Alpha Night

by Nalini Singh

  Pale eyes the color of starlight on a winter’s night held hers. “Those outside the squad have no Aden. Most don’t have families who’ll risk their own lives to protect them. They . . . disappear.”

  Blood cold and eyes hot, Selenka picked up a small object from her vanity and took it to Ethan. “Look.”

  Ethan examined the miniature plate that held a pile of equally miniature fruit. “A piece of art, constructed with attention to detail.” He examined it from multiple angles. “The artist thought of the mix of colors, the design of the plate.”

  “It’s Manya’s work. He makes tiny sculptures for people he loves.” Taking the precious gift back from Ethan, she returned it to her vanity. “He is a treasured member of the pack.”

  “I’m glad you accept your broken.”

  “That’s just it, Ethan. Manya’s not broken and neither are you.” Never would she stop trying to teach him that. “You’re you as Manya is Manya. Complete in yourself.”

  Ethan said nothing and she didn’t push. The latter was difficult for her wolf, but she was learning that pushing Ethan got her nothing. He’d make his own decision—but Selenka could give him the information he needed to make it. Turning, she lifted the cover on the tray to reveal the dishes within. Small bowls of creamy pasta, a fruit salad, slices of cake, the promised cookies, and a couple of hot flaky rolls with a filling of spiced meat.

  “Let’s picnic on the bed.”

  Taking a seat across from her after bringing over the tray, Ethan examined the items on it with interest. “I’ve rarely eaten real food.”

  “My mission in life is to make you fat.” Wolf and woman, neither part of her was joking; food was serious business to a wolf. “Just a little bit.” So that he wasn’t honed to the bone, so that she knew he had so much happiness in his life that he could afford to let go of the rigid control he maintained over himself.

  “If you want, I can put on weight by eating twice my normal ration of nutrients.”

  “No, this is about fun. It’s not the goal that matters but the journey.” Picking up one of the rolls, she held it to his mouth.

  He took a bite, chewed, swallowed. No reaction. But he took another bite and another. Until by the time he finally fell asleep, the two of them had cleared the tray, and he’d told her that he had “categorically” blown his nutritional quota for the day. Despite the loss and grief of the hours past, her wolf smiled as she fell into sleep . . . but she woke with a pounding heart.

  How do you know?

  Ethan’s question reverberated in her head. She’d reacted out of instinct and passion when he’d asked it, but it wasn’t only the single among changelings who went rogue. And being rogue was the worst kind of madness for a changeling—a rogue gave in to the animal and forgot their human self. They began to hunt those who’d once been pack, ravaging and tearing.

  Rogues even killed their mates.

  So, hard as it was to face, changelings weren’t infallible in choosing mates.

  Heart thumping so hard she could feel it against her rib cage just above where Ethan had his arm, she glanced behind her to see that he remained in a deep sleep. It startled her. She hadn’t thought an Arrow would sleep that way . . . but he was her mate. He knew she’d never harm him. Affection had her stroking his forearm, but it didn’t serve to soothe her skittering thoughts. She looked at the bedside table, saw her phone was within reach.

  She didn’t know what she was going to do with it until she found herself pulling up the medical alert on Scarab Syndrome. It began with a basic outline of the Syndrome, then gave a list of symptoms, followed by a closing paragraph:

  Not every patient who exhibits these symptoms will have the Syndrome, but we urge you to be overcautious in this matter. The team would rather attend multiple false alerts than miss one real case. The earlier a patient is diagnosed, the higher the likelihood that individual can be given assistance to prolong their mental and psychic stability.

  Selenka remembered seeing another mention of the Syndrome, though she couldn’t remember where. Putting down her phone, she managed to pull over her organizer without waking Ethan—produced by a Psy manufacturer, the thin high-spec datapad was the best on the market. BlackEdge had been able to purchase fifty from the hotly contested first batch.

  Psy usually favored Psy in such cases—Silence hadn’t fallen long enough ago to change such habits, but BlackEdge and StoneWater’d had an in this time around. Silver Mercant had spoken to her well-connected family, and the Mercants had fronted the deal with the actual supplier to ensure the packs received fifty each.

  That was the official word anyway—Selenka would bet the bears had received a few extra. Her spies told her Silver’s icy-eyed grandmother was the Mercant, and she apparently liked Valentin.

  Bears.

  Still, it was a hell of a favor Silver had done BlackEdge, and Selenka wouldn’t forget it.

  Organizer in hand, she did a search in her private files, but “Scarab” brought up nothing. So she linked to the private server created for top-level Trinity Accord signatories. In no world was everyone equal, and Trinity couldn’t continue to function unless it had some leadership. Changelings had no issue with that, hierarchy and dominance integral parts of their life. In this situation, that meant a number of senior alphas who spoke for multiple packs.

  Lucas Hunter of the DarkRiver leopards represented the largest number, including the far bigger SnowDancer pack. And, by some strange stroke of cooperation—or madness—Selenka currently represented nearly all the packs in Russia—including the bears.

  Valentin had volunteered her when the question had come up. “You’re much more diplomatic than I am, Selya,” he’d said, deliberately using the familiar term of address to rile her. “I’d just yell at everyone and get us thrown out of the Accord.”

  “Don’t be too sad, Mishka,” she’d said sweetly, using the extra-baby pet name his older sisters had a habit of using. “You can’t help being a bear.”

  So now she was part of the Trinity leadership. As such, she had direct access to this server. She’d made sure Valentin had all the passwords, too—he needed to be up to speed should anything happen to her. When she did a search for “Scarab” on the server, the information popped up at once.

  Scarab was an experiment run in the early days of Silence. Data retrieved to date suggests it ran from 1999 to 2004, though a dedicated team is continuing to data mine in the hope of recovering more concrete information.

  In short, the Silence Protocol worked for a small minority of Psy—it suppressed their violent and/or mentally unstable tendencies. However, that suppression came at a cost: a decrease in psychic power. Scarab posited that it was possible to modify Silence to ameliorate or fully annul that unintended effect.

  Every individual enrolled in the project was either a very young child at the dawn of Silence, or was born in Silence—and thus considered part of the first wave of Silent “natives.” Each subject was also physically and mentally fit, the best of the best.

  At first, Scarab was a brilliant success, with the test subjects remaining Silent, but with full access to their—previously suppressed—abilities. However, that stability didn’t last. Many of the subjects struck out violently at those around them, while others began to suffer from hallucinations, fugues, memory loss, screaming nightmares, and more. In the end, the entire set of subjects became a threat to those around them.

  A number self-terminated when they realized Scarab could not be rolled back. Once open, their minds could not be returned to their stable pre-Scarab state. The destabilization continued for all—though we reiterate that there are gaps in the data, so it’s possible that not all destabilized to the same extent.

  We have no data on the long-term prognosis of Scarab subjects as the Psy Council of the time made the decision to terminate all living Scarab subjects in 2004.

  The fall
of Silence has brought with it a return of this “awakening” of suppressed power. For ease of reference, we have termed it Scarab Syndrome. At the time of the writing of this briefing paper, only one Scarab subject* has been definitively identified (to be referred to as Patient Zero). Patient Zero has been stabilized by an empath (Empath R) with very specific abilities. The Empathic Collective is searching for other such Es, but so far, Empath R is the only one with this particular skill set.

  Patient Zero is also unusual in another way that means his results cannot be directly correlated to those of others [information redacted for patient privacy]. At this stage, with no other available data, our goal is to identify those with Scarab Syndrome early, so that Empath R can work with them to foster such control as is possible.

  This paper will be updated as further information becomes available.

  *Update 1: Scarab Syndrome diagnoses to date = 8. Empath R able to assist only five of the eight. No data available to explain the reason for the discrepancy.

  Update 2: Do not approach or attempt to get through to likely Scarab Syndrome sufferers. In the grip of the Syndrome, they are not amenable to logic and may treat everyone around them, including allies, as a threat.

  Chapter 26

  It is . . . a slow seduction. A promise of power so vast that it is a song of sirens.

  —Patient Zero to Dr. Maia Ndiaye, PsyMed SF Echo

  SELENKA PUT DOWN the organizer. It wasn’t much, but it lined up with everything Ethan had said—and with the broken shards she could feel within him, the uncontrolled surges that were waves along the mating bond. A massive energy was pushing and shoving inside Ethan.

  “What is it?” Quiet music at her back.

  When she turned on her side to look at him, she found those pale eyes clear of sleep under mussed hair, his stubble a day away from turning into a beard, and his skin aglow with health.

  He was beautiful.

  She passed over the organizer because he deserved to know. But he handed it back after a quick scan. “I’ve seen it. Aden gave me a copy after it became clear I was exhibiting signs of the Syndrome.”

  Selenka’s respect for Aden Kai rose another notch—even though Ethan had distanced himself from the squad, his alpha had continued to look out for him. “How did it become clear?”

  “Psychic breaches when I lowered my shields after I first escaped Ming’s control,” he said, and if the eyes were the windows to the soul, Ethan’s were wide open to her.

  It still took Selenka’s breath away, the intensity of his commitment.

  “Those around me in the squad felt a psychic disturbance, and so did I—it made waves even in the cold fogbound place in which I existed then. I also did a test.”

  “That’s when you heard the howls and screams.”

  “Yes. I described the symptoms to Aden; as he’s maintained his medic credentials, we went through an exhaustive psychic testing routine and Scarab Syndrome is the only thing that fits.”

  He began to list those tests and the results.

  Selenka’s breath got tighter and tighter in her chest with each word he spoke because he was right: it all fit with what she’d just read about the Syndrome, especially the stretching inside his mind and the seductive sense that he could be a great power with access to so much more if he only let go.

  “Selenka.” Ethan cupped her cheek in that oddly tender way he had. “I’m sorry. If I could’ve stopped the mating—” He broke off. “No, that would be a lie. I wouldn’t have stopped it even if I’d had warning, even if I saw this future. Being with you, it’s the best thing I’ve ever had, the best I’ve ever been.”

  Selenka closed her hand over the solid strength of his wrist, hating that her mate’s life had been barren and cold and ugly. “We’re just getting started.” Picking up his hand, she pressed a kiss to his palm.

  Ethan shifted until he was braced on one forearm looking down at her, his hair tumbling onto his forehead. He was the one who initiated the kiss. It began slow and stayed slow, an intensely private exploration of touch and intimacy from a man used to training to be the best. She was breathless by the time they parted, and so was he. And he had a tiny pinprick hemorrhage in the white of his eye.

  Claws slicing out on a wave of protective rage, Selenka wrapped both arms around him. He came down partially on top of her, a heavy weight of heat and muscle. They stayed that way as the lights of the den rose from dawn into day beyond the door of the bedroom.

  The two of them had just risen and readied themselves for the day—with Ethan swapping out his sweatpants for a pair of jeans he found in the box—when Selenka received a message on her phone that made her heart bloom like a child’s. “My grandparents are back. They’ve been roaming in the most remote parts of our territory.”

  Ethan examined her face with the trademark intensity she was coming to expect from him. “They know I exist?”

  “If I know my dedushka, he already has your entire background.” She patted Ethan on the cheek, wondering if beneath that controlled exterior lay nerves; he had no need for them. Her grandfather would see him for what he was: a dangerous predator devoted to Selenka.

  “He might’ve stepped down in my favor,” she told Ethan, “but he will forever hold the respect of the entire pack. He’s the one I go to for advice, for guidance. He and my babushka took an angry and confused teenager and taught her how to build herself up into a strong woman.”

  Ethan sealed his uniform jacket over his white T-shirt. “Was your father the cause of your confusion and anger?”

  Scowling into the mirror where she was putting on a dusting of color over her eyelids, Selenka said, “My father is an acknowledged scholar. Because despite what the world thinks, predatory changelings don’t only respect brawn.” Her voice began to turn into a growl despite herself—talking of Kiev Durev did that to her.

  Ethan’s response was very Ethan. “I looked up Alia. She’s a renowned scholar of literature.”

  Selenka bit out a laugh, then turned to nip him on the chin. He definitely knew how to handle his growly mate. “My father prefers to believe we look down on him because of his tendency and it’s made him bitter.”

  “He resents you.”

  Again, it struck her, just how good Ethan was at picking up emotional cues. Then again, he’d made it clear his entire childhood had been unusual—he’d probably never been Silent in any way. And a child at the mercy of pitiless adults would’ve learned how to read people in pure self-defense.

  Selenka’s hand clenched on the eye shadow brush. She’d rather be holding a hunting knife and driving it into Ming’s black heart, but she had to bring normality to her pack, and that meant many things—including a hint of makeup.

  “Why do you wear colors on your skin?” Ethan watched her with open fascination.

  His intrigued look served to bring her back to the here and now. “Why not? I’ve liked makeup since I was a teen and Margo and I were doing each other’s faces in our rooms.” She smiled at the memory of their fledgling efforts; thank goodness Alia, older by four years, had taken pity on them. “As for my father—for some reason, he thought he’d be alpha following my grandfather even though that’s not how it works in a changeling pack.” They weren’t a monarchy, with rules of inheritance; they were wolves.

  “Your dominance eclipsed his.”

  “Yes. He has a rather large chip on his shoulder because of that.” Jaw rigid, she put down the mascara wand. “I just hope he hasn’t allowed his bitterness to push him into becoming a traitor.” Any involvement in Emanuel’s death and it wouldn’t be a matter of forgiveness between a father and daughter; it’d be a matter of pack and punishment.

  Ethan cupped the back of her neck, squeezed. “Is your grandmother a dominant, too?”

  There he went again, reading her emotional state and handling her. Selenka growled but didn’t pull away.
A mate was allowed those privileges, allowed to comfort and calm and handle.

  “No, my babushka Lada is a shy submissive who was a source of constant hugs and affection during my childhood.” The reminder made her spine soften, her lips curve. “You’ll like her, Ethan, though she might take time to trust you near her.” Selenka frowned. “I have the weirdest urge to take that back. My wolf thinks my reticent grandmother will be just fine with my deadly Arrow mate.”

  “We have you in common—that is a bond.”

  “Hmm.” Not sold on that, she shifted on her heel to stroke her hand down the front of his black uniform jacket.

  He stood silent and watchful as she fixed a collar that didn’t need fixing, and she had the sense he was drinking in the contact . . . and the care. Fury threatened to erupt inside her all over again, but she stifled it on the wolfish promise that he’d never again starve for affection.

  Hands on his shoulders, she took a kiss, possessive and hot. He was breathing shallowly by the time she drew back, color brushing his cheekbones and his eyes glittering. “Can we exchange skin privileges?” Hands on her hips, his mouth going to her throat.

  Moaning at the unexpected shock of sensation, she dropped her hands to the waistband of his pants. “We’ll have to be quick.” Her mate’s cock was thick and heavy and rigid in her hand when she released him.

  Thighs clenching, she left him only long enough to tear off her leather pants, then her panties. Ethan, her telekinetic mate with his fast reflexes and physical dexterity, hitched her up on his hips. “We never finished this in the bathroom,” he said in that beautiful voice that went straight to her clit this morning. “I want to.”

  Selenka pulled up his head from her throat, bit his lower lip. “Inside me. Now.”

  It took him a little maneuvering, but feeling the blunt end of his cock bump up against her soft, wet flesh wasn’t exactly a hardship. Then he was pushing in, and she was sinking down and their mouths connected in a lick of tongues and hot breaths. One arm behind her back to protect her from the wall, Ethan pounded into her in a short, fast rhythm that made her clamp around him like a vice, the orgasm an erotic punch.