by Nalini Singh
Hawke remembered those classes from his own youth, the memories poignant … because his lieutenant father had been one of the teachers. Looking at Toby’s eager face, it seemed impossible that he’d ever been that young, but his wolf vividly recalled stalking through the nocturnal whispering of the forest, trying to be quiet, so quiet. It made him proud that in spite of everything that had happened, SnowDancer’s young continued to have the chance to be children, to learn and play and grow.
“Where are we going?” Toby asked once he’d finished regaling them about Eli and Sam’s plans.
“To see Sascha.”
“Great!” Toby scrambled excitedly into the backseat of the SUV when they reached the garage. Though he was a great kid, Hawke’s wolf worried about his good behavior. The boy had never once been in trouble—and that was completely unheard of for a pup his age. Hawke was concerned Toby was afraid of acting out, for fear the people he loved would leave him—as his mother had when she suicided.
He’d spoken about it to Judd and Walker, as well as Sienna, and they were all keeping a quiet eye on the boy. However, Sascha—who spent regular time with Toby, teaching him how to handle his empathic abilities—had told Hawke not to worry. “He’s very centered and happy. If I’m a normal case as far as empaths are concerned, you’ll have more trouble with him around fourteen to sixteen.
“I didn’t consciously understand it then of course, but my abilities went hypersensitive about that time. I used to swing from anger to joy to frustration within the space of a few minutes.” The cardinal had given him a wry smile. “If I hadn’t been so afraid of being rehabilitated, I’d have been hell to handle.”
Toby, Hawke thought, didn’t have to fear that he’d be punished for having emotions by being sentenced to the psychic brainwipe, didn’t have to worry that his personality would be erased in an act of brutality. And when adolescent angst hit, whether or not it was exacerbated by his empathic abilities, he’d have the necessary support, love, and discipline to come out of it stronger on the other side.
Now, listening to the boy chatter to Sienna, Hawke’s wolf stretched in contentment. He had a family of his own again, he thought, the realization still so new that it was a kick to the gut each time. As alpha, everyone in SnowDancer was part of his family, but it wasn’t the same as having people who were his.
“Toby,” he said during a lull in the conversation, “are you dating yet?”
Toby’s face went bright red in the rearview mirror. “Um, er, no.”
Hawke had guessed as much from what he’d seen at the mating ceremony, but the kid was heading toward thirteen. He’d obviously noticed the opposite sex, even if he wasn’t ready to take the next step. “But you know some of the older kids who are, right?”
“Uh-huh.” Toby leaned forward, stretching his safety belt. “In my soccer team mostly.”
“Any of them talk about the leopard girls?”
Sienna laughed. “Oh no.”
“Oh yes.” He glanced at Toby in the rearview mirror again. “Toby?”
“Um, yeah.” A quiet hesitation. “I don’t want to get anyone in trouble.”
“Don’t worry, you won’t.” He’d had a chat with the over-eighteens about inter-pack flirting, so they knew what was expected of them as far as acceptable behavior. However, if the younger age groups were starting to socialize, both packs needed a more concrete policy. “I think definite rules would help everyone.”
Toby’s nod was hard enough that Hawke caught it in his peripheral vision. “No one’s dating or anything,” the boy said, “but I think some of them want to—except they’re kind of scared.”
“Go on,” Hawke said.
“They think that maybe they’ll do something wrong and the leopards will get mad and it’ll hurt the alliance. It’s not just the boys.”
No more dodging the bullet, Hawke realized, they had to formulate inter-pack guidelines and quickly—because while DarkRiver and SnowDancer were both predatory packs, there were subtle differences between them that adults appreciated, but that could land the young from both sides in hot water unless they knew to follow a few basic rules. “Thanks, Toby.” He’d suggest a working group made up of maternal females from both SnowDancer and DarkRiver when he brought up the subject with Lucas.
A tug along the mating bond.
Wolf pricking its ears, he glanced at Sienna. “You called?”
“There’s at least one seriously developing relationship in the over-eighteens.”
“Names?”
“I wouldn’t be able to show my face to my friends if I told you.”
“Sienna.”
Another message along the mating bond, this one with a nuanced depth of emotion. His wolf, unused to defiance, blinked, shook his head. And he realized his mate was reminding him that he wasn’t her alpha, never would be. Gritting his teeth, he snarled. “I hate that rule.” Not the truth, but at times like this, it sure as heck irritated him.
“That’s why we need it.” Sienna leaned across to nip affectionately at his jaw.
From behind them, Toby said, “I like being around you guys. You’re happy deep inside even when you fight.”
Wolf and man in satisfied agreement with Toby, Hawke tangled his hand with Sienna’s, lifting it to his lips and snapping his teeth. Her startled yelp made Toby laugh.
My family.
SEVERAL hours after her breakdown by the waterfall, with the sky turning a post-sunset smoky gray, Adria finally walked into the den. Her throat was so raw her voice sounded akin to a croak when she entered the infirmary. “I need to look and sound human for a meeting at eight.”
Lara’s perceptive gaze saw too much, but the healer didn’t ask prying questions. “Open.” A cool spray hit the back of Adria’s throat. “That’ll take care of the voice.”
Adria stroked her fingers over her neck. “Already feels better.”
“As for your eyes—” Lara pointed to a patient room. “Lie down and I’ll put a gel pack on your face. You have two hours before the meeting. I’ll wake you when it’s time.”
“I’d like to shower first.” Her bones, her skin, everything hurt.
Lara found her a change of clothing from the supplies kept in the infirmary. “Through there.”
Stripping off inside the small shower, she allowed the hot spray to pummel her body until Lara knocked on the door. “I have the gel pack.”
Adria got out of the shower, dried off, and dressed before she lay down on one of the beds, needing the armor of clothing after the nakedness caused by her emotional breakdown. Lara’s wild corkscrew curls and fox brown eyes were the last things she saw before the coolness of the gel pack covered her puffy eyelids and cheeks.
The dreams took her under soon afterward.
Strong arms, a heavy male body, eyes of a brown so pale they shimmered gold, the night filled with the sounds of harsh breaths and hands sliding over sweat-slicked skin. When he flipped her onto her front, she waited in quivering anticipation.
Hot breath against her cheek, a big hand sliding under her body to close over one of her breasts with blatant possessiveness, the hard ridge of his erection insistent against her lower back. She attempted to arch upward, demand more, but was pinned down by his body.
A shift, his fingers brushing her unbound hair off her neck.
His weight lifting.
She rose toward him in silent invitation.
His cock and his teeth sank into her at the same instant.
Jerking awake, she pulled off the gel pack to see that Lara had closed the door to her room, leaving her in blessed privacy. It was seven fifteen according to her watch, so she had a little more time.
Allowing herself a shudder of bone-deep pleasure, she stretched, her arms above her head, her feet pointed. But her mind replayed not the erotic dream, but her conversation with Riaz after they’d spoken to Tamsyn—and, though it made her wolf stiffen, the way he’d held her beside the waterfall. The man she’d glimpsed that morning, and
the one who’d cared enough to put his arms around a packmate who was hurting, he was dangerous, someone who spoke to her soul beyond the primitive tug of sex.
The way he’d rubbed his cheek against her hair, attempting to give comfort though she’d taken none … she’d never have expected such rough tenderness from the abrasive, angry man she’d first encountered. And he was loyal, so much so that he was destroying himself in his fight not to betray a mate who was forever lost to him.
No woman, Adria thought with a prickling sense of unease, would be immune to such a man.
Chapter 26
KALEB TOOK THE printed documents Silver held out, relating to a business arrangement between him and the BlackEdge wolves. “Any issues?”
“No. They’ve agreed to the changes you requested.” She glanced at her datapad, looked up. Hesitated.
Such hesitation was unusual for the ice-blonde who had been his aide since before he became a Councilor, but Kaleb had an excellent idea of the reason behind it. “You’re wondering why I would subcontract any type of security to the wolves.”
“Yes. You have the Arrows, and your own men. You don’t need BlackEdge.”
“They have certain unique skills,” he said, scanning the first page of the contract as he did so, his mind taking in the data at a speed that, when Silver first started working for him, had caused her to believe he wasn’t actually reading. He was. His mind processed each word as he swept his eye over it, embedded it in his memory.
Flipping the page, he continued. “Even Psy can be tracked by scent.”
“True,” Silver said, “but changelings can’t evade a telepathic sweep.”
Kaleb glanced up. “A weakness only if the Psy in question is aware he or she is being stalked. Many of our race ignore any skill or ability beyond their own.”
A longer pause, and he could almost hear her mind working methodically through his words. It was what made her such a good aide. He didn’t trust her—he didn’t trust anyone, and Silver’s first loyalty was to the powerful Mercant family, but he knew she wouldn’t betray him so long as he had her respect.
For the majority of the time since he’d become aware of them, he’d believed the Mercants were swayed solely by power and wealth—of which Kaleb had amassed a great deal. However, after monitoring them for years, he’d seen multiple Mercant family members remain with failing companies until there was no chance of salvage. He’d also seen them betray wealthier employers if the price was right. It had led him to revise his earlier conclusions.
Power and money might purchase a Mercant’s skills, but earn their cold-eyed respect and they would not only become mute when it came to your secrets, they would also stand fast in the face of trouble. In the past year, Kaleb knew he’d moved onto the very exclusive list of people the Mercants would not sell out.
Their connections and abilities, added to that of the Arrows, brought him another step closer to taking total control of the Net. Of course, there had always been a second option when it came to the Net, one he hadn’t yet discarded. It all depended on the outcome of his search.
“You are correct, Councilor,” Silver said at last, her voice cool, clear, flawless. “Do you need me to collate data on the individual you’re tracking?”
“No.” He had long ago discovered and memorized every shred of available data on the one person he searched for with remorseless persistence.
Scanning the penultimate page of the contract, he indicated for Silver to wait. Thirty seconds later, he was done. Picking up a pen, he signed the document in triplicate and passed it across the desk. “Tell BlackEdge I have no need of their services at present.” The wolves would serve their purpose after he’d located his target—because that target was highly likely to refuse his hospitality. And in this case, a psychic leash was not a viable option.
Of course, Selenka Durev, the BlackEdge alpha, wouldn’t agree to hunt just anyone, but after years of meticulous research, Kaleb understood the finest details of how the pack functioned. If and when the time came, he’d get what he wanted. No one would be permitted to stand in his way.
“Sir,” Silver said after double-checking he’d signed and initialed all the required places in the contract, “about Henry Scott.”
He’d asked her to keep her ears open for any information on the Councilor who hadn’t been seen since Sienna Lauren’s X-fire decimated the Pure Psy army. “Is he alive?”
“Only according to unsubstantiated rumors—those could be a strategic attempt by Pure Psy to bolster their membership. Without Henry’s backing, the group has negligible power.”
Hmm … “There’s a man named Andrea Vasquez. Thirty years of age.” It was the DarkMind that had brought him the name of Henry’s general. “What do you have on him?” he asked, though he’d already done his own research. However, the Mercants had a way of knowing things no one else did.
“If you’ll excuse me a moment.”
He gave a curt nod. Having finished finalizing a memo in the interim, he put it aside for Silver to deal with, and turned in his chair. The crystal clear floor-to-ceiling wall looked out over the busy square below, black-garbed commuters scurrying to work, their heads downbent, breaths frosting the morning air.
His mind catalogued the visual intake, but it was an automatic act, his concentration on the psychic search he’d been running continuously in the back of his mind for years. Except now, he utilized every spare minute to run it in the foreground—because he was close. Very, very close. Enough that he might make a mistake if he didn’t move with utmost stealth.
Alerted by the psychic reminder, he paused, reworked his search algorithm to halt at the first sign of a trip wire or sensor. By the time Silver walked back into his office, he was facing his desk once more, even as his mind hummed with a task that would’ve taken the full attention of most normal cardinals.
Kaleb had never been normal. Not in any way.
“Vasquez,” Silver began, after taking a seat opposite his desk, “is a Gradient 8.3 telepath who was placed into Arrow training as a child. However, he was deemed unfit for the squad at age fourteen and reassigned to a regular black ops unit where he served with distinction until his apparent death.”
All of which correlated with Kaleb’s own findings. “Wet work?”
“Not on file, but given the nature of his psychological evaluation, it’s a reasonable assumption that he was used for close-contact assassinations.”
Kaleb had no doubts about Vasquez’s status as a trained killer—Henry had never liked getting his hands dirty. “When did he fall off the grid?”
“Eight years ago. Death verified.”
“Of course.” It was the only way to vanish outright from the Net. “Let me guess—an accident that left no remains but for a fragment large enough to provide DNA.”
“The crushed and partially burned remnants of the smallest finger from his left hand. Easy enough to replace with a prosthetic.”
And speaking of a man dedicated enough to mutilate himself.
“He hasn’t been seen, or DNA typed, since then.” His aide tapped the screen of her organizer to bring up several images she turned toward him. “However, since you brought up his name in relation to Henry Scott, I took the liberty of going through the surveillance images of Henry taken during the six months before his disappearance. Vasquez isn’t present in any of them.”
That, Kaleb knew, meant nothing. The man was a trained ghost. “It’s unlikely he looks anything like he did eight years ago.”
“I agree, but,” Silver continued, earning her paycheck with the next words she spoke, “it appears that, prior to his disappearance, Henry was making regular six-figure-sum deposits into an account in the Caymans. While the account itself is untraceable, Henry tagged the payments with the initials ‘A. V.’ at his end.”
Kaleb was almost expecting it, that it would be such a simple thing that would destroy the wall of secrecy Vasquez had built around himself. Henry had never been good with details. “Y
ou have something further,” he said, watching her bring up another file.
A slight nod, not a single strand out of place in the neat twist that was her hair. “The payments stopped after Henry’s encounter with Sienna Lauren. However, it now looks as if someone is reorganizing his financial assets.” Her eyes, an unusual color between blue and gray, met his. “Our banking contacts were able to confirm it isn’t Shoshanna.”
Shoshanna was Henry’s wife, the relationship a fiction to placate the human and changeling population. “That’s excellent work, Silver.” He didn’t ask her to forward him the files—Silver was his aide because she did things like that without being asked.
Rising, she held the organizer to her side. “At present, this ‘A. V.’ is a phantom the same as Vasquez, but I’ve alerted my family that he has become an individual in whom you have an interest.” She left without further words, the click of her heels muffled by the carpet.
Kaleb considered the possibilities. The first was that Vasquez had taken over after Henry’s death and was setting himself up as the new leader of Pure Psy. However, from everything Kaleb had discovered about Vasquez, the male was not a leader. While training to be an Arrow, he’d followed orders with dogged fidelity. The sole reason he’d been excised from the squad was because of a psychological imbalance that made him a risk in the field, given the sensitive nature of many Arrow operations.
It must’ve been a difficult decision for those in charge of the squad, as according to the classified training file Silver had just sent Kaleb, quite aside from his lethal combat abilities, Vasquez possessed a critical skill: being able to organize at the minute level. If he now had control over Henry’s finances, that meant he’d foreseen the need for it, had ensured he’d have the necessary access.
Silver, he said after a quick telepathic knock, the reorganization of Henry’s finances. Where is the money going?
