Shards of Hope

  "I chose this place for you," she said, knowing he was trying to push himself far beyond Silence and happy to walk beside him while he explored. "I'm not certain I can eat anything here. The spices will be too difficult to digest." She'd started to eat foods other than nutritional supplements, too, but there was a limit.

  "Trust me," he said, fingers brushing her shoulder, and when the server came over, he made the order in the local language, the syllables flowing off his tongue as if he'd spoken it since birth.

  "When did you learn?" she asked after the server had moved away.

  "My mother taught me," he told her. "She learned it as a child from another Arrow, and the particular dialect is obscure enough that it acted as a 'secret' language at times." Never totally, only in situations where we could be certain we weren't being recorded.

  Hearing his voice, and then his telepathic voice all in one smooth transition, it was so familiar now, so necessary. "Does Vasic speak it?"

  Aden nodded. "I taught it to him, for the same reason. We made some adaptations so that it truly became a secret language--we don't use it any longer, but it's still there in the memory banks." Would you like to learn?

  Yes. "Teach me."

  "I will. At night." A long look, his thigh pressing against hers. When we're alone.

  Electricity sparked through her, but she didn't want to rush, not tonight. This was their night and it was an important one . . . and perhaps she was scared, too. Putting her hand on Aden's thigh in an effort to calm her thudding heart, she looked out to the desert vista. This area wasn't heavily populated, so there wasn't a sprawl of glittering brightness.

  Instead, the lights were yellow hued and scattered here and there, pouring through the windows of homes lower down on the slight hillside and coming from the campfires of the roaming desert dwellers who preferred a nomadic lifestyle. "Do you think there are changelings in this area?"

  "There are rumors of desert eagles, but no confirmation."

  They went silent as the food appeared. Aden had ordered something with lentils, as well as a flatbread and several vegetable dishes. He tore off a piece of the flatbread, held it out. "Try it."

  She took a small bite, chewed, allowing the flavors to settle on her tongue. "I can eat this." Following his lead, she tried the other dishes, decided some weren't for her, while the lentil soup tasted good.

  They ate slowly, with no rush, nowhere to go. Every so often, the server would come by to top up their water or ask if they needed anything else, but other than that, they were left alone. The conversation flowed as it always did between them; she'd never had to worry about not knowing what to say when it came to Aden.

  At one point, they ended up speaking about the mirror, that part of the conversation almost fully telepathic. I was surprised when Walker told me how young you were when you discovered the mirror. I would've expected Marjorie and Naoshi to know.

  They were Arrows on active duty and around only for short periods. Walker and I first glimpsed the mirror while they were away.

  And you just didn't share the discovery when they returned, Zaira said, guessing he'd used the techniques he'd learned from Walker to hide the mirror's psychic evidence.

  "No, I didn't." Aden's voice held no regret, nothing but a quiet confidence. They'd been telling me I was a weak disappointment as long as I could remember--for all I knew, the mirror was a mutation that would just make things worse. His lips softened unexpectedly, his mental tone different as he added, Walker kept telling me it was a unique gift. That's what carried me through the years until I realized the mirror's purpose.

  Zaira's respect and liking for Walker Lauren kept growing. Can you do it without permission? she asked. Draw power? Not like with Vasic when you were children, but with someone who doesn't have any reason to allow the draw.

  He bent close to her, lips brushing her ear. "Yes." There were circumstances in which I had no choice--I took it from trainers who were hurting children, or from Arrows so far in Silence that they no longer had any idea of conscience. Breath warm against her, he continued to pet her shoulder with those slow, caressing strokes that made her own breath hitch.

  I didn't know at the time that I was making them stronger when I returned the power because I only ever drew a very basic amount--that small draw is why I was never caught. Vasic and I figured out the power differential when I was about fifteen, and that's when I knew exactly how careful I had to be to avoid detection.

  Shifting back from her a little so she could see his face, he said, As for the people from whom I siphoned power without permission, I don't excuse myself by saying I did it for a good reason. I made a choice to survive, and some of those choices were borderline.

  They didn't sound that way to Zaira, but Aden had always had a far stronger moral compass than she'd ever possess. You worry too much.

  His smile lit up his eyes. Will you teach me to play?

  It appears I have to. Picking up a piece of fruit from the dessert tray that had been left on the table when the meal was cleared, she held it to his lips. Try this. They've put something on it. A faint spice that didn't overwhelm.

  He ate it, and it was intimate, the moment. She didn't understand why, except that it was Aden. Allowing herself to lean into him, she surrendered to the here and the now, to this instant under the starlight.

  *

  ADEN sensed Zaira relax totally against him, and something tight in him twisted tighter. He'd never felt her this way, never seen her shields fall this low. He could almost see her mind, the veil that hid it from him paper-thin.

  It was tempting to tear through it, see all of her, but in so doing, he'd destroy the trust that bound them together and savage her. Never would he do that, no matter how much he craved the piercing intimacy of a true psychic bond, one that would hold even over the greatest distance without any conscious effort.

  Fingertips grazing the silk of her upper arm, he sat with her under the stars until the restaurant began to go quiet. Rising to his feet, having already taken care of the bill, he held out a hand, giving her the choice.

  Always, he would give Zaira the choice.

  When she slid her hand into his without hesitation, he felt a warmth deep within, warmth that curled outward in fine tendrils that infiltrated every cell in his body. Getting up, she walked with him past the other tables and down the steps that hugged the side of the house. Hitting the ground, they began to walk along the narrow roads that formed the village in which this restaurant was located.

  The houses were lit up inside, but there were few people on the streets.

  "Can you guess where we're going?" Zaira asked, no urgency in her tone and her hand trustingly in his.

  "Yes." The squad owned a home in this village, part of their network of bolt-holes for those who needed to go under. Oddly enough for such a small town, it was a great place to hide. "My father told me this village was founded by rebels hundreds of years ago," he said. "While they are welcoming, the people ask no questions."

  "An interesting cultural tradition."

  "A useful one." Walking with her down a narrow alleyway lit only by the lamps hung up on a balcony above, he said, "I assume the home is empty right now?"

  "Yes, and no one will disturb us tonight." Zaira leaned her body against his.

  His own body tense with an anticipation that was all the deeper because he knew the taste of her now, he led her to the door of the Arrow home and coded them in. The house was in the same simple style as those around it, made from the red sandstone prevalent in this region, but its hidden security features were of the highest grade. Entering, he turned on a wall sconce, then locked the door behind them.

  When he led Zaira upstairs to the bedroom, she walked to the balcony doors and opened them to reveal the two lanterns that hung on stands outside, sending just enough light into the room that none other was necessary.

  "You did this?" he asked, and when she nodded, he felt as if he'd been given the world. He hadn't expected romanc
e from his tough and lethal commander.

  Picking up a lantern, she brought it inside and hung it on a curl of metal that stuck out from the wall and had clearly been designed for the lantern. "Close the doors."

  He did so, drew the curtains. They weren't blackout curtains, would allow in sunlight in the morning, but at night, they shut out the world, cloaking the room in privacy. Turning after that was done, he found Zaira had moved toward him.

  A soft kiss before she placed her hands on his chest and stroked down, the lamplight setting her ring afire. That he'd never seen her without the ring since the day he gave it to her was another unexpected and wonderful gift.

  "Take this off."

  Skin tight, he undid the top three buttons of his shirt, then reached back and tugged it over his head to drop it on the handwoven rug that covered the wooden floor. Zaira touched him again, the contact making him suck in a breath. It was always a delicious shock, the contact, like lightning through his veins. "Zaira."

  Lashes lowered, she ran her fingers over his pectorals. "I like touching you skin to skin," she murmured, her breath kissing his chest. "I can feel your life, your strength, your need." Her lashes rose. "The tension in your muscles, it's for me."

  "Yes." He cupped the side of her neck, his fingers curving partly around her nape and his thumb brushing her jaw. "You are my addiction."

  *

  ZAIRA felt her pulse kick.

  Leaning in, she pressed her lips to his skin, just because she wanted to do it. His hand curved farther around her nape, the hold nothing she would've permitted any other individual. It left her too vulnerable, but she knew that right then, he was vulnerable, too--his body was taut, his muscles bunched, and when she tasted him with her tongue, a tremor shook his frame.

  That felt good, too. To know that her touch gave him pleasure.

  Bending his head, he pulled her hair away from the side of her face to kiss her temple, her cheek. The heat and strength of him surrounded her, the slick strands of his hair brushing her skin. Sinking into the sensation, she turned and lifted her face toward him. And their lips were touching; the contact somehow reached into her stomach, made it flutter, stealing the fear that had the rage curled up into a tight ball of worry.

  Her hands stroked up to his shoulders of their own accord, her body rising on tiptoe to better fit herself against him. Continuing to hold her with his hand around her nape, his other hand spread on her lower back, he angled his head, and their kiss grew deeper. But he broke it too soon. "What's wrong?" Eyes of deepest brown looking into hers. "I can feel your muscles about to snap."

  Nails digging into his shoulders, she swallowed. "I'm afraid."

  "Of this?" He brushed his thumb over her cheekbone, and she knew if she answered in the affirmative, he wouldn't berate her, wouldn't blame her, wouldn't reject her.

  And in that reminder, she found her courage. "I got you a gift." Bending her neck slightly, she undid the clasp of the fine gold necklace she wore. It was long, had dipped between her breasts. Removing it, she pulled off the ring she'd slipped onto the chain. "This is for you," she said, not quite daring to look up. Possessive and feral she might be where he was concerned, but he also meant too much to her for this not to matter.

  Taking the simple platinum band, Aden curled his arm around her shoulders. "Are you asking me to marry you?" he said and she heard the delight in his tone.

  It made her look up, and his smile had every part of her ready to dance. "Yes," she whispered and kissed him. Will you marry all of me?

  Aden went to answer when Zaira dropped her shields. It felt as if his mind and hers had been stretched to their limit and suddenly, the tension broke. Everything collided in a wild ricochet, his mind smashing into hers, hers into his, both of them totally out of control.

  He saw the broken, jagged shards of her, saw the incandescent and stubborn fire that had never stopped burning, saw her endless, fierce love for him. He was her hope and her dream and her passion, and the knowledge brought him to his knees. She fell with him, her eyes silver mirrors when he looked at her.

  "You love me that much?" she whispered, tears rolling down her face.

  No answer was needed, his heart and soul bare to her, as bare as hers was to him. They just held on to one another as the storm crashed. When it finally began to subside, their minds separating but for a single link he knew no force on this earth could sever, they were both breathing hard.

  As he watched, Zaira's eyes became her own and she met him on the PsyNet, the two of them looking in astonished wonder at the jet-black rope that tied them to one another, the twin strands both Arrow black. But hidden in the black was a brilliant fire that only became apparent if you stepped close.

  "Thank you," he whispered back in the room in the desert, his voice raw. "Thank you for giving me you."

  More tears before she threw her arms around his neck and held on tight. "You love me," she whispered again. "All of me." Drawing back, she kissed him again, and the intimacy was a punch of intoxication, the bond feeding him her pleasure as well as his. He had the feeling he could shut that off, but he didn't want to, wanted to drown in her.

  He'd intended to give her romance tonight, too, but the bond pulsed with a visceral need he had to assuage. Realizing he was still gripping the ring, he pushed it into her hand. "Put it on me." He was hers in every way that mattered--the ceremony would be for others, for their friends and those in their care. This was for them.

  Kissing his jaw, his throat, she looked down and, picking up his hand, slid on the ring. "All mine."

  "Always have been."

  Zaira rubbed her nose against his, and the spontaneous act of affection tipped him over. Shoving up the skirt of her dress as desire burned, he kissed her hard. She wrapped her legs around his waist, her tongue licking against his. Groaning, he reached between them and somehow managed to undo his jeans, shove down the denim and his briefs. It took a little more effort to kick them off, but he was highly motivated.

  Naked at last, he nudged aside the gusset of her panties. A single stroke of his finger through her wetness and her back arched, the sensations that came shooting back at him through the bond threatening to make his eyes roll back in his head. Then she bit him on the jaw and it was all over.

  He thrust into her wet heat in a single, demanding push.

  Clenching around him as their mouths tangled, Zaira moved with him, the rug bunching up under her body. Some small part of him realized she'd be bruised from being on the bottom, so he flipped them over, but they stayed locked together, his right hand holding the back of her neck and his left gripping her hip as they rocked together.

  Her own hands were all over him, petting and clawing and owning.

  When her body stiffened on his, her pleasure went straight to his blood, a drug punched into his system. He could no more stop the orgasm than he could let her go.

  Chapter 81

  ZAIRA WOKE NAKED in bed under the diffuse sunlight that filtered in through the curtains. Her ears and other senses told her it wasn't long after dawn, the village yet waking. The man who slept with his leg thrown across her thighs and his arm curved below her breasts, however, wasn't awake. Turning only her head so as not to disturb him, she watched him sleep.

  His hair had fallen across his face, his features relaxed, and she suddenly realized how young he truly was. Twenty-nine a bare three weeks ago. Less than a quarter of the normal life span of a hundred and thirty. And yet he'd been a leader since as long as she could remember. He'd been that when he was a mere boy unlocking her manacles.

  All his life, he had been forced to be older than his years, to make decisions that should've been made by those who'd lived far longer. All Arrows were forced to grow up fast, but Aden, he'd been born into a pressure cooker that had never let up. She'd seen how his parents treated him--not as a son, but as a soldier in their war.

  That war might have been for the good of the squad, but it had stolen something from Aden. Even she, feral, b
loodthirsty creature that she'd been, had understood what it was to be a child. She didn't think Aden ever had.

  Will you teach me to play?

  At the memory of his question, she thought of how she'd seen Ivy Jane laughing as she teased Vasic, of how the teleporter would quietly say something back that made the empath laugh even harder, her eyes bright. That was play and it was what Aden needed.

  How extraordinary that she should be the one to think that, to believe that she could lead him into play. What did she know about such things?

  "I know," she whispered almost soundlessly, "that he is more important to me than anything, even the squad." It was exactly as it should be--he needed to be someone's number one priority. And if he needed play, Zaira would learn how.

  Last night.

  The telepathic words were in his voice, and yet he was asleep, the words muffled. As if he'd heard her thoughts in his sleep through their bond--their bond--and given her an answer.

  Last night had been play.

  She hadn't consciously considered it that way, but he was right. It had been play. Just the two of them, doing what they wanted to do. No rules, no expectations. They'd ended up tangled on the floor after that first time, had lain there wrecked for long, long minutes before Aden finally groaned and got up, throwing her limp form onto the bed.

  She'd laid back lazily and let him strip her, and by the time he finished, she'd revived enough to pounce on him. He hadn't complained, not in the least. Especially when she used her mouth on him--at one point, he'd muttered that she didn't need any manual. All she had to do was put her mouth near his erection and he was done.

  The memory had her dropping a kiss to his throat, the rage inside her stretched out and lazy. Its insane possessiveness was as deep as always, but it wouldn't slip the leash, not now, because Aden belonged to her. Before anyone else, he belonged to her. It made her feel smug and content.

  Zaira didn't think she'd ever been content.

  "You look like a happy cat," Aden murmured when his lashes lifted. "I can feel you purring at the back of my mind."

  Shifting to lie flat on her stomach, Zaira kicked up her legs. "Want me to stop?"

  "No." He ran his fingers down her spine. "I like it."