Bonds of Justice (Psy/Changeling Novels), page 33
“There’s hope, Sascha.” A blinding, beautiful hope. “As the Net passes through my anchor point, the light and the dark come together if only for a fraction of a second.”
Comprehension dawned in a fracture of color in Sascha’s cardinal eyes. “And for that instant, they’re sane?”
“Yes.” Her throat locked. “I may be the sole anchor who can give them that peace. And that’s not right.” Because outside of the tiny oasis of her mind, the Net was going inexorably mad, a dark rot seeping through its very fabric—parts of the PsyNet were already dead, places where neither the DarkMind nor the NetMind could go.
Sascha’s own eyes shone wet. “No, they should’ve never been split in two, but their sentience is formed and shaped by the Net. They can’t, won’t merge until Silence falls.”
And that, they both knew, might take an eternity . . . and a war that could devastate their world. “Things are changing,” Sophia whispered, holding the empath’s gaze. The NetMind loved Sascha. The DarkMind knew the empath could give them something, but it didn’t know how to shape its request, how to even convey its painful need. “You’ve felt it.”
“Yes.” A solemn gaze, but it held hope, the determination of a Psy willing to fight for her people. “Are you sure you’re safe, Sophia?” So much care, the empath’s huge heart there in the timbre of her voice, in every part of her.
At that moment, Sophia understood some of what the crippled, voiceless DarkMind was trying to tell her, understood that the Es had to be reawakened if the Net was to survive.
“I understand why it does what it does,” Sascha continued, sorrow erasing the stars in her eyes, “but the Dark-Mind’s need for vengeance has pushed it to spawn terrible crimes.”
Sophia wrapped her arms around Max’s waist, laying her ear against the solid pulse of his heartbeat, the warmth of him her own personal anchor. “In my mind, they’re one.” They were whole. As she was finally whole.
“They balance each other.” Sascha’s voice turned soft, thoughtful. “Yes, of course.”
“And . . . I accept the DarkMind,” Sophia said, hiding nothing of who she was, the darkness that had shaped her. “It has no need to scream, no need to fight to be known, to be remembered.” She would never shut it away, never force it to be Silent.
Just like her cop had never asked her to be anything but what she was—a flawed, scarred J. Lifting her head, she reached up and pressed a kiss over that scar on his cheek, uncaring of their audience. Thanking him. Adoring him.
“I know,” he whispered, his arms holding her tight. “I know, baby.”
It was all she needed to hear.
EPILOGUE
I’m sorry, Max. Please don’t be mad. I just can’t be here anymore.
—Handwritten note from River Shannon to Max Shannon
Sophia had never felt more content than she did at that moment, lying in the loose circle of Max’s arms as they sat in bed watching the entertainment screen. The show wasn’t important—it was background. But the warmth of Max, the scent of him, the knowledge that no one could ever steal this from her now . . . it was an almost vicious happiness.
Max rubbed his chin on her hair. “I can tell when you’re thinking.”
“Are you sure you’re not Psy?” A kiss pressed to the golden-brown skin under her cheek. He was only wearing a pair of boxers, while she’d pulled on a tank top and a pair of pajama bottoms with dancing penguins on them.
Max’s fingers massaged the back of her neck in an absent caress. “One hundred percent primitive human.”
Tapping her fist against the hardness of his bare abdomen, she reached up to press a kiss against his jaw. “I like you primitive.”
He took her mouth, stole her breath. And when he released her, he said, “I knew you wanted me for my body.”
“That and your salary.” Smiling, she tumbled him onto the sheets until she straddled him, her elbows braced on either side of his head. “Are you going to take the job Nikita offered?”
“It gives me hives to think about working for a Councilor.” He scowled, his hands shaping over her hips. Lower. “But then I think about all the secrets I could learn, all the other cops I could help with the contacts I’d make, the access I’d have.”
Sophia shivered at the way he stroked her, decided she’d have to get him in front of a mirror today. The fantasy was driving her to delirium. “I’ve already sold my soul”—that got her a grin, and she had to kiss his dimple then—“so I have little credibility, but Nikita seems to be better than some.”
“Not saying much.”
“No.” She ran one hand down over his chest, loving the fact that she could adore him at her leisure, without worry, without fear. As long as nothing leaked out into the Net, no one would come hunting—not in Nikita’s territory. “Max, do you mind that we have to continue to be careful?” Whatever change was happening, it was a slow, secret thing.
“I almost lost you to total rehabilitation,” he said, his tone somber. “Compared to that, a little discretion is nothing. And”—a Max smile—“you know it turns me on when you’re all prim and proper in public. I just want to take you home and strip you naked, teach you wicked, wicked things.” Possessive hands shaping her flesh with sensual intent.
“Oh yeah?” She began to slide her hand south. “Maybe—”
The doorbell chimed, interrupting Max’s groan of anticipation.
He scowled when she looked up. “Ignore it. It’s probably Nikita’s henchmen come to make sure I’m giving ‘due consideration’ to her offer.”
“As if you’ll make any decision but the one you want.” She pushed him. “Go answer the door. They won’t go away until you do.”
A black look on his face, Max got up and pulled on his jeans, the tattoo on his back stunning. And, Sophia thought, it wasn’t only because he’d had her name written on the blade. “I love you, Cop.”
He turned to nip at her lower lip. “Good ’cause you’ve got life with no possibility whatsoever of parole.” Then, barefoot and with sleep-tumbled hair, he walked out. She knew he’d done it on purpose—to irritate any assistants Nikita had sent.
Getting out herself, she pulled on a thick terrycloth robe and began to brush her hair. “Shall we go see who it is?” she asked Morpheus, who was snaking around her ankles.
As if he understood, he padded over, with her following.
Her hand stopped in midstroke when she saw the man in the doorway.
Max gripped the doorjamb, his knuckles going white. “How did you get past security?” It was the first question that came out, the last thing he cared about.
The blond man in the corridor clasped the wrist of one hand with the other. “I told them who I was at the desk, and they said I was on the list. So . . . I . . .” He swallowed. “Did you know? I mean, should I go? I thought—”
Reaching out, Max grabbed his younger brother in a bone-crushing embrace. “You fucking idiot. If you try to run off this time, I’m dumping your ass in jail.”
River’s arms locked around him. Max felt dampness against his skin, had to blink his own eyes, swallow the knot in his throat. Raising a hand after a long, long time, he messed up the hair on the back of River’s head. “Where have you been, kid?”
River gave a sheepish grin as they drew apart. “Getting my shit together.”
“You couldn’t do that without disappearing?”
River dropped his head, shoving his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. It made Max grin, his heart full to overflowing. He knew this man, grown though he might be.
“Max?” Sophia’s gentle voice. “Are you going to invite him in or interrogate him on the doorstep?”
River’s eyes widened as he laid them on Sophia. “Wow, Max, what did you tell her to get her to let you in the door?”
Max cuffed his brother good-naturedly on the ear as River slid in past him and bent to kiss Sophia on the cheek. “Hello, are you sure you’re with the right brother?”
Sophia had never had a younger sibling. But this man with his laughing eyes and bright smile . . . “Are you making me an offer?”
“I would”—a whisper—“but Max always was a little possessive.”
Max’s arm came around her waist, heavy, warm, real. “Don’t you forget it.”
River looked up at Max as her cop turned to press his lips to Sophia’s temple, and for an instant, Sophia saw the truth of River’s emotions laid bare. So much love, so much need, so much pain. Max’s brother, she thought, needed them. “Welcome home, River.”
His expression shifted into a wary kind of hope. “Yeah?” But he was looking at Max.
Max reached out to thump a fist on River’s shoulder. “You’re staying if I have to tie you to the furniture.”
“No need,” River said, dipping his head but not before Sophia saw the sheen in his eyes, “just tie me to your Sophia.”
“I think,” Sophia said as Max mock-scowled, “I’m going to like having a younger brother.” Reaching out, she slipped her arm into the crook of River’s elbow. “So, tell me all of Max’s secrets.”
Max curled his hand around her nape. “Hey now, no ganging up on me.”
River laughed, said something. So did Max, the heat of his hold burning through to warm every part of her as she listened to the joy beneath their words.
Home.
Finally, they were all home.
Five things happened later that month. All of them momentous in very different ways.
One: Max decided there were medicines he could take for hives.
Two: Councilor Nikita Duncan met Councilor Anthony Kyriakus to draw up a plan to protect their territory against incursions by others on the Council.
Three: Sascha Duncan managed to stop a fight between ten six-year-old changeling leopards using her ability—though she couldn’t figure out how she’d done it.
Four: Councilor Kaleb Krychek found the beginnings of a trail that could one day lead him to his quarry.
And five . . . Max bought Sophia some very naughty lingerie for their honeymoon.
Turn the page for a special preview of Nalini Singh’s next Psy-Changeling novel
Play of Passion
Coming November 2010 from Berkley Sensation!
Indigo wiped the rain off her face, clearing it for a split second, if that. The torrential downpour continued with relentless fury, slamming ice-cold bullets against her skin and turning the night dark of the forest impenetrable. Ducking her head, she spoke into the waterproof microphone attached to the sodden collar of her black T-shirt. “Do you have him in your sights?”
The voice that came back was deep, familiar, and at that instant, lethally focused. “Northwest, half a mile. I’m coming your way.”
“Northwest, half a mile,” she repeated to ensure they were both on the same page. Changeling hearing was incredibly acute, but the rain was savage, drumming against her skull until even the high-tech receiver she’d tucked into her ear buzzed with noise.
“Indy, be careful. He’s functioning on the level of a feral wolf.”
Under normal circumstances, she’d have snarled at him for using that ridiculous nickname. Tonight, she was too worried. “That goes double for you. He hurt you in that first tangle.”
“It’s only a flesh wound. I’m going quiet now.”
Slicking back her hair, she took a deep breath of the watery air and began to stalk toward their prey. Her fellow hunter was right—a pincer maneuver was their best bet for taking Joshua down without damage. Indigo’s gut clenched, pain blooming in her heart. She didn’t want to have to hurt him. Neither did the tracker on the boy’s trail—the reason why the bigger, stronger wolf had been injured in the earlier clash.
But he’d have to if they couldn’t bring Joshua back from the edge; the boy was so lost in anguish and torment that he’d given in to his wolf. And the wolf, young and out of control, had taken those emotions, turned them into rage. Joshua was now a threat to the pack. But he was also their own. They’d bleed, they’d drown in this endless rain, but they would not execute him until they’d exhausted every other option.
A branch raked across her cheek when she didn’t move fast enough in the stormy weather.
Sharp. Iron. Blood.
Indigo swore low under her breath. Joshua would catch her scent if she wasn’t careful. Turning her face up to the rain, she let it wash away the blood from the cut. But it was still too bright, too unmistakable a scent. Wincing—their healer would strip her hide for this—she went to the earth and slathered mud over the superficial injury. The scent dulled, became sodden with earth.
It would do. Joshua was so far gone that he wouldn’t detect the subtle scent.
“Where are you?” It was a soundless whisper as she stalked through the rain-lashed night. Joshua hadn’t taken a life yet, hadn’t killed or maimed. He could be brought back—if his pain, the vivid, overwhelming pain of a young male on the cusp of adulthood, allowed him to return.
A slashing wind . . . bringing with it the scent of her prey. Indigo stepped up her pace, trusting the eyes of the wolf who was her other half, its vision stronger in the dark. She was gaining on the scent when a wolf’s enraged howl split the air.
Growls, the sickening clash of teeth, more iron in the air.
“No!” Pushing her speed to dangerous levels, she jumped over fallen logs and newly made streams of mud and water without really seeing them, heading toward the scene of the fight. It took her maybe twenty seconds and a lifetime.
Lightning flashed the instant she reached the small clearing where they fought, and she saw them framed against the electric-dark sky, two changelings in full wolf form, locked in combat. They fell to the earth as the lightning died, but she could still see them, her eyes tracking with lethal purpose.
The tracker—the hunter—was bigger, his normally stunning silver-colored fur sodden almost black, but it was the smaller wolf, his pelt a reddish hue, who was winning—because the hunter was holding back, trying not to kill. Aware that her drenched clothing would make stripping difficult, Indigo shifted as she was. It was a searing pain and an agonizing joy, her clothes disintegrating off her, her body turning into a shower of light before forming into a sleek wolf with a body built for running.
She jumped into the fight just as the red wolf—Joshua—slashed a line into his opponent’s side. The bigger wolf gripped the teenager’s neck. He could’ve killed then, as he could have earlier, but he was attempting only to subdue. Joshua was too far gone to listen; he reached out, trying to go for the hunter’s belly. Teeth bared, Indigo leapt. Her paws came down on the smaller wolf, holding his struggling, snarling body to the earth.
She didn’t know how long they stood there, holding the violent wolf down, refusing to let him go over that final destructive edge. The hunter’s eyes met hers. A brilliant copper in his wolf form, they were so unusual, she’d never seen the like in any other wolf, changeling or feral. She glimpsed a piercing intelligence in that gaze, one that many people missed because he laughed so easily, charmed with such open wickedness.
Most didn’t even realize he was SnowDancer’s tracker, able to trace rogue wolves through snow, wind, and, tonight, endless rain. And though it was not their practice to call him hunter, he was that, too, charged with executing those they could not save. But Joshua understood who it was he faced. Because he went silent at long last, his body limp beneath theirs.
Indigo released her grip with care, but he didn’t spring up, even when the larger wolf let go. Worried, she shifted back into human form between one instant and the next, her hair plastered to her naked back. The tracker stood guard next to her, his fur rubbing wet against her skin.
“Joshua,” she said, leaning down to speak to the boy, determined to bring him back from his wolf. “Your sister is alive. We got her to the infirmary in time.”
No recognition in those dark yellow eyes, but Indigo wasn’t a SnowDancer lieutenant because she gave up easily. “She’s asking for you, so you better snap out of it and get up.” She put every ounce of her dominance in her next command. “Right now.”
A blink from the wolf, a cocked head. As Indigo watched, he rose shakily to his feet. When she reached for him, he lowered his head, whimpering. “Shh,” she said, gripping his muzzle and staring straight into those wolf-bright eyes. His gaze slid away. Joshua was too young, too submissive in comparison to her strength, to challenge her in that way.
“I’m not angry,” Indigo said, ensuring he heard the truth in her words, in the way she held him—firm, but not in a grip that would cause pain. “But I need you to become human.”
Still no eye-contact. But he heard her. Because the next instant, the air filled with sparks of light and a split second after that, a young male barely past his fourteenth birthday was kneeling naked on the earth, his face drawn. “Is she really okay?” It was a rasp, the wolf in his voice.
“Have I ever lied to you?”
“I was meant to be watching her, except I—”
“You weren’t at fault.” She put her fingers on his jaw, anchoring him with touch, with Pack. “It was a rockfall—nothing you could’ve done. She’s got a broken arm, two broken ribs, and a pretty cool scar on her eyebrow that she’s already showing off like a peacock.”
The recital of injuries seemed to stabilize Joshua. “That sounds like her.” A wavering smile, a quick, wary glimpse up at her before he dropped his gaze.
Smiling—because if he was scared about the consequences of his actions, he was back—Indigo gave in to her relief and nipped the pup sharply on the ear. He cried out. Then buried his face in her neck. “I’m sorry.”
She ran her hand down his back. “It’s okay. But if you ever do this again, I’ll strip your hide and use it to make new sofa cushions. Got it?”
Another shaky smile, a quick nod. “I want to go home.” He swallowed, turned to look at the tracker. “Thanks for not killing me. I’m sorry I made you come out in the rain.”
