by Nalini Singh
“Pax hasn’t been directly linked to any violence,” the other man continued, “but that just means he’s very good at hiding his tracks.” A pause. “One thing I will say—even the squad can’t find any evidence that he’s ever been involved in the death of anyone I’d term an innocent.”
“A ruthless but fair man,” Cooper said. “Or a monster clever enough to conceal crimes that don’t add positively to his image.”
“Exactly.”
He grinned as Judd used his telekinesis to catch a pup in the midst of an uncontrolled fall and floated the wide-eyed youngster to the ground.
“Overall, Pax Marshall is a calculating operator,” Judd said, as if he’d done the rescue automatically, his mind on other matters. “My take? This is apt to be a legitimate business opportunity. He’s reaching out to SnowDancer because SnowDancer has a certain level of power in the post-Silence and post-Trinity world.”
“Yeah, figures.” It wasn’t only the pack’s own financial might that Pax Marshall would’ve considered, but also the influence they had on other groups. “You think he’s left Silence behind?”
Judd shook his head in a hard negative. “Aden’s had contact with him and he’s sure Pax is ice-cold beneath the surface. He is linked into the Honeycomb, but that empathic link can be achieved with a very minor shift in thinking—my feeling is that he sees Silence as a weapon in a world where most people are held hostage to their emotions.”
Cooper paused at the start of the obstacle course. “That gives me a good bead on the guy. Thanks.” He gestured toward the course. “Go on, try the beast. I’ll stand over there and laugh at you.”
“Challenge accepted.”
It wasn’t until Judd started that Cooper remembered the other man was a fucking telekinetic. Oh, Judd didn’t cheat. No, like all Tks, he simply moved better. It was hard to explain to anyone who hadn’t seen a Tk in motion, but while they weren’t as fluid as changelings, they were damn close. And Judd Lauren was a former Arrow, trained to be a ghost.
He moved like liquid smoke.
He still fell flat on his ass on the same obstacle that had dumped Cooper the first time around. Clapping as Judd got up—with a dark look at the obstacle—Cooper called out, “Don’t feel too bad. The pups fail that one, too.”
“Funny, Coop.” Then the stubborn man went back to the start of the course and began again.
This time, he cleared the obstacle with grace, kept going.
By the end of the day, Judd had started the course seven times and finished it zero times. He had several bumps and bruises as well as a cut on his cheekbone and, after a shower, was sharing a drink with Cooper while they sat at an outdoor table they’d set up. “How many times before you completed it?” he asked Cooper.
“One.”
“Do I look drunk?” He held up his orange juice—Psy abilities didn’t mix well with alcohol, and the Psy Cooper knew tended to stay away from it.
Cooper’s wolf bared its teeth inside him in lupine laughter. “Ten. So you have three more to go before I’ve officially beaten your Arrow ass.”
“I’ve got tomorrow.” Judd put down his drink and got up to examine the grilling machine Cooper had brought out.
Cooper was about to explain the functions when his attention was caught by the sound of female voices.
Three women walked out of the den. One belonged to Judd, one was Brenna’s friend, and one was very much Cooper’s. Grace came straight into his arms, all shiny and fresh from a shower. “Aw,” he murmured for her ears only. “I was hoping to get a chance to clean you up.” She’d told him she’d be crawling through internal ducts today as part of a routine inspection of the artificial sunlight system that illuminated the den.
Turning a little pink under the cream of her skin, his mate rose on tiptoe and nuzzled at his throat. “You could make me dirty first.”
He almost groaned, his cock reacting to her words like she’d stroked him with her pretty hands—or sucked him with her pretty mouth. “When did you get to be so bad, Grace?” He liked it, liked it a hell of a lot.
“When I had to deal with a certain lieutenant.” His sassy mate turned to examine the table. “You guys are all prepared.”
Cooper wrapped an arm around her as other packmates came out to join them, all bringing a plate to share. It was a small gathering under a clear night sky, the air redolent with the smell of food and flavored with conversation. People came and went as shifts changed, the atmosphere low-key and relaxed. Cooper ended up sitting on the ground, as did pretty much everyone but for a couple of older packmates who joined them for an hour. He’d tugged Grace down to sit between his thighs and she stayed warm and snug against him.
At one point, he realized her eyes were closing, and as he watched her slip into sleep, he thought back to a time when his deeply submissive mate had worried about having a relationship with a dominant. Back then, she’d have looked at him in total astonishment had he told her that one day, she’d fall asleep in his arms without a care in the world, even though he had his hand gently, possessively, curled around her throat.
His wolf stretched out inside him, pleased and proud. His mate had enough courage for a thousand dominants.
• • •
EARLY the next morning, he kissed Grace good-bye, then got into a truck with two other packmates for the drive across the border to meet Pax Marshall. All three of them had rock-solid natural shields, the effectiveness of which had been confirmed by Psy members of the pack. Judd had volunteered to accompany them, but Cooper had shaken his head. “We don’t want Psy like Pax thinking we’re vulnerable targets without you.”
Nodding, Judd had said, “Remember, if it all goes sideways, even a Gradient 9 won’t be able to smash through your shields without doing significant damage—and using a ton of power. Claw out his throat at the first sign of a telepathic blow. Don’t give him a second chance.”
Cooper had considered carrying a weapon, decided against it. Again, it was about projecting a confidence that made it clear no SnowDancer wolf was easy prey. He’d also made a conscious decision to turn up to the meeting in jeans, work boots, and a simple white T-shirt. Pax Marshall was all sharp suits. Cooper had no intention of appearing to cater to him.
As it was, Pax surprised him. The handsome blond male, his features sharply patrician and his eyes blue, turned up in khaki cargo pants and a white T-shirt, his boots very similar to Cooper’s. Their meeting place—at Pax’s request—was an empty piece of land in Arizona that belonged to SnowDancer, but that they’d left undeveloped because it was too small for anything useful.
The area was open, with no way for anyone to set up an ambush.
“So,” Cooper said after they’d introduced themselves. “What’s your proposal?” He’d already increased his estimation of the other man’s political and manipulative skills—Pax had clearly dressed to put Cooper at ease.
“This piece of land is in a prime location to provide an extension to the computronics factory on the horizon.”
Cooper raised an eyebrow. “Except for the fact there’s an abandoned warehouse in between on disputed land.” That was why SnowDancer hadn’t already bought the factory and associated land—the heirs were fighting so bitterly over the disputed parcel that it was too much hassle for too little gain. For any development to be a sound economic investment, the pack needed to own all three parcels.
“It’s no longer disputed,” Pax said, his expression ice-cold.
So, he wasn’t pretending not to be Silent. That, too, Cooper thought, was calculated. Pax had quickly figured out that Cooper had a great bullshit detector, so he’d opted for the straight and narrow. Or was giving the impression of it at least. “Is that so?” Cooper folded his arms across his chest. “Last I heard, they were threatening to murder each other with rusty knives.”
Human families could be frankly scary to a wolf.
“I bought it,” Pax said. “I paid both parties.”
That meant Pax had snuck in under SnowDancer’s nose. But in doing so, he’d been forced to invest heavily upfront—and SnowDancer still held the winning hand. “Why would you pay twice for a useful but not prime piece of land?” Cooper asked, keeping the rest of his thoughts to himself for now.
Pax turned that arctic-blue gaze back onto the distant computronics factory. “As of this morning, I also own the factory and the land on which it sits.”
“You want to make us an offer for our parcel?”
“No.”
“Oh? Why?”
“I don’t think you’re stupid enough not to realize you own the critical piece on the chessboard.”
Cooper grinned. Yes, SnowDancer understood the precise value of its land. This area was known for the kind of quiet needed for the manufacturing of the most delicate computronics. No heavy vehicle traffic, no real population, the sky clear of all air traffic, thanks to an old law no one had bothered to update, and no pollution.
Clean air. Quiet environment. A waterway for transport.
The three holy grails when it came to the creation of high-end computronics.
And SnowDancer had the only access to the waterway in question. “We’ve got you over a barrel, Marshall.”
“I could hire telekinetics,” Pax pointed out, his tone chilling further.
Interesting. Had the man been a wolf, Cooper would’ve said he was pissed off. But since he was a Psy widely thought to be deathly Silent, it was doubtless a clever psychological game.
“However,” the other man continued, “it would be more efficient to bring you in as a partner.”
The resulting discussion was hard-edged and pure business. Cooper made no promises, but he hammered out a deal he could take to Hawke and the other lieutenants, should, of course, Pax pass certain other tests. Ethics and the environment included.
There was also one other thing. “You do a lot of business with Ming LeBon?” he asked off-handedly.
The Psy male paused and Cooper had the feeling it was genuine. Pax hadn’t expected that question, wasn’t prepared for it.
“A small percentage,” he said at last. “Why?”
Cooper shrugged. “Word on the street is that he’s going to start to suffer significant losses. You might want to pull out before the shit hits the fan.” He wasn’t giving anything away, not with Ming fully aware that SnowDancer had declared war on him.
“Thank you for the advice.” Pax’s tone revealed nothing, but a day later, the financial grapevine was abuzz with the news that the Marshall Group had cut all ties with LeBon Enterprises.
Pax Marshall, it seemed, had chosen a side.
That didn’t mean he wasn’t a cobra in the grass.
Chapter 23
MING LEBON HAD ended his conversation with Pax Marshall an hour earlier without learning anything about why the Marshall Group had suddenly sold all its stocks in businesses associated with LeBon Enterprises. The arrogant young telepath who’d seized the reins of the Marshall empire had insisted the move was simply “part of the family’s long-term business plan.”
But Ming had heard whispers from his spies within the Marshall Group that Pax Marshall was pursuing a lucrative contract with the SnowDancer Wolves. That could not be a coincidence.
He was sending a message ordering one of those spies to get him more details when he received a letter with the official Trinity seal. It stated that the entire body of signatories had voted on his application to join. Despite the backroom deals he’d made, that vote hadn’t come down in his favor.
He crushed the letter in his hand. “SnowDancer.”
Ming wasn’t used to being so blatantly blocked from anything: the majority of people were too scared of him to attempt it.
He also wasn’t about to allow the wolves to push him into a situation where he’d lose face in front of the entire world. The emotions didn’t matter to him, but the impact on his power base could be catastrophic. Already, he could visualize the flow-on effect of this single damning rejection, see the missed opportunities, the chipping away at his financial alliances.
Throwing the crumpled-up letter in the trash, he decided that if SnowDancer and its allies wanted a war, they’d get one. Ming was a combat telepath but he was also a master at strategy. No one could beat him on that field of battle. Certainly not wolves driven by a feral desire for vengeance.
“Send me the draft of my proposal,” he said to his aide.
He’d finalize that proposal, then, when the time was right, send it to all parties, including the wolves and the Arrows. He wouldn’t do this by stealth. No, he wanted the world watching and witnessing the fall of Trinity.
Chapter 24
LUCAS HAD ASSIGNED multiple people to tracking down data on the ocelot pack linked to the assault on Sascha and Naya, but it was Dorian who ended up doing most of the heavy lifting.
He’d fractured his leg in the crash, but what neither he nor Jason had let on at the scene, deciding Sascha didn’t need the additional worry, was that he’d also suffered multiple broken ribs and severe bruising to his upper chest. Broken ribs were a general pain in the ass for everyone—even Tamsyn couldn’t totally heal them, so Dorian was off active duty for a couple of weeks.
Tamsyn had also ordered the sentinel to keep the weight off his plascast-covered leg for three of those days. “Or I’ll reverse the healing I’ve already done and you’ll be stuck with a cast for months instead of fourteen days.”
As a result, Dorian took himself and his computer off to Mercy and Riley’s cabin for one of those days. There, according to the message Lucas got from Mercy, the blond sentinel kept her company, made sure Riley didn’t stress out too badly, and researched the hell out of the ocelot pack.
I’m pretty sure he’s hacking things that could get him locked up, Mercy had noted. Watch out for the men in black suits.
It was on the fourth day of his enforced “vacation,” Dorian having spent the rest of the time hunkered down in his own cabin, that he sent Lucas a note: I have a report on the ocelots.
Lucas could’ve requested that report over the comm, but he wanted to check up on the sentinel, see that he was, in fact, following orders and healing properly. Vaughn, Clay, and Emmett—as well as Tammy, of course—had all been in and out of Dorian and Ashaya’s home since he was grounded, had kept Lucas updated, but his panther wouldn’t be satisfied until he’d seen the other man with his own eyes.
Dorian, more than any other dominant in the pack, could be stubborn about injuries. He’d always pushed himself too hard, too fast, an outcome of the fact that he’d for so long been latent, unable to shift into his leopard form. Where others might’ve given in to despair, Dorian had channeled his pain into an unremitting drive to excel. It was why he’d trained as an architect, taken up flying, learned hacking, all while being a crack sniper. Not only to sublimate the pain that came from not being able to shift, but to keep his mind busy so he didn’t go insane.
Lucas’s joy the day he’d discovered Dorian had shifted for the first time had been a raw fury inside him. Today, as the blond sentinel met Lucas in the doorway of his home, Lucas took in his balance on the plascast, then scanned his chest. “How’re your ribs?”
Rubbing lightly on the soft dark gray of his T-shirt, Dorian gave a lopsided grin. “Almost fixed and no, I’m not lying. My mate insists on scanning me every night to check the progress of my healing.”
Since Ashaya was a scientist—and more important, loved Dorian with a furious passion—Lucas nodded. For once, it appeared the sentinel was following orders when it came to his health. “You want to talk inside or out?” Dorian’s architectural skill was reflected in the home he’d built. It was all glass panels covered by greenery and foliage except for cunning clear areas that let in the sunlight, until being inside
was like walking in the forest.
Next to Lucas’s own aerie, Dorian’s home was his favorite design in pack territory. But today, his skin was itchy, wanted to be outside. Still, since Dorian was injured and might want to sit in a comfortable spot within, he’d follow the other man’s preference.
But Dorian said, “Definitely out. Look at that sky.”
It was a cauldron of color, the sun in the process of setting.
Dorian looked over his shoulder as he stepped out. “Keen! You want to kick your ball around?”
The answer came immediately. “Yes!”
Dorian’s adopted son ran out seconds behind him, a soccer ball held in his hands. “Hi, Lucas!”
Lifting the six-and-a-half-year-old in his arms, Lucas said, “What’s up, Keenan?”
“I got a gold star at school.” Keenan’s blue-gray eyes sparkled, the dusky brown of his skin glowing from within. “For helping my friend with his adding.”
“Good. You make the pack proud.” Ruffling the boy’s hair, he put him back down on the ground, man and panther both happy to see such open joy in a child who’d been far too solemn when he’d first come into the pack. “I hear you’re having special lessons.” It had become obvious that Keenan was highly gifted, but though normal schoolwork was so easy for him that he was bored, he didn’t want to separate from his year group.
His parents agreed with his choice, as did Lucas. Even a gifted child should have the chance to be a child, to take music and art lessons with his friends, to play games with them during breaks, to participate in group activities where it was more about communication and working together than specific knowledge.
“Children in Silence weren’t allowed friends,” Ashaya had said to Lucas when the question of Keenan’s education came up, her voice thick with emotion. “I don’t want that loneliness for my son, and I’m afraid that’s what’ll happen if he skips grades and ends up far younger than his classmates.”