Shards of Hope (Psy-Changeling 14)

Miane inclined her head in regal acceptance of the offer. “Malachai will send you more photos, and we will share the information about Olivia’s e-mail account so you can track from your end while we do it from ours.” Her chilly gaze, which had gone to her lieutenant, shifted back to Aden. “We did not attack you and have no desire to make an enemy of you.”

A strand of her hair escaping to slide against her face, she added, “You should also know that Jim was no drug addict. He lost two family members to a drug that was created by a sea changeling”—a tightening of her lips—“and that affects our biochemistry specifically. It turned him adamantly against drugs.”

“It could also be argued that he had a genetic predisposition to addiction.”

“Do you know your people?” A blunt question.

“I get your point.”

“Olivia, too, was strong and healthy, with no tendencies toward mind-altering substances.”

“Could she have built the poison bombs?”

“Yes. She’s a chemist, a very good one.”

Stepping out into a patch of moonlight, Aden said, “It appears your packmates were forcibly addicted to keep them on a short leash. Olivia was likely addicted after building the bombs—or the components at least.”

Yes, Zaira thought, that made sense. Olivia’s captors had used Persephone as the leash at first, but had wanted further control when they sent Olivia out into the world. In all probability, she’d come to the end of her expertise, and was thus rendered expendable. Now, so would her daughter be.

Screaming anger howling in her skull, Zaira knew there was a good chance Persephone was already dead, killed when her mother outlived her usefulness, but until she knew for certain, she would consider the child alive and a hostage.

“I would not sacrifice my people this way,” Miane said in answer to the unasked question in the air. “I would not degrade them.”

Zaira believed her. There was something undeniably ruthless about Miane, but her grief was real, as was her fury.

“The e-mail details.” Malachai passed over a slip of paper.

Zaira immediately saw why he’d been able to get into his packmate’s account so easily.

The password was “Persephone.”

Looking up with her own fury a firestorm inside her, she said, “No child should ever be put in a cage.”

“It appears we understand one another.” Reaching into a hidden pocket, Miane retrieved a black card engraved with her name and contact details and gave it to Zaira. “Should you need to get in touch with me. Now, we must hunt.”

It looks like you have made a political ally, Aden said as Miane and her guards left.

Zaira held the card so Aden could see it, too. I think she sensed that we are very similar in certain ways.

“You should take her up on her offer.”

“For political purposes?”

“No, out of friendship. If nothing else, you will have a conversation with a woman rumored to be a mako shark in changeling form—though I’m not so certain she’s anything so explicable.”

Zaira slid away the card. “Friendship.” She’d never considered the concept in relation to anyone but Aden, certainly never with anyone outside the squad. But she’d already broken countless rules. Why not this one, too?

Chapter 52

DEVRAJ SANTOS WAS on the phone with one of Aden’s people, hammering out details of the training protocol they were creating for the fiercely strong and unique psychic abilities now appearing in the Forgotten population, when Aubry ran into his office. Dev took one look at the urgency on his normally laid-back vice director’s face and cut the conversation short.

“What is it?” he asked Aubry.

“There’s just been a kidnapping attempt against five of our children.”

Dev’s anger was an arctic thing. The Forgotten had been through this once before, would rise up in bloody war to stop a second wave of innocent death. “The ones with SnowDancer and DarkRiver?” The two packs had offered safe harbor for gifted Forgotten children who needed to grow into their strength away from covetous eyes.

“Safe.” Aubry flipped an organizer toward him, his Texan drawl having turned clipped and hard. “These five are too young to relocate, were playing together in a small park when a fucking assault force came after them.”

Taking the organizer, Dev flipped through the images from the scene. “Injuries?”

“Kids are scared but safe. All three of the parents who were shooting the breeze while the kids played are down with severe wounds.” His hand tightened, tendons pushing up against the deep brown of his skin. “The adults confirmed the attackers were Psy, and that they had a symbol on their uniforms that traces back to the Marshall family.”

“How are the children safe if this was an assault force?”

“Luck,” Aubry said, voice grim. “Tag and Tiara were armed and close enough to respond to the telepathic cries for help. Otherwise, we’d be looking at dead parents and abducted children.”

In spite of his anger, Dev could see what Aubry couldn’t, blinded as the other man was by the terror and pain he’d witnessed at the site. “Why would the team wear identifiable gear, Aubry?” It went against every tenet of black ops. “Especially that of a prominent family?”

“Stupidity? Arrogance?” Aubry ran both hands over his clean-shaven skull, his eyes glittering. “Tiara and Tag shot a couple of them, so we’ve got blood at least, even if they all escaped. Fucking cowards.”