.

Arial watched the Crown Vic rumble out of the parking lot. As soon as it was out of sight, she turned and limped for her building. The cold night air felt bracing, and she sighed in relief as the fuzziness in her head began to lift for the first time since Phillips had hit her.

Still, every muscle and joint she had ached from slamming into that wall. She needed a painkiller and bed.

Maybe those days off would be welcome after all.

Wearily, she started climbing the wooden steps to her third-floor apartment. The complex was relatively new, and most of the tenants were young professionals saving for their first homes. Glancing across the parking lot at the adjacent building, she noticed darkened Christmas trees in her neighbors' windows draped in swags of garland and hung with colorful ornaments.

Maybe she should use her days off to decorate her own apartment. Christmas was only a week away, but she'd been too busy to even think about it.

When she reached her floor, something glowing and gold attracted her attention. A tiger, reclining like the Sphinx on the wooden floor, striped in light and darkness. Apparently one of her neighbors had weird taste in Christmas decorations.

Then it looked at her and licked its chops.

Arial froze, her eyes widening in astonished fear.

A gloved hand flicked on the switch beside her front door. Blinding yellow light washed the tiger away, leaving Tracker standing in its place. "Sergeant Dean?"

She must have been imagining things. Fear made her voice sharp. "What the hell are you doing here?"

His masked head tilted. "We need to talk."

"Tracker, it's four in the morning, and I've had a rough night. It can wait." Her heels rang on the wooden floor as she headed for her door.

"No, actually. It can't." He took a step closer, tall and broad and imposing. She stopped warily as the awareness of him flooded her senses—his scent, his size, his warmth, radiating across the narrow space to envelop her.

Arial shook off the impression and dug her keys from the pocket of her jeans. "Fine. Come inside. No point in freezing our butts off out here."

But despite her crisp words, her hand was shaking too badly to get the key in the lock. Leather-clad fingers closed over hers. "Let me."

She released the key as if it burned and watched him turn it. He opened the door and stepped inside with the air of a man alert to possible threats. His back looked damn near as wide as the door. Deep inside her, something purred feminine approval.

Arial forced herself to ignore it and stepped inside after him. She flicked on the overhead light and watched him prowl around her living room like a cat. He looked big and dark surrounded the sunny yellow walls and cheery orange furniture. All black leather and outrageous masculinity.

"Nice place."

"Thanks. Look, what's this about?"

He turned. Despite the stern mask that hid so much of his face, there was something compassionate in his expression. "Since Phillips touched you, you've been… seeing things. Colored lights. Glowing auras." For an instant, a tiger's eyes shimmered in the eye slits of his mask.

Unnerved, Arial jerked her gaze away and managed a shrug. "The doc thought it was a concussion, but the CT scan didn't show anything."

Tracker took a deep breath and blew it out, like a man about to impart unpleasant news. "When Phillips grabbed you, his powers Triggered yours. Those lights you're seeing are a symptom of the transformation."

Arial blinked at him, bewildered. "What are you talking about? What transformation? What powers?"

Even through the eye-slits of his mask, she could see the compassion in his gaze, "Hate to tell you this, Sergeant, but you've become a Hyper."

The room seemed to dip. Tracker took a long step toward her, reaching out as if to catch her if she fainted. "Maybe you should sit down."

Instinctively, she stepped away. "No. I can't be a Hyper—that's not possible."

"I'm afraid it is." He dropped his hand, pain and sympathy on his face. "For what it's worth, I know how you feel. I went through the same damn thing."

Blue light zipped around her like fireflies. She watched them numbly as goose bumps broke across her skin. "How? How could…" She broke off, but her mind completed the thought. How could my whole life disappear with a touch?

He shrugged those impressive shoulders. "One theory is that somehow the Power jumps from Hyper to Potential, but not everybody is susceptible. Otherwise half the people on the planet would already be Hypers. A friend of mine thinks you have to have some kind of psi to begin with, and the energy jolt just intensifies it…" Tracker trailed off, frowning as he eyed her. "You need to sit down. You look like you're about to pass out." He caught her by the upper arms and steered her over to the couch. They sank onto its orange upholstery together.

Snippets of memory flashed through her mind. Phillips's voice—caught my own fucking rig on fire… it was an accident, but the bastards canned me anyway! Her own—new Hypers are emotionally unstable. Was she going to go nuts and start blowing people away? "This can't be happening."

She was going to lose her badge. Her apartment. Her car. Everything she'd worked for.

What if she hurt someone? Oh, God!

No. Tracker had to be mistaken. She—

An inquisitive golden muzzle thrust from the center of his chest. The tiger she thought she'd imagined earlier shoved its huge head over to sniff delicately at her. She recoiled. "What the hell is that?"

"What?" Tracker gave her an odd look. "What are you talking about?"

"Ummm. Nothing." Great. She was hallucinating.

Or was she? Golden eyes looked up into her face, calm and assessing. Somehow the tiger's stare steadied her, and she took a deep breath.

What if Tracker was right? What if she had become a Hyper?

One thing was for damned sure: Freaking out wasn't going to help. If eight years as a cop had taught her anything, it was that panic made everything worse. She had to calm down, think rationally, and figure out what to do.

Much as she hated the idea, it was logical to assume Tracker knew what he was talking about—she had indeed become a Hyper.

If he was wrong, it would become apparent when she didn't develop powers. But if he was right, she needed to be somewhere someone could keep an eye on her and make sure she didn't hurt anybody. The last thing she needed was to go nuts the way Phillips had.

Arial forced herself to meet Tracker's worried gaze. "All right. What do I do now?"

His head rocked back. "You believe me?"

"What, you'd rather I scream and run around the room?"

"I just expected a longer denial period." His lips twitched. She noticed absently how sensual they were.

"Cops are trained to be realists, Tracker. Denial just wastes time." And she'd learned how pointless it was when Jenny died. She grimaced. "Not that I couldn't use a stiff drink right about now."

Tracker's grin was almost boyish. "You and me both. Being the bearer of news this bad is never any fun."

She shrugged. "Could have been worse. Nobody's dead."

"Good point."

"I suppose I need to register with the Feds." Who'd tell the sheriff. He'd have to fire her. The public would go nuts if they learned a Hyper was a member of the Sheriff's Office.

She felt sick.

Tracker frowned. "I… wouldn't suggest it. Not right away."

Arial frowned back. "But according to federal law, Hypers have to register."

"And you should. Just not yet." He sighed. "Sergeant, they'd lock you up for at least six months while they test and poke you. The transition is hard enough as it is, without the kind of treatment the federal camps tend to dish out. And if some shrink decided you were a danger, you wouldn't get out at all."

A chill crept over Arial. There'd been news reports that the Feds' treatment of new Hypers could be draconian in the extreme. There hadn't been much public outcry about it, though. Hypers like Phillips had made it painfully obvious that some of them were simply too dangerous to be allowed to run loose.

But it was a lot easier to ignore civil rights issues when you weren't facing the possibility of being locked up yourself. "So what do I do?"

"Come with me." He leaned toward her, bracing one powerful forearm on a muscular thigh. "A friend of mine has a place in the mountains. It's underground and really isolated—we won't have to worry about any innocent bystanders while you learn to manage your powers. If we can get you through the next two weeks, you'll probably stabilize enough to avoid the camps."

"Probably?"

Tracker shrugged his broad shoulders. "Nothing's ever certain. But I know a lawyer that specializes in Hyper cases. If we can demonstrate that you're in control—especially given your law enforcement history—he should be able to convince a judge that you don't need to be locked up for the public good."

Arial shook her head. "Those sound like some pretty big 'ifs.'"

He spread his gloved hands. "It's the only game in town, Sergeant."

She studied him, wishing he wasn't wearing that damned mask. "Why are you doing this for me?"

A grim expression flickered across his face. "I knew somebody once who went to one of those camps. I swore I wouldn't let it happen again if I could avoid it."

"I gather it didn't end well."

"No. It didn't." He shrugged. "Besides, I liked the way you handled yourself with Phillips."

"Yeah, right. Ending up a Hyper was a real smooth move."

"You couldn't have anticipated that. Besides, it took guts and quick thinking to grab that fire extinguisher and get the family out of there."

She lifted a brow at him. "Hey, I'm a cop. That's my job."

"And that attitude is why you'll make a good Hyper agent." He gave her a smile, though it looked a little forced. "All we have to do is get you through the next couple of weeks—and convince the Feds."

Arial sighed. "Yeah, that sounds like fun. Okay, I'll go pack a bag."

***

KALI hung in midair, one arm looped around the neck of the slave who held her in his arms. Her attention was focused on the apartment building below. Tracker and the female cop were inside.

She growled a curse. When the cop had gotten out of the car, Kali had been on the verge of descending to launch a psychic attack. Then she'd sensed Tracker's presence and instantly realized she didn't dare. Not without her powerhouse fighters, who were waiting back at the motel. Daedalus could carry only one passenger at a time, so she'd had to come alone.

Footsteps rang on wooden stairs, and she went on the alert. Tracker led the girl out of the building to a black SUV. Kali watched them get in. The truck started with a roar and pulled away.

"Follow them," she ordered Daedalus.

The slave stiffened against her. She felt him try to open his arms.

"No," Kali snapped coldly, slamming her will into his mind. Forcing him to tighten his grip. Forcing him to support her, instead of letting her fall ten stories to splatter on the ground.

Daedalus gritted his teeth in rage, fighting her. Kali jerked her head around and glared into his eyes. "You heard me."

"Yes, mistress." Gasping, he yielded and started after Tracker's SUV, Kali in his arms.

The wind whipped her face, cold and clean. She smiled in satisfaction and looked down to watch their prey.

Once they found out where Tracker was taking the cop, she'd bring the others in. They'd take care of the Fed once and for all.

After he was dead, Kali would add the cop to her stable of slaves.

All she needed was patience.

***

THE SUV sped through the night, houses and trees whipping silently past. Arial stared out the passenger side window, feeling as if she'd taken one too many head blows too close together—wrapped in a kind of throbbing silence.

Tracker shot her another concerned look, drawing her attention.

His big, gloved hands were skilled and competent on the wheel. Muscle leaped and played in his biceps as he steered the massive vehicle around curves.

A mildly shocking thought penetrated her fog. It might be fun to find out what's underneath all that leather…

It wasn't as if she had anything to lose, after all. Her life had been neatly derailed. Why not grab what pleasure she could?

It had been months since her relationship with Randy Evans had gone south. The detective had an ugly temper and a tendency to take the stress of his job out on her. He'd never gotten physical, probably because she'd made it clear she was willing to hit back. But she was also far too familiar with just how badly that particular syndrome could end up, so she'd broken it off. She'd been disinclined to try again since then. It seemed like too much hassle for too little reward.

But a little meaningless passion with Tracker the Wonder Stud might be just what the doctor ordered…

Oh, who am I kidding? My life is complicated enough as it is.

"How are you doing, Sergeant?" Tracker's voice was deep and rich in the darkness.

She lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "Fine."

He shot her a skeptical glance. She turned to look out the window again.

***

THEY'D ridden in heavy silence for another twenty minutes when a golden muzzle suddenly thrust from his side to give her an inquiring sniff. Without thinking, Arial reached out and stroked a hand over the ghostly tiger's broad head.

Sensation spilled over her, hot and somehow erotic.

Tracker inhaled sharply and stiffened, his gaze flying to her. "What did you just do?"

Arial jerked her hand away. "I… uh… just pet the tiger."

"What tiger?"

It was halfway in her lap now, its big weightless paws on her thighs as it examined her face with golden eyes. It wasn't as big as a real tiger—only about the size of a German shepherd, though broader and thickly muscled. Cautiously, she touched its jaw, felt thick, velvety fur against her fingers. Warmth spilled through her body. She felt her nipples harden, and swallowed. "You saying I'm hallucinating?"

"No. I felt that." Tracker's voice sounded strangled. He pulled onto the shoulder in a shower of gravel. His gaze locked on hers as he threw the car into park and jerked up the emergency brake. "And I've never felt anything like it."

"So it's real?" Arial stared at him as the tiger butted its big head against hers like a cat begging for an ear rub. A whipsawing purr filled the car, deep and rasping. She scratched him absently under the jaw—and almost purred herself at the sensation that flooded her. Ghostly fingers stroked her nipples, her clit, sent pleasure pouring along her nerves like a river of heated honey.

Was that amusement in those big golden eyes?

"Are you doing that?" she asked the tiger, and stroked a hand between his ears.

Even as another ripple of delight rolled over her, Tracker gasped. Arial glanced at him, startled. He sat rigidly, as if fighting the urge to writhe.

A thick bulge extended up his flat belly under the leather of his suit. She stared at it as her mouth went dry.

Somehow the thing with the tiger was affecting him, too. Instinctively, she jerked her hand away.

The tiger rumbled, the sound somehow disappointed. It butted its massive head against her hand, but Arial resisted the urge to touch it again.

Until a thought struck her. Was this her power? This thing she was doing to herself—to Tracker?

Not exactly in the same league as throwing fireballs, she thought, but a hell of a lot more fun.

Tracker was staring at her, lips parted, brawny shoulders pressed back into the seat. Somehow at her mercy.

Arial just couldn't resist. She reached out and touched the tiger again.

***

JOSIAH clenched his jaw and watched helplessly as Arial's graceful hands stroked over empty air, absently, like a woman petting a cat. It felt as if those long fingers were tracing over his naked cock, sliding between his thighs to caress his balls. Instinctively, he spread his legs, allowing her greater access.

Not that she seemed to need it.

Hunger boiled through him in a hot and savage tide. He sucked in a breath—and inhaled her scent, rich and spiced with feminine arousal. Deep inside him, something growled.

"Stop," he rasped, though he desperately wanted her to keep going. "Whatever you're doing, just stop."

She froze, looking at him with those huge brown eyes of hers. "Am I hurting you?"

"God, no. I'm afraid I'm going to hurt you." The Beast was too close to the surface. And when it came out, people got hurt.

Arial gave him a small, hot smile. "I'm not that fragile." There was hunger in those eyes now, hunger and excitement and a certain fevered recklessness.

He knew what she was thinking as clearly as if she'd shouted the words. Everything in her life had just come crashing down around her. Her career had gone up in smoke. Why shouldn't she walk on the wild side with a superman, when she so obviously had nothing left to lose?

"I haven't touched a woman in two years." The confession burst from him as a deep, tormented rasp.

Her grin flashed in the darkness, wicked and white. "Then I'd say you're due." She reached down at her side. The click of the seat belt was loud in the ticking silence of the car.

Normally fast and graceful, Josiah fumbled as he reached for his own seat belt. He had to get the hell out of the SUV before she…

Arial scrambled over the center console, agile as a cat. Just like that, his lap was full of warm woman, sandwiched between his body and the steering wheel. Her negligible weight came down across his desperate erection, and he groaned. Cool fingers spread over his jaw, tilting his head back.

She kissed him, her mouth warm and teasing and wet. The delightful smell of feminine desire flooded his head for the first time in two years. And he knew he was lost. With a vibrating growl of raw lust, he returned her kiss. He'd just have to control it. Somehow.

Somehow he'd keep her safe.

CHAPTER THREE

Tracker may have been living like a monk, but he certainly didn't kiss like one. His mouth was hot and skilled, his tongue stroking deep into hers in breathtaking mating thrusts. Big gloved hands came up to cup the back of her head, angling it for his possession.

Arial sighed in delight. He tasted of mint and man—and something feral, woodsy, like a dark forest on a moonlit night. She slid her arms around his neck. His hands traced down her back to cup her backside, and he growled against her mouth, sounding remarkably like the tiger. His hips rolled upward, and she moaned in pleasure at the feeling of his leather-clad erection pressing against her sex.

Big hands found her breasts through the fabric of her T-shirt. Teased and caressed until she writhed helplessly against him.

She wasn't the only one with magic hands.

He flipped the hem of her shirt up, hooked his gloved fingers into the cups of her bra, and tugged downward. Hard nipples sprang free.

Tracker's rumble of male hunger made her shudder in anticipation. His mouth covered her nipple, suckling the tight pink point. Pleasure spiked through her, and she threw her head back with a gasp, as she ground down on his impossibly delicious erection.

And her butt hit the steering wheel.

Arial laughed. To her own ears, the sound was strangled. "Houston, we have a problem."

Tracker grinned, more a baring of teeth than anything else. "The one nice thing about this gas guzzler is the rear seats flip down." He hit a button on the dashboard. Something hummed behind them. "Sometimes I transport prisoners."

"Kinky." As Arial watched over his shoulder, the seats disappeared into the carpeted deck with a thump, extending the cargo area. She gave him a mischievous grin. "Last one into the back eats the other one."

"Hey!"

Before he could grab her, she scrambled off his lap and slipped between the front seats. As Tracker cursed and laughed, Arial pounced on her suitcase. By the time he'd folded one of the seats back enough to accommodate his big body, she'd opened it and produced a little box with a flourish. "Condoms!"

Tracker grinned, his teeth flashing white. "Smart girl."

"Cops and Boy Scouts, always prepared." She ripped cheerfully into the box.

But even as she pulled out one of the plastic packets, Tracker hesitated. He looked deliciously big and broad in the dim light spilling in from the dashboard. "There's a reason I haven't made love to a woman in so long," he said in a low voice. "My strength—what if I hurt you?"

"You haven't yet. Just don't start now."

The tiger suddenly thrust its furry head from his chest to reach out a massive paw to her. Arial grinned and rubbed a hand over its head, and it shuttered its huge golden eyes in pleasure. "Besides, I don't think your friend will let you."

Tracker stiffened with a gasp. "I have no idea what the fuck you're doing, but I like it." As the cat disappeared back inside him, he shrugged out of the long leather duster and flipped it over her like a blanket. She clutched its heavy, fragrant warmth and watched as he jerked off his gloves and threw them aside, then grabbed the covered zipper that ran down the front of his suit.

The zipper hissed open, revealing an arrow of naked male flesh. Arial licked her lips in anticipation. Finally his cock spilled free, beautifully long and thick.

She dropped the box of condoms to wrap her fingers around it. It felt smooth, hot, simultaneously soft and hard at once, like velvet over a core of steel.

"Oh, God," he groaned. And pounced, pushing her gently down on the carpeted deck.

Tracker shoved aside the coat he'd used to cover her with, then dragged up her T-shirt. Her bra was still pulled down, giving him access to her pebbled nipples. His tongue swirled over one of them, as his right hand found the other. Thumb and forefinger squeezed and teased with exquisite care, sending molten delight spinning through her.

Arial rolled her head back, groaning. She loved the feel of him, the solid, muscular leather-clad weight. Loved the way his cock filled her hand with its silken heat.

Loved his mouth.

His teeth scraped deliciously across her nipple, a tiny pleasure-pain, before he began to suckle. Instinctively, she grabbed the back of his head—and felt only the mask that covered it.

It occurred to her she was making love to a man clad head to toe in leather. She laughed. "This is probably one of the kinkier things I've ever done."

He lifted his head, and she caught her breath at the golden glow shining through the lenses of his mask. His grin flashed. "You think this is kinky? Oh, darlin', I haven't even gotten started."

***

"WHAT the fuck are they doing?" Daedalus demanded, shivering against Kali as the two floated in midair.

Kali snorted. "I have a feeling 'fuck' is the operative word."

"Well, I'm getting tired, and I'm freezing my ass off. I'm not going to be able to support us both while Tracker gets his rocks off."

"And the son of a bitch can probably go forever. He looks like the type." And damn, wouldn't she love to taste his talents firsthand? Two bad his will was as strong as those delicious biceps. "All right, find someplace to land where we'll be concealed. We'll keep an eye on the truck and fly out when they move." Whenever that was.

***

TRACKER had stripped Arial, but he was still fully dressed, except for that marvelous, jutting cock. She lay sprawled across the fragrant leather of his coat, her calves draped over his powerful shoulders, his head between her thighs. The thick material of his mask brushed her legs as he swirled his tongue over her most delicate inner flesh. Each pass, each skillful lick, each thoughtful nibble sent hot little jolts of delight through her body until the muscles in her thighs twitched. She could feel herself going slick and hot between the passion-swollen lips he teased so skillfully.

"Maybe you'd like to let me… Oh, God!… return the favor…" Arial managed as her entire nervous system sparked and flamed like an erotic Fourth of July.

"Mmmm." He seemed to consider the question. Gave her a slow, leisurely lick. "No. No, I don't think so."

She squirmed. "You're… AH! Turning down a blow job?"

Big hands reached up her torso to capture her breasts and pluck her nipples with sweet, relentless skill. He looked up over her body at her, his eyes glowing through the slits of his mask. "You like being in control, Sergeant." Deliberately, he closed his teeth gently over the flesh of her thigh in a slow bite. "But so do I. And I get what I want."

He reached between her thighs, stroked. Found her slick opening. Slid a forefinger deep, tearing a gasp of pleasure from her mouth. "You're ready." It was a deep, rasping growl. "Are you ready for me, Arial?"

She rolled her head back into the leather of his coat, gasping. "God, yes!"

"Hmmm. That is too bad." Another hot lick. "Because I'm not ready for you."

Arial arched in need even as she laughed. "Judging by the condition of that horse-choking cock, I'd say that's a damned lie."

His chuckle gusted warmly over her sex. "Maybe I should rephrase—I'm not ready to stop teasing you."

"Sadist…" Biting her lip, she dug her bare heel into Tracker's back as one of his big hands twirled her nipple and the other plundered her sex.

"Oh, yeah." He bent his head and danced his tongue over her clit. "I'm a real bastard."

***

HER legs were long and endless, her pretty pink sex creamy and slick, her hips pumping against his face. Her lovely breasts filled his hands perfectly, white and soft, except for those hard, rosy little nipples.

Josiah could feel himself skidding out of control. His Beast was out and growling, demanding he drive into her, take her hard and fast and ruthlessly. It had been so damned long since he'd even let himself touch a woman. He shouldn't be touching Arial now.

But she'd done—whatever the hell she'd done, and he'd been on her before he'd known it. Fortunately, the Beast liked teasing her as much as he did, so he'd been able to slow down, regain some control.

He gave her pussy a long, slow lick and felt her jolt against him. The Beast growled in pleasure. Maybe, God help him, it was going to be okay. Maybe he could do this without losing it…

The problem was going to be actually fucking her. The Beast wanted in her. And so did he.

Now. He'd do it now, while his control was still good. While he could go slowly and carefully.

Josiah reared off her and sat back on his heels. Arial blinked up at him. To his delight, those big brown eyes looked more than a little dazed, and her lips were swollen with passion. Her gorgeous breasts heaved and danced with her hard breathing, and the soft delta between her thighs was slick from her arousal and his mouth.

The Beast growled.

He wanted to jerk her against him, ram inside. It took every ounce of his control to open one of the rubbers and slide it onto his aching cock.

Then, carefully, he palmed her thighs and drew her close. Leaning down, he pressed his sheathed cock against her tight, creamy entrance. And began, slowly, so slowly, to work his way inside.

The pleasure had him grinding his teeth as his Beast fought to ride her hard.

***

ARIAL gasped at the searing delight of Tracker's thick cock sliding inside her, inch by torturous, luscious inch. She dug her nails into the thick, tough armor covering his shoulders and stared up into his eyes. They were fierce with concentration, and glowed behind his mask, so bright they cast shadows. His teeth clenched as if he were in pain.

She lifted her head and found his mouth. At first, he held it tight against her, but Arial wanted none of that. She licked his lips slowly, teasing him even as he drove in and out of her with that maddening control. He groaned. His lips parted and softened for her, as he began kissing her back. She growled in triumph and hooked both calves over his muscular backside, using the strong grip of her thighs to pull him closer.

Still he pumped in and out, slow and relentless, each thrust packing delight up her spine. Almost fast enough to tip her over the edge into orgasm, but not quite. Holding back. Driving her insane.

Arial caught his head between her hands and looked up into that glowing gaze. "More." She licked his mouth, gently bit his plump lower lip. "Faster."

His eyes narrowed. A muscle in his jaw flexed. "No."

He drew back, braced his massive arms beside her head, and kept pumping. Slowly.

Arial ground her teeth.

Just as a glowing feline head thrust from his chest, eyes feral and hot. She released Tracker's masked head and grabbed it.

And the tiger roared without sound.

Tracker stiffened, his eyes going wide and blazing, his lips peeling back from his teeth.

Then he began to fuck her. In furious, driving thrusts that had her arching against him in delight. His cock felt a yard long, impossibly thick, each stroke ruthlessly deep. Too deep. Pain shafted through her. Arial writhed, her fingers still wrapped around the tiger's ghost head, and his thrusts gentled, moderated. Just enough. Pleasure blazed through her like a comet, and she came, screaming her delight.

Tracker and the tiger roared together. And for a moment, it seemed Arial could feel all three of them, caught in a burning tsunami of a climax, searing and delicious and endless.

***

JOSIAH collapsed over her, drained and panting. God, he'd never come like that in his life.

Arial lay sprawled under him. She groaned softly.

Fear stabbed him, and he jerked off her. She lay still, her dark lashes fanning her cheeks. "Arial! Did I hurt you?"

Her eyes opened, and she gave him a slow, lazy smile. "Hell, no."

He rolled off her and fell on his back, weak with relief. "Shit, don't scare me like that."

Arial rolled over on top of his chest. She felt no heavier than a scarf. "You should be scared. Now that I've had you, I'm going to want more." Her smile was feline.

He frowned. "That was dangerous."

"It didn't feel dangerous." Her lids lowered over those dark eyes. Flecks of amber seemed to glow in their depths. "It felt good."

He cupped her face in his hands. He had to make her understand. "Arial, the last woman I lost it with like that went to the hospital."

Dark brows lifted. "Why?"

"When I came, I broke three of her ribs. I had an arm around her waist, and I'm so fucking strong…" He shuddered, remembering Sharon's cry of agony. Remembered the doctor's condemning stare after he'd rushed her to the hospital.

A cool, soft hand touched his cheek, drawing his gaze. "You didn't hurt me, Tracker. It was wonderful."

A memory flashed through his mind—the way she'd released him to grab at empty air. Pleasure had blasted through him like a lightning bolt, and the Beast had taken control. The next thing he knew, he'd been riding her like a madman. "There at the end—what did you do?"

"I don't know." She gave him a cocky little smile, but it looked a little forced. "Maybe making superheroes come is my Hyper power."

"Well, don't do it again. I could have hurt you."

Her smile broadened into a grin. "Hey, it's a risk I'm willing to take."

He didn't grin back. "I'm not."

***

THE silence that fell between them as they dressed and got back on the road was more than a little cool. Arial was surprised when Tracker broke it. "I probably sound like an old maid with all this 'sex is dangerous' stuff."

She eyed him. "Does seem a bit out of character."

He grimaced. "Yeah, sometimes I can't believe I'm saying it either. Thing is, I did a lot of damage during my Transition. If I hadn't been one of the first Hypers, I'd probably still be doing time in a Fed camp somewhere. So I'm a little paranoid about letting go."

"What happened?"

He didn't answer for so long, she was starting to think he wouldn't. "You've got to understand, I've always been a big guy. My mama raised me to be really careful about not throwing my weight around with people weaker than me. Especially women. 'Boy, you save it for the football field. Big ol' bull like you could kill somebody.'"

"You were a jock?"

"Played ball in high school and college. Quarterback. Did pretty well. I was hoping to go pro until I blew out my knee. So I started coaching instead. Got a job at this little high school." The hard line of his mouth softened. "God, I loved that job. My kids… Half the time, they'd start out as little pricks, all balls and testosterone. But if you were patient and worked with them long enough, you'd start seeing the man come out."

Fascinated, she said softly, "That must have felt really good."

"Oh, yeah. A couple of them went pro. One guy, everybody said he was a sure bet for prison, but he turned his life around. Got married. Has three kids and a good job now." His grin was proud.

Arial grinned back, only to see his smile freeze and fade.

"Then at practice one afternoon, this little redhead walks up to me on the sidelines. I turned around, figuring she was somebody's trailer park mama, judging by the makeup and Daisy Duke shorts. But it was Kali." He growled the word, his eyes slitted as he glared at the road ahead.

"The Hyper?"

"Yeah. She touched me." Tracker shrugged. "You know what happened next."

Arial remembered the arching blue light, the explosion of pain. "Boom."

"She ran before my assistant coaches could stop her. But that night, she showed up at my house. She enslaves Hypers, makes them do her dirty work."

"And she tried to take you."

"Yeah. And she damn near succeeded. When she grabbed my face—I'd never really believed in evil, you know? It sounds corny, but…"

Arial remembered looking into Carl Logan's mad black eyes the moment before he'd blown his daughter's head off. "It doesn't sound corny to me. What happened then?"

"My Beast came out, and I went nuts. I wrecked the house, damn near killed her. She ran. Then the cops showed, and everything went straight to hell."

"Ow." Arial winced.

"It was like being an animal. I couldn't think. Didn't understand anything, didn't even realize I wasn't supposed to kick the nice policemen's collective ass. I totaled a patrol car with my fists. Just beat the crap out of it. I didn't kill anybody, but a couple guys went to the hospital. Then I ran. And kept going."

She stared at him in horror, trying to imagine what it must have been like. "No wonder you're paranoid about losing control."

"Yeah. If Psych hadn't come after me, I don't know what would have happened."

"Psych," Arial said slowly. She'd heard of him. "He's the telepathic, telekinetic guy, right?"

"Right. He was able to use his telekinesis to trap me without hurting me. Then he spent the next two months helping me get sane again. I owe him my life." Tracker shot her a look. "That's where we're going. He's agreed to help me teach you how to manage your powers."

"If I've got any."

He turned his attention on the road. "Oh, you've got 'em. It's only a question of what they are."

***

ARIAL woke to the sight of black granite cliffs flashing past the SUV's passenger window. She blinked sleepily and lifted her head. The sun was coming up, pinkening the indigo sky beyond the tree-covered mountains that lay like dozing animals around them. She couldn't have been asleep long.

Tracker turned off the main road and sent the SUV climbing up a steep gravel drive. Stones spat beneath the tires as the big truck jounced up the incline.

A listing wooden shed waited at the top, looking as if it was going to collapse any minute. Its double doors swung silently wide at the truck's approach, and he drove inside. The SUV's headlights illuminated rusting tools hanging from the walls, festooned with cobwebs. Arial shot them a jaundiced look. "Where the…"

The floor began to sink under the truck. She yelped, as the big vehicle descended into a spill of fluorescent light. Craning her neck to see below them, Arial realized the truck rested on some kind of hydraulic platform that was lowering them into a huge underground garage.

When the platform stopped, Tracker pulled the SUV forward into a parking space between a delivery van and a Porsche. He turned off the engine and gave her a tight smile. "We're here."

"But where the hell is here—the Batcave?"

His mouth curled into a dry smile as he opened the driver's side door and went around to the back to get out her suitcase. "Something like that."

Arial scrambled out herself, watching the hydraulic lift rumble back up to the shed. "Interesting camouflage method. You really like your privacy, don't you?"

"Oh, this isn't mine." He started off across the garage, the bag in hand. He handled the big case as if it were weightless. "I wish I could afford a setup half this good."

"Don't we all?" She hurried in his wake, eyeing their surroundings. A quick count revealed ten vehicles ranging from a nondescript sedan to a low-slung black sports car that looked like something James Bond would drive.

They stepped out into a concrete corridor—and almost ran into a tall, broad-shouldered man. "There you are!" He gave them a charming smile and reached out to pump Tracker's gloved hand. "You made good time."

"I figured we'd better, before something else went wrong." He turned to her. "Arial, this is Psych, my best friend and the guy who saved my ass when I was in your shoes. Psych, this is Sergeant Arial Dean of the James County Sheriff's Office."

They murmured greetings and shook hands, as Arial studied her host. Like Tracker, he wore a one-piece armored suit, though his was in a dark blue synthetic material that had a faint, metallic sheen. His mask was a bit more streamlined than his friend's not quite as suggestive of a snarling animal. Though tall, he wasn't quite as broad as Tracker, built more like a swimmer than a heavyweight boxer. "I didn't know you lived around here."

"That's the idea." His smile was warm and friendly, his jawline and cheekbones angular and strong. He was probably handsome underneath that mask. "I understand you're one of us now."

"That's what Tracker tells me, but—"

A high, sweet female voice interrupted. "Keep your distance, witch."

Another chimed in. "He's ours. Do not interfere, or you will regret it."

As Arial jolted back in surprise, two ghostly women emerged from Psych's shoulders, slim, lithe, trailing floating, transparent streamers. Their faces were pointed, dominated by huge dark eyes that should have looked vaguely childlike.

But the expression in them was anything but childish.

"Get away from us," one said in a voice like chiming bells. Her hair floated around her face in a shimmering mane, as if she were underwater.

Arial licked dry lips and took another instinctive step back. "Look, what's the problem? I don't mean you any harm."

"You had best not, little witch…"

"Or you will certainly pay the price." Their twin gazes were so malevolent, a chill stole over Arial's skin.

Psych's head came up. "What? What are you talking about?" He shot Tracker a look. The big man shrugged, his expression profoundly uneasy. He lowered the suitcase to the ground as if to free his hands.

Great. Now they thought she was crazy. And maybe they were right.

The two women were swirling around her now, a pair of profoundly pissed-off ghosts. Both had upswept pointed ears, thin, straight noses, and pouting mouths. When they hissed, their lifted upper lips revealed tiny fangs.

One of them swiped at her with knifelike claws. With a startled yelp, Arial touched her face. There was blood on her fingers. "Hey! Cut it out!"

"Leave!"

"Go now, or we will make you go!" They darted close again, claws flashing toward her face. "We will not have you telling our secrets! He is ours, and we will not give him up!"

"What secrets?" Arial swung at them, but her hand shot through both narrow torsos as if they were mist. "Dammit, back off!"

Big black eyes narrowed and flared red as stoplights. "You know what secrets, thief!"

They whirled around her, faster and faster, tighter and tighter, their passage whipping up some kind of psychic wind. Arial yelped, as her feet left the ground. Bobbing in midair like a balloon, she kicked out furiously. Her booted foot cut right through a ghostly shoulder, which re-formed behind it. Claws raked her thigh in stinging retaliation.

Great. Just great. She couldn't hurt them, but they could sure as hell hurt her.

"Look, I have no idea what you're talking about!" Arial swung at them again anyway, refusing to give up. "Just tell me what you think I'm going to do!"

"Let's take the little interloper for a ride, sister!"

"High!" the other agreed. "Very, very high!"

"And then we'll drop her!"

"SPLAT!" With bell-like laughter, they bore her off down the corridor as if she weighed no more than a soap bubble.

"Stop!" Arial yelled. "Why won't you listen to me? Tracker, do something! They're going to kill me!"

Over the sound of high-pitched laughter, she heard Tracker's furious bellow. "What the hell's going on?"

"I've lost control of my powers!" Psych's voice was tight with strain as the two men charged down the corridor after Arial and her captors. "I can't stop it!"

"Well, you'd better damn well regain control! You're tearing her apart!" Tracker leaped forward and wrapped both massive arms around her waist, then curled himself around her, trying to shield her body with his. For a moment, Arial thought his weight was going to pull them both to the floor, but the ghost women swirled faster, dragging them higher.

He hissed in pain as a set of claws opened a gash across his right arm. "Jesus! Bloody hell, Psych, stop it!"

"I'm trying!" Psych yelled back.

One of the women darted in, malice distorting her lovely features, as she drew back a hand. Arial instinctively threw an arm up to shield Tracker's face from those flashing claws.

Abruptly the tiger's head thrust from his, jaws snapping. The ghost ducked and glared at it. "This is none of your affair, Beast! She threatens what is ours!"

"You're nuts, lady!" Arial yelled over the tiger's outraged roar. "I'm no threat to you!"

"Liar!" the ghost spat, dodging the big cat's swiping paw. "You will tell him of us, and he will try to drive us away!"

Tracker yelped as ghostly claws scored his back. Instead of letting go, he curled tighter around Arial, tucking his head against hers. The tiger struck out with glowing claws, as the second spirit flashed too close. The creature spun away, laughing that chiming laugh before darting in again.

Frustrated rage poured through Arial. These two harpies were going to claw Tracker into hamburger, and there wasn't a damn thing he could do to defend himself. He couldn't even see what was attacking them.

Arial flung out an arm, teeth bared. "ENOUGH!" The roar tore her own throat like ground glass, it was so deep and inhuman.

A dragon poured from her hand.

Sinuous, iridescent, flaming scarlet, it slammed into the two spirits like a tornado, blowing them backward. Screeching curses all the way, they flew down the corridor to vanish into Psych's chest. The impact knocked him off his booted feet and sent him reeling into a wall.

Arial and Tracker hit the cement floor like a bag of bricks. He took the brunt of the fall, but the impact still rattled her teeth. She yelped.

For a long moment, there was no sound except the desperate rasp of breathing.

When Arial dared lift her head at last, she found herself face to snout with the dragon. He wasn't the classic winged reptile of English myth, but a Chinese dragon, with a long, elegant head, huge, intelligent eyes, and a square muzzle full of impressive teeth. A green mane surrounded his head, matching the long tendrils that waved around his snout and marched down his sinuous back. "Hello," she said softly, stretching a hand toward him.

He gave her a dragon smile and arced upward, then flowed into the center of her chest. Warmth burst there like an explosion of sunlight, then poured through her veins at the contact. She drew in a breath in wonder.

If this was what being a Hyper was like, maybe it wasn't so bad after all…

Well, except for the homicidal ghosts. Those, she could have done without.

CHAPTER FOUR

"Are you okay?" Tracker's deep voice asked in her ear.

Arial shook off her astonishment. "I think so. A few cuts, but that's all." Rolling gingerly off him, she landed on her hands and knees and turned to study him. "You?"

"The same." He grimaced and rose to his feet, then reached a hand down to help her up. "But I'm going to be sore tomorrow. Psych?"

His friend was sitting on the floor, his back braced against one concrete wall of the corridor. He raised a shaking hand to his head. "My skull feels like it's about to split wide open. I haven't lost control of my powers like that since my Transition. What the fuck happened?"

"That's a good question." Tracker gave Arial a searching look. "You were talking to someone…"

"More like screaming." Psych climbed slowly to his feet, moving as if he felt just as battered as Arial did. His gaze sharpened as he eyed her. "Who was it?"

Arial sighed. "You're not going to believe me."

"Try us." Tracker's inflexible tone didn't invite argument.

She raked a hand through her tangled hair and decided it was best just to spit the whole thing out. "They looked like ghosts. Spirits. Or, hell, for all I know, fairies. They came pouring out of Psych and attacked me."

"Like this tiger you keep talking about."

"Tiger? Spirits?" Psych threw Tracker that are-we-dealing-with-a-nutbar look.

"I know this is hard to believe, but I'm telling you what I saw." Arial told him. "Two women who looked like escapees from a Lord of the Rings movie just… flowed out of your body. They had claws, and they did this." She pointed at the raking wounds across her cheek, then at the similar injuries on Tracker's body.

Psych moved cautiously closer and examined the cuts. "My power has always produced marks like that. I don't know why." He looked up at her, a frown on his face. "You said they looked like ghosts? Could you describe them in more detail?"

She shrugged. "Pointed ears, delicate bodies. They had this kind of Tinkerbell thing going on, but really pale. Except for the eyes. Big, black eyes that flashed red when they got pissed—which they pretty well were the whole time. They seemed to think I was going to tell you something they don't want you to know."

"Like what?"

"How the hell should I know? They didn't say."

An expression of profound unease crossed Psych's face. "This doesn't make any sense."

"This entire night hasn't made any sense."

A comforting hand came to rest on her shoulder. "Maybe it will become a little more clear after we all sleep on it." Tracker gave her a smile that seemed to indicate he, at least, didn't think she was crazy.

That was something, anyway.

***

"WHERE the fuck did they go?" Kali screeched. "One minute they were there, then they rounded a curve and disappeared!"

"I don't know, but I'm freezing my ass off." Daedalus shivered against her. "I can't feel my fucking feet. We've been over this damn mountain a dozen times, and there's no sign of them. Can we go back to the hotel now?"

"Might as well." She snarled at the steadily climbing sun. "Somebody's going to spot us if we hang up here much longer. We'll bring the others back tonight and conduct another search. Maybe Cerberus can pick up the scent."

"Kali, they're in a car."

"I don't give a shit. Tracker's here—I can almost feel him." She curled her upper lip into a snarl. "And he's not getting away from me again."

***

PSYCH showed Arial and Josiah to a suite of rooms that Josiah recognized.

"This is where you put me the first time I was here. Once I was a little more sane, anyway." Josiah carried Arial's suitcase and put it on top of a familiar king-sized, cherry sleigh bed with a dark blue coverlet. The crystal lamp sitting on the bedside table was new, though. He'd broken the last one.

"Sane?" Arial's delicate brows arched.

"He had a rough Transition," Psych said with admirable restraint. Changing the subject, he gestured at a connecting door. "Bathroom's through there. Tracker, you can use the bedroom across the hall if you like."

Close enough that he could keep an eye on their guest, just as Psych had once watched over him. And he'd needed it. "Thanks, Psych."

"It's my pleasure." Turning to Arial, his friend added, "I can't tell you how sorry I am for hurting you. I don't understand how it could have happened."

"It wasn't your fault," Arial said in that luscious whiskey and velvet voice, giving Psych a smile that sent a stinging stab through Josiah.

Jealousy? He frowned.

"Yeah, I know—it was the killer fairies." Psych's tone was light, faintly mocking, but there was strain in the line of his mouth.

"Well, something sure as hell did this." Arial gestured impatiently at the five raking scratches across her cheek. Marks that did look as if they'd been inflicted by a female hand.

With claws.

"Good point." That was definitely unease on Psych's face. "I'll see what I can find out. Maybe some meditation…"

"Meditate later." Josiah clapped him lightly on the shoulder. "Sleep now."

"Sure." He gave them a troubled wave and started off down the corridor. "I really am sorry."

Tracker watched Psych go with mingled feelings of affection and frustration. "He'll be up for hours staring at his belly button." Catching Arial by one shoulder, he steered her through the door to the utilitarian bathroom. "Let's get you patched up. I don't like the look of those scratches."

"I'm not the only one who needs a box of Band-Aids, tough guy."

"So I'll patch us both up."

She scanned the small room, taking in the simple white porcelain sink, toilet, and bath. The white vinyl flooring was scattered with tiny roses, and the shower curtain was clear plastic. Everything was so spotless, it shone. "Nice. A bit Spartan, but nice."

"Decorating has never been high on Psych's list of priorities. At least not down here." He gestured to her to sit down on the toilet while he raided the medicine cabinet.

"Down here?" He wasn't surprised she picked up on the implications. "As opposed to up where?"

"Afraid that's classified."

"Figures."

When he turned around with his supplies, Josiah found Arial sitting slumped against the back of the toilet, a weary line to her delicate shoulders. The sight sent a shaft of tenderness through him. Between Phillips, him, and Psych, she'd had one hell of a night.

"Psych isn't the only one who's sorry." He wet a washcloth in warm water and dropped to his knees in front of her.

She tilted her chin and let him blot the blood from the cuts on one high cheekbone. Brown eyes studied him, flecks of golden amber in their depths. "What do you have to be sorry about?"

"Letting Phillips nail you. If he hadn't gotten away from me, you wouldn't be in this mess."

Arial snorted. "One thing I've learned over eight years as a cop—you do what you can do. You're good, Tracker, but you're not Superman." He blotted at the cut again, and she closed her eyes, long dark lashes fanning against her cheek.

Josiah remembered the way she'd felt, her lithe little body cradled against his as invisible energies buffeted them. Remembered the ferocity in her gaze as she'd thrown out one hand and done—something. She had only a fraction of his strength, but he knew she'd been trying to defend him. He'd seen it in her eyes, in that moment when those claws had raked him.

And she'd succeeded. Somehow, she'd stopped Psych's involuntary assault when neither man had been unable to do a damn thing about it.

Josiah wasn't used to being defended. He was the one everybody expected to save the day. Yet she'd come through for him.

Before he knew what he intended to do, he was leaning forward. He had to taste that sweet mouth again.

Arial's eyes flew wide as he kissed her, then slowly drifted closed. Her lips felt like damp satin, tasted of ripe, erotic heat. Unable to resist, he edged his tongue along the seam of her mouth until she opened for him with a sigh.

God, she really did taste exquisite.

Arial lifted a hand, rested it against his cheek. Her skin felt cool and silken against his.

It took an effort to pull back, but he knew it was best. He could feel his Beast rising again, fierce and hot. It seemed that having had her, the need had become even harder to resist.

"We need to finish getting you patched up." Josiah forced himself to rise to his feet and step to the sink. Drawing in a deep breath, he turned on the tap and started washing out the cloth.

***

ARIAL watched Tracker, heat running molten through her body. She'd never felt the punch of a simple kiss with such intensity. Not even when he'd kissed her before.

What was it about him? It was more than the powers, more even than the impressive body. Something about the man himself called to her in a way that struck her as simultaneously dangerous and irresistible.

Tracker turned back to her and bent to blot at the scratches on her forearm. His hands were exquisitely gentle, his eyes intent through the eye slits of his mask. His scent was intoxicating. Leather. Masculinity. Honest sweat from his efforts to protect her.

She watched him as he worked, feeling breathless at the way his big body dominated the small space of the bathroom. There was no sound except the slow drip of the faucet, the rustle of leather. The soft tread of his boots on the ceramic tile.

She hadn't even seen his face. She didn't know his real name. Yet she could feel her nipples hardening. Heat gathered between her thighs, liquid and sweet.

Arial stirred, realizing she was unconsciously pressing her thighs together in an effort to soothe the ache.

"Bend forward. Something's bleeding through your shirt." Tracker's deep voice seemed to vibrate in her body's hidden places. She obeyed, dry-mouthed, and closed her eyes as he pulled her shirt up to clean a cut on her back. As he pressed on a bandage, he told her, "You were lucky. I don't think any of these need stitches."

"That's good." Arial opened her eyes to see blood running down his leg from a set of vicious scratches in his thigh. The ghost's claws had ripped right through his tough armor. She frowned, eyeing it as she stood. "Your turn."

He took a hasty step back. "That's not necessary." The tip of his tongue wet his lip. "I can take care of it."

"Don't be such a baby. Sit."

He obeyed with visible reluctance. Glad to have something to do with her hands, Arial turned and busied herself getting another washcloth out of the drawer he'd pulled his from. "Pull down that suit. I can't work on you if you're covered in leather."

She glanced around just in time to see heat leap in his eyes. "I don't think that's such a good idea."

"I can withstand the sight of your abs without being overcome by lust."

"You're not the one I'm worried about." He smiled, slowly, almost reluctantly. There was more than desire in that smile—there was a wry humor, a certain self-depreciation. She found herself smiling back.

His zipper hissed, loud in the stillness of the room. Arial watched him shrug one powerful shoulder out of the suit, then the other, before tugging it down to his waist.

Muscle flexed and rolled all up and down that gorgeous chest. His shoulders looked even wider out of the suit, all smooth, tanned skin. A luscious little ruff of chest hair spread from nipple to nipple, then narrowed to dive down past his navel. Luring her eye to the prominent bulge under his suit.

Maybe she shouldn't have been so quick to promise not to attack him.

As if reading her mind, Tracker stood in a restless rush. "This is really not a good idea."

She shook off her desire and gave him an impatient frown. "Neither of us is a virgin, Tracker. And considering what happened earlier tonight…"

"We got lucky. And I've learned not to push my luck." Before she quite knew what was happening, he jerked up his suit again and stalked out of the bathroom, zipping it as he went.

Arial hurried after him. "Tracker, you still need those cuts tended."

"I've been tending myself for years." He strode across the bedroom and out into the hall without breaking step. "And I'll keep on doing it."

"Dammit, Tracker!"

Before she could say anything more, he closed the door in her face.

***

INSTEAD of heading across the hall to the bedroom Psych had given him, Josiah strode down the corridor. He knew good and damned well he wouldn't be getting any sleep for a couple of hours at least.

And unless he missed his guess, Richard was in the same boat.

He stepped into the elevator around the corner, keyed in the code Psych hadn't bothered to change, and took it down two levels to his friend's penthouse-in-reverse.

The elevator doors slid open on the smell of turpentine and oil paint. Richard had been indulging in his hobby again. One of them, anyway. Along with genetics, physics, computers. And fuck, rocket science for all Josiah knew.

"Tracker?" Richard called.

"It's me." Josiah walked through the library, his boots barely silenced by the worn Persian carpet. Unlike the rest of the underground complex—Arial was right; it was spartan—Psych decorated his personal quarters in castoffs from upstairs. Some truly ugly Victoriana had found its way down here. A footstool shaped like an elephant, gaudy lamps, a bust of Napoleon with a broken nose—everything Richard either hoped to restore or simply couldn't bear to throw away. "I sent Arial to bed."

"Why aren't you in it with her?" Ice clinked. "You two were throwing off so much heat, you damn near singed off my eyebrows."

"I'm celibate, remember?" He followed the rattle of ice through a doorway hung with a moth-eaten fringed curtain.

"Yeah, right." Richard snorted as Josiah stepped into the room. "Save it for someone who's not psychic."

"You can't read Hypers."

"After what we've been through, who needs telepathy?" His friend stood surrounded by canvases standing on easels or propped against the wall. His blond hair was still wet from a recent shower, and he wore a pair of loose cotton pants and a faded MIT T-shirt. Ice clinked again as he tipped up a crystal glass of aged bourbon, his green eyes locked on the painting in front of him.

Getting a look at the canvas, Josiah stopped dead with a soundless whistle. Two ghostly women with pointed ears, immense black eyes, and shimmering pale skin swirled around a naked male figure. It wasn't clear whether he writhed in pain or pleasure. "Fuck."

"Exactly. I've been dreaming about them for years. I painted this six months ago." Richard took another deep slug of his drink. "How did she know, Jos? Is she psychic, too? Did she see this in my thoughts—can she read Hypers?"

"Maybe." He headed for the crystal decanter on the scarred sideboard. Poured himself two fingers, no ice. "Or maybe she really did see them just the way she said. Just like she saw the tiger."

"What tiger?" Richard moved over to a distinctly hideous pink settee and flopped onto it with that boneless grace Josiah had always admired.

Settling into a clashing orange armchair, Josiah described the moment in the SUV when Arial had seemed to touch something that wasn't there. "I felt it, Rich. Every time she touched that tiger she kept talking about, I felt it. And it drove me crazy. Me—and my Beast."

Perceptive green eyes studied his. "You think it was your Beast she saw."

"I'm starting to wonder." He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. "What if she's right? What if our powers aren't psi, but some kind of possession?"

Richard curled a well-shaped lip. "You suggesting we've been taken over by devils, Jos?"

"What, like those nuts who think we're in league with the Antichrist?" He made a dismissive gesture. "Hell no. But if there is some kind of power inside us, and we could get rid of it…"

"You mean have a priest perform an exorcism so you can pretend the last five years never happened?" Anger flashed in Richard's eyes. "Hell, if you're really lucky, maybe you can go back to coaching high school football."

Josiah ignored the stab of longing. To get his life back… "Give me credit for a little sense, Rich. I know that ship has sailed."

"Exactly. We are what we are, and there's not a damn thing we can do about it."

"That's easy for you to say," he growled as his own temper ignited. "You've got all this. I sit in that barren little house in Charlotte, waiting for the cops to call so I can go kick some poor prick's ass. Not daring to even talk to a woman for fear of starting something I'll want to finish. I'm sick of this shit, Rich. I want a fucking life!"

"And you think I don't?" Richard snapped back. "You think you've got it bad? At least you can't hear every woman you meet wonder how big your bank account is. I just love listening to some bimbo speculate about how much she could get in the divorce settlement before we've even gone out once." He stood up and stalked to the sideboard to splash more whiskey into his glass. "Hypers are the only people I can't read, and half of them want to kill my ass. What's more, I want to kill them right back."

Silence ticked past, almost ringing with emotion. Finally Josiah asked softly, "So if I'm right—if we've been possessed by some kind of spirit—you saying you wouldn't get rid of it if you could?"

Rich's eyes drifted to the canvas with its swirling ghostly women. "I'd give my left nut to get rid of this." He swallowed half the contents of his glass in one gulp. "But there's some shit you just can't undo."

***

ARIAL took a shower, reapplied the Band-Aids that had washed off in the process, and made use of the hair dryer and toothbrush she'd packed. Then she slipped into her favorite white silk nightgown.

She might have to dress in jeans, suits, or uniforms during the day, but at night, she liked something a little more girly.

Weary and battered as she was, she was asleep five minutes after her head hit the pillow. Which was why she didn't see the dragon emerge from her chest and consider her with mild regret.

"You're not going to enjoy this," he said. "But it is necessary."

***

IN the dream, Arial was twelve years old again. She'd had to do some fast talking to convince Mom it was okay for her to sleep over at Jenny Logan's house. Jenny's dad gave Mom the creeps, but Arial had pointed out Jenny's dad had moved out. Anyway, it was the last summer night before school started, so Mom had, reluctantly, given in.

Now Arial and Jenny were curled up on the bed in pajamas and bunny slippers, munching on popcorn. It had been a busy night. They'd put each other's hair in ribbons, painted their fingernails pink, and donned makeup from Jenny's Barbie kit.

"So Sherri Rice said Bobby Miller has, like, this huge crush on you," Jenny announced, crunching her popcorn with gusto. "He's really cute."

Though she could feel her cheeks getting hot, Arial shrugged. Bobby had big brown eyes and killer dimples. "I dunno. I guess he's okay."

"Hey, this is me you're talking to," Jenny scoffed. "I saw you drop your books when he smiled at you in the hall."

"It's the dimples," Arial confessed, scooping a fistful of popcorn. "The dimples get me every time."

"Yeah, he…"

"Marion, you bitch!" The savage roar was followed by a furious pounding. "You open this fucking door and take what's coming to you!"

Jenny jumped, sending the bowl of popcorn flying. "Oh, no, it's Daddy! He's not supposed to be here!" She scrambled off the bed and raced down the hall.

Arial jumped up and ran after her, her heart in her throat.

This was bad. This was really bad.

They charged into the living room to find Jenny's mother yelling through the front door. "Go away, Carl! I've called the cops!"

"You think I care, bitch?"

"Oh, no," Jenny moaned, twisting her hands together. She was as pale as the popcorn as she looked at Arial with wild blue eyes. "He's drunk!"

The last time he'd gotten drunk, he'd choked Mrs. Logan. She'd had to go to the hospital, which was why she'd finally told him to move out.

"Maybe we'd better…"

Sirens sounded in the distance. "Hear that, Carl?" Jenny's mother yelled. "It's the cops. Go away and sober up, you bastard."

"Go to hell, cunt!"

The boom of the gun was shockingly loud. Arial screamed, the sound blending with Jenny's cry. A hole appeared in the front door, smoke and flashing blue light flooding through it.

For a moment, Mrs. Logan just stood there, staring at it with her back to them. Then she slowly toppled over and flopped bonelessly onto her back.

"Mom!" Screaming, Jenny leaped for her mother. "Daddy, what did you do?"

The front of Mrs. Logan's pretty yellow shirt was all red and wet. It didn't look real.

This can't be happening, Arial thought, staring numbly, as Jenny bent over her mother howling in grief. Then, distantly, I should do something. I should help.

The air was filled with shrill police sirens that sounded just like a television show. The door burst open with a rending crash as Jenny's dad kicked it in. His face twisted like a monster's, he dove for his daughter, a huge black gun in his hand.

"Jenny!" Arial jolted forward and grabbed for her friend just as the girl reeled to her feet and tried to run.

But it was too late.

"Come here, you little brat!" Mr. Logan grabbed Jenny's arm, jerked her away from Arial, as two cops charged through the broken door.

For an instant, Jenny's terrified eyes met hers. Then her father whirled, dragging her between him and the cops, his gun to her chin. "Get back!"

The boom of his gun sounded like the end of the world.

***

ARIAL moaned in her sleep, flinging out her arms in protest, a single tear running down her cheek. Even as she fought to wake, she heard a distant dream voice say, I'm sorry, my dear. We're not done. Not yet.

The colorful dragon flowed down the street to the sound of firecrackers, undulating in the hands of the team of dancers who carried it. Drums boomed and cymbals crashed as the watching crowd applauded. Arial, standing with her parents, watched in numb silence.

To distract her from her grief for Jenny, her parents had taken her to see the Chinese lunar New Year celebration in New York's Chinatown. She knew they were trying to cheer her up, but all she could think about was what a coward she was.

The dragon danced closer, shaking its great head. Its big, long-lashed eyes met hers. "Why do you think yourself a coward?" Its voice was deep, lightly accented with music.

This had to be a dream.

"I didn't do anything. She was my best friend, and I let her die."

"What could you have done?" Fireworks exploded around them, flooding the street with smoke. When it dissipated, the dragon dancers were gone. A real dragon stood in their place, towering over her, horned head cocked, as it studied her with wise, golden eyes. "You were only a little girl."

"Doesn't matter. I should have made her run away, but I just stood there." It was her secret, the shame she'd hidden all these years. Even from herself.

"Look again." The dragon coiled himself around her. His scales felt surprisingly warm and smooth against her skin. "And see."

Suddenly she was an adult again, standing in Jenny's living room. A small, dark-haired girl stood watching as a balding man with a mustache kicked in the door. Gazing into the child's face, Arial recognized the shell-shocked expression she'd seen so often on other witnesses of sudden violent crime.

"Now look at him, Arial. What could you have done?"

Her experienced cop's eye told her the man was six-two, with the muscle-and-beer-belly build of a construction worker and part-time drunk. "Nothing," she said in amazement. "There was nothing I could have done. I never realized that before. Or I did, but…"

"But you never believed it."

"I spent all those years torturing myself." She shook her head. "I've been an idiot."

"No." The dragon smiled as the room faded away around them. "You experienced tragedy, but you didn't let it break you. You made yourself strong so you could defend those who are weak. That's why I chose you, of everyone I could have had."

"Chose me for what?"

But the dragon had faded away, too.

CHAPTER FIVE

Arial opened her eyes. In the dim light spilling in from the bathroom, she recognized the room Psych had given her. "Oh, man," she groaned, rubbing her hands over her face. "I can't have been asleep more than an hour."

"Forty-five minutes, actually," a familiar accented voice said.

She yelped and sat straight up to find the Chinese dragon coiled on the pillow next to her, an expression of amusement in its ancient eyes.

"Jesus!" Arial rolled off the bed, landing with a thump. "You're real!"

"Of course. You did see me earlier."

"And you can talk."

The creature tilted his regal head. "It would be difficult to communicate otherwise."

She scrubbed her hands over her face and tried to cudgel her brain into something approaching working order. "Tracker's tiger didn't."

"He could if he chose to." Sharp teeth flashed slyly. "As it is, he seems to get his needs across."

"Good point." She watched the dragon launch itself from the pillow and start snaking around the room, exploring, moving like a wave in the air. "Why can't the others see you ? They think I'm crazy." On a mutter, she added, "And I'm beginning to wonder, myself."

Coiling around a brass bedside lamp, the beast smiled at her. "Oh, you're not crazy."

"Considering you may be a delusion, you're not exactly a reliable source."

"Did a delusion claw that pretty face?"

"Why did they attack me, anyway?" She grimaced. "Assuming they're real."

"They told you why, Arial. They don't want Psych to know they exist."

"Why not?"

"He might find a way to force them from his mind. His will is powerful."

She considered him. "Could we do that?"

"Oh, I suppose you could learn—if you wish to kill us. We could not survive without you." He cocked his head, a teasing smile on his snout. "But there are many more interesting things I could teach you."

"Like what?" She shook her head, frustrated. "Look, do you have a name?"

He considered that a moment. "You may call me Shen-Lung."

Even in the depths of her grief, Arial had been fascinated by the dragon dance she'd seen in Chinatown. As a teenager, she'd done a research paper on Eastern dragons; she still owned a collection of ceramic dragon figurines. "In Chinese mythology, Shen-Lung controls wind and rain. Are you saying you're some kind of god?"

"No, but if you'd like a warm breeze or a nice white Christmas, I could certainly oblige." As she blinked, the creature undulated closer. "Come. It's time you learned to fly."

"I can fly?" She'd heard that some Hypers could.

"With a bit of instruction."

Once Arial had dreamed of flying with a Chinese dragon. Just leaving all her guilt behind…

"Oh, hell, why not?" She felt a reckless smile spread across her face. "What do I do first?"

"Relax." And the dragon dove into her chest, igniting another delicious surge of warmth. "I'll carry you until you learn the trick of it."

Arial gasped, as power rolled through her, heady and intoxicating, literally sweeping her off her feet. As Shen-Lung carried her out into the hall, she found herself laughing like a child.

***

JOSIAH lay rigidly in the bedroom across the hall from Arial's, trying not to remember the way she'd tasted. Unfortunately, his dick had a mind of its own, and it was preoccupied with her silken skin and heady scent. He gritted his teeth against the temptation to cross the hall and take up where they'd left off.

He held temptation off with the memory of the pain and anguish in Sharon's eyes, and the crushing guilt in his own heart.

Frankly, he'd rather jerk off.

Josiah eyed the tent in the sweats he'd donned in an effort to defeat lust. Maybe if he took care of business, he could get a little sleep. He started to snake a hand down his waistband…

Feminine laughter rang in the corridor, a sweet peal of delight.

He lifted his head, frowning. "Arial?" Rolling out of bed, he strode toward the door and opened it.

Just in time to see the hem of a white silk gown whip past at eye level. "Hey!"

Josiah stepped out into the hall and watched in astonishment as Arial literally flew down the hall, soaring along, six feet above the floor. Her body undulated, feet together, hands at her side, as if she were swimming underwater. Her hair streamed behind her like a chestnut flag. The skirts of the white nightgown whipped around her, showing glimpses of bare, toned legs.

"Arial, what the hell?" He started after her. "Where do you think you're going?"

She didn't appear to hear, moving with such speed he was forced to break into a sprint. A fierce wind blew in her wake, gusting into his face. Yet despite its force, the wind was warm, smelling of exotic spices and femininity. His body responded with a silent growl of hunger.

"Arial, dammit! Come back!"

But she kept going. He lengthened his stride, running hard. By rights, he should have caught her, but she stayed just ahead. He reached one hand toward a slim ankle…

She arched upward, heading for a hatch in the ceiling. The heavy iron door blew open, and she zipped inside.

With a growl, he leaped upward, caught the steel ladder inside the tube, and scrambled after her.

"Arial!"

Had the Transition driven her over the edge, the way it once had him? Remembering the nightmare of his madness, fear clutched at him.

Arial lost in that kind of hell…

Josiah leaped upward, clearing three rungs to catch a fourth in his desperation. "Arial!"

***

THE wind whipped Arial's face, surprisingly warm and sweet scented. Flying was exhilarating, a hot rush that fed her adrenalin junkie's soul. And with Shen-Lung within her, it was surprisingly effortless. She need only think, and the wind answered her whims.

It was like being a goddess.

Another hatch lay at the end of the access tube. A flick of her fingers send a blast of wind against it, and the door flew open. She shot out into the open air and headed skyward.

The sun had risen, spilling pools of flame and gold across the horizon. She spun as she arched upward, savoring the sun on her face, the warm wind that supported her, despite the winter chill all around. Looking downward, she gaped in surprise.

Below her feet lay a sprawling castle of cream stone she instantly recognized. It was Bayfield House, a nineteenth-century mansion built by Michael Bay, the eccentric heir to one of America's greatest fortunes.

Psych's headquarters lay beneath Bayfield House?

Arial's eyes widened as she put two and two together. Psych must be Richard Bay, Michael's great-great-grandson. Her joke about the Batcave had been closer to the mark than she'd dreamed.

Damn. One of the most powerful men in the South was a Hyper. How the hell had he managed to keep that secret?

Telepaths can always find blackmail material, Shen-Lung's voice said in her mind. But at the moment, we have a more immediate problem. You must learn to call the power.

But it isn't my power—it's yours.

No, I'm only the power source. Yours is the will that shapes it. That's the arrangement.

What arrangement?

You give me life. I give you power.

Arial blinked. I don't remember making that particular deal.

My people have a slightly different conception of these things than yours.

No shit. But it was hard to quibble with the elegant sweep of Bayfield House below, surrounded by its grape arbors and gardens, the Blue Ridge Mountains rolling all around it like ocean waves. What a view it would be in the spring…

Concentrate, girl. You need to feel the patterns of energy around you, if you want to influence them.

She frowned as she stopped her rise and hovered, feeling weightless as a soap bubble. The wind swirled around her, warm as springtime. How am I supposed to do that?

What's your body made off.

Arial shrugged. Skin, blood. Bones.

Deeper than that. Look. An image of herself floating in the air flashed into her mind. It grew, drew closer and closer, like a camera zooming in, the view tightening on her arm, her hand, her fingertip, until she could see the swirls and ridges of her own fingerprint, then the tiny pores. And then even closer, down to the cellular level, from cell structures to chains of molecules, then impossibly even closer to the dance of atoms, the fuzzy glowing zip of electrons swirling around atomic nuclei. Deeper and deeper to the smear of quarks.

The image blurred outward again with a speed that was almost nauseating, but all she could see now was darting flashes of energy. It was no longer possible to tell where her body ended and the air around her began. Because it's all the same, Shen-Lung said. The barriers between one and the other are illusion. Concentrate now, and you can feel it.

He was right. She could see the swirls and eddies of energy, of heat. The fat, dancing molecules of water oxygen, carbon dioxide, and countless others. Wonder rose in her—the kind of emotion she hadn't felt since the day she'd watched a little girl die. "O," she breathed softly.

That's it, Shen-Lung said. Now fly.

And he dropped her.

Arial yelped, as lines of force snapped tight around her body and jerked her downward. Instinctively, she reached out and sent power surging outward, countering gravity.

She shot upward like a rocket, her teeth snapping together so hard she bit her tongue.

Too much power, Shen-Lung observed.

Arial growled a curse and tried again, easing back on the energy that flowed from her, slowing her flight to a hover. "You might have warned me!"

And what would you have learned from that?

Yeah, well, if I'd killed myself, I wouldn't have learned a damn thing.

Would I have allowed that, when I've worked so hard to find you? The dragon thrust his scaly head from her body and glanced downward. Speaking of those who are looking for you. ..

Arial automatically followed his gaze, her sight returning to normal. Beneath her, a familiar figure stood looking up. He wasn't wearing his armor or mask, but somehow she knew him anyway.

"Tracker," she breathed.

***

JOSIAH stared upward, his heart pounding furiously. When Arial had dropped, he'd instinctively lunged to catch her, even knowing it was worse than futile. The impact would have killed her anyway—and probably him, too. In that moment, he'd known that if she died, he might as well die, too.

It was completely irrational. He didn't even know her, for God's sake.

Then she'd caught herself at the last moment, and hope and relief had bloomed in his chest, so intense they'd dizzied him.

He watched her float to earth, her long dark hair whipping in the wind, energy sparking and snapping around her. The glow illuminated her delicate face, the lush line of her mouth, the gold in her dark eyes. The white nightgown with its thin spaghetti straps hugged her torso, even as its full skirt danced around her thighs. She looked more like a goddess than anything human.

She descended, weightless as a dream, until her slender hands touched his shoulders. Josiah reached up and took her waist in his hands, drawing her close.

She let him take her weight at the same time as he took her mouth. He supported her easily as they kissed, deep and slow. She tasted of power and desire and clean spring wind. "Tracker," Arial breathed.

"Josiah," he corrected roughly, catching her under her knees to cradle her in his arms. "My name is Josiah Ridge." He started back toward the hatch with her. "And you scared the hell out of me."

"Maybe it's time you stop being scared," she said softly, combing a hand through his dark hair. "I'm not that fragile."

Josiah looked down into those goddess eyes. "I'm beginning to figure that out."

Then he gave her a grin, flipped her over his shoulder, and carried her down the hatch to the sound of her laughter.

***

WITHOUT the mask, he was a little more rough-hewn than she'd expected, with thick dark brows over deep-set hazel eyes. His Roman nose was a bit off-line, as if it had been broken a time or two. His jaw was a bit too broad and square for GQ beauty, an effect heightened by the ruthlessly short brush cut of his sable hair. Somehow, that lush mouth looked even more seductive against all that aggressive masculinity. She couldn't wait to taste it again.

Arial got her chance when he carried her back to his bedroom. She'd half-expected to have to coax him again, but the moment her backside hit the mattress, he was peeling her out of her nightgown, dragging its silky hem over her head and tossing it aside. Leaving her clad only in a pair of tiny lace panties.

Then he stepped back. And simply stared. For a moment, his hazel eyes flared tiger gold, pupils turning to slits. Arial caught her breath as every muscle in his body coiled as if he were about to spring. He was so big, so broad, muscle lying in sculpted ridges under his tanned skin. She swallowed, feeling her nipples tighten.

Those eyes flicked to the pink tips and flared even brighter. He licked his lips.

Then he caught the waistband of his sweats and pushed them down, as if he couldn't stand to have his body covered another instant. Straightening to his full height, he paused, his gaze challenging.

The full effect of his nudity was stunning. He was so erect, his cock angled slightly upward in an elegant male curve, his balls hanging full between powerful thighs.

His was not the shaved and airbrushed perfection of a male model. There was hair on his chest, calves, and forearms; veins snaking along his big hands; a couple of ugly scars framing one knee that suggested surgery some time in his past.

He was not, after all, some comic book fantasy man. Powers or not, ghost tiger notwithstanding, he was flesh and blood.

And she wanted him more than she'd ever wanted a man in her life.

Arial slid her fingertips into the waist of her panties, and tugged them down over her legs. His eyes flared hot gold as she tossed them aside.

"God, Arial…" And then he was on her, kissing her with a stark hunger that left her boneless, his tongue sliding deep in conquest, his teeth gently scoring her lower lip. She dug her nails into his powerful bare back, loving the feel of his skin under her hands.

When his strong, warm hands palmed her breasts, Arial could only close her eyes in delight.

He growled, the sound not quite human, and bit his way softly down the tendons of her throat. He paused at her collarbone to taste and lick, as his fingers plucked her nipples, twisting with a wicked, breath-stealing skill.

By the time he pulled his head away, she was gasping, her heart hammering in her chest. He gave her a feral, slit-pupiled look and covered her breast with his mouth. Suckled, pulling fiercely, giving her no mercy as he played with her. Driving her insane.

The rake of his teeth made her back arch. "Tracker!"

"Josiah." He growled it, fierce and animal, as he punctuated each word with a gently stinging bite. "My name. Is. Josiah."

"Josiah." She wrapped her hands around his head. "Josiah, Josiah. Keep doing that, and I'll call you whatever you want."

"Betterrrrr." He reached down the length of her body to quest between her thighs. Strong fingers strummed over her clit, making her writhe. Then slid slowly, carefully deep. Pumped. He looked up with those glowing eyes. "You're wet."

Arial laughed, the sound strangled. "Hell, yeah."

"You're going to be even wetter." He bent his head and went back to licking and suckling her nipples even as he pumped his finger within her. In. Out. Inexorably. Mercilessly. Until she was writhing, half out of her mind. "God, Josiah! You're driving me insane!"

"Not yet." He grabbed her by the hips and flung himself down on his back. Before she knew what was happening, he'd spread her over his face.

For a moment she instinctively tried to pull away, but his big hands tightened, forcing her down onto his ruthless mouth. With a whimper of surrender, Arial grabbed the headboard. His tongue lapped and danced over her clit, the sensation so furiously intense, Arial flung back her head, yowling, dimly aware of her hair whipping her bare back.

He growled at her like the tiger, working her with teeth and lips and tongue, licking at her clit, her inner lips, thrusting into her. Until she shook on top of him, blinded by heat.

The orgasm rose in a fountain of flame, pouring up her core, ripping a scream from her throat.

Somewhere in the distance, she heard a tiger's deep-throated roar.

***

JOSIAH listened to Arial's helpless gasps of pleasure, as his cock jerked in lust. In some distant part of his mind, he knew he was out of control, but he didn't care.

He could trust Arial not to let him go too far. His goddess could stop him whenever she wanted.

Her cry of pleasure made him grin. Not that she's going to stop me anytime soon.

He drove her to a second orgasm, then a third. Until, gasping, she dragged herself from his hands and collapsed on her back. Those beautiful breasts rose and fell, quivering sweetly.

"And where," he asked in a silken voice, "do you think you're going?"

Arial gave him a wild-eyed look. "Josiah, wait…"

"Nope." He flipped her over onto her belly, dragged her beautiful ass into the air. "My turn."

Then he drove his cock into her in one hard, delicious thrust. They both froze, shuddering at the sensation.

"Well," she said at last, her voice strangled, "if you insist."

Josiah laughed, the sound a little ragged, and began to work his way in and out of her hot, tight clasp. She felt so deliciously snug, so wet, he knew he'd never last. "God," he gritted, "you're sweet."

She flung her head back, grinding her lushly curving backside against his hips. "I'm not sure… sweet is quite the word."

He shuttered his eyes and fought to hold on against the clawing delight. "Yeah," he panted. "Good point. Ahh! sweet doesn't do you justice at all."

Arial hunched back, taking him in to the balls, milking him hard. Josiah could feel the tiny pulses as she began to come. With a growl, he let go, pounding into her in deep, ferocious thrusts that drew his balls tight as his cock jerked, then pumped jet after jet. He opened his mouth to bellow in pleasure…

Before the sound even left his mouth, energy shot from Arial, a hot blue crackle that arced into the center of his chest. The impact threw him backward just as an answering electric jolt shot from him. Just before he hit the back wall, he saw it strike her, heard her strangled shout.

And then he saw nothing at all.

***

SOMETHING was wrong.

Richard wasn't sure what. Hell, he didn't even know why he was so sure. But five years as Psych had taught him to listen to that little voice in the back of his head.

And it was definitely yammering now.

He went still, eyeing the entrance to the garage. The buzz of his instincts grew more frantic. For a moment, he could have sworn he heard female voices whispering, but he couldn't quite make out what they were saying.

Maybe he should beat a quick retreat and get Josiah. He'd feel a lot better with Tracker's superpowered muscle at his back.

Thing was, when he'd walked past Jos's room earlier, his friend had sounded… busy. Besides, he was Psych. He'd handled more than his share of pissed-off Hypers before without Tracker's help. Including, come to think of it, Jos himself.

And what a memorable fight that had been.

He flattened his back against the wall, then sent the door rolling open with a flick of power.

Nothing. No ball of fire, no rampaging Hyper storming his way into the hall, no nothing. Richard darted a look around the door frame, but the room appeared empty of everything except a whole lot of expensive engineering.

Cautiously, he made his way inside. Not for the first time, he cursed the fact that other Hypers seemed to have a natural shielding against his telepathy. He'd have been able to sense an ordinary human hiding in the garage.

BOOOOOM!

The ear-splitting crash of rending metal made him jump.

BOOOM!

"What the fu—"

BOOOM!

It was coming from overhead. It sounded as if something was being slammed repeatedly into the hydraulic lift in the barn above.

Hay drifted lazily downward.

"Oh, hell." The metal platform that formed the floor of the barn was actually bending, spilling the hay that disguised it into the garage.

BOOOM! He glimpsed what looked like the hood of a car, hammering one side of the platform until it bent like a foil pie plate.

A female head thrust through the opening, red hair spilling around a wickedly smiling face. "Why, it's Psych! Hi, there, honey!"

"Shit," Richard breathed. Then he lifted his voice into a desperate bellow. "Tracker! It's Kali!"

CHAPTER SIX

Arial dreamed of a world with no trees, no grass, nothing but tearing winds and forking lightning and stifling, brutal heat. Merciless heat that whipped the winds to speeds they'd never known before, convulsed the world into hurricanes. It was the heat that somehow frightened her most.

Something was wrong with the sun.

She couldn't see it, but she could feel it out there, could sense it with the alien perceptions of her kind.

Some part of her recognized she was not human. In fact, she had no body at all. There were those who thought the race had physical forms once, but that was uncounted millennia ago. They were creatures of power now. Pure energy, riding the alien wind, drinking the lightning.

But all of their power could not save them from their swelling sun, as it grew and grew and licked greedily toward their world. They all knew they had at most a few more years before the sun engulfed the planet completely. Then Arial and all her kind would die.

But perhaps there was hope. One of the Wisest Ones had found another world within the range of a single Passage jump, an alien place yes, but around a comfortably stable sun. A world inhabited by beings of the flesh and blood they'd need in order to survive.

Humans, the aliens called themselves.

Without such bodies, the People would never be able to live on a planet so alien, with such a thin atmosphere and infrequent life-giving lightning.

The one problem was that so few of the humans were compatible hosts. Most had minds that were impenetrable to the People. For a time, all despaired.

Then the Wisest One identified a compatible human host and managed, with great effort, to open a Passage into his mind. Then he sought a second host for another of their kind. It was easier this time, requiring only a touch for the symbiote to make her Passage.

And so, one by one, the People fled their dying world.

Now it was Arial's turn. She'd found the one she wanted, a big male, healthy and strong. Optimism singing in her heart, she leaped through the Passage into his mind.

And everything went wrong.

The host's world was too alien, and so were his thoughts. She couldn't make contact with his consciousness, no matter how she tried. She even took the form of the symbol she'd found in his mind—a tiger, it was called. To no avail.

Still, she tried to give him the use of her power in return for her life, though she soon realized he found it more burden than blessing.

That would have been bad enough, but she quickly discovered that some of those who'd made the Passage had been corrupted by their hosts. The one who'd found Josiah for her was one of those. What was worse, his host, Kali, was stalking Josiah.

Arial did not understand why until Kali caught up to them. She touched him—and her symbiote surged into his mind, trying to enslave him.

Arial did the only thing she could do. She took over, protecting Josiah's mind as she attacked Kali, driving the other symbiote back into the woman.

And then they ran.

***

"FUCK." Josiah's voice rasped from the other side of the room. "We always thought my Transition had driven me crazy with a little help from Kali. Instead, it was that damned alien's idea of saving my ass."

Arial opened her eyes and found herself staring at a fringed bedspread. Blinking, she realized she was lying on the floor. "What the hell happened?"

"E. T. threw us for a loop."

"Oh, yeah." Arial sat up, groaning, as bruised muscles protested. "That power jolt just as we climaxed." It had tossed them around the room like dice in a cup.

"Are you okay?" Josiah staggered to his feet and walked around the bed to help her up.

She cleared her throat. "A little singed, but I'll live. I gather you saw the same… dream? Vision?"

"Alien gas giant inhabited by whatever-the-fuck-they-are?" He grimaced and lowered himself to sit on the edge of the mattress. "I saw it. I don't know why I saw it in the middle of the best climax of my life."

"In your pleasure, your consciousness finally opened to me," a purring voice said. The tiger thrust its head out of his side. "I saw my chance and took it."

"Ahh!" Josiah leaped to his feet in surprise. The tiger's ghostly shape sat down on the bed and flicked an ear at him.

"I gather you can see him now," Arial said dryly.

"Yeah. Jesus!" He eyed the cat a moment before his brows suddenly shot up. "I'll be damned—it's the Tillman High tiger."

"What?"

"The mascot of that school where I taught football—it was a tiger. All this time you kept talking about a tiger, and I never put it together until…" He stiffened, alarm widening his eyes. "Wait a minute. Did you hear that?"

Arial frowned at him. "What?"

He lunged off the bed. "Somebody just let loose an energy blast. And Psych doesn't do energy blasts!"

***

JOSIAH ran so fast, Arial was forced to fly to keep up with him. Even then, he reached the scene of the battle ahead of her.

She rounded the corner to find him standing frozen, staring at what had once been the door of the garage. It had been blown off its hinges. The crumpled hood of Tracker's SUV stuck halfway through the wall, as if something had picked the big vehicle up and thrown it.

From somewhere beyond the wreckage, a male voice groaned in pain. Mocking laughter answered.

"Not so tough now, huh, Psych?"

"He's definitely a little worse for wear," a woman agreed. "Feeling a little bit more submissive yet, darling?"

"Kali." Josiah jolted forward, but Arial grabbed his shoulder with a strength born of pure desperation.

"Wait a minute," she hissed. "We can't just charge in there without a plan of attack!"

He threw her an agonized look and whispered hoarsely, "Arial, I can smell his blood."

"And he won't be the only one bleeding, if we don't keep our heads. It sounds like they've got us outnumbered in there."

For a moment he hesitated, visibly torn. Then he growled a curse and grabbed her by the shoulder, pulling her backward down the hall. "If she's got her full crew with her, they probably do."

"How many are in her crew?"

"Six. Judging from my truck sticking out of the wall, she's definitely got Brute. It would have taken Cerberus's Hyper senses to find this place. And if those two are here, the other four are, too. And you're right—there's no way in hell we can take all seven of them. That team of hers has some serious firepower."

Arial swallowed, fighting the sick sensation of rising fear. "So what do we do?"

"A little hostage negotiation." His smile was bitter. "There's one thing Kali really wants—and that's me. I'm the one that got away. I get her to hand Psych over, and you fly him the hell out of here and call the Feds. They'll have a team here before Kali finishes celebrating."

"What?" She stared at him in horror. For a moment, Jenny's wide blue eyes flashed through her memory. "Fuck that."

"Arial…"

"I'm not handing you over to have your mind raped by that sick bitch," Arial spat. "That's not the way it works, Jos. You don't give the good guys to the bad guys."

Josiah's expression turned stony. "It's not your choice." He turned away.

She stared at his broad back helplessly. With his strength, there was no way she could stop him.

Sensations spun through her memory: the heat and hunger in his kiss, the warmth of his hands, the exquisite way he'd made love to her. The sound of pride in his voice when he talked about his students. The tenderness in his eyes when he'd looked at her.

Oh, bell, Arial thought, I'm falling in love with him.

He was going to end up dead, and she wouldn't be able to save him. She was helpless. Just as powerless as she'd been when Jenny died.

Haven't we already been through this? Shen-Lung growled in her mind. You know better.

Arial froze, suddenly remembering his voice in that morning's lesson. It's all the same. The barriers between one and the other are illusion.

She focused on Josiah's broad back, looking hard. Zooming in just as Shen-Lung had taught her. Until she could see the cells in his body. The molecules. The swirling energy that made them up. Until she could no longer see the barriers between him and the air around him.

Or between him and herself.

Josiah.

She beard her thought ring in his mind. And it stopped him.

He turned to look at her, stunned amazement filling his mind. Hypers can't read Hypers!

Psych can't. I'm not Psych.

His lips twitched. I noticed.

Have you noticed this? She took a deep breath—and opened herself to him.

***

THE love Arial felt was delicate, as fragile with new growth as a shoot of spring grass forcing its way through the snow. Yet Josiah could sense the promise of warmth and budding strength in it.

It staggered him.

And in that moment, he also realized how familiar the feeling was.

Because he felt the same. I'm falling for her. Joy filled him with such intensity, a broad grin spread across his face. Damn. He took a step back toward her—

Just as Psych screamed.

Josiah froze in midstep, anguish ripping through his momentary joy. He could feel its reverberation echoing through Arial. She gasped softly in pain.

In that instant, he remembered Rich had worked to save him when he'd scarcely been human. I can't let him die, Arial. Not even for you.

No. He could feel the grief in her. No, it would destroy you.

Before he could turn away, Shen-Lung's voice spoke in his mind. There is, however, another option.

The tiger rumbled a purr of approval.

***

RICHARD lay in a blood-soaked heap, as Josiah walked into the garage. He'd been right: Kali had brought all six of her slaves: Brute and Cerberus; Ghost—who could turn invisible—the flyer, Daedalus; Firecracker—who could cause small explosions with a thought—and Breaker, who controlled electricity.

If this doesn't work, Josiah thought, God help me. They'll tear me apart.

"I think he should be softened up enough by now," Kali said cheerfully. "Let's try this again. Psych, you stubborn bastard."

"Let him go, Kali."

Her head jerked up, red hair dancing around her shoulders, as an incredulous smile of delight spread across her face. "Tracker! There you are. What did you do with the pretty cop? I've got such plans for her."

"Forget her," he said roughly. "We both know who you really want. Let Psych go, and I'll give myself up."

Kali went still, her green eyes narrowing. "Now, why would I do a thing like that when I can just have the boys kick your ass? Then I'll have both of you—and the cop."

The thought sickened him, but he folded his arms and gave her a cool smile. "I think we've already established that you can't take me, Kali. On the other hand, if you let Arial get Psych out of here, I won't put up a fight."

Kali whirled toward Cerberus. "Is he lying?"

Squat and fiercely homely, the little man breathed deep to draw in Josiah's scent. "Don't seem so."

Brute flexed his massive hands. Jealousy gleamed in his small black eyes. "I don't trust the bastard. Let me work him over a little first."

Kali snorted, her gaze fixed on Josiah with eager greed. "And batter that pretty face? I don't think so." She licked her lips. "Swear you'll surrender yourself."

Josiah didn't let his eyes waver. "If you let them go."

"Fine," she snapped. "The cop can have him. He's too stubborn for me anyway."

Meaning she hadn't been able to break him. Good for you, Rich.

Arial stepped into the room and gestured. Richard's body rose into the air and floated toward her. Her teeth clenched as she struggled with his considerable weight.

He lifted his head and looked blearily around. "Wha?" Both eyes were so swollen, it was obvious he could barely see. Blood smeared his mouth and nose, and the knuckles of one hand were grotesquely swollen, as if his fingers had been methodically broken. "Jo—Tracker?"

"Shhh," Arial whispered. "We're leaving."

"A telekinetic," Kali said, staring at her with sharpened interest. "And a pretty damn strong one, at that."

"Do you want me or not?" Josiah snapped, drawing her attention.

"Oh, I want you, big boy." Her green eyes narrowed. "In fact, come here. Now."

He moved toward her, putting an arrogant roll in his walk and a taunting smile on his face.

"That's it." Kali grinned and purred, "Good boy."

His skin crawled as he stopped just within her reach. He lifted a brow. "Well?"

She rammed her hand hard against his chest. Josiah drew in a hard breath as her mind slammed into his.

And Arial's dragon and his tiger shot from his chest, right into hers. Kali stiffened with a cry of shock. She began to shake, eyes rolling back in her head.

A moment later, Shen-Lung and the tiger emerged again, dragging—something. Something bloody red, with curving horns, a misshapen face, and a whipping forked tail. It looked like a medieval woodcut of a demon, and it hissed in rage as it struggled. But the tiger had buried its fangs deep in the thing's throat, and Shen-Lung coiled around its barrel chest, all four sets of claws dug in.

Behind Josiah, female voices rose in a chorus of rage. He jerked his head around just in time to see two ghostly forms shoot from Rich's body. Together, the twin spirits flew at the demon and began to slash at it with their claws. It howled in pain and desperation.

Until an inhuman roar drowned it out. Suddenly the air was full of savage, glowing shapes, pouring from the six slave Hypers to surround Kali's demon in a swirling mob. Hiding it from view. Its screams grew shriller, more desperate.

"Jesus," Josiah whispered, feeling a bit sickened. They were tearing the demon spirit apart, feeding on its energy as they'd once fed on the lightning of their home world.

And with the creature dead…

"What?" Kali gasped, staggering backward. All the blood left her face, leaving it milk pale under the fire of her hair. "What's happening?"

He gave her a feral grin. "Looks like your slaves' spirits are getting a little payback."

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"You'll figure it out."

There was a last choked cry… And nothing.

The spirits swirled away back to their hosts in a flurry of light and energy. Josiah gasped as his tiger dove back into his chest with a satisfied rumble. Well, that was a pretty chilling display.

But necessary. His host had driven Gerot mad. There was no other way to stop him from enslaving others to feed her lust for power.

"She's gone," Daedalus breathed, his eyes wide in his round face. "She's not in my mind anymore."

"Holy hell, you're right!" Ghost whispered. "I'm free!"

Brute turned a chilling grin on Kali. "We're all free."

She took a step back, her eyes widening with the cold terror of a woman who was seeing her worst fears realized. "No. No, I'll just… I'll just…"

"You'll do nothing bitch!" Firecracker lifted his hands, obviously preparing to throw a blast.

A cold blast of wind slammed through the room, followed by a deafening clap of thunder. "That's enough!" Arial barked. "Kali, you're under arrest. The rest of you back the fuck off—unless you want to lose your powers too."

Brute lifted his big hands and flexed them menacingly. "You sure you can take us all, cop?"

She lifted an elegant brow. "Are you sure I can't?"

Josiah stepped between the two of them and curled his own hands into fists. "And if she can't, I can. Somehow I doubt you're quite as good a team without Kali pulling your strings."

Brute licked his thick lips with an expression of profound unease. He apparently remembered their last fight as vividly as Josiah. "I got no problem with you, Tracker. You just put that bitch in a cage where she belongs."

As Arial and Josiah watched, he whirled around, stalked to the opening left by the broken hydraulic lift, and leaped skyward.

Grumbling and casting dark looks at their former mistress, his teammates followed.

Arial watched them go. Damn, I hate to let those bastards get away, she said in Josiah's mind.

I know, but we don't have the firepower to take them out now. Don't worry—none of them can stand the others. They'll scatter and we'll be able to pick them off later.

Kali suddenly whirled on Josiah, an expression of helpless fury on her face. "What did you do to me, you son of a bitch?"

Josiah walked toward her, pulling a pair of cuffs from his belt as he gave her a toothy grin. "Pulled your plug."

"Come on, Kali," Arial purred. "Resist arrest."

She took one look at them and slumped in defeat.

EPILOGUE

One Month Later

Arial walked into the bedroom she was sharing with Josiah—and stopped, staring at her own black-clad reflection in the mirror over the bureau. She was still getting used to the sight of herself in Hyper armor. The suit was the same basic design as Tracker's, except for the small white stylized Chinese dragon that swirled across her right eye and halfway down the cheek of the mask.

It had been a busy month. First she'd handed in her resignation to the James County Sheriff's Office. It hadn't hurt nearly as much as she'd expected. After that had come two weeks of federal psychological and physical testing to become a Hyper agent. The Feds decided to waive the law enforcement training requirement because of her background.

All in all, it was a good thing Arial was a cop. The federal medical specialists all agreed she was one of the most powerful Hypers they'd ever seen, between her telekinesis and ability to manipulate the weather, not to mention her talent for seeing other people's aliens. That last little bombshell had definitely set the medical establishment back on its heels, not least because it was conclusive proof of life on other planets.

Somebody probably would have been tempted to lock her up for further study, if it hadn't been for the fact that she was so obviously needed to hunt down the rest of Kali's gang. She was finally allowed to go to work on a provisional basis with Tracker and Psych.

Having spent a week in the hospital, Rich had been in the mood to kick ass. Arial and Jos had been happy to help him do it.

It had crossed her mind to wonder if any of the gang had been innocent, forced into criminal behavior by Kali's powers. After all, the bitch had intended to enslave the three of them, too.

But a scan of each thug as he was caught revealed that none of them were exactly choirboys. And as Rich had pointed out, they'd certainly enjoyed beating the hell out of him.

Today they'd caught the last one, Brute, who'd barely put up a fight before he surrendered with a certain amount of resignation. Apparently he'd heard how thoroughly they'd defeated his former teammates' and wanted to save himself the hospitalization.

Arial gave her reflection a smile of satisfaction—which broadened as Josiah slipped up behind her and wrapped his brawny arms around her waist.

"I do love a woman in leather," he purred in her ear, then added, "Tempest."

She rolled her eyes. "God, I hate that name." The FBI had assigned her the handle, over her protests.

He caught the tab of her zipper and started sliding it down. "Well, nobody ever accused bureaucrats of having imagination."

She gave him a mock pout. "I really wanted Phoenix."

"Copyrighted. Comic book character." The zipper's tab reached the top of her breastbone. "We'd get sued."

"Yeah, well, in Chinese mythology, the Phoenix is the mate of the dragon."

"Yeah, but you're the mate of me."

She let her head fall back against his broad chest. "I'm not sure that sentence is grammatically correct."

"Darlin', I don't give a damn." He started tugging her armored coat down her arms. "And anyway, I used to read that comic, and Phoenix went evil and ate a planet. A billion poor broccoli people, dead."

"You geekboy, you." Arial smiled, shuttering her eyes as he pulled the edges of her suit apart. "Besides, I'm starting to feel kind of evil myself."

"Do tell." He slid his gloved hands down to cover her bared breasts. "How evil are we talking?"

Arial's smile grew into a smirk. "Evil enough to put Velveeta on the broccoli people."

"That's pretty evil." Strong fingers rolled her nipples, tugging sweetly. "In fact, I think you need to be punished."

"What have you got in mind?"

In one blurring movement, he grabbed the edges of her suit and jerked it down around her thighs, then dropped to his knees. "A spanking." His teeth closed over one cheek in a wicked little nip.

"AHH!" Startled, she lost her balance, but he caught her and tumbled her to the floor. "No fair!"

He reared over her, a sly grin on his masked face. "Who said anything about fighting fair?"

She sniffed. "I thought you were one of the good guys."

"Oh, I am." Josiah lowered his head. "Very, very good."

The kiss was slow, thorough, and so hot her toes curled in her armored boots. His tongue dipped and swirled, as his teeth raked across her lower lip, then tugged softly. By the time he lifted his head again, she was breathing hard.

So was he.

"Mmmm." Arial smiled lazily. "You are good."

He rested his forehead against hers. "You're not bad yourself."

"Trouble is, you're also covered in leather."

"Yeah." He stared working his way down her torso, tasting her skin, dealing out licks and tiny bites to every part of her body he paused at.

"That was a hint." She sucked in a gasp as he discovered her nipples. "Get naked."

Josiah raised his head, laughing. "Yes, mistress."

He bounced to his feet with that weightless strength and started to hum a bump and grind as he shimmied out of his coat.

Arial snickered, but her laughter faded when he unzipped his suit and started working it down his broad torso. He turned his back, giving her a good look at his tightly muscled ass in the snug black armor. By the time he spun around to liberate his cock with a teasing grind of his hips, she was all but panting.

"I take it back." She watched him unzip his boots and kick them across the room. "You are definitely not a good guy. You're bad all the way to the boner."

He stopped and looked at her. "That was awful."

"Yeah, I know." She bared her teeth. "But what do you expect? I'm evil."

"You are that." He pounced. Before she knew what hit her, he'd swept her off the floor, sat down on the mattress, draped her across his knee, and landed a light swat on her ass.

"Hey!"

"You had that coming." Josiah spilled her onto the bed and grabbed her boots, tugging them and the suit the rest of the way off.

"Laugh now, geekboy. My vengeance will be terrible to behold."

Josiah straightened to survey her sprawled, naked body. "I'm shaking." His cock jerked once. He lifted a brow. "And do I look like a 'boy' anything?"

"I dunno." She rolled onto her knees and grabbed the thick shaft. Her fingers barely closed around it. "Let me get a closer look."

"If you insist…" He sucked in a hard breath as she engulfed him in one long swoop.

He was far more than a mouthful—smooth, salty, flavored with a hint of leather and Josiah's own seductive scent. Arial sighed in pleasure and settled down to suckle him in earnest.

***

HER mouth was breathtaking. Hot, fierce, wickedly skilled, her clever little tongue painting heat over the head of his shaft and along its snaking veins. Cool fingers cuddled his balls, rolled and caressed them as he shuddered.

Arial. His sweet Arial. Insanely brave, funny, wickedly smart. And she gave one hell of a blow job.

His own personal goddess.

And there was no way in hell he could take any more of this. "Arial," he gasped, threading his hands through her silken hair.

"Mmmm?" A snaking lick along the vein running the length of his cock.

Josiah shivered. "If you don't back off, you're gonna be really, really frustrated."

"I'll risk it." She nibbled mercilessly on the head.

"Oh, God!" It felt like the top of his own head was about to blow off. "Arial…" He was begging now and didn't care in the least.

She pulled reluctantly away from his cock with a pronounced popping sound, like a kid letting go of a sucker. "Oh, all right. Spoilsport."

"Wench."

He swooped down, grabbed her shoulders, and tossed her on the bed. Then he was on her and in her.

She was, thank God, deliciously wet—apparently teasing him had turned her on as much as it had him. He had to freeze after the first thrust, fighting desperately not to come as her delicate inner muscles milked him.

Arial coiled those exquisite legs around his back and dug one heel into his left ass cheek, a not-so-subtle hint.

"Giddyap," she breathed.

"Neigh." Biting his lip, he began to thrust, slowly, clawing for control.

***

NO matter how many times he'd taken her over the last month, the first really hard thrust never failed to make Arial's eyes roll back in her head.

She had to blink a couple of times before she managed to focus.

He was braced in her favorite position now, arms stiff, head thrown back so that corded muscle worked all up and down his powerful neck, chest, and arms. When she looked down the line of their bodies, she could see the tight lacing brawn of his abdominal muscles, as he slid that meaty cock in and out of her hungry body.

But what she really loved to watch was his face.

With her own climax shivering closer and closer, the sight of him fighting his off never failed to drive her crazy. His eyes were tightly closed, one muscle in his jaw flexing as he bared his teeth in effort. A bead of sweat worked its way down his temple from his short hair.

Arial hunched up at him just to watch him gasp. Deliberately, she circled her hips, clamping down hard on the thickness buried so far within her.

"Arial!" he roared, and came.

And that was the part she loved best of all.

Her own white-hot climax took her by surprise.

***

THEY lay in a tangled heap, panting. Long moments ticked by before Josiah spoke. "I've been thinking…"

"Congratulations," Arial groaned. "That's more than I'm capable of at the moment."

"Marry me."

She jerked her head up and stared at him. He looked perfectly serious—and damn near serene. She gaped. "What?"

His dark brows lowered with a trace of annoyance. "Don't look so stunned. I've told you I love you."

She licked her dry lips. "And I love you, but…"

"But what?"

"We've only known each other a month."

"Maybe, but it's been a really busy month." He smiled slightly. "And we knew we were falling for each other from day one. Literally."

"But…"

Hazel eyes locked with hers, sure and calm. "You're everything I want. Everything I've ever wanted. Marry me. Stay with me."

She looked up at him, feeling the dazed smile spread across her face. "Yes. God, yes!"

As she flung her arms around him, she heard a dragon voice say, I told you he'd propose before the month was out. You owe me five bucks.

Fine. Sounding disgruntled, the tiger added, Where am I supposed to catch these "bucks"?

Shen-Lung groaned.

Are they very quick?

Idiot.

The tiger snickered.