her arms beneath her breasts, warming herself.
The bracelet slipped along her wrist—the fine metal bracelet that might have been unimaginative jewelry…or might have been just what it was: a monitor. It kept her out of certain areas; it recorded her entry into other areas. It keyed to an alarm that would sound if she put so much as a foot out of this building to breath fresh air. Real air.
His gaze flickered to the bracelet. She knew the exact moment he realized who she was.
Marlee Cerrosa, the traitor. The lightly blooded Sentinel working Southwest Brevis IT support, who had nearly gotten their consul killed, who had helped the hostile Atrum Core prepare for the recent and devastating attack during the night of Core D’oìche.
Marlee Cerrosa, permanent prisoner—no escaping brevis and no escaping herself. No matter that she’d cut her dark hair boy-short to match features gone delicate with strain, or that she’d spent endless hours in the gym, watching her olive complexion turn pale with the lack of sunlight and trying to feel strong and safe amidst a people whose unrelentingly untamed nature turned their lives into secrets.
The Sentinel came to his feet in a surge of energy, hands fisted at his sides, his intensity all turned to anger. Startled, Marlee took a step backward; her heel stubbed over a the leg of a weight machine. She caught the metal frame, steadying herself—lifting her chin as if she could convince either of them that she wasn’t frightened.
It didn’t stop him from coming closer, three long strides that proved there wasn’t a thing wrong with those long legs. “You should be afraid,” he said. “What the hell are you even doing here?”
“Living,” she snapped. “As best I can. Until I can prove myself again.”
He didn’t back down for a moment, standing right there within reach, the recent scars livid and the Core D’oìche scars only minimally less so, these several months later. “What makes you think you can ever do that? After the price we’ve all paid because of you?”
She knew her chin trembled; she hated it. “It wasn’t just me,” she whispered. She wanted to say I never understood. They used me, they made me, they broke me. “I did what I could to fix it.”
“Too late,” he told her, inexorable, and never mind that she’d ultimately saved the life of their consul. “Too damned late.”
Her fingers tightened around the steel frame, but she didn’t take another step back. Wouldn’t. Her newly honed muscles gave way to watery knees—at his nearness, at his presence. The scent of him surrounded her, a combination of sweat and the faintest hint of something woodsy she couldn’t swear wasn’t simply part of the tiger. She made her voice come out, no matter that it lacked strength. “What do you want from me?”
That stopped him—if not in the way she expected. He didn’t step back—not physically, not emotionally. But he took a breath, narrowing his eyes. “You want redemption?” he said, his voice hard with scorn. “Then prove it. Put yourself on the line for it. Earn it.” And then he smiled, ever so slightly, nothing of humor in it at all. “Help me find the mole who’s still setting us up.”
Chapter Two
This is a mistake.
Scott should have known better than to relax, to let himself feel…to respond to the woman now beside him when he’d first spotted her in the gym.
Because nothing was normal these days, and nothing was right. Not with brevis—infiltrated by moles and traitors—and not with Scott O’Brien himself.
It certainly wasn’t right to discover this woman had been the cause of all the things wrong with him now. The badly healing muscle of his shoulder, the freshly scored muscle of his chest…
The way he’d lost his tiger.
Marlee Abril Cerrosa. He’d heard of her, the mixed-blood tech who’d betrayed them all; he’d known she was here, under house arrest within brevis HQ. He hadn’t expected her to be small, or wickedly fit beneath those Latina curves, or delicate of feature beneath that dramatically short hair.
He hadn’t expected her to be vulnerable.
He sure as hell hadn’t expected to feel like an ass for bringing her down here to brevis medical—mostly as an excuse to get her down onto this floor, but, yeah…to face what she’d done, too.
Her toasty complexion had gone pale; her face strained. Her chin trembled now and then, as if she barely managed her game face at all.
Here, where so many of the victims of Core D’oìche lingered.
They didn’t know who she was. They thought she was Abril—they thought she’d come down from tech support to dispense a fresh batch of games, DVDs and e-reading devices loaded with books. And still, after she waved an ostensibly cheerful goodbye to those scarred and haunted Sentinels, she came out of the lounge to close her eyes and lean flat against the hallway wall, as if it might even hold her up.
Scott did that instead, closing a hand around her arm; he regretted it when she flinched—and then felt a swell of anger, hard and pounding in his chest. “You needed to see that.”
She made a visible effort to relax in his grip—to not care about his proximity—and probably didn’t know that the flutter of the pulse in her throat gave her completely away.
A tiger noticed such things. Along with her scent, and the small details of her posture. This one wants to run.
But he was surprised when she said, “I probably did need to see it.” She took a deep breath. “Until now, I’ve only seen pictures. Or…like you. In the gym.” She opened her eyes—a rich shade of brown, sad and worried. “I’ve never understood…the injuries…”
He knew that one without thinking. “Core workings, released through amulets. Energy with claws.” And he understood the faint puzzlement on her expression, too, because Core amulets and Core workings emitted an ugly taste of corrupted energy readily discernible to most Sentinels. It shouldn’t have been possible to take them by surprise at all. “Half of them were those new silent amulets, but either way…full-bloods aren’t clones. Not all of us can track amulets. So we never saw it coming.” The anger beat at him from inside. “Tell me you know at least that much about the agents you were working against.”
Her quick resentment surprised him—the way her mouth firmed as she seemed to grow just a little taller. She shook off his arm. “Maybe you don’t know as much as you think you know. Maybe the way you are right now is one of the reasons the Core was able to work me.”
“What the—” Scott stopped, waiting for the physician and healer team to pass by and garnering only scant glances; he knew from the tone of the conversation that they were at odds over someone’s treatment—and he knew from experience that such arguments happened all too often in the aftermath of Core D’oìche. He moved closer to Marlee, one arm thrust against the wall. The bad arm, and it let him know it; he pushed back at it—felt what was left of the tiger snarl at it. But when he spoke again, he kept his voice low—remembering that they were in public, here on the medical floor. “What the hell,” he said, “are you talking about?”
“That,” she said, scorn lacing her voice. “You and your tiger—and the wolf and the bobcat and the jackal we just left. Instead of taking responsibility for your strength, you use it to get
