Shards of Hope

Chapter 60

ADEN WAS TRYING to put the puzzle pieces together when Zaira walked unexpectedly into his Central Command office the next morning. Running his hand down her back simply because he wanted to make contact, he said, “Venice?”

“Nothing to report.” To his surprise, she rose on her toes to brush her lips over his jaw before turning her attention to the comm panel he was using as a work screen. “Why are you staring at random pieces of data?”

He went through each of the data points for her. “It appears to be an orchestrated campaign to sow seeds of mistrust between various groups.” It couldn’t be simple chance; the incidents all bore a similar cunning signature.

“Clever,” Zaira said. “Why waste money and resources on a military attack when you can break alliances or poison the air before the alliances ever form? Push it a bit more and irritation turns to aggravation, then to serious conflict. And while your opponents fight among themselves, wasting their own resources and manpower, the puppet master becomes the most powerful by default.”

That was why Zaira was one of his commanders. Not just because of her lethal abilities, but because her mind saw patterns where even he had trouble. The motive she’d ascribed to this series of events was not only plausible, it explained why the targets spanned all three races.

“Is that admiration I hear?”

Zaira nodded. “Doesn’t mean I agree with it—but the concept is smart, especially how they’re capitalizing on old fault lines and fragile new business overtures.” She tapped the data point Bo had provided about his people’s recent land conflict with the changelings. “Humans and changelings have always been a loose coupling, mostly because Silence separated out the Psy. Create a fracture there, too, and you end up with three isolated races.”

“At which point,” Aden said, “you start creating infighting in each group.” He frowned, split the screen to bring up a Beacon article from a few days before. It was small and he’d noticed it only because of the names mentioned, but now . . .

It appears the former Councilors are no longer keeping to their rumored “gentleman’s agreement” to stay out of each other’s businesses. The Duncan Corporation has just underbid Scott Enterprises on an airjet contract. At a bare fifty million, the contract is minor relative to the turnover of both companies, but it is notable given the identities of the parties involved.

Zaira watched in silence as he contacted Nikita Duncan. Her response to his request for business data was frosty, but when he indicated this might be a larger issue that could impact all her business enterprises, as well as the markets themselves, she confirmed his suspicions.

Hanging up, he told Zaira what he’d learned. “Nikita and Shoshanna were never allies, but they don’t undercut one another since that would drive down prices overall. Nikita did put in a bid for the contract, but it was a deliberately high one.”

Nikita hadn’t spelled it out, but Aden knew the reason for the Duncan bid was to make the other party feel as if they had a viable second choice. Not ethical, but Nikita wasn’t exactly white as snow. “She says the error was introduced at Shoshanna’s end. Someone in Shoshanna’s camp forwarded an impossibly high bid rather than the correct one.”

“So we’ve got people embedded within the trusted circles of major players.” Zaira’s eyes gleamed. “Someone really smart and really patient put this entire operation together. Their only mistake is the timing.” She leaned into him. “A year ago, the connections between various groups were far more amorphous. Lucas Hunter and Jen Liu, for example, might never have made contact.”

Wrapping his arm around her waist, he turned her body to face his. “Regardless, this has to be working on some level, particularly with smaller groups who would never connect their problems to a larger conspiracy.”

Zaira thrust her hands into his hair without warning, gripped at it, and pulled him down till his lips were a bare inch from hers. “It’s had a taste of you,” she whispered. “The rage inside me. Now it wants to gorge.”

EVERY time he was near, his scent would get into her lungs . . . No, that wasn’t true. He didn’t have to be near. She’d come here, to his office in this underground place she preferred to avoid, because she hadn’t seen him for six hours and had started to hurt inside her chest from missing him.

“Take me,” he said, his dark eyes filled with so many things she didn’t understand.

“You’re already mine.” It came out instinctively, from that primal, possessive core at the heart of her nature.

He pressed his forehead to hers, not fighting her hold. “I know, but do you?” His hair fell over his forehead to brush hers. “Deep inside, do you know?”

She didn’t understand his question, and the frustration made her pull at his hair. “Stop talking in circles.”

“A psychic bond,” he said, his mind touching hers.

She wanted to open so badly to him. “If you do that, I won’t ever let you go.” If the physical connection had sealed them together, this would turn that seal into an unbreakable glue. “Even my death won’t free you.” The psychic scars would be irreparable.

“Whether we bond or not, your loss would change me forever.” A quiet voice that held so much power it vibrated with it. “You are written indelibly on my soul, Zaira. Nothing will ever alter what you are to me.”

Her rib cage seemed to compress her lungs, the pain sharp.

No one but Aden had ever treated her as if she had that much value, that much worth.

Sliding down her shields, she found his were already open for her. The connection was deeper than a private telepathic pathway; it was the kind of contact two operatives might make so they could work as a seamless unit. The difference was that this connection was fully open on his end. No barriers. No shields. No secrets.

She could’ve gone in and taken everything, drunk in every second of his life. Greedy though she was, she didn’t do that—the rage creature inside her liked the gifts of himself that he gave her. It wouldn’t mean the same if she took advantage and stole him. And this . . . the intimacy made her shudder. There was no aloneness now, not even a whisper of it, Aden’s strong, distinctive presence a silent partner she could carry with her.

Unlike a simple telepathic bond, this one wouldn’t snap once she was out of range. Their minds were tangled together now, as tangled as their limbs when they were alone behind the closed doors to her Venice room. With the tangling came a sense of satisfaction that quieted the possessiveness that clawed at her always, her desire to keep him for herself no longer a monster she had to fight.

“Will you stay?” she asked, though the feral thing in her soul hissed at her not to speak the question, not to give him any reason to second-guess his decision to be with her.

“Have I ever left?”

“No.” Not since the instant she’d woken in that infirmary to find the boy with the quiet eyes and the quiet feet at her bedside. “My mind is a dark place.” She shied away from opening herself up to him as he’d done for her. The twisted girl inside her adored him, didn’t want him to see the horror of her.

“Show me when you’re ready,” Aden said, his words intensified by the echo inside her mind, the sense of him wrapped around her.

Zaira wasn’t sure she’d ever be ready.

Closing the final inch of distance between them, she pressed her lips to his. He angled his head to create a better fit and then they were kissing. The intimacy made a hot, tight fist form in her abdomen, the rage stretching out inside her like one of the big cats she’d seen in RainFire.

When Aden shifted closer, running one hand around her waist to spread it low on her back, the fist grew tighter. His hand was big, warm, and she wanted to feel it on her bare skin. She didn’t realize she’d telepathed the request to him until he tugged up the back of her uniform top and managed to slide his hand underneath despite the fine armored vest that she wore over the black long-sleeved top.

The rough warmth of his hand against her skin was a pleasurable shock, one that was rapidly becoming familiar.

Shivering, she wrapped her arms around his neck and held him to her as she tasted him until her head spun and the rage was molten in her blood. His hand moved slightly on her skin, just enough to make her shiver again as he opened his mouth over hers to deepen the kiss. Her nipples rubbed against her bra, her skin stretched tight over her entire body.

It felt as if she was losing herself in him, but that was all right. After all, he’d given himself to her.

The knock penetrated only in that it might be a threat to Aden. Breaking the kiss, she released him to turn and focus her mind beyond the door. The psychic signature on the other side was easy to identify. “It’s Nerida.”

Aden pressed his lips to the curve of her neck from behind. “She’s my ride to New York. I’m heading to see Dev.”

That explained his civilian clothing. “Your security team?”

“I can’t be seen with a security team,” Aden replied, his hand on the panel that would open the door. “That defeats the whole purpose of the squad’s reputation, especially with the Beacon publishing rumors about my suitability as squad leader.” Authorizing the door to open, he nodded at Nerida.

I’ll come with you, Zaira said, not angry at the Beacon article because she knew full well it was idiotic and that Aden would have a plan to handle the subtle attack on the squad.

Now, he looked at her.

As your . . . She paused, at a loss. I will never be a girlfriend.

Aden thought again of laughter, and that he might be capable of it. We can discuss terms later.

Stepping out with Nerida, he asked if she was fine transporting them both. Unlike Vasic, Nerida wasn’t a teleporter by birth, but a Tk who had teleport abilities. As such, her range, while wide, was more limited than Vasic’s. Increasing the number of passengers further narrowed that range, as did any other duties she may have completed recently that required a psychic burn.

“No problem,” she said.

’Porting them to the basement of a refurbished hotel that was shuttered while it waited for the final planning permits, Nerida left for her next task. Depending on the timing, Aden and Zaira would most likely catch a high-speed jet back, making the final part of the trip back to Central Command in one of the vehicles they kept garaged near the closest jetports.

“You want to spend some time here on Blake’s trail?” Zaira asked as they walked out of the hotel via a basement exit. “We can hit the locations that have already been searched.”

It was a standard technique: when caught in a trap, you returned to the place your hunters thought they’d cleared. “That’s a—” Aden’s instincts suddenly went on high alert, his subconscious picking up something his conscious mind hadn’t yet worked out.

“Aden! Get down!”

The bullet buzzed over his head a split second after Zaira’s cry. He’d dropped to the pavement, palms flat on the plascrete and legs stretched out, the instant she spoke. An Arrow did not ask his partner to clarify a warning, trained to know that a single nanosecond of delay could equal death.

That lesson had just saved his life.

Zaira was moving past him within two heartbeats, her legs covering the ground at lethal speed. Following on her heels, Aden pinpointed her target—a slender male holding a weapon at his side.

“Down!” Aden yelled at a passerby who hadn’t already hit the ground.

The assassin turned and shot again midrun, but Zaira had judged his movement and dodged it, as did Aden. The bullet slammed home in a tree. That was the last shot the male made. Zaira slammed him to the ground the next instant, his face hitting the pavement with such force that blood splurted out, his nose clearly smashed in.

Aden saw Zaira’s expression, realized she’d fallen into the blind protective rage that would leave the assassin dead in seconds.

Zaira. Secondary threat.

As she jerked around to neutralize the imagined threat, he was already contacting Vasic. His friend appeared a second later, his boots, jeans, and dirt-stained T-shirt telling Aden he’d probably been helping Ivy with the gardens the empath was creating in the valley.

Zaira turned back right then, her focus on the unconscious male once more. “He tried to hurt you.” The words were calm—if Aden hadn’t known her, he’d never have perceived the ice-cold fury inside her.

Vasic ’ported them both to a desert cloaked in night just as Zaira’s body tensed for a deadly attack. I’ll take care of the assassin, Vasic said. Call me when you need to return.

Then he was gone.

Aden went to touch Zaira, help her calm down . . . and she turned on him. Her eyes dull and blank, her face set, she slammed out with a fist, followed it with a kick. He blocked her moves, but made no offensive ones of his own. Zaira, he said telepathically and verbally. “Zaira, it’s Aden.”

Her hand-to-hand combat skills were deadly. Aden could hold his own against her only because he was bigger and stronger. It usually gave him just enough of an edge that they were evenly matched, but he realized at that instant that he’d never fought against a Zaira in an unthinking rage.

She was a fury, a whirling storm.

He took a blow on the jaw, a second in the neck, a third on the cheek.

Realizing she wasn’t hearing him, Aden focused on getting her down with as little damage as possible. It meant taking a number of further blows himself, but the one thing Aden would not do was hurt Zaira. He’d made that promise to her long ago, would never break it. Instead, he used his greater bulk against her, slamming his body into hers as she lifted up on one leg to deliver a roundhouse kick.

Unbalanced, she fell, and he saw her knee begin to bend the wrong way. He flipped her so she wouldn’t fall wrong and twist or tear her tendons. His action had the unintended side effect of throwing her harder against the ground, the air rushing out of her. He came down over her before she could recover, clamping his hands on her wrists and using the weight of his lower body to pin her down.

“Zaira!”

Muscles tense enough to snap, she tried to throw him off. He crushed her to the sand while gripping her wrists, but not so hard that he’d leave bruises. “Zaira, it’s Aden,” he repeated.

No recognition in her eyes, on her face, her mind a closed door.