“Here.” Sascha pulled off her scarf and threw it to him.
Catching the makeshift blindfold, Vaughn enclosed Faith in the circle of his arms. She didn’t move as he placed the soft material over her eyes, despite the fact that his front waspressed against her back. He was being deliberately provocative, taunting her. He’d never have done it if he’d thought her weak and easily bullied. No, this woman, despite her apparent fragility, was more than tough enough to take him on.
But as he finished fastening the knot, he felt a different kind of stillness steal over her. He imagined what it must be like—darkness, complete darkness, and she was having to trust people she’d only met minutes ago to do her no harm. It was to her credit that she did nothing but stand there in an appearance of utter calm. Deciding not to push her any more than he had already, he came around, took her hand, and hooked two of her fingers through a belt loop on his jeans.
A slight tug as she curled her fingers. “Thank you.”
“Let’s go.”
As they followed Lucas and Sascha more slowly to the car, Faith spoke to him. “You think I’m making it up. I’m not.”
“What?”
“About the seizures. I’ve seen recorded instances of F-Psy collapsing after too much sensory input.”
He scowled. “Are you telling me you’re never touched?”
“Once every six months they do a medical checkup that involves some unavoidable touching. And of course, I sometimes need other medical attention.” She tripped and pressed a hand against his back to steady herself, a fleeting imprint of feminine softness that was gone as soon as it had come. “I apologize.”
“Only medics touch you? You’ve never been held?”
“Perhaps when I was an infant, I might have been cradled by nursing staff.”
Even after all that he’d learned from Sascha about her race, he couldn’t imagine the inhuman coldness of such an existence. “We’re at the car.”
She let him nudge her into the vehicle. Taking the seat next to her, he pulled the door shut. They started moving almost immediately. Faith was like a statue next to him. If hehadn’t been able to see the rise and fall of her breath, hadn’t been able to smell the soft woman scent of her, he would’ve thought her made of—
Soft woman scent.
His beast went into a hunting crouch. Because unlike the guards who had blanketed the area around her home in their distinctive scent, Faith didn’t smell Psy. Just like Sascha. Most of the psychic race gave off a metallic stink that repelled changelings, but nothing about Faith repelled him, though neither man nor cat liked her coldness. The lack of the distinctive smell could be coincidence. On the other hand, it could be an indicator of those Psy who hadn’t given in completely to the inhumanity that was Silence.
Curious, he found himself leaning over to take another sniff. She went even more stiff and Sascha looked around to glare at him. He smiled. Shaking her head, she turned back. Sascha was learning that sometimes, cats would do what they’d do.
“Why do you think your gift is mutating?” he asked Faith, shifting to sit closer than he knew she would’ve liked.
“I forecast for business. That’s what I’m trained for and what my ability has always manifested itself as.”
“Always?”
She turned her head, though she couldn’t see him. “Why do you sound unconvinced?”
“The Psy have a way of training away powers they don’t like.” The cat in him was fascinated by the beauty of her skin. It was so rich and luscious he almost thought it might taste of cream.
“You can’t train away foresight.”
“No, but maybe you can channel it.” This came from Sascha. “Tell a child something often enough and she starts to believe it.”
Lucas stroked his fingers over his mate’s cheek and Vaughn wanted to do the same with Faith. Delicate, icy, shewas hardly the type of woman who usually attracted him, but there was something fascinating about her, something compelling.
“How old were you when they started training you?” he asked his Psy. He’d found her first. Therefore, she was his. It was the cat talking and Vaughn didn’t feel like arguing.
“I was placed in the care of the PsyClan at three years of age.”
“What does that mean?”
“Most children are raised by a parent or parents. I was raised by the PsyClan’s nurses and medics. It was for my own good—F-Psy need isolation or they go clinically insane.”
His beast clawed at the walls of his mind. “Three years old and you wereisolated?” This time he did reach out and slide strands of her hair through his fingers. She didn’t react in any obvious way, but he could feel her tension. Good. He wanted her disturbed—that damn shell she had around herself irritated the hell out of him.