Shards of Hope (Psy-Changeling 14)

“Because everyone should have something of their own.”

It was much later that she’d discovered the “button” was actually a subtle indication of rank and that it had belonged to Aden’s mother before she was promoted. Aden secretly kept it with him when his parents were out in the field. Despite that knowledge, she’d never returned it. At the moment it was safely hidden in the false bottom of a trunk in her room in Venice. It was hers; he’d given it to her.

Nobody else but Alejandro had ever given her anything. And Alejandro didn’t count—he didn’t have a choice. His imprinting drove him to offer her everything he owned. He would do the same even should she kick him bloody morning, noon, and night. Aden, however, had always had a choice, and he’d given her not just the pin but also other small things over the years. All of which she would never return.

Opening the shampoo, she lathered up her hair. A scent reached her nose soon afterward but it was light enough that she could ignore it. It was only as she was stepping out of the shower ten minutes later that she realized she hadn’t thought about fresh clothes. A knock came on the door right then. “Zaira—a RainFire pack member dropped off a change of clothes a few minutes ago.”

Cracking the door open, she took the bundle he held out.

“Most of it is borrowed from pack members,” he said, “but they were able to find some new things in their stores.”

“Thank you.”

In the pile was an unopened package that held three pairs of panties. She broke the seal, took out a dark blue pair, and found it fit well enough. No bra, but the bandeau provided had enough hooks that she could cinch it tight around her frame. The fact that she had relatively generous breasts on a small frame had always been a source of annoyance, but she’d never considered having them reduced, for the simple reason that she didn’t trust anyone to play around with her body while she was unconscious. Being injured and forced into it was bad enough—why do it on purpose?

The dark green cargo pants were big in the waist, but whoever had chosen the clothing had included a belt and punched in extra holes for her. She had to roll up the bottoms a couple of times, but otherwise, the pants were strong and warm. If necessary, she could wear them for several days before they’d need to be washed.

On top, she pulled on a black T-shirt. Since she didn’t like loose fabric that an opponent could use to pull her toward him or her, she undid the belt and tucked in the tee. The short sleeves were still too big, but she’d just have to manage that risk. Her used clothing she put into the small basket in the corner, guessing that RainFire had central laundry facilities she and Aden would be able to access.

Aden went in as soon as she stepped out.

She’d shared quarters with squadmates before, usually on missions, but this felt different. Maybe because these quarters were unlike any she’d ever before had, and maybe because the blackness and continuous rain outside turned it into a cocoon. Yet despite its compact size, the aerie didn’t have any sense of being a prison.

There was a large window on the opposite wall and, when she checked, she saw the clasp was unlocked so she could open it at will. Also bringing the outside in was the equally large skylight above the bed. Currently covered by fallen leaves, it nonetheless also had a latch that could be opened.

Zaira decided she liked changeling architecture.

On the left wall was a small set of cubbies in which Aden had placed the rest of the clothes the changelings had dropped off. Zaira went through them, then looked around until she found her boots. They’d been placed beside the bed, no doubt by Aden. Bare feet could be a serious disadvantage in a fight, so their boots were designed to ensure they could literally roll out of bed and slam their feet into them and be ready.

The bed itself was large enough to accommodate them both, the mattress firm but the bedding soft. Quite unlike the plain cotton sheets and scratchy blanket she used in daily life. The large, flat cushions on the floor in front of the small comm screen confused her until she realized she was in a changeling living space—the cushions were meant to accommodate both human and feline bodies.

Trained to adapt to any environment she was in at the time, Zaira went down and touched the cushions, then took a seat on one.

“Comfortable?” Aden asked as he left the bathroom.

“I don’t know,” she said, bracing herself with her palms on either side. “The body sinks into these.”

“I think that’s the point.” He came to stand beside her, his damp hair pushed off his forehead and his body clad in jeans and a white T-shirt that had a sports emblem of some kind in black on the front.

He looked young. Like a man who had nothing more important on his mind than a sports game. The illusion only lasted if you didn’t look into his eyes. Because in those eyes lived the unwavering determination of a man who’d toppled a former Councilor from power and who had long ago won the fidelity of the most dangerous men and women in the Net.

Moving to the small area to the right that appeared to be for food preparation, he opened the cupboard and pulled out a sealed container. “It’s a high-energy drink mix.” He made two mugs of it, brought her one. “Likely too sweet for us, but we need the energy if our injuries are to heal.”

“You made it with hot water.” Ivy Jane did that because she wanted her guests to be warm; for some reason, no one in the squad had pointed out to her that their uniforms insulated them from the weather.

Aden took a seat on the floor opposite her, his back against the wall and one leg stretched out on the polished wood of the floor, the other bent at the knee. Bracing his left arm on that knee, he said, “Perhaps Ivy has inadvertently conditioned me that such drinks must be warm if given to another.”