Shards of Hope (Psy-Changeling 14)

“Don’t get dead.”

“I wouldn’t dare.”

Feeling her mind curl around him, Aden made his way down to the small neighborhood park with her. The two of them were dressed in civilian clothing—jeans and a white shirt for him, over which he’d thrown on the leather jacket Zaira had lent back to him. She wore a soft pink V-neck sweater borrowed from Ivy over her own black pants. It made them appear the couple they were, and meant they blended in with the people around them, though Aden could tell he was being recognized.

Three or four people nodded at him, but didn’t interrupt. An elderly man, however, came over. “You’re the Arrow,” he said, leaning heavily on a cane. “I heard you were captured, dead, or in hiding.”

“As you can see,” Aden replied, “I’m alive and well.” He also planned on a small demonstration of his power later that night in order to quash the claims of him being too weak to lead the squad.

The time for secrets was over.

Now his men and women needed him to be a bogeyman bigger than any other.

“Stupid rumors.” A huffed-out breath from the elderly man. “Can’t afford to have you die—the whole thing would collapse.”

Leaving the man sitting on a wooden bench, he and Zaira did a sweep of the park while appearing to do nothing but stroll, his left hand loosely linked with her right. It was why she’d accompanied him rather than any of the other members of the squad—the tabloids were already starting to hint at a relationship between them, so her presence wouldn’t be remarked upon except in that context.

They kept their senses on alert the entire forty minutes it took them to map out the park. It was highly likely the enemy had some kind of base in New York. It explained how they’d been able to organize the previous attempt on Aden’s life so soon after his arrival in Manhattan. If they were so bold as to make a second attempt, Aden and Zaira would be ready.

At present, though, the only people nearby were families taking advantage of the gentle early evening sunlight, and other people out for a stroll. When a small girl accidentally kicked her ball over to Aden, he kicked it back to her. She waved at him in thanks and kicked it on to her father.

A ray of sunlight hit her tight bronze curls just as Aden felt his senses prickle. Zaira.

I feel it.

They turned as one to look behind them, but there was no assassin, nothing but ordinary people involved in their own affairs. Aden scanned visually and telepathically, picked up a faint hint of deadly intent, but it wasn’t close. Then his eye caught a glint high up on a building. Even as he processed that information, his visual cortex was cataloguing other glints.

And he realized the enemy had mobilized the heavy artillery this time.

A target with big impact and with a low threat ratio away from other, stronger members of the squad: that was likely to have been the calculation when Aden was chosen to die.

Killing him would destroy the Arrows and strike a blow to the Ruling Coalition at the same time. As a bonus, it would rip away the shield of fear and mystique that protected the most vulnerable members of the squad. After all, shooting Aden in full view of so many witnesses would prove his lack of strength. Not only that, but if some of the witnesses were also murdered, it would indict the squad as being ineffective protectors against the monsters.

Aden had made it his mission in life to appear weak. It was what had allowed him to rise to a position of leadership within the squad right under Ming LeBon’s nose. But at that instant, as he prepared for countless sniper rifles to fire, all directed at him and Zaira and the innocent people around them, he knew the time had come for him to show his true colors. No small demonstration as he’d planned to orchestrate later tonight.

This was going to be a big one.

“Get down!” he called out in a voice that was calm but brooked no disobedience . . . then he reached for power as he’d never before reached. Always prior to this, he’d asked only a little, been given it with no questions asked from the five men and women who knew what and who he was.

Today, he squeezed Zaira’s hand and he took everything.

She went to her knees beside him as he channeled her ability through himself, but no matter that he’d stripped her of her psychic weapons, she made no effort to close that channel, to block him. Neither did Vasic, Axl, Amin, or Cris. Their power blasted through his psychic veins in a single split second. In the next, it became far greater than the sum of its parts.

Because Aden wasn’t a simple telepath. He was a mirror.

Hidden deep in his mind, behind the shields Walker Lauren had taught him to build, was a lens that reflected and multiplied the power he could channel from others. At that instant, he was stronger than a cardinal, the strength of five powerful Arrows merged by his mind into a roar of pure energy.

His telepathy expanded exponentially, until he could scan the entire city, but he didn’t seek to target the minds of the shooters. They were too distant and he couldn’t guarantee he’d locate each and every one. There were too many innocent lives at stake to chance a mistake. Shoving out his right hand, his left still locked with Zaira’s, he thrust out his power just as the bullets began to hit.

•   •   •

ZAIRA sucked in a breath as she saw a bullet heading directly toward them, readying her weakened body to push Aden out of the way. But the bullet seemed to slam into something before she could move and it just fell to the ground like a bird stunned by flying into an unexpected obstacle. Blinking, she stared as it happened again and again . . . and finally she caught a glimpse of the barrier. It was like an oil shimmer on a wet road, visible only in patches of light and color.