It wasn’t the same, having Aden’s arms around her while her mind was numb with aloneness, but the incipient rage took a wary look and withdrew from the surface of her thoughts. Aden wasn’t its target, and the contact, the feel of his muscled body pressing against hers, his strong arms around her, was a living barrier to the nothingness that threatened to suffocate her.
And it was Aden, the first person who had ever treated her as a sentient being worth knowing. He’d asked her opinion on things at a time when others had seen her as a vicious monster to be broken to the bit. He’d told Zaira her ideas had value. Later, he’d also ordered her not to lose herself in the hard black box that was Arrow training.
You, Zaira, are priceless as an individual. Don’t ever permit them to erase you.
In Venice, she had an Arrow who’d imprinted on her as a result of a catastrophic drug error—Alejandro followed her orders without question, would die for her in a heartbeat. While Zaira would always question Aden if she didn’t agree with him, she sometimes thought she’d imprinted on him in a similar way: for her to ever turn against him, Aden would have to betray her in ways of which he was simply incapable.
Where she had a twisted conscience at best, he was that shining knight human and changeling children read stories about. The good man who would fight on the side of right and who would never abandon those to whom he’d pledged his loyalty. She knew he could be ruthless, had witnessed it, but Aden’s ruthlessness fed into his overwhelming protective instincts, never into the selfish pursuit of power or glory.
Stepping in the path of danger to protect him had never been up for discussion for Zaira. It was an absolute fact: as long as she lived, she would do everything in her power to keep Aden safe. Coldly planned murder, torture, she’d do whatever was necessary in an eyeblink. He might not agree with her actions, but she was quite willing to disobey him should his life be on the line.
Every white knight needed a deadly black sword at his back.
Relaxing against him on that thought, she allowed the heat of his body to seep into hers. It wasn’t protocol, but Silence had fallen, so they broke no laws. There was also no risk to the unforgiving and constant discipline that kept her sane and nonviolent; this was an aberrant circumstance that would cease to exist as soon as their brains recovered from the trauma of the implants.
Zaira couldn’t afford to believe anything else, the idea of endless aloneness a horror that made the rage inside her threaten to boil over into unthinking insanity. “Are you in distress, too?” she asked Aden while maintaining a white-knuckled grip on the sleeping death that lived within her.
“How do the other races deal with this silence in their minds?” he said in response.
“Maybe that’s why they make so much physical contact.” She’d never before come close to understanding the tactile nature of the humans and changelings. Being physically close to Aden wasn’t like being in a psychic network. It was more immediate and oddly more intense despite the fact that there were only two of them in this physical network.
Aden moved his hand to the back of her head, but the strength and warmth of his palm in such a vulnerable location didn’t rouse her instinct to fight. Always, she’d thought that if she was trapped again in any way, she’d fight. However, she’d never considered the depth of her trust in Aden, never understood that being held wasn’t always a prison. “I heard the healer. Your leg was injured.”
“I’ve survived worse.”
“You’re supposed to keep your partner apprised of your situation.”
“Not if the partner will then argue against the best course of action.”
Zaira opened her mouth, closed it a heartbeat later. His decision had saved both their lives—she would’ve never made it out without his help, and he’d be dead from the implant had he gone out on his own. Sliding her arms around him to strengthen their two-person network, she listened to his heartbeat strong and steady under her ear . . . and thought that perhaps the other races understood a truth she’d only just realized: that even a tiny physical network connected by trust held a potent, raw power.
Chapter 14
“I NEED TO shower,” she said a long time later, the howl down to a low whisper she could almost ignore and the rage curled up in a drowsy sleep deep inside her psyche.
Releasing her, Aden watched her walk toward the only internal door in the aerie.
Behind it, the facilities were neatly laid out, small packages of soap and shampoo on the counter that held the sink. One package was labeled as being for females, the other for males. Zaira didn’t know why men and women would need different cleansing supplies, but she used the female set because she liked the pale blue shade of it.
Liking anything had been prohibited under Silence, but Zaira had never been able to break her pre-Arrow habit of coveting pretty things. As a child, she’d once collected shiny components from organizers discarded in the family’s recycler; she’d made herself a toy that sparkled in the thin beam of sunlight that seeped through the narrow window high up in her cage.
Her parents had taken it mere days later, taken the only pretty, shiny thing she had.
A month after she met Aden, he’d noticed her staring at a faceted black button he’d taken from his pocket. Exending his hand, he’d given it to her. “You don’t have to hide it,” he’d said when she curled her fingers over it. “I’ll tell the trainers I gave it to you to anchor you to the squad.”
Holding it so tight the edges cut into her palm, she’d said, “Why are you giving it to me?”
“Because everyone should have something of their own.”
It was much later that she’d discovered the “button” was actually a subtle indication of rank and that it had belonged to Aden’s mother before she was promoted. Aden secretly kept it with him when his parents were out in the field. Despite that knowledge, she’d never returned it. At the moment it was safely hidden in the false bottom of a trunk in her room in Venice. It was hers; he’d given it to her.
Nobody else but Alejandro had ever given her anything. And Alejandro didn’t count—he didn’t have a choice. His imprinting drove him to offer her everything he owned. He would do the same even should she kick him bloody morning, noon, and night. Aden, however, had always had a choice, and he’d given her not just the pin but also other small things over the years. All of which she would never return.
Opening the shampoo, she lathered up her hair. A scent reached her nose soon afterward but it was light enough that she could ignore it. It was only as she was stepping out of the shower ten minutes later that she realized she hadn’t thought about fresh clothes. A knock came on the door right then. “Zaira—a RainFire pack member dropped off a change of clothes a few minutes ago.”
Cracking the door open, she took the bundle he held out.
“Most of it is borrowed from pack members,” he said, “but they were able to find some new things in their stores.”
“Thank you.”
In the pile was an unopened package that held three pairs of panties. She broke the seal, took out a dark blue pair, and found it fit well enough. No bra, but the bandeau provided had enough hooks that she could cinch it tight around her frame. The fact that she had relatively generous breasts on a small frame had always been a source of annoyance, but she’d never considered having them reduced, for the simple reason that she didn’t trust anyone to play around with her body while she was unconscious. Being injured and forced into it was bad enough—why do it on purpose?
The dark green cargo pants were big in the waist, but whoever had chosen the clothing had included a belt and punched in extra holes for her. She had to roll up the bottoms a couple of times, but otherwise, the pants were strong and warm. If necessary, she could wear them for several days before they’d need to be washed.
On top, she pulled on a black T-shirt. Since she didn’t like loose fabric that an oppon
ent could use to pull her toward him or her, she undid the belt and tucked in the tee. The short sleeves were still too big, but she’d just have to manage that risk. Her used clothing she put into the small basket in the corner, guessing that RainFire had central laundry facilities she and Aden would be able to access.
Aden went in as soon as she stepped out.
She’d shared quarters with squadmates before, usually on missions, but this felt different. Maybe because these quarters were unlike any she’d ever before had, and maybe because the blackness and continuous rain outside turned it into a cocoon. Yet despite its compact size, the aerie didn’t have any sense of being a prison.
There was a large window on the opposite wall and, when she checked, she saw the clasp was unlocked so she could open it at will. Also bringing the outside in was the equally large skylight above the bed. Currently covered by fallen leaves, it nonetheless also had a latch that could be opened.
Zaira decided she liked changeling architecture.
On the left wall was a small set of cubbies in which Aden had placed the rest of the clothes the changelings had dropped off. Zaira went through them, then looked around until she found her boots. They’d been placed beside the bed, no doubt by Aden. Bare feet could be a serious disadvantage in a fight, so their boots were designed to ensure they could literally roll out of bed and slam their feet into them and be ready.
The bed itself was large enough to accommodate them both, the mattress firm but the bedding soft. Quite unlike the plain cotton sheets and scratchy blanket she used in daily life. The large, flat cushions on the floor in front of the small comm screen confused her until she realized she was in a changeling living space—the cushions were meant to accommodate both human and feline bodies.
Trained to adapt to any environment she was in at the time, Zaira went down and touched the cushions, then took a seat on one.
“Comfortable?” Aden asked as he left the bathroom.
“I don’t know,” she said, bracing herself with her palms on either side. “The body sinks into these.”
“I think that’s the point.” He came to stand beside her, his damp hair pushed off his forehead and his body clad in jeans and a white T-shirt that had a sports emblem of some kind in black on the front.
He looked young. Like a man who had nothing more important on his mind than a sports game. The illusion only lasted if you didn’t look into his eyes. Because in those eyes lived the unwavering determination of a man who’d toppled a former Councilor from power and who had long ago won the fidelity of the most dangerous men and women in the Net.
Moving to the small area to the right that appeared to be for food preparation, he opened the cupboard and pulled out a sealed container. “It’s a high-energy drink mix.” He made two mugs of it, brought her one. “Likely too sweet for us, but we need the energy if our injuries are to heal.”
“You made it with hot water.” Ivy Jane did that because she wanted her guests to be warm; for some reason, no one in the squad had pointed out to her that their uniforms insulated them from the weather.
Aden took a seat on the floor opposite her, his back against the wall and one leg stretched out on the polished wood of the floor, the other bent at the knee. Bracing his left arm on that knee, he said, “Perhaps Ivy has inadvertently conditioned me that such drinks must be warm if given to another.”
“She is very insistent.” Zaira sipped from the mug—the taste was far richer than her senses were trained to handle, but she continued the intake. “Ivy is . . . different. As you said before, she likes us.” Nobody actually liked Arrows. Sometimes Arrows were useful, other times dangerous, but they were never considered friends. “I don’t think anyone has ever liked me before.”
Aden stilled, those intense, quiet eyes locking with her own. “I like you, Zaira.”
The words made the rage inside her stir, but not in violence. In a biting possessiveness she’d spent a lifetime trying to leash. Aden didn’t belong to her. Aden was too important to the squad to belong to any one person, and never could he belong to someone as fundamentally broken as Zaira. “Don’t say things like that,” she warned him.
He didn’t break the eye contact that fed the rage’s possessiveness until the leash threatened to snap. “Why?”
“Because I might take you seriously.” Aden saw her, knew her, but Zaira wasn’t sure he appreciated exactly how dangerous she could be. “I might decide to keep you.” Locked tight in a box with her other treasures and available to her alone because the rage, it didn’t know how to share things that meant the most. It had no concept of “civilized” or “acceptable” behavior. That part of her had grown in a place nearly devoid of light and was permanently twisted as a result.
“Would you harm me?”
Not if she was rational—but when the rage woke, she was different. “Soon after I was transferred to the Arrow training camp, I saw a butterfly.” A glorious creature with pink and black and white in its wings. “I’d never seen anything so pretty and I wanted it. So every time I had an outdoor period, I would stalk it, until one day, I caught it in an empty jar I’d stolen from the mess hall.”
She could still remember her happy excitement. “I could see the butterfly struggling to get out, but I kept telling it I would keep it safe.” It had been an earnest, serious promise. “I, who grew up in a cage, put another living being in one and didn’t understand it was wrong. That’s who I am.”
Aden didn’t look away, didn’t tell her she’d been showing psychopathic tendencies in hurting the helpless butterfly. “Did you capture a second butterfly after the first died?”
“No.” Heartbroken at having destroyed its beauty when she’d wanted only to keep it, protect it, she’d tried over and over to talk her butterfly back to life. “I didn’t lose the compulsion, however. I still want to put treasures in a box.”
“Yet you understand why you can’t.”
Zaira wasn’t sure she did, the foundation on which she’d rebuilt her psyche riddled with cracks, because below that foundation burned the rage that had never died. “Perhaps I’m just good at pretending.” Even now, she wanted to cross the distance between them and snarl at him for forcing her into a corner where she had to acknowledge the scarred and frankly insane girl inside her.
Zaira normally only ever let that girl out under controlled circumstances, such as when she was alone in her room with the door locked and barred. Then, for a short time as she went through her treasures, she allowed that rage-fueled girl to emerge, soothing her with the shiny, pretty things she’d so coveted when locked in the dark.
“You know what I want for the squad,” Aden said, seemingly dropping the subject of her sanity or lack of it.
Zaira wasn’t so easily fooled. Aden might move silently and speak in a tempered tone, but once he decided on a path, he did not budge. “You want Arrows to have lives like real people,” she said, placing her half-full drink on the floor.
“Yes.” Aden rested his own mug on the taut muscle of his thigh. “We don’t have to be defined by our identities as Arrows. We can choose to be more.”
Aloneness sank its fangs into her again. Her hands fisting at her sides, she tried not to listen to its mocking laughter. “Most of us aren’t like you,” she said to this man who was the best of them. “We can’t handle the stresses of life beyond a regimented existence.” Rules, boundaries, that was what kept their violent and deadly abilities in check. “We become monsters if released from the cage.”
“No.” A single flat word that hummed with power. “I refuse to accept that my Arrows are frozen in amber. They’ve given their blood, their hearts, their entire lives to the Net.” He sliced out his hand. “Enough.”
His passionate conviction reached the insane thing inside her, made it try to look through her eyes. Tremors shaking her form as she fought the dual assault of aloneness and an old, twisted insanity, sh
e tried to speak, couldn’t.
“Zaira.” Aden set aside his mug and hauled her against his chest, his arms muscled steel around her. “You aren’t alone, will never be alone. You are an Arrow.”
It was the only group into which she’d ever fit. “Have you seen my intake report?”
“Yes.”
“My parents used to lock me in a cabin on the grounds of the estate. It had only a single window high on one wall.” Her family had wanted to retain her powerful telepathic ability—and its later financial value—rather than giving it up to the Council or the squad, but they hadn’t had any idea how to train someone with such violent power. As a result, they’d attempted to crush her spirit, beat that control into her.
“Except for my socialization training, I was alone for the majority of my early life.” Dark, dark anger burned in her soul. “Trapped inside their shields so I couldn’t even access the PsyNet.” A rough breath. “If anyone ever wanted to torture me until my sanity snapped, this is what they’d have to do. Cut me off from the Net, leave me alone again.”
Aden’s hold tightened. “I told you, you won’t ever be alone again. I’m here. I’ll always be here.” The old, aged anger in his tone gave lie once more to his professed Silence.
The quiet, dark-eyed boy she’d met had been angry for her from the start.
Spreading her hand over his heart, the rhythm lulling the rage into peace again so she could think, she said, “You have to lead from the front.” It was the only way his plan could work. “The squad will follow you into hell and back if that’s what you ask—all you have to do is show them the way.”
Air moved above her, as if he was shaking his head. “The squad needs me to remain as I am, needs the stability.”
Rising to face him, though she kept her hand on his heart, she said, “That’s your parents talking.” Zaira had lived with Marjorie and Naoshi since she’d taken over the Venice compound, knew every one of their views on how Aden should lead the squad. He had always gone his own way regardless, but every so often, he hit a blind spot. Like now.
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