Shards of Hope (9781101605219)

by Singh, Nalini

  • • •

  ZAIRA felt her pulse kick.

  Leaning in, she pressed her lips to his skin, just because she wanted to do it. His hand curved farther around her nape, the hold nothing she would’ve permitted any other individual. It left her too vulnerable, but she knew that right then, he was vulnerable, too—his body was taut, his muscles bunched, and when she tasted him with her tongue, a tremor shook his frame.

  That felt good, too. To know that her touch gave him pleasure.

  Bending his head, he pulled her hair away from the side of her face to kiss her temple, her cheek. The heat and strength of him surrounded her, the slick strands of his hair brushing her skin. Sinking into the sensation, she turned and lifted her face toward him. And their lips were touching; the contact somehow reached into her stomach, made it flutter, stealing the fear that had the rage curled up into a tight ball of worry.

  Her hands stroked up to his shoulders of their own accord, her body rising on tiptoe to better fit herself against him. Continuing to hold her with his hand around her nape, his other hand spread on her lower back, he angled his head, and their kiss grew deeper. But he broke it too soon. “What’s wrong?” Eyes of deepest brown looking into hers. “I can feel your muscles about to snap.”

  Nails digging into his shoulders, she swallowed. “I’m afraid.”

  “Of this?” He brushed his thumb over her cheekbone, and she knew if she answered in the affirmative, he wouldn’t berate her, wouldn’t blame her, wouldn’t reject her.

  And in that reminder, she found her courage. “I got you a gift.” Bending her neck slightly, she undid the clasp of the fine gold necklace she wore. It was long, had dipped between her breasts. Removing it, she pulled off the ring she’d slipped onto the chain. “This is for you,” she said, not quite daring to look up. Possessive and feral she might be where he was concerned, but he also meant too much to her for this not to matter.

  Taking the simple platinum band, Aden curled his arm around her shoulders. “Are you asking me to marry you?” he said and she heard the delight in his tone.

  It made her look up, and his smile had every part of her ready to dance. “Yes,” she whispered and kissed him. Will you marry all of me?

  Aden went to answer when Zaira dropped her shields. It felt as if his mind and hers had been stretched to their limit and suddenly, the tension broke. Everything collided in a wild ricochet, his mind smashing into hers, hers into his, both of them totally out of control.

  He saw the broken, jagged shards of her, saw the incandescent and stubborn fire that had never stopped burning, saw her endless, fierce love for him. He was her hope and her dream and her passion, and the knowledge brought him to his knees. She fell with him, her eyes silver mirrors when he looked at her.

  “You love me that much?” she whispered, tears rolling down her face.

  No answer was needed, his heart and soul bare to her, as bare as hers was to him. They just held on to one another as the storm crashed. When it finally began to subside, their minds separating but for a single link he knew no force on this earth could sever, they were both breathing hard.

  As he watched, Zaira’s eyes became her own and she met him on the PsyNet, the two of them looking in astonished wonder at the jet-black rope that tied them to one another, the twin strands both Arrow black. But hidden in the black was a brilliant fire that only became apparent if you stepped close.

  “Thank you,” he whispered back in the room in the desert, his voice raw. “Thank you for giving me you.”

  More tears before she threw her arms around his neck and held on tight. “You love me,” she whispered again. “All of me.” Drawing back, she kissed him again, and the intimacy was a punch of intoxication, the bond feeding him her pleasure as well as his. He had the feeling he could shut that off, but he didn’t want to, wanted to drown in her.

  He’d intended to give her romance tonight, too, but the bond pulsed with a visceral need he had to assuage. Realizing he was still gripping the ring, he pushed it into her hand. “Put it on me.” He was hers in every way that mattered—the ceremony would be for others, for their friends and those in their care. This was for them.

  Kissing his jaw, his throat, she looked down and, picking up his hand, slid on the ring. “All mine.”

  “Always have been.”

  Zaira rubbed her nose against his, and the spontaneous act of affection tipped him over. Shoving up the skirt of her dress as desire burned, he kissed her hard. She wrapped her legs around his waist, her tongue licking against his. Groaning, he reached between them and somehow managed to undo his jeans, shove down the denim and his briefs. It took a little more effort to kick them off, but he was highly motivated.

  Naked at last, he nudged aside the gusset of her panties. A single stroke of his finger through her wetness and her back arched, the sensations that came shooting back at him through the bond threatening to make his eyes roll back in his head. Then she bit him on the jaw and it was all over.

  He thrust into her wet heat in a single, demanding push.

  Clenching around him as their mouths tangled, Zaira moved with him, the rug bunching up under her body. Some small part of him realized she’d be bruised from being on the bottom, so he flipped them over, but they stayed locked together, his right hand holding the back of her neck and his left gripping her hip as they rocked together.

  Her own hands were all over him, petting and clawing and owning.

  When her body stiffened on his, her pleasure went straight to his blood, a drug punched into his system. He could no more stop the orgasm than he could let her go.

  Chapter 81

  ZAIRA WOKE NAKED in bed under the diffuse sunlight that filtered in through the curtains. Her ears and other senses told her it wasn’t long after dawn, the village yet waking. The man who slept with his leg thrown across her thighs and his arm curved below her breasts, however, wasn’t awake. Turning only her head so as not to disturb him, she watched him sleep.

  His hair had fallen across his face, his features relaxed, and she suddenly realized how young he truly was. Twenty-nine a bare three weeks ago. Less than a quarter of the normal life span of a hundred and thirty. And yet he’d been a leader since as long as she could remember. He’d been that when he was a mere boy unlocking her manacles.

  All his life, he had been forced to be older than his years, to make decisions that should’ve been made by those who’d lived far longer. All Arrows were forced to grow up fast, but Aden, he’d been born into a pressure cooker that had never let up. She’d seen how his parents treated him—not as a son, but as a soldier in their war.

  That war might have been for the good of the squad, but it had stolen something from Aden. Even she, feral, bloodthirsty creature that she’d been, had understood what it was to be a child. She didn’t think Aden ever had.

  Will you teach me to play?

  At the memory of his question, she thought of how she’d seen Ivy Jane laughing as she teased Vasic, of how the teleporter would quietly say something back that made the empath laugh even harder, her eyes bright. That was play and it was what Aden needed.

  How extraordinary that she should be the one to think that, to believe that she could lead him into play. What did she know about such things?

  “I know,” she whispered almost soundlessly, “that he is more important to me than anything, even the squad.” It was exactly as it should be—he needed to be someone’s number one priority. And if he needed play, Zaira would learn how.

  Last night.

  The telepathic words were in his voice, and yet he was asleep, the words muffled. As if he’d heard her thoughts in his sleep through their bond—their bond—and given her an answer.

  Last night had been play.

  She hadn’t consciously considered it that way, but he was right. It had been play. Just the two of them, doing what they wanted t
o do. No rules, no expectations. They’d ended up tangled on the floor after that first time, had lain there wrecked for long, long minutes before Aden finally groaned and got up, throwing her limp form onto the bed.

  She’d laid back lazily and let him strip her, and by the time he finished, she’d revived enough to pounce on him. He hadn’t complained, not in the least. Especially when she used her mouth on him—at one point, he’d muttered that she didn’t need any manual. All she had to do was put her mouth near his erection and he was done.

  The memory had her dropping a kiss to his throat, the rage inside her stretched out and lazy. Its insane possessiveness was as deep as always, but it wouldn’t slip the leash, not now, because Aden belonged to her. Before anyone else, he belonged to her. It made her feel smug and content.

  Zaira didn’t think she’d ever been content.

  “You look like a happy cat,” Aden murmured when his lashes lifted. “I can feel you purring at the back of my mind.”

  Shifting to lie flat on her stomach, Zaira kicked up her legs. “Want me to stop?”

  “No.” He ran his fingers down her spine. “I like it.”

  They lay in silence so long that the village noises changed, became those of people going off to work or to school. Fine lines formed between Aden’s eyebrows toward the end. Reaching out, she rubbed them away. “Tell me what you’ve been obsessing over since you woke from the surgery.” She’d sensed that he needed time to think about it, had given it to him.

  Placing one of his legs, hot and muscled once more over her thighs, he absently massaged her nape. “The Consortium made us all dance to their tune.” The hairs on his leg caused a delicious ripple of sensation down her body as he moved slightly. “We survived not because we were prepared, but because we were lucky.”

  Zaira scowled. “It wasn’t luck—people talked to one another.”

  “But piecemeal.” Rolling onto his back, Aden put an arm over his forehead. “What if Lucas had never said anything to me? What if Bo hadn’t trusted me with the incidents that had affected the Alliance?”

  She saw his point. “So, what are you going to do about it?” Aden always did something; that was who he was.

  Glancing at her, he began to speak, laying out what he’d come up with over the past week of silent thinking. By the time he was done, Zaira knew that Aden’s name would one day be written in history books, connected to a pivotal event that had forever changed the world.

  “Let’s do it,” she said, her hand linked to his. “I’ll watch your back.”

  His eyes met hers, his mind entwined with her own. “I know.”

  Chapter 82

  BEFORE INITIATING THE plan that had grown inside him strand by strand, Aden spoke to his senior people, even his parents. The latter remained leery of contact with “outsiders,” as they termed anyone beyond the squad, but they agreed with his viewpoint. As a result, he now stood in the communications hub of Central Command.

  On the viewscreens in front of him were the faces of the Ruling Coalition, but one also showed that of Lucas Hunter. The DarkRiver alpha had been nominated by multiple changeling groups, including SnowDancer, to represent changelings at this first meeting.

  Aden had been surprised the alphas had agreed to have anyone represent them as a group—they tended to be laws unto themselves. He’d heard Judd say that alphas “did not play well together.” However, it appeared the changelings had set up an informal data network some time past, for much the same reasons as the ones that had led Aden here today, though the changeling network was limited to the packs.

  On the screen next to Lucas was Devraj Santos, representative of the Forgotten; beside him, Bowen Knight for the Alliance. Another human—a silver-haired woman named Lizbeth Schäfer—was on the second-to-last screen. She was the head of a large humanitarian group that had provided major assistance in dealing with the aftermath of the Pure Psy bombings; the group had also helped when the Net infection had driven so many Psy mad, leaving people of all three races traumatized.

  While human, Schäfer did not ally herself or the organization she represented, Hope Light, to any one race, despite the fact that the membership was largely human with a scattering of changelings. Hope Light’s motto was to assist where assistance was necessary and, post-Silence, they worked in close contact with the empaths. It was Ivy who’d suggested the organization be included in this meeting.

  “She represents people who don’t trust anyone else,” Ivy had said. “Her group on its own is also a quiet but powerful force.”

  On the final screen was Miane Levèque. Technically, since Lucas was in attendance, she didn’t need to be here, but Lucas himself had asked she attend. “BlackSea is unique,” he’d said to Aden. “The fact that they cover the globe means they have a viewpoint other changelings don’t.”

  Meeting the eyes of each of the attendees in turn, Aden began to speak. “It appears a group called the Consortium has come together to fill what they view as a void created by the fall of the Council and of Silence. The membership is composed of Psy, humans, and changelings.”

  Several people frowned but no one interrupted him as he shared the data the squad had been able to extract from the shooter Zaira had taken down, as well as the CEO still in their custody. “BlackSea has given me leave to share the fact that six of their people—five adults and a child—were abducted by this Consortium.”

  What Miane had been insistent he not share with everyone was that at least twenty-one more of her people remained among the missing. With no current knowledge of their situation, she didn’t want to risk spooking their captors.

  “Better to let the Consortium believe we haven’t noticed the vanishings,” the BlackSea alpha had said, her voice dark as the depths of the ocean that was her home. “Let the bastards think we’re satisfied with the rescue of Persephone, Olivia, and the two other captives. It’ll keep them from looking over their shoulders, make them complacent.”

  It was a sound approach. Even if it hadn’t been, Aden wouldn’t have overridden her decision—such arrogance would create a fatal fracture in what he was trying to build. “I believe the water changelings were abducted and abused into compliance because BlackSea’s people have the ability to covertly infiltrate territories across the world.”

  Miane’s lips were a thin line, her eyes chips of obsidian rather than the translucent hazel he’d seen during less emotionally fraught moments, but she held her silence.

  “Others, including owners of small businesses, have been coerced into the conspiracy without knowing who it was they served.” Hashri Smith was a broken man, his business crumbling around him now that his powerful “allies” had discarded him. “The Consortium believes the world is fertile for chaos and sly destruction.”

  “In their minds,” Ivy added, her voice clear and passionate, “the Psy are already in a state of chaos because of the fall of Silence and the ensuing hiccups as we try to forge a new path into the future. They want to push changelings and humans into the same state.” A curl of her hair escaped her ponytail to kiss her cheek as she met his gaze again. “Is that a good summation, Aden?”

  “Yes. All indications are that the Consortium is behind the incidents we’ve all logged that attempt to set one group against another.”

  Lucas’s green eyes glinted panther-bright. “Identify them and we’d be happy to help you take out the trash.”

  “I agree with Hunter,” Krychek said from his Moscow home. “We need to tear this organization to pieces before it ever takes root.”

  “That’s the issue.” Aden already had a team following every tendril of data they’d recovered from the shooter and the captured CEO, but so far, nothing. “Our captives confirm that the Consortium leadership learned from watching the disintegration of the Council and of Pure Psy—even the members don’t know one another’s identities.”

  He met the eyes of each atte
ndee in turn. “Signs point to the Consortium having gone under until the heat dies down. I don’t intend to allow the pressure to ease. The squad will continue to be vigilant and we’ll alert each of you at any sign that they’ve reemerged.”

  “You want us all to keep watch, too,” Lizbeth Schäfer guessed, fine lines spreading out from her dark gray eyes as she frowned in concentration.

  Aden nodded. “The Consortium works by creating divisions along existing fault lines. By working together, we deprive them of their major weapon.”

  “I’ll make sure to pass on the message through the terrestrial and aerial packs,” Lucas said, folding his arms. “Miane, I assume you’ve already warned your people?”

  “Yes. The news should reach even our most remote packmates within the next month.” Miane’s hair blew back in the wind where she stood, her comm panel apparently placed on an outdoor wall, since Aden could see waves behind her and her image moved in time with the motion of the sea. “The Consortium’s tactics are dishonorable and cowardly and BlackSea has no argument with working with everyone to cut off their heads.”

  “The Alliance will also alert its network,” Bo said, his flint-hard gaze turning to connect with Miane’s. “We’ve lost a small number of people recently—they were hired away on plum contracts before disappearing from sight.”

  Miane’s expression grew even more grim. “We should pool our data.”

  “Let’s talk after this.”

  Lizbeth Schäfer had a troubled look on her face. “We’ve been working with a human settlement in Kenya that lost ten of its older teenagers six months ago,” she said, her English flawless and accented with the rhythms of her native tongue—German. “The teens left saying they were heading out to join a group that would make the world ‘a better place.’ No trace has ever been found of them.”

  It fit the Consortium’s MO, but it could as easily be a small guerrilla or mercenary organization that had seduced the teens. “We have to be careful not to see a conspiracy at every turn,” he said. “That could hamstring us.”