by Nalini Singh
“I haven’t wanted to stifle her,” Sascha replied. “And she’s around friendly minds.”
“She’s Psy, Sascha. A powerful one.” Nikita repeated her nudge when her grandchild reached out again. “No, Nadiya.” A firm command that made the child go still, watchful.
“You must train her,” Nikita told her frowning daughter. “You’ve taught her to shield and you’ve got your own shield over hers, but I can still send telepathic thoughts to her through the link she initiated. I could tell her anything I wanted, send her nightmare images, teach her to fear you, anything.”
Sascha’s face lost color, her eyes stark. There was a knock on the door a second later. Glancing over her shoulder, Sascha didn’t speak, but Lucas Hunter didn’t knock again or seek to enter the room. As Nikita had always suspected, the changeling mate-bond functioned on a psychic level in some fashion.
“You’re right.” Sascha’s voice trembled. “I’ve been so focused on not crushing her or hurting her that I went too far in the opposite direction. It’s like Lucas teaching her not to use her claws in play.” Sascha snuggled her baby when Nadiya made her way back to her. “It’s not hurting her to teach her psychic discipline; it’s giving her the tools she needs to survive and thrive.”
“Exactly.”
There, in that moment, Nikita shared the first moment of pure and absolute understanding with her daughter. Sascha, too, she thought, would do whatever was necessary to protect her child.
• • •
ONCE, Lucas had thought he’d never voluntarily permit his mate and child to be alone in a room with Nikita Duncan, but here he was, holding up the wall outside Nikita’s bedroom suite. Even when he’d sensed Sascha’s sudden distress, he hadn’t barged in. They’d been mated long enough that he could distinguish acute distress from a lesser emotional shock, and this had felt more akin to the latter.
Sascha’s silent response through their mate-bond had eased his concern.
Lucas would never change his mind about Nikita Duncan, not after the things the woman had done as a Councilor, but as he’d told his empath, better a child who knew her powerful—and to a cat—intriguing grandmother, than that she be tempted to find out on her own.
That didn’t mean he wasn’t having to fight the urge to break down the door and get his mate and child out of there. A call from Mercy to do with the joint pack event distracted him for a few minutes, but even then, the majority of his attention remained hyperfocused on the door behind which had disappeared two pieces of his heart.
Sascha proved exactly how well she knew him when she exited. Immediately handing him Naya, she slipped her hand into his. His bristling protective instincts settled, his claws no longer in danger of breaking through his skin. They didn’t speak until after Vasic had returned them home.
Lucas thanked the teleporter, who simply nodded.
Even after they were alone as a family, Lucas and Sascha waited until Naya was down for her nap before they opened up this particular box.
Lucas put on some soft music, drew his mate into his arms. As they swayed to the lazy beat, she told him about the meeting with her mother. “She meant it.” Sascha’s voice was raw. “That she never saw me as flawed.”
Lucas knew others would never understand the import of Nikita’s words, of how much they meant to Sascha. The hurt inside her that her mother had inflicted was no longer a scar, but neither could such pain be easily forgotten. “You’ve never been flawed.” It still pissed him off each time she used that word in relation to herself.
“I know.” She ran her hand over his back as she lifted her face to smile up at him. “I wouldn’t dare argue with an alpha cat.”
He nipped at her lower lip. “Smart-ass.”
Eyes dancing, she kissed him all slow and sexy. Only when they were both breathless did she break the kiss to continue speaking. “Mother told me to start teaching Naya mental discipline.”
His hackles rose. “Why do you sound like you’re considering it?”
“Right now,” Sascha said, “Naya is curious about everyone and anything, and I would never attempt to suppress that. But she’s also dangerously open. Not only have I not taught her to be careful who she connects with telepathically or to never connect to strange minds without my permission—”
“As we’ve taught her not to go with strangers.” Lucas’s bunched-up muscles began to relax.
Sascha nodded. “I was so intent on not suffocating her in any way, in giving her the psychic freedom I never had, that I went too far in the other direction.”
“I understand, kitten.” Lucas had to constantly fight his own overprotective urges. “If I could, I’d wrap you both in cotton wool.” As well as every single vulnerable member of his pack. “You help me deal with that. I’ll help you deal with this.”
Lines of strain fading from her expression, Sascha said, “Mother gave me a number of tips about how to teach Naya what she needs, but I thought I’d speak to Shaya as well.” A long pause, Sascha placing her head against his shoulder as they swayed to the music. “Nikita kept me safe, but it hurt. Ashaya is doing the same for Keenan without damaging him. He’s a psychically strong and disciplined child who’s lost none of his personality or joy.”
Lucas dropped a kiss on her hair. “There’s also the fact that she’s guiding and teaching him while he’s living in a changeling pack.” Nikita had never had to deal with a child who was surrounded by primal and unrestrained emotion on a daily basis, rather than by the icy discipline of Psy under Silence.
“Yes, you’re right. Several of Nikita’s techniques would collapse under non-Silent conditions.”
“You should talk to the Laurens, too.” Walker Lauren, in particular, had been dealing with children outside the PsyNet and outside Silence, for longer than anyone else Lucas knew. Judd’s brother had also been a teacher in the PsyNet.
Sascha nodded before leaning back to look at him once more, her arms hooked around his neck and her lips swollen from his kiss. “We have to write a whole new rule book, don’t we?”
Lucas’s panther rumbled awake deep in his chest. “That’s what rebels do.” And Sascha Duncan, cardinal empath, mate to an alpha, and mother to a Psy-Changeling child, was the rebel who’d blown the PsyNet wide open.
Letters to Nina
From the private diaries of Father Xavier Perez
June 1, 2080
Nina,
My first friend, the one I once tried to assassinate. His life changed drastically some time ago. He was ripped out of one world and had to learn to exist in another, and for a while, I feared he wouldn’t adapt. But he did and here’s how. This man I once saw as cold as ice now loves a woman as deeply and as passionately as I love you.
I feel such joy for him, Nina. To see the look in his eyes, that is hope. The same God that took you away from me has given him this chance. He doesn’t agree with me, of course. He isn’t a man of faith. He believes in honor and in fidelity and in standing behind your actions rather than putting faith in some “otherworldly entity.”
The arguments and conversations we have, Nina. You would love it. He accepts me for who I am and I do the same for him and our other friend, and all three of us, we challenge one another. Your beautiful mind is all that’s missing.
Even after so much time has passed, I still hope for you. But then I realize that if you’re alive, you’ve chosen not to come to me and my heart shatters. Say you’re not angry with me, Nina. Please. I could not bear it if you had forsaken me.
Xavier
Chapter 47
TEN IN THE evening in Venice and Bowen Knight was tapping his finger on his desk as he read through the latest report from the implant team when he received a message on his phone. He didn’t immediately recognize the sender—not unusual, since everyone in the Human Alliance had access to his contact details. It sometimes made for a chaotic day, but most fo
lks were good about only contacting him directly if it was a matter that needed to be brought to the attention of the Alliance’s security chief.
The message was simple: We need to talk. Too sensitive to send over unsecured line.—Isaac
He did a quick search on the sender’s number. It returned a listing for Beauclair Trucking based out of Vancouver, Canada. A little digging and he found the name of the owner: Isaac Beauclair.
Beauclair and his company had joined the Alliance a year earlier. According to the records kept by Bo’s administrative staff, no one from the company had ever attended an Alliance meeting, but they paid their dues like clockwork and the owner had made two requests for Alliance assistance.
In both cases it had been a simple application for a business introduction.
Nothing unusual in that. Many Alliance members had joined for the same reason—to expand their network among other human companies. Of course, with the Alliance now part of Trinity, with far more streamlined access to Psy and changeling businesses, that element of their membership base had increased again by a significant percentage.
Bo also had access to certain security databases, and when he ran Isaac’s name through those, he saw no red flags. The owner of the very successful company still drove a long-haul truck on occasion and he had a clean record. No smuggling allegations, nothing but a higher than average number of speeding tickets. The latter was a badge of honor with truckers—they always tried to push their trucks, the temptation of often otherwise empty highways too much.
Beauclair’s company, however, was interesting: It had a reputation for security and reliability and, as a result, often carried high-value goods that couldn’t be transported any other way. Teleporters didn’t usually stoop to such pragmatic work, and even after all the technological advances to date, sometimes the best and most economically efficient way to move certain items from one place to the next was via the road.
Instead of messaging back, Bo called Lily in from where she was catching up on her own work nearby. His sister did a little hacking at his request, found the direct link to the comm system onboard Isaac’s truck, and set up a secure call. According to Beauclair Trucking’s records, Isaac was on the road today.
“Just tap this and you’ll be set,” Lily said, then left him to it.
The call went through without any difficulty, was answered audio-only on the other end.
“Who’s this?” was the brusque question.
“Bowen Knight. You wanted to talk.”
Audio-only turned into visual and audio, and Bowen found himself talking to a broad-shouldered man who looked remarkably like his official ID photo. Isaac Beauclair had white skin touched with enough sun that it was warm rather than cool, sandy red-brown hair cut fairly tidily but not ruthlessly, a neat beard that was more red than red-brown, and dark hazel eyes. From what Bo could see, the other man was wearing what looked like a band T-shirt in black, the print white.
“Didn’t expect such a quick response,” Isaac said. “Give me a second to put the truck on full auto-nav.”
Bo waited while the other man did that, then Isaac came back onscreen. “We have a few minutes before I have to retake manual control. The roads are a little iffy in this section of my route, couple of broken nav beacons that haven’t been fixed.”
“The line is secure,” Bo told him. “I made certain of it.”
“Figure you know your business.” Isaac glanced over his shoulder, seemed to say something that wasn’t picked up by the speakers.
When he turned back, his face held a grim look. “I might’ve done something that could blow back on the Alliance itself.”
“Explain.”
“I pulled into a truck stop couple of hours ago, went in to grab a coffee, use the restroom, usual stuff.” Isaac shrugged. “When I came back out, there was this SUV parked next to my truck. Blacked-out windows, all-terrain tires.”
“Anything unusual about that?”
“Not really. I see those vehicles now and then—mostly it’s big CEOs or celebrities who want to travel incognito. They don’t usually pull in at truck stops, but I figured maybe someone started jonesing for coffee or needed the restroom—but I still took a close look because of that alert about the other SUV that went out earlier.” He paused and Bo had the sense he was ordering his thoughts.
Isaac Beauclair struck him as a very deliberate kind of man.
“So I jump up into the cab of my truck, and as I’m pulling the door shut, I glance down.” His face turned grim. “SUV was all blacked-out, but it had a glass sunroof that wasn’t and I could see right through it. I saw a man in the front passenger seat and a woman in back. She was covered with a blanket, but her face was all scarred-up and bruised and she looked fucking thin.”
Bo could guess where this was going. “You intervened?”
“First I went and grabbed a couple of buddies who’d just brought in their trucks. Was a slight risk the driver of the SUV would return first and take off, but the dude in the car, he gave off a Psy vibe. I knew I needed backup.”
Bo nodded; humans were very good at identifying Psy. They had to be. It was a survival mechanism. Some family lines had developed an eerily accurate second sense about Psy in the vicinity, though they were all quick to state that it wasn’t itself a psychic skill. Bo had never quite bought the latter. After all, Psy, changeling, and human came from the same original stock. And evolution, it never stopped. “Your buddies all human?”
“No,” the trucker replied. “One of them was changeling—I figured he’d stay standing even if the Psy took me out.” Isaac turned and spoke over his shoulder again, and once more, his voice was too quiet for the microphone to catch.
“I went up to the front passenger-side window, knocked,” he continued after turning back to the comm. “Guy rolled it down, asked if he could help me. I asked what the hell was going on with the woman in back, and he said they were taking her to a hospital after finding her on the side of the road. Sounded plausible but that was when she woke up and said, ‘Help me.’”
Isaac shrugged. “That was enough for us. I smashed in the back window to unlock the door while my changeling friend hauled the Psy half out of the window to hold his attention. Our other friend kept a lookout. I’d just got the woman out when a second Psy came running out, hit me with a telepathic blow.”
The truck driver rubbed his temple. “It was hard as hell but not debilitating. I don’t figure he was that strong, but he was strong enough to weaken us and that gave him a chance to help the other Psy fight off my changeling friend. I think they would’ve come for the woman but I pulled a gun.”
Another shrug. “Got to have protection on these isolated routes, especially when I’m moving expensive high-tech equipment. So they hauled ass instead—one of my buddies got a partial plate. I’ll send it through.”
Bowen nodded. “The woman, you didn’t take her to a hospital?” He’d figured out she had to be behind Isaac, in the cab of the truck.
Shaking his head, Isaac lowered his voice. “She was freaked out, begged for me to get her to the sea.” He blew out a breath. “Her eyes . . . I never saw eyes like that. Like the blackest part of the ocean, no light, no shadow.”
Bo felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck. He thought of BlackSea’s request to track another black SUV, considered the plea made by Isaac’s passenger, and he wondered . . . “Can you describe her to me?”
“Five four, black hair, light brown skin, heritage from the Pacific Islands maybe. She won’t give me her name.” He paused. “It looks like someone took a fucking hunting knife to her face.”
Bo’s hand clenched on the phone. “How long before you reach the ocean?” Isaac didn’t seem like the kind of man who’d make the woman wait.
“Six hours,” the trucker replied. “I was pretty inland when I found her.”
That gave Bo plenty of
time to get in touch with BlackSea. “I think I know who she belongs to—give me a little time to see if I can confirm.” Hanging up to Isaac’s curt nod, he pulled up the contact information of the man who’d tipped off the Alliance about that little cell of anti-human fanatics.
Malachai Rhys.
Beside the man’s name was a title: BlackSea Security Chief.
Bo didn’t expect his call to be immediately answered—the water changelings had a reputation for preferring their privacy and making it difficult for anyone to get hold of them. And right now, they were understandably pissed off at the Alliance.
However, Malachai picked up within the first two seconds. “Yes?”
“This is Bo Knight.”
“Hold while I confirm.”
Raising an eyebrow, Bowen leaned back in his chair. When Malachai came back on the line, he said, “How exactly do you confirm?”
“We have methods,” the BlackSea male responded. “You didn’t call to chat.”
“No. One of my people has picked up a woman in bad physical shape who wants to go to the sea.”
“Name?”
“She won’t give it, but I have a description.” He repeated it to Malachai. “She sound like one of yours?”
A pause, as if the BlackSea security chief was considering whether to confirm or deny. “Yes,” he said at last. “We can take charge of her if you give us a location.”
“Unless you call in a teleporter, you won’t get her to the sea any faster than she’s already going,” Bo told the other man. “She’s in a long-haul truck, safe and warm. You know how fast those truckers go.” And there was nothing else on the road that could take down a truck that big.
“We need to know where she is, nevertheless,” Malachai said.
