Well, well, indeed. The ability to link minds, to psychically share thoughts, or, in this case, emotions and pain, was very rare—a bond seldom found outside the domain of twins. But it was a connection he didn’t want with Sam—or anyone else. Not even his twin.
“So we come to the real reason you’re here tonight,” Stephan continued softly. “You are being forced to face what you have denied for so long.”
He turned and faced his brother. “Apparently so.”
Stephan’s expression held very little sympathy. But then, Gabriel wasn’t expecting a whole lot from him. Not when it came to something like this—something that had caused a rift between them for years.
“I told you it would happen someday. You cannot keep denying one part of your soul forever—not without consequences.”
“And you’re saying this link with Sam is a consequence of denying my link with you?”
“I’m saying it’s possible. You may have developed shields strong enough to keep me out, but I am far from the strongest telepath there is.”
“This isn’t telepathy. This is something else.”
“Then perhaps it’s simply a rerouting of your talent.”
“It’s not. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever experienced—”
“You’ve experienced nothing,” Stephan said, his voice sharp. “You closed yourself psychically when Andrea died, and you haven’t allowed that part of yourself to experience anything.”
He turned away from the anger—the accusation—in Stephan’s expression. “And you know why.”
“Denying what you are will not change the events of the past. It will not bring Andrea back to life.”
“Don’t you think I realize that?”
“Then why do you cut yourself off? Why bury yourself in your work? Why give nothing of yourself to your friends or family?”
“You’re a great one to talk about not burying yourself in work. How often do you see Lyssa?”
“Not often enough, that’s for certain.” The anger in Stephan’s voice was stronger. “But at least I have a wife and a child on the way. You have nothing.”
“I have friends.” Though his brother, who should have been closer to him than anyone else, couldn’t really be counted as one of those.
“And a family,” Stephan retorted. “Yet when it comes to your dreams and desires, you confide in neither.”
Because he had no dreams. No desires. Only a wish to someday glide upon the wind and see where it might take him. “It’s safer that way.”
“Safer for whom?”
Safer for everyone—himself included. “I didn’t come here to dissect past decisions.”
“You never do,” Stephan retorted, “but you might want to start talking to someone. If Sam has breached your defenses and somehow created a link that is strong enough for you to feel her pain, we need to know how. And why.”
“That’s part of the re
ason I’m here. I want the Federation labs to go through her test results and see what they can find.”
“What do you hope the Federation labs can find that Finley couldn’t?”
“The origin of that unknown chromosome. Maybe even the reason why, at the age of nearly thirty, she’s beginning to develop psychic abilities.”
A human normally developed psychic skills during puberty, and she was well past that. That it was happening now suggested nonhuman origins—as did her reaction to the Jadrone. Most nonhumans were slower in development, and for changers and shifters, at least, puberty hit at about thirty. And while Sam had all the physical characteristics of an adult, Finley’s tests had showed otherwise. So why hadn’t those tests also revealed a nonhuman link? Or did Finley’s tests only look for the obvious? Maybe they needed to go deeper. Much deeper, and look for things like gene-splicing.
“Send the disk to Martyn. He’ll take care of it.”
“I’m also sending her to Doctor O’Hearn.” O’Hearn was a nonhuman and rare species specialist, and though she wasn’t strictly in the Federation’s employ, she often worked closely with both them and the SIU. “I want the Federation to pick up the cost.”