Zaira wanted to cling to that, but while she might not be insane in the truest sense of the word, her violent, uncontrollable rages were so close as not to matter. Her pathological possessiveness toward Aden was less of a monster now that he’d chosen to be psychically connected to her, but the rage was as powerful as ever. “Can you teach me how to handle my anger?”
Ivy closed her hand over Zaira’s, the empathic warmth of her soaking into Zaira’s cells. “We’ll do it together,” she said, the words a promise. “I have faith that the girl who chose to stop crying at three years of age has the will to conquer this demon.”
Blind faith. And love.
• • •
ADEN returned to the valley after spending several hours in New York. Say what you would about Blake, the man was one hell of an Arrow as far as his skills went—he was trapped, but he wasn’t giving up. Frustrated by the lack of success in hauling the murderous bastard in, Aden wanted to find Zaira, talk the entire op over with her, but she’d made it clear she wanted time alone, and she’d be the first to tell him that their needs didn’t trump the needs of Arrow young.
“Cubs need to see their alpha,” Remi had told him. “It’s about family, about feeling safe.”
So though his soul hungered for Zaira, he changed into casual gear and walked through the valley, taking in the completed houses and the ones still going up. The air was cool but not cold, and though the very young were already asleep, older children sat studying by windows and he saw a hesitant game of football in progress in the open green space.
“Sir.” They stopped when he neared.
“Go on,” he said, and when they seemed stiff and unsure, he thought of that phone call with Judd, of cubs and adults and alphas. “Do you have room for a new player?”
Their astonishment was so great it penetrated fairly strong Silence training. “You, sir?” asked the girl who seemed the oldest.
“Yes. What are the rules?”
He played with them for an hour, aware of the gathering crowd of other teens and adult Arrows—including his mother, who’d moved into the valley with his father. But not the one person for whom he watched. His gut was in a knot. He knew there was a chance Zaira might never return to him. When he’d left her to head to New York, she’d been distant, curled into herself, and her mind, it hadn’t connected with his.
Even now, it was empty inside his skull, her fire missing.
“Goal!”
Ruffling the hair of the boy who’d scored, Aden said, “I think you all need to get to bed.”
An immediate chorus of “Yes, sir’s” but no stiffness now. These children were still reachable. That didn’t mean they didn’t bear wounds, but with the right care, those wounds would heal.
“We didn’t bring you up to be the leader of the squad so you could waste time playing with children.”
Looking into his mother’s face, Aden said, “You didn’t bring me up at all.” A blunt truth. “As for how I choose to lead the squad, that decision is mine.” He knew Marjorie and Naoshi had expected to guide their son where they wanted him to go, had been stunned to realize one day that he’d grown both independent and away from them.
Despite it all, he did respect them. Without his parents, there would’ve been no rebellion.
“Are you planning to respond to the Beacon article?” Lights glowed in the windows of the homes around them, but his mother’s eyes were dark.
“In my own way and when it’s time.”
“You should eliminate the Beacon editor. That’ll get the message across.”
“Mother, that is the old way.” Aden didn’t intend to bring up the next generation to think violence alone was the answer. “We’re going to work smarter.”
“You should listen to those of us who’ve lived longer, seen more.”
“And are stuck in prehistoric times?” came a familiar voice, a familiar mind sliding into his. Sorry I’m late. Bo wanted to talk, see if we had any updates on the attempts to foster conflict between various parties.
Staggered by the cool rush of relief that she’d chosen to come to him regardless of the fears of madness that haunted her, he put his arm around her shoulders, saw his mother’s eyes go to their connection. But when Marjorie spoke, it was to say, “Venice?”
“Empty. Everyone has been relocated and all movable property will soon be gone.” Zaira slid her own arm around his waist. “My opinion is that we keep ownership but rent it out. In the future, younger members of the squad could use it as a covert home base should they need one in that part of the world.”
“The other rentals would provide good cover.” Marjorie nodded before turning to Aden.
The fact that she had large, thickly lashed eyes set in a delicate face gave her an appearance of almost doll-like fragility.
It was a premeditated lie. Marjorie Kai was as pitiless an Arrow as Aden knew.
“You’re far weaker in psychic ability than we intended,” she said to him. “See that the weakness doesn’t extend to your leadership.”
Aden held Zaira back when she would’ve lunged at Marjorie as his mother shifted on her heel to walk away. “I’ve heard it a million times,” he reminded her. “It ceased to have any effect while I was still in my early teens.” Even as defectors, his parents had found ways to get messages to him—those messages had always been focused on how he could best serve the rebellion “despite” his “substandard rating on the Gradient.”
Zaira scowled up at him. “Why don’t you just tell her exactly how strong you are?”
“I like to imagine the look on her face the day she finds out.”
“She’ll probably take joint credit for it with your father.”
A smile filled his veins. “True.” Will you stay?
Where else would I go? With that sharp comment, she began to walk to the simple cabin-style home that had been assigned to them in the valley. DarkRiver’s architects had taken their ideas and requests and come up with an overall design plan that suited the people who’d be using the buildings. Even the larger houses, meant for bigger families, carried through the warm, natural style that allowed for plenty of open space and light.
“I came by earlier, spoke to Beatrice,” Zaira said.
“How is the girl?”
“Healing slowly—Abbot’s E is helping her. I asked if she wanted to move in with us, since we have the spare room, but another Arrow her age reached out to her in the aftermath of the Blake situation and the two are happy bunking together with three other year mates.”
“As long as she knows the offer is open.” Lights began snapping off around them, though more than a few adults remained up. “Blake’s still in the wind but Amin’s keeping up the pressure. We will get him. And Krychek’s uncovered nothing that points to any of our obvious suspects being behind the conspiracy, but he’s planning to make some personal visits, too.”
“Nikita?” Zaira asked as they reached their cabin.
“Alive.” Walking inside, he shut the door and, in the darkness, hauled her close, kissing his way down her face to find her lips.
“Aden,” she murmured, just as rain hit the windows. “I’ve made a decision.”
“What?”
“If we have to deal with the bad things anyway, then we should get to indulge in the good as much as we want.” She pushed up his T-shirt. “Take this off.”
He had no hesitation in obeying. Throwing the soft cotton aside, he helped her strip off her uniform. The instant she was naked, he put his hands, his mouth on her. She protested. “You’re still half—”
Stealing her words with a kiss, he wrapped his arms just below her ribs and hitched up. She moved fluidly with him, locking her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck. He held her in position as he walked forward until her back gently hit the wall. Bracing her against it, he placed one palm flat on th
e wall, his other on the sleek muscle of her thigh.
The feel of her acted like nitroglycerine in his blood, setting off a sensory explosion that made his heart thump and his skin heat. At that instant, with the rain cocooning them from the world and the squad in good hands for the next few hours, he could be just a man, just Aden. And Aden wanted to sink into the dangerous, fascinating Arrow in his arms.
Over and over and over again.
“I like this,” Zaira said definitively before running her hands down his chest, then back up to curl one possessively over his nape.
Wanting more contact, he moved his body forward, changing position to brace his forearm above her head. It pressed his chest into her breasts; so close, he saw her pupils dilate as her nipples hardened against him, felt her pulse begin to race. “I see definite benefits to it.” Moving his hand from her thigh to one plump breast, he squeezed and molded as he dipped his head and put his mouth on her throat.
Zaira moaned and, sleek and strong, tightened her grip around his waist. Her skin was delicate under his mouth, under his teeth, tasted of the ice and steel of her. Hungry, ravenous, he kissed his way up her throat and along her jaw to her mouth. She met him kiss for kiss, hot and wild under his hands, a lover who turned his control to ashes. There was no leash when he was with Zaira, no shield, no barrier.
She wouldn’t permit it and he didn’t want those walls between them.
Caressing his hand down her side and over the dip of her waist, he stroked between her legs from below. Liquid honey on his fingertips, his lungs protesting as he fought to breathe. But the air was full of pheromones, full of the lush, erotic scent of her desire; with every inhale came another raw wave of sexual heat in his blood.
She shivered at that instant and bit him gently on the neck. He lost his rhythm, had to go still and concentrate to rediscover it . . . just as she bit him again in that exact spot. “You’re derailing my plan,” he told her, his voice rough.
“Good.” A demanding kiss. “Take off your pants and I’ll stop.”
“Liar.”
A gleam in her eyes that he thought might be inner laughter. “Take them off anyway.”
“I’ll have to let you go to get rid of my boots.”
She insinuated her hands between their bodies to undo his belt, then got busy on the button of his black cargo pants. “You’re an Arrow—figure out a way to do it without letting me go.”
Stomach clenching as her fingers brushed the ridge of his erection, he accepted the challenge and got to work. It took several minutes, especially since Zaira was determined to distract him—and since she was naked and beautiful and in a sexually playful mood, she had a distinct advantage.
Not that Aden would ever complain about being seduced by Zaira.
Finally succeeding in kicking off his boots and remaining clothing, he crushed her body to the wall, his rock-hard penis pressed against her abdomen. “I win.”
Meltingly wet under his fingers, she nibbled at his lower lip and moved her body against his, her skin rubbing over his pulsing erection. “I think I win, too.”
Aden slid his hand under her head and gripped her hair to hold her in place so he could watch her as he stroked his fingers through her honey-slick folds. Zaira made a husky sound deep in her throat, her pleasure a primal aphrodisiac that caused his penis to throb. Gritting his teeth to hold back the orgasm building inside him, he gripped her under the thighs and, shifting her higher up the wall, thrust into her in a single deep stroke after an instant of eye contact that told him what he needed to know.
She was with him, wanted this.
A short, high sound escaping her mouth, she dug her nails into his shoulders. “Aden,” she said breathlessly. “Aden.”
Slamming both hands palms down on either side of her head as the sound of his name on her lips further eroded his control, Aden used the leverage to pull back as much as he could, given her grip on him, before sinking deep into her once again in another hard thrust. She was wet, tight heat around his cock and silken, lithe warmth around his body.
“My Zaira,” he said, his voice so rough the words were almost unrecognizable.
But she understood, her eyes going soft in a way Aden knew only he would ever see. Then he moved again and again and her back arched, her body bathing him in renewed heat as her orgasm rushed over her. He held off his own pleasure long enough to watch her splinter, and then he surrendered to the roar of need.
Barely able to stand afterward, he stumbled to the bed and got them both on it.
There were whispers after that, followed later by the soft rasp of skin on skin, and the mingled breaths of two people who didn’t want to be anywhere but with one another.
Chapter 65
SHOSHANNA SCOTT HAD been all but off the grid since before the fall of Silence and of the Council, but Kaleb knew exactly where she was. He always knew the locations of all the dangerous players in the Net—Shoshanna might not be as psychically powerful as him, but she had a politically lethal mind.
Visual locked, he teleported to outside her London home the day after the attempt on Nikita’s life. The building had originally been owned by Henry Scott but he’d transferred it into his and Shoshanna’s joint ownership two years prior to his death—a subtle but telling sign of their relationship at the time. Shoshanna had been the definite alpha member of the pair until Henry’s sudden tendencies toward violence. The rest of Henry’s estate had gone to his family group, another mark of Shoshanna’s intelligence. Taking on an entire family was bad business.
Doing up the button on the jacket of his black suit jacket, the shirt below it the same shade, he walked up to the door. He could’ve as easily teleported to right beside Shoshanna, but he had political intelligence of his own. The door opened in front of him, a uniformed member of staff inviting him inside. Walking down the corridor with its marble-inlaid floor, he was shown directly to Shoshanna’s study. A slender brunette, she was standing by a table on which were spread a number of hard-copy maps of ancient London.
“Have you ever studied the layout of the city?” she said as he walked in, the cool white of her fingers tracing the route of the river Thames. “It’s an interesting project to occupy the mind.”
And a great way to keep people from focusing on what Shoshanna was up to in her self-imposed exile. “I didn’t realize you had an appreciation for history.”
She looked up, ice blue eyes meeting his. “It is from history that we learn lessons about the future, is it not?”
He inclined his head, wondering exactly what she’d learned from Henry’s doomed association with Pure Psy. Enough to mastermind a worldwide conspiracy? Or perhaps simply be a part of it.
“So.” She came around the table. “How can I help you?”
“You’ve retreated from public life. I came to see if you were sick.”
Shoshanna’s smile was cold, a false image she’d perfected as had he. “I’ve decided there’s far more profit in focusing on my business interests. Politics can be deadly—a fact Henry learned too late.”
“A wise move.” He looked around the room. It was filled with bookshelves, leather-bound books lined up in neat rows on the gleaming wood of the shelves. But, unlike Kaleb’s own library, it didn’t look like any of the books had been read. He thought it was a set, meant to put non-Psy at ease. “Are your businesses performing well?”
“I’m sure you’re well aware how they’re performing.”
He did. Shoshanna had ridden out the fall of Silence and, even factoring in the contract she’d lost to Nikita, she was now in a very healthy position. Silver had somehow managed to get her hands on the specific numbers, so he knew exactly how well Shoshanna was doing. “So you’ve dropped out of political life on a permanent basis?”
“Much safer that way.” She glanced at an incoming call code on the large comm screen on the wall to the right, igno
red it in favor of returning her attention to him. “I’m a survivor, Kaleb. Post-Silence, the PsyNet is looking for a kind of governance I can’t provide. What I can do is leverage my contacts to place Scott Enterprises in the top tier before other businesses find their feet.”
Her logic was faultless, but his instincts told him she was hiding something. It could be anything from black market trades to industrial espionage to involvement in this conspiracy. He’d keep a careful watch on her. Even the most meticulous planners eventually made mistakes.
Leaving after another minute of conversation where no information was exchanged, he next checked in on Ming. The other man was heavily occupied with keeping Europe stable, his focus absolute from all appearances, but he was also a master strategist.
Silver’s sources had come up empty on Ming but for a vague rumor that he’d threatened a political rival named Kurevni. Since the man in question was still running against Ming, that appeared to be a false claim. Unless, of course, Ming had put Kurevni in place for reasons of his own—which he was fully capable of doing.
However, that was standard operating procedure for many powers in the Net. Kaleb was far more interested in seeing what his instincts told him about the likelihood of Ming being a part of the conspiracy. Their conversation was brief and pointed. He left with the distinct impression that Ming hadn’t given up on reclaiming the Arrows.
That motivation could explain the attempts against Aden’s life and reputation, but it didn’t explain everything else. Ming was all about order, not chaos. However the idea that all the suspicious events were unconnected, that different players were responsible for different elements, seemed improbable. Still, he wouldn’t discard it.
The fall of Silence had rattled more than one cage.
Ming wants you dead, he messaged Aden. I’m sure that’s not news, but you should be aware his intent remains strong.
Aden responded within a minute. Is he our puppet master?
Unknown. Too many variables in play. It might be time for Kaleb’s alter ego to do some covert digging.
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