What made the news media voracious in their interest, an interest shared by the public at large, Psy and non-Psy alike, was that the Arrow was petite by the standards of any of the three races. That petite woman had decisively beaten a man twice her size without sustaining a single injury. She’d also been pitiless in her treatment of the male, who had unfortunately known enough to have revealed the Consortium’s existence and pointed the squad to one of the founders.
The image of Zaira Neve, her face cool, holding the tip of the blade to the shooter’s eyeball, was being shown over and over. No one was horrified by her actions. Or if they were, the horror was mingled with equal amounts of awe. The Arrows hadn’t only retained their position as the bogeymen you never wanted on your trail, they had become heroes who protected innocent bystanders.
“We have to pull the plug,” the architect said to the Consortium’s top tier. “We overreached by attempting to take out the Arrow leader.” They should’ve focused on Nikita Duncan. Now even she was forewarned. “You’ll notice one less member at this meeting. He was captured by the squad last night.”
A murmur of consternation. “He won’t be able to identify us?” one of the others asked.
“No. It’s why we’ve always taken precautions veiling our identities from one another.”
“Except you,” another member pointed out. “If you get captured, we’re all dead.”
“I won’t be taken. I haven’t survived as long as I have by being unintelligent. We’re all safe.”
Regardless of the assurance, every individual at the meeting knew that in going after the squad, they had painted targets on their backs.
It was a risk the twelve people in attendance—and the missing member—had recognized right at the start, but back then, the Consortium had believed they had the pieces in place to initiate a total shadow coup. Aden Kai was meant to have died on that mountain after he was interrogated, his body to be dumped in a public location that made it clear the Arrows couldn’t even protect their own, much less anyone else.
No one had expected the “field medic” to be a power, or for his female partner to survive her wounds. Now . . . “We need to go under for a small period as far as the wider world is concerned,” the architect reiterated, careful not to couch it as an order. The perception of equality was what held the Consortium together.
Agreement from all sides.
“The Consortium will rise again,” the architect said. “While the three races live in their separate worlds, we have created a group that takes advantage of all our different strengths and weaknesses. We will own the world.”
“We will own the world!” repeated the others, the sound thundering around the room.
Chapter 80
ADEN APPEARED IN public a bare six hours after his surgery, after promising Zaira the entire operation would take less than fifteen minutes. It was easy enough to organize—with him taking a touch of power from Vasic to keep himself upright, he and the other man walked through a busy neighborhood as if on their way elsewhere. Giving the appearance that, to Aden, having major arteries and veins critically damaged was just a temporary nuisance.
People whispered and took camera-phone images from a safe distance.
Job done.
Two minutes later, they ducked into a disused building site and Vasic brought him home to a Zaira who scowled. “Get back in bed.”
“Come with me.”
As it was, he fell asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow and slept for fourteen long hours, leaving the squad in the hands of those he trusted. He woke, ate, fell back asleep. The next time he opened his eyes, he no longer felt as if he’d been hit with a sledgehammer. Touching his neck, he noted the sensitivity of the skin, but it was nothing major.
Not that Zaira would allow him to return to full duties.
It wasn’t until a week later that the medics gave him a clean bill of health. He’d spent the interim time with his Arrow family in the valley. The world was calm, no major issues on the horizon, though Aden didn’t trust that calm. He didn’t think their enemy had given up, and he was worried by how easily they’d manipulated countless parties.
However, he wasn’t about to squander this chance to care for his squad. Not only the older Arrows and the children—all of them. Because as a result of the calm in the Net, most of his Arrows had been able to come home.
Some couldn’t, of course. There were always serial killers operating somewhere in the Net, and they had to be hunted, but Aden made sure everyone was rotated back in on a regular basis. He didn’t want anyone to feel like Edward, as if they didn’t have a place in this new world, in this sun-drenched valley.
As he walked out after the final medical checkup, Zaira’s hand in his, he saw children laughing as they played, two of the oldest active Arrows watching over them, and felt his heart expand. “We’re doing it,” he said to Zaira. “We’re creating a better world for Arrows today and Arrows to come.”
Weaving her fingers through his, Zaira nodded. “I’ve heard a rumor.”
“Since when do you listen to rumors?” He felt a smile kick at his lips.
Narrowed eyes. “Since I’m trying to help you. Be grateful.”
Breaking their handclasp, he wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “I am.” And then, because he could, he kissed her in front of anyone who might be watching.
Cheeks flushed when she drew back, Zaira crooked her finger so he’d bend closer. “I heard that Cristabel and Amin have been seen walking together alone at night.”
“They’re senior Arrows,” he pointed out. “They’re probably discussing ops.”
“Do you think they discuss them all night?” Zaira asked with a glint in her eye. “Because that’s how long Amin was with her yesterday. In her cabin.”
Aden blinked, felt his smile begin to deepen. “Confirmed?”
“By three different sources.”
Aden wouldn’t have predicted the pairing. Both were long-serving Arrows, and though Cris was older by eight years, Amin was equally Silent. “It’s happening.” His Arrows were starting to see a better future for themselves, a future that didn’t have to be devoid of pleasure.
“Yes.” Rising on tiptoe, Zaira said, “We promised each other a night to ourselves. How about tomorrow?”
“Yes. What would you like to do?”
Zaira ran her hands down his chest. “I’ll organize it. Dress in civilian clothes.”
• • •
ONE night later, Zaira sat with Aden at a table in a tiny rooftop restaurant in Rajasthan, India. It was atop the second floor of what looked like a large family dwelling, the tables wood with embroidered cotton tablecloths. There was no roof, the desert sky drowning in stars above.
There was only one server, who bustled every which way, somehow managing to bring in meals without anyone having to wait too long—though if you had to wait, this location was . . . beautiful. Zaira wouldn’t have understood that before her time with Aden in RainFire, but tonight, she saw the stunning clarity of the starlight, appreciated the warmth of the air against her skin.
She’d worn a dress, not because she had any particular desire to wear an item of clothing so much less efficient than her uniform, but because anything else would’ve made her stand out in this place. After settling on this location, she’d done her research, picked this white dress with its full skirt, modest neckline embroidered with colorful flowers, and cap sleeves as being appropriate to the local environment and customs.
Aden had followed her instructions and was wearing a simple white shirt untucked over old blue jeans, with the sleeves folded up to the elbows. His hair was long enough now that it fell across his forehead at times, and touched the collar of his white shirt. He was beautiful, too.
“Will you trust me to order for you?” Aden asked from where he sat beside her and used his free hand to p
ick up the yellow piece of paper on which were printed a number of dishes. His other arm was around her shoulders, fingers desultorily caressing her skin.
Each brush made her stomach tighten, the possessive need in her conditioned to know that his touch meant searing pleasure.
“I chose this place for you,” she said, knowing he was trying to push himself far beyond Silence and happy to walk beside him while he explored. “I’m not certain I can eat anything here. The spices will be too difficult to digest.” She’d started to eat foods other than nutritional supplements, too, but there was a limit.
“Trust me,” he said, fingers brushing her shoulder, and when the server came over, he made the order in the local language, the syllables flowing off his tongue as if he’d spoken it since birth.
“When did you learn?” she asked after the server had moved away.
“My mother taught me,” he told her. “She learned it as a child from another Arrow, and the particular dialect is obscure enough that it acted as a ‘secret’ language at times.” Never totally, only in situations where we could be certain we weren’t being recorded.
Hearing his voice, and then his telepathic voice all in one smooth transition, it was so familiar now, so necessary. “Does Vasic speak it?”
Aden nodded. “I taught it to him, for the same reason. We made some adaptations so that it truly became a secret language—we don’t use it any longer, but it’s still there in the memory banks.” Would you like to learn?
Yes. “Teach me.”
“I will. At night.” A long look, his thigh pressing against hers. When we’re alone.
Electricity sparked through her, but she didn’t want to rush, not tonight. This was their night and it was an important one . . . and perhaps she was scared, too. Putting her hand on Aden’s thigh in an effort to calm her thudding heart, she looked out to the desert vista. This area wasn’t heavily populated, so there wasn’t a sprawl of glittering brightness.
Instead, the lights were yellow hued and scattered here and there, pouring through the windows of homes lower down on the slight hillside and coming from the campfires of the roaming desert dwellers who preferred a nomadic lifestyle. “Do you think there are changelings in this area?”
“There are rumors of desert eagles, but no confirmation.”
They went silent as the food appeared. Aden had ordered something with lentils, as well as a flatbread and several vegetable dishes. He tore off a piece of the flatbread, held it out. “Try it.”
She took a small bite, chewed, allowing the flavors to settle on her tongue. “I can eat this.” Following his lead, she tried the other dishes, decided some weren’t for her, while the lentil soup tasted good.
They ate slowly, with no rush, nowhere to go. Every so often, the server would come by to top up their water or ask if they needed anything else, but other than that, they were left alone. The conversation flowed as it always did between them; she’d never had to worry about not knowing what to say when it came to Aden.
At one point, they ended up speaking about the mirror, that part of the conversation almost fully telepathic. I was surprised when Walker told me how young you were when you discovered the mirror. I would’ve expected Marjorie and Naoshi to know.
They were Arrows on active duty and around only for short periods. Walker and I first glimpsed the mirror while they were away.
And you just didn’t share the discovery when they returned, Zaira said, guessing he’d used the techniques he’d learned from Walker to hide the mirror’s psychic evidence.
“No, I didn’t.” Aden’s voice held no regret, nothing but a quiet confidence. They’d been telling me I was a weak disappointment as long as I could remember—for all I knew, the mirror was a mutation that would just make things worse. His lips softened unexpectedly, his mental tone different as he added, Walker kept telling me it was a unique gift. That’s what carried me through the years until I realized the mirror’s purpose.
Zaira’s respect and liking for Walker Lauren kept growing. Can you do it without permission? she asked. Draw power? Not like with Vasic when you were children, but with someone who doesn’t have any reason to allow the draw.
He bent close to her, lips brushing her ear. “Yes.” There were circumstances in which I had no choice—I took it from trainers who were hurting children, or from Arrows so far in Silence that they no longer had any idea of conscience. Breath warm against her, he continued to pet her shoulder with those slow, caressing strokes that made her own breath hitch.
I didn’t know at the time that I was making them stronger when I returned the power because I only ever drew a very basic amount—that small draw is why I was never caught. Vasic and I figured out the power differential when I was about fifteen, and that’s when I knew exactly how careful I had to be to avoid detection.
Shifting back from her a little so she could see his face, he said, As for the people from whom I siphoned power without permission, I don’t excuse myself by saying I did it for a good reason. I made a choice to survive, and some of those choices were borderline.
They didn’t sound that way to Zaira, but Aden had always had a far stronger moral compass than she’d ever possess. You worry too much.
His smile lit up his eyes. Will you teach me to play?
It appears I have to. Picking up a piece of fruit from the dessert tray that had been left on the table when the meal was cleared, she held it to his lips. Try this. They’ve put something on it. A faint spice that didn’t overwhelm.
He ate it, and it was intimate, the moment. She didn’t understand why, except that it was Aden. Allowing herself to lean into him, she surrendered to the here and the now, to this instant under the starlight.
• • •
ADEN sensed Zaira relax totally against him, and something tight in him twisted tighter. He’d never felt her this way, never seen her shields fall this low. He could almost see her mind, the veil that hid it from him paper-thin.
It was tempting to tear through it, see all of her, but in so doing, he’d destroy the trust that bound them together and savage her. Never would he do that, no matter how much he craved the piercing intimacy of a true psychic bond, one that would hold even over the greatest distance without any conscious effort.
Fingertips grazing the silk of her upper arm, he sat with her under the stars until the restaurant began to go quiet. Rising to his feet, having already taken care of the bill, he held out a hand, giving her the choice.
Always, he would give Zaira the choice.
When she slid her hand into his without hesitation, he felt a warmth deep within, warmth that curled outward in fine tendrils that infiltrated every cell in his body. Getting up, she walked with him past the other tables and down the steps that hugged the side of the house. Hitting the ground, they began to walk along the narrow roads that formed the village in which this restaurant was located.
The houses were lit up inside, but there were few people on the streets.
“Can you guess where we’re going?” Zaira asked, no urgency in her tone and her hand trustingly in his.
“Yes.” The squad owned a home in this village, part of their network of bolt-holes for those who needed to go under. Oddly enough for such a small town, it was a great place to hide. “My father told me this village was founded by rebels hundreds of years ago,” he said. “While they are welcoming, the people ask no questions.”
“An interesting cultural tradition.”
“A useful one.” Walking with her down a narrow alleyway lit only by the lamps hung up on a balcony above, he said, “I assume the home is empty right now?”
“Yes, and no one will disturb us tonight.” Zaira leaned her body against his.
His own body tense with an anticipation that was all the deeper because he knew the taste of her now, he led her to the door of the Arrow home and coded them in. The house wa
s in the same simple style as those around it, made from the red sandstone prevalent in this region, but its hidden security features were of the highest grade. Entering, he turned on a wall sconce, then locked the door behind them.
When he led Zaira upstairs to the bedroom, she walked to the balcony doors and opened them to reveal the two lanterns that hung on stands outside, sending just enough light into the room that none other was necessary.
“You did this?” he asked, and when she nodded, he felt as if he’d been given the world. He hadn’t expected romance from his tough and lethal commander.
Picking up a lantern, she brought it inside and hung it on a curl of metal that stuck out from the wall and had clearly been designed for the lantern. “Close the doors.”
He did so, drew the curtains. They weren’t blackout curtains, would allow in sunlight in the morning, but at night, they shut out the world, cloaking the room in privacy. Turning after that was done, he found Zaira had moved toward him.
A soft kiss before she placed her hands on his chest and stroked down, the lamplight setting her ring afire. That he’d never seen her without the ring since the day he gave it to her was another unexpected and wonderful gift.
“Take this off.”
Skin tight, he undid the top three buttons of his shirt, then reached back and tugged it over his head to drop it on the handwoven rug that covered the wooden floor. Zaira touched him again, the contact making him suck in a breath. It was always a delicious shock, the contact, like lightning through his veins. “Zaira.”
Lashes lowered, she ran her fingers over his pectorals. “I like touching you skin to skin,” she murmured, her breath kissing his chest. “I can feel your life, your strength, your need.” Her lashes rose. “The tension in your muscles, it’s for me.”
“Yes.” He cupped the side of her neck, his fingers curving partly around her nape and his thumb brushing her jaw. “You are my addiction.”
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