Shards of Hope (Psy-Changeling 14)

“So we’ve got people embedded within the trusted circles of major players.” Zaira’s eyes gleamed. “Someone really smart and really patient put this entire operation together. Their only mistake is the timing.” She leaned into him. “A year ago, the connections between various groups were far more amorphous. Lucas Hunter and Jen Liu, for example, might never have made contact.”

Wrapping his arm around her waist, he turned her body to face his. “Regardless, this has to be working on some level, particularly with smaller groups who would never connect their problems to a larger conspiracy.”

Zaira thrust her hands into his hair without warning, gripped at it, and pulled him down till his lips were a bare inch from hers. “It’s had a taste of you,” she whispered. “The rage inside me. Now it wants to gorge.”

•   •   •

EVERY time he was near, his scent would get into her lungs . . . No, that wasn’t true. He didn’t have to be near. She’d come here, to his office in this underground place she preferred to avoid, because she hadn’t seen him for six hours and had started to hurt inside her chest from missing him.

“Take me,” he said, his dark eyes filled with so many things she didn’t understand.

“You’re already mine.” It came out instinctively, from that primal, possessive core at the heart of her nature.

He pressed his forehead to hers, not fighting her hold. “I know, but do you?” His hair fell over his forehead to brush hers. “Deep inside, do you know?”

She didn’t understand his question, and the frustration made her pull at his hair. “Stop talking in circles.”

“A psychic bond,” he said, his mind touching hers.

She wanted to open so badly to him. “If you do that, I won’t ever let you go.” If the physical connection had sealed them together, this would turn that seal into an unbreakable glue. “Even my death won’t free you.” The psychic scars would be irreparable.

“Whether we bond or not, your loss would change me forever.” A quiet voice that held so much power it vibrated with it. “You are written indelibly on my soul, Zaira. Nothing will ever alter what you are to me.”

Her rib cage seemed to compress her lungs, the pain sharp.

No one but Aden had ever treated her as if she had that much value, that much worth.

Sliding down her shields, she found his were already open for her. The connection was deeper than a private telepathic pathway; it was the kind of contact two operatives might make so they could work as a seamless unit. The difference was that this connection was fully open on his end. No barriers. No shields. No secrets.

She could’ve gone in and taken everything, drunk in every second of his life. Greedy though she was, she didn’t do that—the rage creature inside her liked the gifts of himself that he gave her. It wouldn’t mean the same if she took advantage and stole him. And this . . . the intimacy made her shudder. There was no aloneness now, not even a whisper of it, Aden’s strong, distinctive presence a silent partner she could carry with her.

Unlike a simple telepathic bond, this one wouldn’t snap once she was out of range. Their minds were tangled together now, as tangled as their limbs when they were alone behind the closed doors to her Venice room. With the tangling came a sense of satisfaction that quieted the possessiveness that clawed at her always, her desire to keep him for herself no longer a monster she had to fight.

“Will you stay?” she asked, though the feral thing in her soul hissed at her not to speak the question, not to give him any reason to second-guess his decision to be with her.

“Have I ever left?”

“No.” Not since the instant she’d woken in that infirmary to find the boy with the quiet eyes and the quiet feet at her bedside. “My mind is a dark place.” She shied away from opening herself up to him as he’d done for her. The twisted girl inside her adored him, didn’t want him to see the horror of her.

“Show me when you’re ready,” Aden said, his words intensified by the echo inside her mind, the sense of him wrapped around her.

Zaira wasn’t sure she’d ever be ready.

Closing the final inch of distance between them, she pressed her lips to his. He angled his head to create a better fit and then they were kissing. The intimacy made a hot, tight fist form in her abdomen, the rage stretching out inside her like one of the big cats she’d seen in RainFire.

When Aden shifted closer, running one hand around her waist to spread it low on her back, the fist grew tighter. His hand was big, warm, and she wanted to feel it on her bare skin. She didn’t realize she’d telepathed the request to him until he tugged up the back of her uniform top and managed to slide his hand underneath despite the fine armored vest that she wore over the black long-sleeved top.

The rough warmth of his hand against her skin was a pleasurable shock, one that was rapidly becoming familiar.

Shivering, she wrapped her arms around his neck and held him to her as she tasted him until her head spun and the rage was molten in her blood. His hand moved slightly on her skin, just enough to make her shiver again as he opened his mouth over hers to deepen the kiss. Her nipples rubbed against her bra, her skin stretched tight over her entire body.

It felt as if she was losing herself in him, but that was all right. After all, he’d given himself to her.

The knock penetrated only in that it might be a threat to Aden. Breaking the kiss, she released him to turn and focus her mind beyond the door. The psychic signature on the other side was easy to identify. “It’s Nerida.”