“Of course I’ll help, Aden.”
Walker might never have worn the badge of the squad, but he was one of them in a way Ming LeBon would never be. Walker understood loyalty, understood that even an Arrow’s life had value.
“I can teleport you to him if you make contact—it’s still relatively early in the afternoon in his region.”
Aden made the call. Walker was in the middle of building a table with the children he supervised, but agreed to meet with Aden. “I’ll see you at the church in three hours,” he said. “That’ll give me enough time to finish this and get down there.”
Aden didn’t know what connection the Laurens had with Father Xavier Perez, but his church was a known meeting point. Walker was waiting for them on the back steps when they arrived, his forearms braced on his thighs. Dressed in worn jeans and a simple white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, his dark blond hair swept roughly back, he could’ve been any ordinary man. It was his pale green eyes that gave him away—intent and focused and strikingly intelligent.
Walker rose to his feet and joined Aden near the trees at the edge of the yard, Vasic ’porting away after a nod of greeting.
“You said you lost an Arrow,” Walker said, his expression grim in the early evening light. “How?”
Aden told him, could see Walker taking it in. “I’ve accepted I have to lead from the front,” he added, though he didn’t yet have a solution as to how to get Zaira to accept his proposal. “But I’m younger by at least a decade from the ones at most risk. Seeing me make it won’t be enough—and while my parents can keep them stable, I want more than a life in stasis for the senior Arrows.”
Folding his arms, Walker leaned back against a tree. “For a long time, I saw myself as too damaged by Silence to ever be a good father, much less a good mate.”
Yet Aden knew Walker was both. “How did you get past it?”
“I had to.” A blunt response. “I had a daughter, a nephew, and a niece who needed me. I also had a brother who needed me, for all that he was an adult.”
The wind riffled through Aden’s hair as he stood there. “Judd was lucky to have you.” Aden hadn’t known it at the time, but unlike most siblings whose brothers or sisters were claimed by the Council for the squad, Walker had never lost touch with his brother—he’d kept Judd connected to the family unit, and in so doing, saved his soul.
“No, I was the lucky one.” Walker straightened, the two of them falling into an easy walk through the peaceful old graveyard behind and to the left of the church. “Marlee, Toby, Sienna, and Judd, they forced me to be a better man. The children expected me to know what to do in an unfamiliar environment, teach them how to live in it, and Judd expected me to care for the children’s well-being so he could focus on their safety.”
Walking through the neatly kept grass, Aden began to see what Walker was telling him; the other man was a teacher who never simply gave his students the information. They had to work for it, and in the process, learn. “I have to find a way to connect the old generation of Arrows with our most vulnerable.” He clasped his hands behind his back. “I’ve been hesitant because many of the senior Arrows have very little flexibility in them—I don’t want them doing inadvertent damage.”
“I understand your worry.” Bending down, Walker took a second to replace a bouquet that had been blown off a gravestone. “But being needed is a powerful driving force.”
Aden thought of how he needed Zaira to need him, how it felt to be important to someone not because he was an Arrow but because he was Aden, and knew Walker was right. “Do you have any suggestions about how we can do this?” Aden wasn’t arrogant, not when it came to his people. He’d take advice where he could get it and from Walker he’d listen to even the most outlandish suggestion.
“I wouldn’t advise full integration all at once and you should regularly touch base with your parents to see how the older Arrows are handling any changes, but there’s no harm in creating more opportunities for regular contact between adult Arrows and Arrow children. It can be as simple as having a senior Arrow teach a class of six-year-olds.”
Aden knew no Arrow would disagree with that type of an educational request, so the mechanics were achievable. “I think,” he said, considering the idea from all angles, “the classes would work better if done in partnership with a teacher more in sync with life beyond Silence.”
Walker nodded. “One of the empaths, possibly, or even a non-Psy teacher.”
Halting, Aden turned to face the telepath. “How can a non-Psy teacher hope to understand children so violently powerful? He or she would have few defenses against a child’s tantrum.”
“Marlee’s art teacher is a human,” Walker told him. “She’s elderly and frail and has no defenses against wolf claws or Marlee’s psychic strength, yet she’s kept a classroom in control for decades.”
“Arrow children aren’t used to non-Psy teachers,” Aden said, his mind already working the possibilities. “There’s also the security aspect—I can’t risk exposing the children to those who might sell the information of their location and abilities.” As shown by Zaira’s childhood experiences and Pax Marshall’s recent moves, some people would do anything to control such power.
“I can recommend some who can be trusted, including two from SnowDancer and one from DarkRiver who are on short-term contracts that’ll end in the next few months.” Walker stopped at the edge of the graveyard, beneath the spreading branches of a tree with leaves of a silvery green. “For now, I can help advise the people you already have.”
Aden looked out at the peace of the graveyard and beyond to the trees, but his thoughts were far distant. “I want to make the squad a family.” A place where even the outcasts could find hope. “Not just tied together by mutual need, but by bonds of emotion.”
Walker put his hand on Aden’s shoulder. “You will,” he said. “You were an extraordinary boy and you’ve grown into a man as extraordinary.”
The pride in Walker’s words meant more to Aden than anything either one of his parents could have said. Because where Marjorie and Naoshi had abandoned him to further their cause, Walker Lauren had put his life on the line to come back into the Arrow training rooms one last time to give Aden the final telepathic lesson he needed to stay safe.
“Why did you come back after you were relieved of duty?” he asked as they started to walk again. “You risked everything.” Walker had been transferred out to a more mainstream military school partway through Aden’s elementary schooling, after the squad’s leadership decided he wasn’t a ruthless enough teacher for child Arrows. His covert entry back into the training center would’ve been seen as a breach of security, with the attendant fatal consequences.
“If I could have, I would’ve taken you with me,” Walker said. “That I couldn’t do, but I could make sure you had the tools to survive.”
It didn’t quite answer Aden’s question, but he didn’t push.
Then Walker added, “You’re not my son, Aden, but that’s how I’ve always thought of you.”
A stretching pain in Aden’s heart that threatened to steal his breath. Unable to speak, he simply nodded and knew it was inadequate, but he also knew Walker would understand. Walker had always understood him. “The squad will need you more than ever now,” he said at last. “Can the SnowDancer alpha spare you?”
“I’ve spoken to him.” Walker turned his face into the cool wind. “I’m responsible for a group of children in SnowDancer, too, and I intend to continue in that role, but I’ve been taken off all other tasks so I can assist you.” Finally, he could help the boy he’d been forced to leave behind in a situation that would’ve crushed so many.
He’d never forgotten Aden, never not thought about him. Small and with those wise eyes that were old beyond his years, the boy had been better than all the darkness around him. Now he was a leader struggling to guide hi
s people out of that same darkness and Walker would do everything in his power to help him. “What about you?”
Aden looked at him with eyes that were even older than when he’d been a child. “Me?”
“You speak only of the squad. What about your own needs?” Aden had always focused on others, never on himself.
“I—” Aden paused, the hesitation unusual enough that Walker turned to face him.
The younger man looked into the distance for several seconds before returning his attention to Walker. “It’s selfish to think of myself,” he said at last and Walker had the sense he was fighting an internal battle. “The squad’s needs come first.”
Reflecting on his own family, on the pack, on what he’d noted of their alpha, Walker said, “In the years since I joined SnowDancer, I’ve learned that joy makes me a better father, a better brother, a better uncle, and a better mate.” He thought of his mate’s smile, of the way Lara had of loving until it spilled over onto everyone in her vicinity . . . and how her love for him was a pulse in his heart. “The fact I’m happy colors my every interaction.”
He clasped Aden’s shoulder again, as he might with Toby. His nephew was a very different boy from the man Aden had become, but they were both his sons of the heart. “I’m not saying you’re not a good leader, Aden. I’m saying taking time for yourself won’t make you any less of a good leader, and the effect of your happiness will trickle down through the entire squad. Take what you need, what you’re fighting not to need.”
What he didn’t say, because it was too heavy a burden for any man to bear, was that Aden was already a leader who was on his way to greatness. If he didn’t lose his way, if he didn’t break under the strain, he’d become a man who would be written of in history. To make it, he needed someone to walk with him, to hold him when things became too hard, and to fight for his right to his own happiness.
Aden needed love more than anyone Walker had ever met.
Chapter 33
EDWARD HAD DONE him a favor in committing suicide and sucking up Aden’s attention, Blake thought as he skimmed another news article about his kill. It was a small mention, already gone from the headlines. That wouldn’t last. He’d give them a second body, but not yet. Right now, his attention was on a different project.
He’d confirmed his choice of partner: Beatrice Gault, the teenager with the illusion gift paired with strong telepathy. Her specialization was an inbuilt ability to smash shields. She’d been signed over to the Arrow squad at age three, after she smashed her father’s shields, causing brain damage so severe it had left him with a permanently paralyzed left side.
The experience had traumatized her, according to the PsyMed report he’d accessed, and she’d been a docile trainee from the start. It was noted in her training files that while she was an excellent soldier who would always follow orders, she did not do well on solo tasks.
Not suitable for command, had been the final determination.
In other words, she was a beautifully submissive personality, he thought, running his finger over her image.
Of average height, she had pale white skin over a fine-boned frame and eyes of brown. Her light brown hair she kept cropped tight to her skull. It gave her an appearance of waiflike youth. That could be very useful in gaining the trust of his targets.
She also had no special commendations on her file, no extra notes from instructors at all. Every other possibility he’d considered had at least one. Someone had taken notice of a special ability or an exemplary skill, or a negative aspect.
No one noticed Beatrice.
She did what she was supposed to do, she followed the rules, and when she went to bed, no one thought about her. He had run an experiment, casually mentioning Beatrice to two Arrows he knew had helped with her training. He’d said it was part of an evaluation to see if she was suitable for a live mission. Neither trainer had remembered her until he’d shown them her photo and file.
Even after that, they’d simply referred to their notes.
Beatrice was invisible. Her family had cut her off, and while the squad had taken her in, she was simply one cog in a machine. Having watched her, he knew she spent no extra time with any of her fellow trainees, had no one who might be considered a confidant or a friend.
He would become that person for her. It wouldn’t take long. He’d studied psychology in an academic way in order to classify himself, so he knew she was a dependent personality who hadn’t yet found a dominant to whom to give her absolute trust.
Aden didn’t know about her. No one knew about her. She was perfect.
Chapter 34
AN HOUR AFTER his initial conversation with Walker, Aden called Vasic, Zaira, Cristabel, and Axl to a meeting around a table at Central Command, along with Amin and telekinetic Nerida. He’d also asked Walker and Judd to attend. Judd had always known about Central Command, had kept their secret, and Walker had earned the loyalty of far more Arrows than Aden, his care of them as children something none who’d been in his classes had ever forgotten.
Judd and Walker were also the experts in Arrow integration into a changeling pack—into a family akin to the kind of family Aden wanted to build from the cold ruins Ming and the Council had made of them.
He’d decided to leave Marjorie and Naoshi out of the discussion until they had the basics hammered out—his parents weren’t the best people to have in the room while discussing such a massive shift in Arrow life. He had, however, touched base with them and had their cautious agreement to the new senior Arrow-related duties he’d suggested.
Now, the others around the table listened to his proposal, took their time thinking about it.
Walker was the first to speak. “I don’t agree with moving the children here.”
Aden looked up. “Why? Central Command is safer than any other location.” The fact that Arrow children had historically been taught and housed away from it was linked to their inability to keep the location a secret. Aden, however, wasn’t concerned about that, not given the airtight security around Central Command.
“I’m not saying Central Command can’t continue to exist,” Walker said, “but it should function as the armored heart of a pack. A place where you can retreat to if necessary, hold off your enemies. There’s no reason to live your life in a subterranean space.”
Unexpectedly, it was forty-three-year-old Axl who said, “He’s right.” Eyes of deep blue met Aden’s. “I don’t know emotion, but I know that if you want plants to grow, you need light. Even the wolves from whom we acquired the artificial sunlight technology don’t spend the majority of their time in their dens—their children grow up under the rays of a real sun, feel the chill of natural air.”
Cris, who’d fully recovered from a recent gunshot injury, brought up a map on the table, tapped at the valley in which the training compound was located. Unlike when Aden, Zaira, and the other Arrows here had been children, all training was now centralized. The other facilities around the world had either been shut down or turned into bases of operations.
It was one of the few decisions made by Ming with which Aden agreed. Ming had done it because the children received far more one-on-one lessons with different active Arrows this way, and there were never days in which no one was available to take a session—meaning no days were “wasted.”
Aden liked it because it meant the children had more of a chance to form long-term friendships. There was no risk they’d be separated, as he’d been separated from Zaira. She’d been so furiously angry with him for leaving her, but she’d come to see him one last time regardless. Forced to stay in strict position while waiting for his transport, he’d seen her hiding around the corner of a building, dark eyes flashing fire at him and a heavy scowl on her face.
“The squad owns acres and acres of land around the entire compound.” Cris’s clear voice broke into his memories, drew his attention to the map, though he alr
eady knew the location inside out. The squad’s ownership spanned the entire valley and the jagged snowcapped mountains that bordered it on either end. Those mountains curved in on both sides, creating a natural barrier against any force on foot.
It was part of the reason Zaid Adelaja, the first Arrow, had chosen the location for the first training compound. As a result of over a century of quiet moves by the squad to gain control of all land in the vicinity, there were no other structures, roads, or even comm beacons for fifty miles in every direction beyond the mountains.
“I assume the evacuation protocols are up-to-date?” Judd asked while Walker scrolled through the valley specs.
Nerida was the one who replied. The Tk had previously assisted with valley security, but Aden had recently promoted her to the primary position, her predecessor having asked to retire to a quiet place in the sun. “We can clear the children within an hour of any threat notification,” she said. “And the entire area is seeded with surface-to-air missiles and other security measures.”
“It won’t be enough if we intend to use the valley as our home base,” Zaira said bluntly from her position directly across from Aden. “We may want to build a family, but if and when the information leaks, others will see it as a threat or a target.”
It was an important point. No matter how much help Arrows had provided to the general population over the past months, they remained some of the most dangerous and feared individuals in the world. And fear could often turn people malicious as they sought to wipe out the cause of their fear. Aden was working on changing the world’s perception of the squad but it would take time—and regardless, they would always protect their children.
After a short discussion, Nerida and Axl took charge of coming up with a new and even more aggressive security protocol.
Aden, meanwhile, would handle telling the children what was to happen, how their living arrangements would change. No longer would they be in antiseptic dorms—all children were to be assigned to a family unit headed by two Arrows, though, as per Walker’s advice, the latter was to be a slow process. Under the plan, senior Arrows were to be treated as “uncles” and “aunts” with peripheral duties, rather than being in primary charge of the children, unless they requested otherwise and were judged ready for deeper contact and responsibility.
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