by Nalini Singh
Prabhyx had always been high-strung. Now his mind flared with panic. “That’s impossible! We’re all stretched to the max.”
Virat was more pragmatic. “We can do ten-minute sessions,” he said, “but it’ll be a twenty-four-hour rotation and it’ll wear us out, even if we pull in anchors from farther out.”
Shanta, older and more experienced, said, “Let me check the zones. There may be room for expansion from each of us. Stressful, yes, but not as bad as a rotation.”
Payal held Chandika’s zone while they waited. She’d sensed the horror of minds blinking out at a sickening rate when she first arrived, but the losses had stopped the instant she wrenched the Substrate back into shape. However, with many of Chandika’s sub-anchors having collapsed under the initial surge after her death, the strain on Payal’s mind was enormous.
Shanta returned. “Prabhyx, you have capacity in your southern quadrant. Can you see if you can reshape your zone to take a segment of the weight?”
High-strung or not, Prabhyx was an anchor and he reacted to try to save lives, save the Net. Payal felt a small amount of pressure exit her mind. “That’s good,” she said. “Shanta, who else has capacity?”
“Nobody” was the quiet answer. “You were already taking on a big chunk of Chandika’s zone and so was I. Virat’s got extra weight with Pallavi’s zone—she’s aging, too.”
All of them must’ve stretched out automatically, their brains reacting as designed. Canto, there is no cover.
Check the grid. See if there are any answers there. I’m searching to see if we can get cover from an A based in a more stable zone.
The grid was faded and crumbling. As with plants deprived of water, every part of the Net suffered when deprived of anchor energy.
Water. Energy. ENERGY.
A puzzle piece slotted into place in her mind, then another and another.
“I’ll build conduits,” she said to the others, as well as telepathically to Canto. “It’ll feed our energy into this zone.”
“That won’t last.” She could hear tears in Prabhyx’s voice. “It needs to be one of us.”
“I know.” She tempered her tone—there was no point in yelling at someone who simply couldn’t help the way they were; Prabhyx was a good anchor. That was all he had to be. She’d take care of the rest. “But it’ll give us time to try to find a solution. Canto’s currently searching for an area of the world with an extra anchor.” It’d be a hardship for that A to relocate, but such sacrifices were part of being an A.
When the Net bled, so did anchors.
Santano Enrique had once covered three zones for a heroic five minutes when twin anchors passed away within seconds of each other. He’d been a psychopath, but he’d also been an A.
“Okay, yes. Yes, that makes sense.” Prabhyx repeated that multiple times as he helped her build the conduits. One from each neighboring anchor, so that their combined energies fed the grid and made it stronger.
“It’s like a spiderweb,” Shanta said afterward, as the conduit network glowed blue and began to pump anchor energy into the region; the only things that didn’t alter in color were the intrusive brown fibers. “A web fed with our psychic blood.”
“It’s going to drain all of us.” Payal was far more concerned with the practical than the metaphysical. “Eat and drink double your usual amount. I think we can maintain this for up to a month at the absolute maximum—but only if you fuel yourselves.”
All three communicated their acceptance of the plan.
Virat said, “Thank you, Payal. When Canto reached out about this anchor union, I didn’t appreciate why he’d chosen you to represent us, but now I see. You can think even when the Net is falling around us.”
“Yes,” Shanta murmured. “But we know you can’t do magic. We’ll help you in any and every way we can. It hurts to watch the Net die.”
They separated on that simple, profound truth.
Already able to feel the energy drain, she opened her eyes on the physical plane to find herself still sitting across from Kaleb Krychek. His eyes were closed, and the dark gray of his shirt stuck to his body. He’d discarded his jacket at some point and loosened his tie.
“Kaleb?”
“Five more minutes.”
Her legs shaky, she was glad to have the opportunity to just sit there. She hadn’t flamed out, so she was able to teleport in two nutrient drinks. As she knew exactly where they were in her apartment, the small “fetch” was easy to pull off.
Payal, how are you? I can see the change in the Substrate.
That beautiful voice. Of a man who remembered her, who saw her. I’m fine. Kaleb’s still here.
Kaleb came back fully into his body at that moment. The transformation was subtle and intense at the same time. His muscles held a touch more tension, his obsidian gaze acute, the sheer power of him focused on her.
Many people were afraid of Kaleb Krychek. A logical response. Payal, though, felt no fear—she was an A. He would never touch her. But more than that, she saw something in Kaleb that felt familiar.
Spotting the drink, he picked it up and unscrewed the tamperproof seal. “The repair is fragile at best,” he said afterward. “We have an Arrow babysitting it, but it’s not going to hold.”
“That’s because there’s no anchor there.” Rising, she grabbed a jotter pad off her desk and sketched out the system she and the others had put in place. “Best-case scenario is that it’ll hold for a month, but we can’t guarantee anything beyond two weeks. Especially should another linked anchor fall.”
Krychek looked at her with eyes still devoid of stars. “What’s this conduit mean for you and the other hubs?”
“Exhaustion.” Payal wasn’t here to pull punches. She was here to be a battle tank. “A short stint won’t do permanent injury, but much longer and you’ll lose five anchors instead of one.”
Kaleb’s face stayed expressionless. She could see why he’d not only made the Psy Council at such a young age but survived it. Either he had a stone-cold heart or he’d learned to school his emotions in the same kind of deadly crucible in which she’d come of age.
Yet Kaleb had what changelings would call a mate. “May I ask a personal question?”
He looked directly at her face, as if trying to see through to her brain. “I can’t promise to answer it.”
Payal didn’t retreat. This was too important. “How do you do it?” She returned that direct stare. “Feel enough emotion to be bonded to another while remaining ice-cold in your daily interactions.”
A single blink was the only giveaway that she’d surprised him. For a long second, she thought he wouldn’t answer, but then he said, “It’s Canto, isn’t it?” He crossed one ankle over the knee of his other leg, his hand lying loosely on the crossed leg. “I knew as soon as he asked me to protect you while you were out.”
Things shifted and twisted inside her, the screaming girl fierce with joy, a bright and defiant flame.
Even though she didn’t confirm his supposition, Kaleb continued. “I had a childhood where—let’s just say trust would’ve been a weakness that saw me destroyed. So I learned to build impenetrable shields.”
Startled that he’d shared such a personal thing, Payal leaned forward. “Why did you tell me that?”
Another intent look. “The same reason you asked the question of a man most people never dare to approach on personal topics.”
A sense of familiarity, of like knowing like.
“The shields aren’t the problem,” she admitted. “I can hold those forever if I truly wish to.”
“It’s a cold place to live, isn’t it? That cage of walls?”
“But it’s safe.”
“Do you want to die feeling safe?” His words were soft. “Or do you want to die feeling free?”
It was as if the two of them were in a bubb
le, cold and dark. “What if freedom equals destruction?”
“Might depend on the reason you asked your initial question.” Rising, he grabbed his jacket. “According to Ena Mercant, Canto is one of the rocks of the family. He could be your safe place to stand, as Sahara is mine.”
The idea of it was so breathtakingly seductive that it stole her breath. “Thank you,” she managed to get out. “You didn’t have to answer me, but you did.” It meant something.
“Sahara’s obviously a bad influence.” No change in his tone or expression, Krychek glanced at his timepiece. “We need a Coalition meeting,” he said. “Can you do it after this?”
“Give me a half hour.” Not only did she need to refuel, she had to deal with a couple of business issues to keep her father and brother at bay.
“I’ll send you the comm codes.” He nodded toward the door. “By the way, someone’s been shoving telekinetically at your door for the past ten minutes.”
She glanced toward the door, only then realizing he had to be holding it shut against any attempt to enter. “I appreciate the notice. I have it.”
Krychek left it to her, but before he teleported out, he looked her in the eye and said, “Some choices define us, Payal.”
She inclined her head, her heart in a fist, and when she looked up, he was gone.
“Payal!” Lalit’s voice yelling her name. “Stop playing games and open this damn door.”
She rubbed her forehead. She was tired and needed time to rest and refuel, not deal with her psychopathic brother. She also needed the tumor-control medication, but the pain wasn’t yet to the point where things were critical. What was Lalit even doing here?
A single glance at her organizer told her the answer: their father had been attempting to contact her. Too bad.
She teleported out, leaving Lalit to fall into an empty office.
Chapter 31
“I think I might actually have been kind. It’s disturbing.”
“And people say you have no sense of humor. Come here so I can kiss you.”
—Sahara Kyriakus to Kaleb Krychek
CANTO NEARLY RAN into Payal when she appeared in front of the glass doors that opened out onto his deck.
She swayed.
“Hey, hey.” Heart thundering, he gripped her hips.
She swayed again.
Shifting his hold, he eased her down into a seated position on the only possible seat: his lap. Warm and soft, she was a jolt to his system.
“Sorry.” Her voice was slurred as her head slumped against his shoulder. “Thought I was stable, but conduit drain kicked in midteleport.”
“It’s all right, baby. I have you.” He made sure she was settled in a comfortable position, then took them straight to the kitchen using hover mode—he couldn’t push the chair with one arm holding her tight against him. He could’ve shifted her to the sofa on his way past, but his muscles were rigid, his chest a drum. Feeling the warm puffs of her breath on his skin—he needed that.
Needed to have her alive and breathing, his 3K who’d always been a fighter.
Grabbing a bottle of nutrients, he twisted it open, then poured the thick liquid into a glass, all the while aware of her living warmth. Payal was considerably lighter than him, but she also had a lot more softness to her—a cushion of curves that might’ve distracted had he not been so worried about the sluggish nature of her pulse.
Cupping the back of her head, he put the edge of the glass to her lips. “Payal, you need this.” He made his voice a harsh order. “Can you drink?”
She lifted her hands, but they were weak and barely touched the glass before sliding off. But she was swallowing, so sip by sip, he got the whole glass into her. When she laid her head back down against his shoulder afterward, he didn’t try to repeat his success. The first glass should be enough to give her a boost.
Moving them out of the kitchen, he dragged a small knitted blanket off his sofa. Magdalene had made it for him after taking up the craft as a calming exercise in the years after he returned to her life—his ostensibly Silent mother had carried a lot of guilt for what Binh had done to Canto.
“I ran full background checks,” she’d told him when he was older. “Our family never agrees to such contracts with the cruel or evil. We never send our blood into harm. But I did. I failed you.”
Their relationship would’ve withered if he’d held on to anger and she on to guilt. As it was, she was now one of the stable foundations of his life, and he was glad of the warmth of her blanket around Payal’s body as he moved back outside. He wanted Payal in the fresh air and sunlight. Anchors were too often in darkened rooms, their minds overwhelming all other senses.
Once he’d parked the chair, he moved his free hand to cup her nape, then went into the Substrate, to the location of the construct meant to cover Chandika Das’s zone. He saw the problem at once. The construct had cracked at a critical point, which meant the entire thing was feeding off only Payal.
Canto got to work.
Payal stirred in his arms the instant he completed the final repair. Dropping from the Substrate, he stroked a hand down her back over the top of the knitted blanket.
She snuggled into him, her nose cold when it touched his neck.
Canto cuddled her closer. It came naturally—because it was her. 3K. The girl who’d held his hand with fierce loyalty when he was at his most broken.
There were no walls inside him when it came to her.
She came out of it with a yawn, then froze before her muscles went lax again. “I’m sitting on your lap,” she said, snuggling into him with no sign of discomfort.
“It was the closest chair.”
“I like how you smell.” Eyes heavy-lidded, she slid her arms around him.
He knew something then: she could get whatever she wanted, win every argument, if she spoke to him with that particular affectionate tone in her voice. “How are you feeling?”
“Better, but my legs are still regaining sensation.” Fewer vestiges of drowsiness in her voice—but she didn’t break contact. “Does it hurt you to have me on your lap?”
“No,” he said roughly. Now that he knew she was fine, he was viscerally aware of the softness and warmth of her curves, and of how pretty she smelled. Gritting his teeth against the urge to sniff at her—he was definitely spending too much time around bears—he told her what had happened.
She sat up, cardinal eyes on his. “Thank you.” A solemn statement.
“Don’t thank me. Not for looking after you. You’re mine to care for, mine to hold.” The possessive words just came out, and he wasn’t fucking sorry. “You know it and I know it. It might’ve begun in childhood, but it’s a bigger, stronger, far more powerful thing now.”
Looking away, she moved her fingers over the stitches of the knitted blanket. “This is fine work.”
“Stop trying to change the subject.”
Sparks literally snapped off her. “You’re being needlessly aggravating.” She got up off him—while bracing one hand against the balcony railing.
Canto shifted forward, ready to catch her.
But she soon let go of the railing and stood balanced on heels thin and sharp. As he watched, she bent and picked up the blanket. His gaze went straight to the curvy roundness of her backside.
His hand itched to shape over it.
Skin hot, he tugged his shirt collar away from his neck. He knew what this was, had seen it between Silver and Valentin, Arwen and Pavel. Physical attraction. Strong physical attraction.
And because he was clearly off his head today, he almost gave in and stroked the tempting curve.
Skin privileges, yelled a more rational part of him, are to be given, not taken!
He fisted his hand and, when she rose to her feet, said, “Come here.”
A suspicious frown. “Why?”
“I want to touch you.” Might as well be blunt since he wasn’t exactly sophisticated in this arena. “I want the softness of you on me, and I want your skin under my palms.” Tugging off his gloves, he threw them aside.
* * *
• • •
HEAT flushed Payal’s face, her own fingers itching to trace the bristled angle of his jawline, the curves of that gruff, growly mouth. Her defenses had already been shaky at best—after waking to find him holding her with such care, they were all but decimated.
It was madness, a sure mistake, but Payal did it anyway. She returned to his lap, his thighs hard under her and his body all angles.
Shuddering, he cupped the side of her neck, squeezed. “Have you decided then, 3K?”
She felt claimed, owned. It should’ve been disturbing—except that she felt the same possessive drive toward him. “It can never work.” But she pressed her hand flat to the heat of his chest, the fine cotton of his shirt doing little to block that raw masculine heat.
His muscled arm around her back, his eyes locked with hers, Canto said, “Never say that to a Mercant. We’re masters at finding the loopholes.” A rough murmur, his breath brushing against her lips, the two of them were so close.
Her body felt oddly full, as if her skin were too small to contain her; the touch of his lips on her own was even more startling and shocking than the first time.
She jolted back, her lips burning.
His own chest heaved, streaks of color on his cheekbones.
Fascinated, she brushed her fingers over that color. He closed his eyes, and she found herself fascinated again because his eyelashes were long and lush. When she brushed her fingertips lightly over the edges of those lashes, he shuddered, his fingers sinking into her hips.
“Is this new for you, too?” she asked, then felt foolish. He was far further into a post-Silent life . . . and she’d rather not know if he’d been on this journey with another woman.
Irrational, illogical, jealous.
But it was too late; she couldn’t call back the question.
Opening those eyes full of galaxies, he said, “Yeah,” in a rough voice.
