by Nalini Singh
Nikita Duncan and Anthony Kyriakus were already there. Aden Kai and Ivy Jane Zen arrived at nearly the same time as Kaleb.
As expected, Ivy Jane was already up to date with today’s events.
Power hummed around her, but it wasn’t a power like Kaleb’s—empathic power functioned on its own rules and it was defiant. Even now, the sparks of color from Ivy Jane’s mind infiltrated the minds around her.
Kaleb didn’t fight it—that empathic energy was part of the reason he wasn’t insane. He added his thoughts as Ivy Jane recapped the day’s events, then turned his attention in another direction. “Nikita.”
Sascha Duncan’s mother, a woman as ruthless as Sascha was empathic, didn’t pretend not to know why he’d addressed her. “Regardless of what you might believe,” she said, “I didn’t have knowledge of every single Council stratagem even while I was a Councilor.”
Oddly, Kaleb did believe her. The previous Psy Council had been made up of seven members, each and every one hungry for power. Kaleb included himself in that assessment. So many plots had existed at any one time that no one could’ve been aware of all of them—however, Nikita had been on the Council for decades longer than either Kaleb or Anthony.
“You know where to dig for the Council’s skeletons,” he pointed out.
“True enough.” No emotion in her tone, yet this woman had brought a cardinal E to term in her womb. “As it happens, I’ve been making use of my shovel since your first report of a careless new power in the PsyNet.” She uploaded data onto the walls of the psychic vault, a rain of silver symbols against the black of the Net.
“I discovered this report in a sealed historical archive buried in what I believed was an obsolete data node—back when I first joined the Council, the oldest member at the time vetoed deleting the node. He had the vague notion we might one day need the information in it. No one cared enough to oppose him, and eventually, we forgot about it.”
No one in the vault challenged Nikita’s report—they all knew their race had made an art form of erasing their past.
“You can read the report yourself,” the former Councilor continued, “but the gist of it is that as the first generation born into Silence came of age, it was discovered that for a small minority of Psy, Silence acted as a dimmer switch on their abilities.”
A pause as the members of the Coalition scanned the report. It was too complex to absorb in a few minutes, but Kaleb was able to flip through it and find a number of interesting sections. The effect, he saw, had been most prevalent in Psy over 7 on the Gradient.
“Why did the Council allow this?” The men and women who’d ruled the Psy for more than a century had liked nothing more than power—and an army of high-Gradient telepaths and telekinetics were the foundation of that power.
“According to a later report I discovered only an hour before you called this meeting,” Nikita said, “those in charge did attempt to modify Silence to eliminate the unintended side effect. It was called Project Scarab.”
“It failed?” Ivy Jane Zen’s warm psychic voice.
“On the contrary—Scarab was initially a wild success. The Psy enrolled in Scarab gained access to the full breadth of their abilities. Unfortunately, the subjects soon began to exhibit signs of deep mental instability—most often betrayed by erratic psychic control and emotional outbursts. Hallucinations, blackouts, increasingly violent frenzies, and memory loss were also reported.”
“Nikita and I have discussed this.” Anthony spoke for the first time, his mental voice as calm and measured as his presence in real life. “I did the reading on the secondary section of data, while Nikita dove deep into the first.”
Kaleb wasn’t the least surprised by that; whatever was going on with Anthony and Nikita, it had nothing to do with Silence. Sahara was fascinated by their relationship, and he knew she’d chew over this sign of offline interaction when he mentioned it. What Kaleb found most interesting was that both had protected a daughter who’d defected from the PsyNet.
“It appears,” Anthony continued, “that Silence works as advertised for this tiny minority—it stabilizes them. The cost is loss of psychic strength.”
“Silence worked for some Psy?” Ivy Jane whispered.
“At the expense of the entire PsyNet,” Anthony pointed out. “Another section of it collapsed three hours ago. Even if Silence worked for these individuals, they’ll still be as dead as the rest of us if the Net fails.”
Kaleb and Aden had sealed that particular breach as a team. After the first wave of failures, the two of them had assembled squads of high-Gradient Psy who could, together, handle small-to-medium-size breaches. Kaleb and Aden alternated in handling the bigger ruptures—it meant one of them was always at full strength and able to respond quickly.
The only exception was where the breach was so devastating it required their combined power. The latter was occurring more and more. “Can such individuals reinitiate their Silence?” he asked—if it worked, the reversion would stop the rogue power waves while they sought a more permanent answer.
“Not with the Honeycomb in effect.” Ivy Jane’s voice was somber. “At this point, it’s impossible to escape emotion in the Net.”
“Even prior to the waking of the Es, none of the Scarab subjects were able to return to Silence,” Anthony said. “Many self-terminated when they became aware of their own instability, or were killed during aggressive episodes so bad the staff had no choice but to use lethal force to defend themselves. The remainder were executed by the Council. This genie cannot be put back in the bottle.”
“Such individuals must’ve existed pre-Silence,” Nikita added. “Dangerous instability was one of the reasons our race saw Silence as our savior. But, given the degree of their volatility, many of the affected would’ve never made it to adulthood. Silence altered that balance.”
Which meant the PsyNet would have to deal with far more dangerous and out-of-control adults than they’d ever before done in their history. It was the worst possible time for this hammer to drop on them. The Net couldn’t handle any more pressure.
“There is a human saying,” Ivy Jane said, pain in her voice, “that genius is tinged with madness. In the case of our race, the price for our abilities is immense mental darkness—and each time we attempt to escape that price, it gets worse.”
True enough, Kaleb thought. Inside him lived a twisted and quite mad creature, the boy who’d been broken and warped before he’d ever had a chance to grow. He’d found an anchor to sanity in Sahara, the girl who’d never seen in him a monster. Take her away from him, however, and he would devastate the world.
“How big is the threat?” Aden’s mind was intensely shielded, his connection to a fellow Arrow concealed either by habit or because Arrows liked to keep their secrets. “What percentage of the population?”
It was Nikita who responded. “Extrapolating from the Scarab data, less than one-sixteenth of a percent.”
A minuscule number. There was just one problem. “A single insane Gradient 9 can cause catastrophic chaos.”
Unspoken agreement from all the minds in the vault.
“Did the reports you unearthed offer a way to identify affected Psy before they go critical?” Aden asked with Arrow practicality.
Both Nikita and Anthony answered in the negative.
What, Kaleb thought, would it be like to wake up one day with your mind infinitely more vast than when you went to sleep? A mind strong enough to grab hold of an Arrow’s and force that highly trained black ops soldier to act against his will and against his own self-interest. A mind that understood its own descent into the abyss.
Chapter 45
If a wolf invites you to play, just ask where and when. You won’t be sorry. Depending on your playmate, you might also end up naked.
—From the April 2075 issue of Wild Woman magazine: “Skin Privileges, Style & Primal Sophist
ication”
MEMORY SAT SILENT and cold in the passenger seat as Alexei drove to the compound. She ached deep within, and it had nothing to do with physical pain—she felt bruised by her contact with the murderous psychic hunter. How could she feel sorry for that horrible man who’d hurt Yuri and Abbot and who wanted to murder her designation? Yet she did.
Something in that warped mind had reached her empathic core.
What did that make her?
They were nearly at the compound when Alexei went to take her hand, put it on his thigh.
Flinching, Memory pulled away.
No growl, only a distinctly wolfish motionlessness. “You going to talk to me?”
Memory shook her head.
“Yeah, well, tough luck.” Alexei’s primal power filled the SUV. “You’re allowed to sulk, but not to hurt inside that way.”
Memory bristled. “Who are you to give me orders about what I can and can’t feel?”
His growl filled the entire inside of the vehicle, making the tiny hairs on her arms stand up and her heart kick. Her blood heated, a red-hot fire sweeping through the darkness. “I have told you not to growl at me.”
He bared his teeth at her. “And if I do?”
Narrowing her eyes, she hit him with a wave of puppies and rainbows and sparkle.
He hissed out a breath. “That’s just mean.”
“You started it.” She folded her arms across her chest and stopped the barrage of happiness. “I want to brood, so leave me alone.”
The damn wolf actually chuckled.
Glaring out the windscreen, she decided to ignore him. She was so focused on the conflicting emotions inside her that it took her a while to realize they should’ve reached the compound by now.
“Where are you going?” she demanded.
“Wherever I want,” said the infuriating man in the driver’s seat.
Even the barrage of sickly sweet happiness she aimed at him just made him grit his teeth and keep going. Until at last he brought the vehicle to a stop in the middle of nowhere, the forest silvered by moonlight around them and no signs of habitation in sight. She sat stubbornly in the passenger seat even after he hopped out.
Opening her door, he let in the cool night air. “Want to see something wonderful?”
“No.” She tightened her folded arms.
Pulling at her curls, he said, “Bad-tempered lioness.” When she didn’t respond to that provocation, he leaned in closer. “Come play.” The rough-voiced request made her stomach clench, a shiver threatening to roll over her body.
He nuzzled at her curls before drawing back and beginning to strip off his clothes. Memory wasn’t superhuman; she looked. And his body . . . For the first time, she understood that saying about swallowing your tongue. No one that perfectly chiseled and golden could be real. He had to be an illusion.
She didn’t realize she’d reached out a hand to brush her fingers against his chest until he grabbed her wrist and brought her fingers up to his mouth to nip lightly at them. Retracting her hand, she forced herself to look away when he began to undo the top button on his jeans. Light sparked in her peripheral vision not long afterward.
Heart jolting, she turned . . . to see a large gray wolf shaking its fur into place.
A discarded pile of clothes lay on the grass and the eyes that met hers were pure amber. The wolf stretched out its body, its paws out front and its head lower than its back. Come play, it said.
Wonder shimmered through her, bright lights in the darkness.
Unfolding her arms while her lower lip trembled, she swung her legs out of the truck. The wolf gripped at the edge of her pants, tugged.
“Stop that,” she said. “I like these jeans.”
He tugged again.
Unable to bite back her laugh, she jumped down and closed the door behind her. The wolf let go at last. When she went to her knees and raised her hand with hesitant wonder, he butted his head against her chest. “Alexei,” she whispered, astonished at the transformation even though she’d always known he was changeling; seeing him this way, this magnificent wild beast . . .
Fisting her hands in his fur, she rubbed the side of her face against him.
He opened his powerful and deadly jaws, pretended to grip her throat. She pushed playfully at the heavy bulk of his body and he danced away, light as air. Only to come back when she held out her hand. She stroked him, found that his coat was thick and soft. He stood in place, not just patient with her petting but angling his head or nudging at her to indicate she’d hit a good spot or that he wanted more.
Memory tugged at one of his ears, got a low growl in response, and a look that she was sure was of affront. “I guess no one dares tug a dominant wolf’s ear.” Her smile creased her cheeks. “What kind of game do you want to play?”
Amber eyes gleamed.
Lowering itself into a seated position, the wolf ostentatiously closed its eyes and put its head on its paws.
“A sleeping game?” Memory scrunched up her face. “That’s the strangest game I’ve ever heard of.”
The wolf opened its eyes and huffed, then got up and ran a little way into the forest before coming back. After which it folded itself back down into a seated position and placed its head on its paws.
Memory glanced at the moon-kissed forest into which the wolf had run and back at him. She’d never played games, never had a playmate, but she’d watched so many documentaries. What did wolves like to do? Her eyes widened. “Oh. A chasing game!” Pulse kicking, she rose to her feet. “I’m not very fast.”
The wolf began to snore. I’m giving you a big head start.
She sensed that intent as clearly as if he’d spoken. The wolf’s emotions were far more primal than Alexei’s, but it was still him . . . and she could understand him in this form, too. That was a gift she’d never expected.
His eyes opened, a question in them.
“No peeking.” She pretended to scowl.
He parted his jaws in a wolfish reply before closing his eyes again.
Trying to move as quietly as possible, she walked into the forest. She took care, unsure of her footing—but the moon lit up the world. It showed her an area with towering pines, carpeted by thick pine needles.
No cracked rocks, nothing to trip her up if she was careful.
Alexei had stopped where she could play with him without hurting herself.
Pulse a drum, she began to run. When she spotted the silver ribbon of a small stream, she took off her shoes and socks and waded upstream for five minutes before getting out. It was worth the frozen toes to give Alexei a small challenge at least. After using her socks to dry her feet, she balled them up and stuck them in a back pocket. Her sneakers fit well even over bare feet.
Ready, she began to run again.
A wolf’s howl split the night sky five minutes later, raising every hair on her body, and she knew Alexei was on the hunt. Her breath hitched. Then froze in her lungs as howl after howl answered his. The wolf song echoed around the mountains, bouncing off the slopes and falling into the valleys. Memory’s eyes burned at the unearthly beauty of the wild chorus, but she forced herself to keep moving.
Alexei was on her trail.
Even as she tried to keep ahead of him, she wondered what would happen if she ran across a wolf other than Alexei. Distracted by the sudden thought, she nearly tripped on a root snaking across her path. Catching herself in the nick of time, she managed to keep her footing. Exhaling, she looked up in readiness to move again . . . and found herself eye-to-eye with a huge black wolf, his eyes vivid gold.
Her throat went dry, her muscles rigid.
The wolf angled its head in a quizzical way . . . and took a sniff at her before dropping its jaw in what she thought was a friendly way. She dared “sniff” back at him with her empathic senses and caught the edge of feral amu
sement. Changeling.
And he found her funny? That was fine with her. Giant black wolves with razor-sharp teeth probably didn’t eat people who made them laugh.
Turning without attacking her, the wolf padded away. But just when she thought she was safe, the wolf stopped to throw her a look over its shoulder. Come on, that look said.
It was insane to follow a strange wolf into the dark. But this was a crazy moonlit night where she was playing a chasing game with a golden wolf—she decided to take her life into her hands and follow the amused black wolf. But something kept niggling at her . . . She took another sniff. Frowned.
The emotional feel of him was tantalizingly familiar. She just had to translate wolf emotions into human and . . . “Riaz?” she gasped with a smile.
Glancing back, the wolf gave a look of approval before carrying on through the trees.
Memory followed in silence.
Less than two minutes later, she came around a tree and nearly ran into a small Asian woman with blunt-cut bangs and jet-black hair down to her shoulders.
Memory’s eyes widened, but before she could apologize, the woman—who wore black jeans, boots, and what might’ve been a dark blue sweater that hugged her body—scowled down at the black wolf.
“What the hell, Riaz? What are you doing with Alexei’s empath?”
Alexei’s empath.
The words settled on Memory’s skin, sank deep. “Alexei and I are playing a chasing game,” she said, feeling as if she were in the middle of a fantastical movie where a dangerous wild creature led her to a woman who looked at her with the eyes of a friendly assassin.
“Game, huh?” The maybe-assassin exchanged looks with Riaz’s wolf. “Our Lexie has a huge advantage.” She looked Memory up and down. “You have a couple of pieces of clothing you can spare?”