“Memory!”

Jolted at hearing the sound of her name, she looked across the road and saw Sascha waving at her. Hunkered down on the ground beside her was a familiar dark-haired man with wide shoulders who appeared to be doing up the shoelace of a little girl with equally dark hair. She was holding on to his shoulders with tiny hands while she lifted her boot off the ground, as if to help him.

Sascha’s baby girl, not yet two years of age, wore a long-sleeved purple tunic over sparkly black tights. On the front of the tunic was a unicorn picked out in glitter. Her hair, soft but tumbled with curls, was in a jaunty ponytail. And in her hand, she carried a plas sword. Bright yellow, it matched the shield she wore on her back.

Memory waved back, not sure if she should approach or not. Alexei, however, was already stepping out onto the street, the area having been closed to traffic. “Luc,” he said when Sascha’s mate glanced up.

His eyes were a vivid panther-green in real life . . . and they made Memory shiver inside. Even if she hadn’t known she was looking at the alpha of DarkRiver, she would’ve known he was deadly. Power burned inside him, a hard slap against her senses.

“Alexei.” Rising to his feet, one of his daughter’s small hands clasped protectively in his, he held out the other to shake Alexei’s before shifting that feline gaze to Memory. His lips curved. “Ah, the creator of my new favorite wolf insult.”

Memory parted her lips to reply when a small voice piped up, “I’m Naya!” The little girl bounced on her shiny black lace-up boots, her eyes as green as her father’s. “I’m a danger!” She held up her sword.

“You look very dangerous,” Memory said solemnly, and was rewarded by a mischievous grin. She knew Naya’s physical dexterity was a changeling gift—Sascha had mentioned that changeling toddlers tended to walk much earlier than Psy, with humans also seriously outpacing Psy.

However, what she only now realized was that Naya’d also benefited from the Psy side of her DNA; the constant telepathic contact with her mother had accelerated her verbal development. The tiny girl’s speech wasn’t clear, but it was far more comprehensible than most children her age.

“Kitten,” Lucas said to Sascha, “why don’t you and Memory walk ahead, and Alexei and I’ll follow with our ferocious panther.”

Naya growled and showed her claws. Memory had to bite her lips to keep from laughing at the sheer adorableness of this tiny, unicorn-emblazoned, sword-carrying panther. Falling in beside Sascha, while Naya walked in between Lucas and Alexei, she said, “How do you ever discipline her? I’d have zero willpower against that face.”

“Luc does most of it,” Sascha admitted in a laughing whisper. “She knows I’m a soft touch.” The cardinal shook her head, her lips pressed tight. “The only thing I won’t bend on is anything to do with her safety, and she’s a smart cat, knows that. But otherwise, half the time, she’ll make me laugh while I’m trying to tell her not to do something, and it’s all over.”

Sascha’s cheeks creased, her eyes dancing. “Yesterday, while I was in the other room for five minutes, she changed into panther form, managed to climb up onto the kitchen counter, and, after shifting back to human form, opened the cupboard in which I keep the special fancy chocolate Lucas gets me. It’s too rich for her. I walked out to find her sitting naked on the counter, chocolate smeared all over her face and an innocent ‘I didn’t do it’ look on her face.”

Memory lifted her hands to her mouth, overcome by the sudden piercing knowledge that she’d one day like to be a mother to a naughty baby with her father’s wolf eyes. “What did you do?”

“I managed to give her a stern talking-to that time.” Sascha pushed her braid off her shoulder. “And my poor cub got a tummy ache later, so the chocolate stash will be fine for a little while—at least until she forgets.” Tenderness in every word. “I wouldn’t change her for all the world. She’s growing up wild and strong, with a pack full of friends.”

A small, warm body wriggled between them. “Mama.”

“Naya.” Taking her daughter’s hand on that singsong response that made Naya giggle, Sascha said, “Where’s your sword?”

“Lexie hold.” Bright green eyes angled to look at Memory.

She felt as if she was being weighed, judged, and when the little girl smiled and held out a hand, the joy she felt was a wave. “I can’t,” she said, her voice husky, scared the darkness in her would somehow hurt this innocent child brought up in love.

Sascha’s gaze caught hers. I don’t think you’re a threat to her, or I would’ve never called out to you, the cardinal said telepathically. But I appreciate the care.

Smoothing her hand over her daughter’s hair, Sascha spoke her next words aloud. “Memory’s a special kind of E, baby. She’s still learning how to control her powers and she has to be careful who she touches. Like how you’re learning not to use your claws or your telepathy while playing with your friends.”

“Memi, be good,” Naya instructed in a very serious tone. “No caws.”

Memory nodded. “No claws,” she agreed solemnly, and the five of them continued to move up the sidewalk. When Naya cried out, “Ro! Jule!” on a wave of sweet excitement colored by pure joy, she went to follow the little girl’s gaze . . . and a curdling fear bloomed in the pit of her stomach.

Sucking in a breath, she glanced around in a frantic search, but the crushing darkness was everywhere. It wasn’t the nothingness, wasn’t the abyss. This was far worse. It had taken Yuri, nearly taken Abbot.

“Memory? What is it?” Alexei’s voice seemed to come from the end of a long tunnel, echoing and faint.

A rough-skinned palm sliding over hers, strong fingers enclosing hers.

Heat, a primal power, an anchor.

Her lungs expanded, the scents and flavors of Chinatown exploding against senses that had threatened to go numb under the deluge of darkness. “The mind behind the attack on the compound,” she said as she raced to pinpoint the exact location of the threat. “He’s here. He wants to hurt Sascha, the other empaths.”

Listening to instinct, Memory turned to the left. Her eyes locked on a knot of Psy who’d been standing quietly together in readiness to watch today’s parade. All four had gone stiff, their eyes black. “It has them. Go.”

The pressure intensified the instant Alexei was no longer touching her.

She could barely breathe under the crushing weight of the shadowy darkness. He’d become stronger since the assault against Yuri and Abbot and the others. The air was too heavy, her lungs incapable of translating it into breath. When she felt a trickle at her nose, she lifted a fingertip to touch it . . . and it came away red.

“Here.” Sascha thrust a small pack of tissues into her hand. “Come with me.”

Alexei and Lucas were nearly at the knot of Psy—the quartet had just begun to stride toward a group of empaths. “Why are so many Es here?” Memory asked as she stumbled in Sascha’s wake.

In front of her, Naya was protesting and dragging her feet. “Mama! Ro! Jule!”

But Sascha was relentless—she lifted her squirming little girl up into her arms and ran toward a store. “Memory!” she yelled back when Memory became distracted by another wave of violent power.

Memory got moving, stepping into the store just behind Sascha and Naya.

“Mrs. Wembley,” Sascha was saying to the shopkeeper, a slender woman with Eurasian features, her hair cut into a blunt bob, the color an inky black. “I need you to take Naya into your basement and stay there.”

The other woman, her face unlined but a weight to her presence that said she was at least a couple of decades older than Sascha, didn’t ask any questions or voice worry about leaving her shop unattended. Her emotions, too, were streamlined—she switched modes from happy festival mood to protectively maternal within heartbeats. “Come on, munchkin,” she said, and reached out to take Naya.

But Lucas and Sascha’s daughter refused to go until Sascha put her on her feet, then hunkered down and pressed her forehead to Naya’s. “I need you to be a good girl for Mialin’s grandma, baby. There’s a bad person outside. I have to help your papa handle it so this person doesn’t hurt anyone.”

Tiny features awash in worry, Naya said something too fast for Memory to understand. But Sascha kissed her cub and said, “Yes, I promise I’ll make sure Roman and Julian and Nate and Tamsyn are safe. Go with Mrs. Wembley now.”

“We’ll go do some coloring in the basement room—it’s very nice, with a sofa and a soft rug,” Mrs. Wembley said as she led Naya away, one little hand tucked trustingly in hers. “You can help me with my latest page. It’s got so many colors, I get very tired.”

Naya’s response showed that she was the daughter of an empath and an alpha. “Mia come base’nt too?”

“Oh, you sweet baby, Mialin’s quite all right. She’s at home in DarkRiver territory with her mama and papa.”

The rest of their conversation faded as Mrs. Wembley and Naya disappeared behind a door that must’ve led to the basement. She heard the loud slide of a dead bolt, then three other clicks.

“Basement’s secured,” Sascha told her, her voice grim as she moved to the doorway of the shop.

Memory was already there, attempting to pinpoint the murderous mind’s next move.

“I spotted a high-Gradient E out there,” Sascha added. “I’ve telepathed her to begin crowd control while I attempt to aim a terminal field at the ones being used as puppets—I can’t spread the field far yet, so I have to target it.”

Crowd control. Terminal field.

Memory had no idea what those terms meant, but that didn’t matter at this instant. “What do you need from me?”

“See if you can work out if the person behind this is physically in Chinatown, or if he’s attacking via the PsyNet.”