Psy-Changeling [12] Heart of Obsidian

by Nalini Singh

  Sahara hissed out a breath, eyes incandescent with fury. “Take me to her.” No one hurts you.

  “Only a retrieval, Sahara,” he said, gripping her chin. “Nothing else, nothing that will affect your memories.” I need you to remember me.

  “She’s not worth a piece of my life.” A scathing judgment. “Now take me to her.”

  This time, he did as ordered. Sahara didn’t speak, simply stepped close enough that her hand was an inch from the blindfolded woman’s face, then nodded at him. He ’ported them directly to the Moscow house. Should her language skills be needed again, he’d take her back, but the nonspecialist volunteers were capable of handling the cleanup.

  “That woman is one of Ming’s people,” she said, heading into the kitchen to get them both energy supplements. “A low-level operative who was in the area. It wasn’t a well-planned operation, but a chance opportunity Ming decided to utilize.”

  “He knows I’m on the verge of taking over the Net.”

  Sahara stirred cherry flavoring into her drink, after passing him an undoctored glass. “What will you do to him?”

  “Nothing.” Seeing her open disbelief, he traced the shape of her upper lip with his finger. “There are others who have deeper grievances against Ming. It’ll be handled.”

  “Kaleb, you don’t trust anyone except me . . . and your two friends.” Sahara nudged at him to finish his drink. “Is it the fallen Arrow who has the prior claim?”

  “Not Judd alone. He’s simply the one with whom I have a connection.” Kaleb put down his empty glass. “I’d be extremely surprised if Ming doesn’t end up torn apart by changeling claws and teeth.”

  Sahara halted with her own drink halfway to her mouth. “Changelings?”

  “Judd’s niece is someone Ming wants dead or in his control. She’s also mated to the alpha of SnowDancer, considered the most dangerous changeling pack in the world.” Kaleb tapped her glass until Sahara lifted it to her mouth. “Man like that won’t rest until he’s eradicated the threat against his woman.” Kaleb wondered if the wolf alpha would be surprised to find he had something in common with Kaleb Krychek. “Hungry?”

  Sahara wrinkled her nose. “Shower first.”

  They’d just reached the bedroom when his cell phone rang. It was Aden on the other end. “Vasquez is proving his intelligence,” were the Arrow’s opening words. “His entire team split up after Geneva and scattered in different directions. We captured one; two others suicided when cornered. There are signs two more remain at large.”

  An impressive result, but they both knew it wasn’t enough. “Vasquez?”

  “Signs point to him being here, but he slipped away.” Though Aden’s voice betrayed nothing, his frustration level had to be high—in the icy way of any Arrow denied his target. “Interrogation of the captive did yield one piece of data; he was assigned to the Luxembourg site with a member of the team we haven’t yet captured. Luxembourg and Paris, however, were also both meant to be distractions.”

  “The prisoner didn’t know why Pure Psy needed the distractions, did he?” Vasquez was smart, smart enough to keep information on a need- to-know basis.

  “No,” Aden confirmed. “But whatever it is, it’s happening soon, and it’s important enough that a lieutenant we were about to capture threw herself off the side of a building rather than surrender.”

  No organization could afford to lose its entire leadership, and now not only had Vasquez risked exposure, his top people were sacrificing themselves to protect their secret. “Leave the teams who have live leads in the field,” he said to Aden. “I want you to rest, along with a rapid response team. We move the instant Vasquez surfaces or Pure Psy makes a move.”

  “Agreed.”

  Hanging up, he relayed the information to Sahara. “Vasquez might have gone under,” he said, “but his options for safe harbor are limited and shrinking by the minute.”

  We wanted to protect our people. We didn’t want the blood of children on our hands.

  It was a refrain Kaleb had seen over and over again in the reports Silver had forwarded him, of minor players who had either turned themselves in after his warning blasted through the Net or been turned in by others. “The populace isn’t so Silent,” he said, watching Sahara peel off her T-shirt, “as to not be horrified by the growing atrocities.”

  She dropped the T-shirt to the floor and kicked off her shoes. “It makes me hope,” she said softly, “that we have inside us the capacity to build a better future.”

  Kaleb didn’t understand hope, but he knew he would do everything in his power to give Sahara the future that was a fragile dream in her eyes as she walked toward him, bare to the skin. Reaching him, she tugged up his long-sleeved black T-shirt, then undid his belt.

  “I’ll wait for you in the shower,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to the center of his chest. “I think, after so many years, no one can begrudge us for stealing a little time.”

  His eyes caressed every inch of her as she walked away from him with the grace of the dancer she’d always been . . . and he knew she was healing in the deepest of ways. Ripping off the rest of his clothing, he stepped into the shower behind her, his hands at her hips. The hot water pounded over them, but the beat of his heart was louder, deeper, stronger.

  Bending his head to her neck, he kissed her throat, his hands rising to cup her breasts. She arched into him with a shudder, her hands slippery on his thighs, his Sahara who had never turned away from him. Picking up her arms, he brought them around his neck, then poured some of the liquid soap into his hands. She moved with a sinuous sensuality against him as he slicked the soap over her skin, the foam trickling down her legs.

  “Put your hands on the wall.”

  She obeyed his quiet order with a smile that was at once sultry and possessive. “Have you gone obsidian?” Hands flat on the tile, she moaned as he stroked the soap over her back and onto the curves of her buttocks.

  “Yes.” He took his time with the task, before going down on his haunches to run the soap over her legs.

  His kiss to her inner thigh made her gasp and turn around. Tugging him to his feet, she let the spray hit her back and held out her hand for the soap. “You’re dirty, too.”

  Somehow, those simple words took on a far different nuance in this context. Curving his hand around her neck, he took a kiss from those soft, wet lips, her tongue hot in his mouth and her body pressed against his erection. When she broke the kiss, it was to clasp her hands around that pulsing hardness, her firm grip as possessive as her eyes had been.

  “I,” she whispered, moving her hands in tight strokes that had him gritting his teeth, “have been doing some research of my own.”

  His mind threatened to blank as she went down in front of him, her breasts wet, her hands spread on his thighs . . . and her mouth red-hot as she took him inside her. Pleasure engulfed him in a tidal wave, dark and vicious, and he knew this time, his Tk wouldn’t only be tearing up the fields outside.

  * * *

  TWENTY minutes and a storm of wracking pleasure later, Sahara pushed her damp hair off her face where she lay on her stomach in their bed and ran her hand over the chest of the man who lay beside her, his breathing rough. “I just checked the PsyNet,” she said, her own breathing not exactly even. “This region just experienced a medium-sized earthquake.”

  Kaleb turned his head on the pillow. “It was located deep underground, I made sure of that. No real damage.”

  It should’ve been surreal, lying in bed with a man who had just caused an earthquake, but this was Kaleb and he was hers. “The poor scientists,” she said, “are going to be scratching their heads over the sudden seismic activity in this region over the next few decades.”

  Kaleb’s lips didn’t curve, but she saw the wicked smile in his eyes as he said, “You took me by surprise.”

  “Good.” Lax and sated, her mind on the rage of his power, she went to ask him how he’d controlled it as a child, then realized what she’d be b
ringing into this bed, the blood and the horror and the one event they’d both shied from facing. Body and mind, she was ready to handle it, but not today, when Kaleb appeared as young as she’d ever seen him.

  Instead, she drew a design on his arm with her finger and said, “Food, then rest.” The afternoon sun might be bright beyond the terrace sliders, but neither one of them had had enough sleep over the past two days. More, they needed to maintain their strength.

  She didn’t have to be an F to know the war wasn’t yet over.

  * * *

  KALEB woke in the middle of the night to a telepathic hail from Aden. An individual we believe to be Vasquez has been tracked to California by an Arrow team and independently by the Forgotten tracker and her changeling partner. Past experience makes it highly probable that San Francisco is his destination and his target.

  Yes. The city had become a focal point for Psy who were fractured, making it anathema to Pure Psy. Even more provocative was the fact that the changelings, humans, and Psy in the region had worked together to repel the last attack by the fanatical group. Send me all the data.

  Scanning it as it came in, he looked down at the woman who slept with her head on his chest, her hair tumbling over the arm he had around her waist. “Sahara.”

  “Mmm.” Hand flexing against him, she ran her foot over his shin before snuggling back down to sleep.

  He felt something inside him that was so gentle it was painful, something that awoke only for Sahara. Maybe it was the emotion called tenderness. Running his hand up the line of her spine, he curved it over her nape. “It’s time to get up.”

  “No.” In spite of the bad-tempered mumble, her lashes flickered against him. “Why?”

  He saw the last of the sleep fade from her face as he told her. “But,” she said, sitting up, “from everything I’ve read, Pure Psy suffered a decisive defeat in the region at a time when they had an army. Why would they risk a return with such a ragtag team?”

  “There are two options,” Kaleb answered, his eyes on the beautiful woman who sat nude beside him in a silent indication of bone-deep trust, the sheets pooled at her waist.

  “The first”—he curved his hand around her hip—“is that Pure Psy does have an army waiting in the wings, and this is the major strike they’ve been planning.” It would make sense, the previous defeat a cause of shame for the group. “However, I’ve been keeping an eye on the region, and there are no signs of any offensive force in or around the area.”

  “So that leaves the second option.” Sahara frowned, her fingers running absently over the ridges of his abdomen. “That Vasquez wants to cause as much chaos as possible to cover this unknown other action?”

  Kaleb clenched his stomach muscles as her hand drifted lower. “A man working alone,” he said, stroking the curve of her hip once before he forced himself to get out of bed, “or only with a small covert team, can create it on a large scale, especially if we take Vasquez’s training into account.”

  Pulling on a pair of black sweatpants that hung loosely on his hips, he considered the situation and the necessary response. “We need to corner Vasquez in the city, but entering changeling territory without an invitation risks creating a political situation”—a fact Vasquez could be counting on to delay any pursuit—“so we get that invitation. I’ll contact Judd.”

  Chapter 41

  “ANTHONY,” SAHARA SAID, tucking her hair behind her ears. “I can call him. He’ll be able to advise Nikita—they’ve both made it clear Pure Psy is unwelcome in their region, and they may have on-the-ground data you can’t access.”

  At Kaleb’s nod, she turned to make an audio-only call on the mobile comm beside the bed, while he used his cell phone to contact Judd—and for the first time, their conversation was not between the Ghost and a former Arrow, but between Kaleb Krychek and a SnowDancer lieutenant. When the other man ended the conversation, it was to speak to his alpha, as well as get word to the leopard alpha. “I’ll call you back in five minutes,” he said and hung up.

  In the interim, Kaleb contacted Enforcement’s central command in the United States and asked them to issue updated bulletins to their officers in California and the surrounding states. “Warn them not to approach if Vasquez is sighted,” Kaleb said. “He’s a high-level telepath trained in hand-to-hand combat and sniper-grade shooting.”

  “Does this request come via the Council?” the commissioner asked.

  “No. The Council is gone. This comes directly from me—I trust Enforcement has no difficulty with that.”

  “Enforcement has no issue cooperating in the hunt for the criminal Andrea Vasquez. Future cooperation, however, will depend on the circumstances.”

  “Very well, Commissioner.” Kaleb had so many moles inside Enforcement he could get anything he wanted at a moment’s notice, but he saw no reason not to be civil.

  Hanging up, he glanced at Sahara. “Anthony is getting in touch with Nikita,” she said, zipping up a hooded sweatshirt over the jeans and T-shirt she’d pulled on. “He didn’t say, but I’m guessing he’ll also connect with the others in the region, changeling and human.” A questioning look. “Your invitation?”

  Kaleb began to dress. “Pending.” The fact was, he’d be going in with or without it. Vasquez was too big a threat to leave to even the packs’ capable hands.

  His phone rang on the heels of that thought. “You and the Arrows are cleared,” Judd told him. “Strategy meeting at DarkRiver’s Chinatown HQ, twenty minutes.”

  Since the SnowDancer den was some distance from that location, Kaleb guessed Judd and the wolf alpha would be teleporting to the meeting. “I’ll be there.” Hanging up, he finished getting into clothing indistinguishable from the black combat uniforms worn by the Arrow Squad, the clothing made of bulletproof material that would also repel a certain level of laser fire.

  Unbeknownst to Sahara, all her jeans, as well as the hooded sweatshirt she was currently wearing, had the same properties as the combat gear. He hadn’t been able to swap out her T-shirts and other tops as yet, but one of his companies was currently working on a superfine version of the rougher, heavier combat fabric. “Keep that sweatshirt on throughout,” he told her, and when she smiled at him, he realized she’d already figured out what he’d done.

  Her intelligence had always been one of the most attractive things about her.

  “Can you get me to a location like this?” she asked as he took a seat on the bed to put on his boots, sending him an image of a busy concourse, people moving every which way. “I think I might be able to help gather information.”

  What she was proposing, he understood when she sent him another image, would be akin to standing in the middle of the data streams of the PsyNet, except on the physical plane. She’d pick up hundreds, thousands of random thoughts as people passed by.

  “It’s getting close to crossing a moral line,” she said with a solemn expression, “but it could mean saving countless lives. And since I have no intention of ever taking control of the minds that brush past me, it’s a decision I can live with.”

  “Are you sure?” Sahara’s conscience was a powerful force, one that could crush her from the inside out if she took the wrong path.

  She nodded. “I must have this ability for a reason—and this conscience, too. I have to trust in myself and my intention to do no harm.” Blowing out a breath, she said, “It might end up being a fruitless exercise anyway.”

  “It stands as much a chance of success as any other.” Vasquez was a man trained to be a shadow, and San Francisco was a city of millions. “You need protection. I’ll organize an Arrow escort.” Kaleb would trust her safety to no one he didn’t think capable of repelling Vasquez.

  But Sahara, fingers working to weave her hair into a neat braid, shook her head. “An Arrow will stand out in such a changeling-heavy city—they may be trained in covert ops, but there’s no doubt they’re lethal, and it puts people instinctively on edge. I saw that in Geneva.”

  He got
to his feet. “You want a changeling guard.”

  “It’s safer. People will assume I’m a human packmate,” she pointed out. “I don’t look, act, or sound like the stereotypical image of Psy.”

  It was a clever and more than plausible argument. “You risk exposing your abilities to the changelings.” The more people who knew, the greater the chance of a leak.

  Sahara wrapped an elastic tie around the end of her braid. “I won’t tell them what I’m doing. I’ll say I’m putting myself in prime position to have a useful flash of backsight.”

  The part of him that lived in the void, possessive and obsessively protective, wanted to state a vocal negative to her plan . . . but paradoxically, that same part would fight to the death for her freedom. “Even a hint of trouble and you call me.”

  “Done.” Rising on tiptoe, her hands on his shoulders, she claimed a kiss, her gaze tender. “I won’t underestimate Vasquez.”

  Trusting her promise in a way he trusted no one else, he said, “According to Aden’s latest report, Vasquez is already on the ground. The central skytrain station is a better option for you than the airport.”

  * * *

  FIFTEEN minutes after the conversation with Kaleb, Sahara glanced at the amber-blond male who stood with her. Both of them leaned casually against one of the thick columns that ran along the center of the massive station, just another two bored travelers waiting for a long-distance connection. Adding to that impression were the duffel bags at their feet, the battered fabric thrown into harsh relief by the bright afternoon sun pouring through the massive skylights.

  “You’re too good-looking for this,” she said to Vaughn. It was happy chance that he’d already been at DarkRiver HQ when she’d requested an escort. “That woman almost missed her skytrain, she was so busy eating you up with her big, brown eyes.” Sahara fluttered her lashes as the hapless brunette had done.