by Nalini Singh
All at once, he realized he didn't have to process her words. He understood that mental tone now, knew she was teasing him again. This time, he had an answer for her. Arrows sleep in full uniform, he said, setting the armor aside.
A pause. Are you teasing me?
Tugging off his boots, he put them under the cot. They were designed to allow him to slam his feet into them in two seconds flat in an emergency. Where would an Arrow learn to tease? he responded as he removed his belt and placed it with the armor.
From me, came the suspicious response. You're very smart. Don't think I haven't noticed.
Having decided to strip off his long-sleeved black uniform top since it wouldn't protect his upper half from attack anyway, and needed to be washed, he rolled it up to use as a pillow as he lay down dressed only in his uniform pants. He should've showered, but giving his body time to restore itself was a higher priority. I'm going to sleep now, Ivy.
Have a good rest.
Her voice was the last thing he heard before he shut himself down like the lethal living machine that he was.
Chapter 18
What gives Kaleb Krychek the right to decide the future of our entire race? What of those of us who do not wish to live in his new world? Will he now eliminate our voices as he is rumored to have eliminated his rivals?
Opinion piece from Ida Mill, PsyNet Beacon
KALEB STOOD IN the living room of his and Sahara's home, his eyes on the wall-mounted comm-screen. The feed was of placard-waving protestors walking in a circle below his Moscow HQ chanting pro-Silence slogans into the early evening foot traffic in the square directly adjacent.
"Do they not realize I could crush their skulls with a single thought?"
Glancing up from where she was curled up on the couch, translating a document for him, Sahara looked at the screen. "The protestors and Ms. Mill feel passionately enough to die for their cause."
"More would-be martyrs." Kaleb slid his hands into the pockets of his slate gray suit pants, the cuffs of his white shirt rolled up to bare his forearms. "I'm considering giving them their wish." He had to focus on rebuilding the very foundations of the Net after eradicating the infection, not on people who couldn't embrace change.
"Stop being big, bad Kaleb Krychek and come sit with me."
He only took orders from one person. Sitting down to her left, he wrapped an arm around the front of her shoulders as she leaned back against him. "They call themselves Silent Voices," she told him, tapping the laser pen she'd been using against her lip. "And they've made it a point to say they are nonviolent and unassociated with Pure Psy."
"A small sign of intelligence." Kaleb had promised to execute anyone who attempted to revive the genocidal group of fanatics. "They're disruptive."
Sahara patted his arm. "A common occurrence in a normal political system."
"We're not in a normal political system. This is a dictatorship." Nothing else would work with the Net on the brink of cataclysm.
Sahara turned her head to press a kiss to his upper arm through the fine cotton of his shirt, long strands of silken hair sliding over his forearm. "The Council would've shut them down, ended their lives for daring to challenge the status quo."
It was a gentle reminder that Kaleb had spent his life bringing down that corrupt structure. Considering the protestors for another minute, he turned off the screen. "They can protest so long as they don't threaten the stability of the Net."
"I think we need disparate voices." Sahara sat up and twisted to face him after putting her datapad and pen on the carpet, expression thoughtful. "Attempting to create a homogenous society is what got us into this situation in the first place."
Kaleb didn't see the world as Sahara did; his priority was to give her a safe, stable life. No matter what it took. "Ms. Mill and her merry band may get their Silent enclave if I'm forced to excise sections of the Net to stem the tide of infection."
Dark blue eyes locking with his own. "Is it worse?"
"Yes, and increasing in virulence by the day." While the empaths remained locked in their dormant state.
Chapter 19
Please reupload all technical data about the performance of the gauntlet for the previous thirty-four days. Our current data is leading to conclusions well outside the anticipated and may have been corrupted during one of the weekly uploads.
Message from Dr. Edgard Bashir to Vasic
SASCHA DIDN'T ARGUE with the security measures Lucas put in place for her visit to the E compound early afternoon on the second day of the empaths' residence in the area. The other Es might not be able to do her direct harm without it rebounding back on them, but there were Arrows in that compound, and regardless of how much she trusted Judd, the squad wasn't homogenous.
"Neither are empaths," Lucas reminded her when she vocalized her thoughts after they stepped out of the car on the edge of the yellow zone.
Cupping her face in strong, warm hands, he bent his knees slightly to meet her eyes. "Don't forget that. They've already had an internal security breach."
"I won't," she promised, and cuddled into the wild heat of his body, drawing in his scent until her own cells were drunk with it. "I feel like such a fraud, pretending to have expertise in the E designation." When all she had was a store of cobbled-together knowledge that might or might not help.
Lucas tugged on her braid. "An expert is simply someone who knows more than those she's teaching. That's you." A feline kiss, licks and flicks and persuasion that melted her bones. "As for the rest"--he wrapped her scarf around her neck--"you'll learn with them."
Centered by his touch, his faith in her, she petted his chest through the fine merino wool of his charcoal sweater. Like most changelings, he didn't feel the cold the same way as a human or Psy, but he was a cat, too, enjoyed such textures against his skin. Not that he'd ever bother to take the time to buy things like this for himself.
But he loved it when she did--and the small, domestic act gave her intense pleasure. As feeding her chocolate habit gave him. It wasn't only emotion, raw and real, that Silence had stolen from her race, she thought, but the myriad quiet intimacies that colored the intricate tapestry of life. "Okay," she said, after another nuzzling kiss from her panther. "I'm ready."
Having decided to walk in the rest of the way, other pack soldiers spreading out behind them, they stepped through the trees of the compound a half hour later. Vasic was waiting for them, a petite but curvy woman with softly curling black hair by his side. She wore a thick cowl-neck sweater in white and jeans tucked into snow boots, her stunning eyes lit from within.
"Ivy." Sascha felt her lips curve, recognizing the empath from their comm conversation. "It's lovely to meet you in person."
Ivy's returning smile was infectious. "I've been so excited since Vasic said you were coming." She made to step forward and embrace Sascha, caught herself midstep to glance at Vasic, as if she'd received a telepathic warning.
Conscious the Arrow was playing by the known rules when it came to approaching a predatory changeling's mate, Sascha completed the hug herself, then introduced Lucas to Ivy, Vasic and Lucas having already acknowledged each other.
"Would you like to sit on my porch?" Ivy asked afterward. "It's so nice and sunny out."
"That's perfect." Sascha had been instructed to remain in sight of Lucas and the rest of the security team, and Ivy's suggestion removed any awkwardness from the situation.
Nodding, Ivy led her to the porch, the wood warm from the sun. Then, to Sascha's surprise, the younger empath whispered, "Are there guns pointed at me?"
Sascha gave a small laugh, knowing that no matter what happened with the other Es, Ivy Jane would become a friend. "What do you think?"
"I read that changelings are highly protective of their mates." Smile fading, the other woman's copper gaze shifted to linger on Vasic where the Arrow stood speaking to Lucas. "Do you think," she murmured, "that a person who's been Silent for almost the entirety of his life can learn to feel?"
> It didn't take being an empath to guess at the reason for Ivy's question. "I think," Sascha said gently, "the Psy race has been kidding itself about Silence for a long time."
Ivy seemed to forcibly turn her attention back to Sascha. "In what way?"
Sascha paused to admire a little white dog, its breed unclear, that scampered up to the porch. Sniffing at Sascha's hand when she held it out, it wagged its tail, then went to sit at Ivy's side. "No one sane has ever successfully eliminated their emotions," she said. "It's simply a case of how deeply they've been buried."
Ivy petted the adorable little dog with absent affection. "And if there's a winter of the soul?" Troubled eyes met Sascha's. "If the ice is so integrated that even when there's a fracture, it seals itself as soon as he closes his eyes?"
"I don't know," Sascha said honestly. "There are probably some in the Net who've been intensely conditioned to the extent that they come as close to Silence without sociopathy as possible." The Arrows, she thought, fell into that category.
"These people," she added with care for Ivy's heart, "probably embraced Silence on such a deep level for a reason." Vicious psychic abilities, the threat of madness, a family history of violence. "They may not wish to shatter it."
The day I feel is the day I die.
Ivy's fingers stilled on Rabbit's coat as Vasic's words rang in her skull, as harsh as Sascha's had been kind. Ivy had been so happy this morning. He'd teased her, even if he wouldn't admit it, but when he'd woken three hours later, it was as if they'd never had that conversation, never started to weave the fragile threads of a bond she couldn't name but that she knew she wanted. So much.
"Ivy." Sascha's fingers brushing her cheek.
Seeing the gentle sympathy in the cardinal's starlit gaze, Ivy felt her eyes burn. She blinked the sandpaper of it away and consciously put aside her thoughts about the Arrow who made her want to take a sledgehammer to the ice he might need to survive.
"Can you teach me how to shield?" she asked Sascha. "I'm picking up every emotion in the compound--including your mate's feral protectiveness." One wrong move toward Sascha and Ivy knew she'd have claws buried in her throat. Even now, she could feel the changeling alpha's wild green eyes on her, though he stood several meters away.
Ivy--a caress of ice-cold water in her mind--you're afraid of Lucas Hunter.
Her fingers curled into her palms, her breath catching at the dark, beautiful sound of him. Reading my mind?
No, just your body language and facial cues.
Ivy wanted to tease him but couldn't find the heart for it, Sascha's words having made her realize Vasic's Silence could be a survival mechanism.
Then he said, Don't be afraid. I won't let him hurt you.
Ivy felt as if she'd been wrapped in his arms. Giving in, she looked across the compound to meet the eyes of clear gray that watched her. I know.
"Before I teach you to shield," Sascha said at that instant, voice thoughtful, "I'll say one more thing on our earlier subject."
Ivy broke the intimacy of the eye contact with Vasic to see the cardinal empath was watching him, too. "What?"
"I know two men who were once as remote as your Arrow."
"Judd Lauren," she guessed, not bothering to protest Sascha's description of Vasic. He was Ivy's Arrow. She'd claimed him. "And?"
"Kaleb Krychek."
Ivy shivered, tugging the sleeves of her sweater over her hands. "He's still . . ."
"Yes." Sascha nodded. "Except when it comes to his mate. If you succeed in cracking the ice, you have to be prepared to deal with a male as devoted and as violently protective as any changeling."
Ivy didn't know anything of men or of relationships, but the idea of having Vasic look at her as Lucas Hunter looked at Sascha . . . it made every cell in her body vibrate with a need so deep, it felt as if she'd been born with it.
"As for Judd," Sascha said. "A week ago, I saw him go down under a tumble of pups who decided to 'force' him to play tag with them." She closed her hand over one of Ivy's, squeezed. "I saw him laugh, Ivy"--the cardinal's eyes shone wet--"and never could I have imagined that when I first met him."
Inside Ivy the confetti whispered up on a soft breeze.
*
VASIC noted the ease with which Ivy accepted Sascha's embrace at the end of their two-hour session, and instinctively checked her PsyNet shields. The fractures were visible, jagged cracks that threatened to expose her emotional existence on the PsyNet. Ivy, he said as soon as the DarkRiver couple had left the compound.
Her mind touched his in a familiar intimacy, the telepathic pathway private. Yes?
Will you accept my assistance in shielding you on the PsyNet? If she said no, he'd have to find another way to protect her. He would not compel or coerce, would not tie her down as she'd been tied down in that reconditioning chamber--the same way he'd been restrained so many times as a child.
Ivy hesitated in the doorway to her cabin. Not yet, she said at last. I can seal the fractures for now. She sought his gaze. Having your shield over mine blinds me, and I need to be able to see the infection.
It was almost as if she was explaining so as not to hurt his feelings, when she knew he had no feelings. No, he didn't understand Ivy at all. I'll work with the other Arrows to firewall this section of the Net instead, he said. It'll give you freedom to work on the infection without scrutiny from unwanted sources.
Shifting on her heel, she came to join him where he stood near the pines closest to her cabin. "That sounds perfect. I don't think the Net is ready for us."
Ivy always smiled with some part of her body, but there was no light in her eyes now, no curve to her lips. "The session didn't go well?"
"Oh no, it was incredible." She rubbed at one temple, and he knew her head continued to bother her. "Sascha taught me how to create an internal shield, so I won't get overwhelmed again like I did with Lianne--though from her experience, it looks like we can't completely turn off our ability."
Vasic had begun to suspect that. "Your empathy functions like an extra sense, analogous to sight or hearing." The same way his teleporting might as well have been another limb, it was so integrated into his body.
"Yes." Thrusting her hands into the front pockets of her jeans, she stared down at the ground. "I just . . . I thought this would be a better world, Vasic."
An indefinable sensation inside him caused by the sound of his name on her lips. "How?"
Ivy rubbed at her temple again.
Raising his hands, he said, "Stay still," and began a scalp and neck massage he'd learned after an injury of his own.
Ivy was so stunned at the skin-to-skin contact that it took several seconds for the pleasure of what he was doing to penetrate her nerve endings. Groaning, she allowed her head to drop forward, her palms braced against his chest. God, but she was starting to hate the stupid uniform that so effectively segregated the heat and strength of him from her touch.
But his fingers, his hands . . .
"Ivy."
"Hmm." Eyes closed, she focused only on the feel of those strong fingers taking away her hurt and turning her bones to jelly in the process. More, more, she wanted to demand, shameless in her tactile hunger for him.
"Why did you think the world would be better?"
Ivy had forgotten what she'd been talking about, had to dredge her pleasure-drunk brain to unearth the thread of their conversation. "After the fall of Silence," she murmured, eyes still closed. "If and when I ever permitted myself to imagine it"--she moaned again as he shifted his hands to the back of her neck--"I always thought it would be a halcyon environment." A twist of her lips. "But no matter what, people are still going to try to hurt one another."
"The attack on Lianne is on your mind." Ivy's skin was delicate against the rough pads of Vasic's fingers, but she inched closer instead of pulling away.
Her proximity increased the abrasive sensation inside his skin, a silent reminder that he should not be touching her, but he didn't break contact. It was his
job to take care of her, and it was clear this was easing her pain.
"A member of Lianne's own family turned against her," she said after almost a minute. "It makes me worry about what will happen when the rest of the E designation begins to go active. How many of us will die?"
Vasic looked at her downbent head, the soft black curls shining in the light that fell through the leaves above, and knew the harsh answers he had would hurt her. So all he said was, "Even the best foreseer in the world can't predict the future with a hundred percent certainty."
Ivy lifted up her head, her smile lopsided. "You're saying I'm borrowing trouble." Not waiting for a response, she looked him straight in the eye. "Maybe I am, but I just can't seem to stop."
He had the inexplicable sense they were no longer speaking about empaths.
*
IN the days that followed, the compound settled into a quiet, familiar rhythm. The eighteen people within it slowly stopped being individuals and started to become a community, and like any community, they had their subgroups. Of the empaths, Ivy was closest to Chang and Jaya, though Penn quite often joined their discussions. The Scottish male tended to speak about as much as an Arrow, but was concise and penetrating in his comments when he did.
The others all had different relationships with one another, as was natural, with Chang being friendly with Brigitte, while Ivy couldn't seem to penetrate the older woman's reserve. Isaiah remained abrasive, but calm Penn was able to tolerate him, and so it went. No one was isolated or alone, which was the main thing.
The Arrows, of course, stuck to their own, but she'd noticed that several spent time with their Es when they could've as easily kept their distance. Abbot, in particular, was never far from Jaya's side.
As for her, she'd managed to talk Vasic into eating with her more often than not. He hadn't touched her again after those exquisite minutes that had turned her blood to honey, but she was already an addict. It was torture to sit so close and not demand a repeat, but being with him was worth it . . . though she did cheat every so often by wearing the sweater that kept sliding off her shoulder. When he fixed it--and he always noticed and did so without a word--it felt as if he'd stroked her.