Shards of Hope (Psy-Changeling 14)

Judd turned to Vasic. “I can’t see them saying no. It’s not like the squad’s planning to go into construction.”

“No.” Arrows had other skills, skills that had a multitude of uses—and they didn’t all have to do with death, not under Aden’s watch.

“There’s also Kaleb,” Cris said, her next words as pragmatic as the neat little ponytail in which she usually wore her dark brown hair—and the lack of flash with which she handled a sniper rifle. “No point keeping him out since we all know he can go anywhere he wants.”

Aden still wasn’t sure about trusting the cardinal Tk, but Cris was right. They might as well use his abilities should he agree to assist. “Vasic—you or Judd touch base with Kaleb. Amin and I will speak to the DarkRiver alpha about the construction.”

The rest of the meeting was taken up with the finer details of what would be a seismic shift in Arrow lives. Zaira, he said when she would’ve left with the others, I need to speak to you.

I’ve been away from Venice too long. Alejandro is unstable. Shifting her attention to Vasic, she asked the teleporter if he could give her a lift, was gone a second later.

Aden didn’t stop her. If Zaira didn’t want to do something, she wouldn’t do it. She had to choose to come to him.

•   •   •

ZAIRA arrived in Venice knowing she was running away. “Thank you,” she said to Vasic. “I believe Marjorie wanted to speak to you. Do you have a few minutes?”

At Vasic’s nod, she directed him to Marjorie’s location, then headed out to check on Alejandro. He wasn’t in the compound, but, aware he didn’t like to wander far, she did a sweep and found him standing beside a nearby canal. He wasn’t alone.

A large man was gesticulating and poking Alejandro. That could’ve been lethal for the man in question if Zaira hadn’t given Alejandro an order not to attack civilians who weren’t a deadly threat. Because though his brain was damaged in certain ways, Alejandro retained all his offensive and defensive skills. He could kill most untrained individuals in a matter of seconds. As she came closer, she heard what the man was saying.

“I’ve seen you lumbering around. You’re a big dumb lunk, aren’t you?” Spittle flew out of the stranger’s mouth, cruel laughter on his face. “You got any fucking brains at all?” The man continued to poke at Alejandro. “I told you this area is ours. No Psy scum allowed. Get lost or I’ll show you the sharp end of my favorite knife.”

Zaira could’ve ignored the insult to Psy, but never to one of her people. Especially not to someone who was deeply vulnerable on a level this bully of a man couldn’t understand. Normally, she’d have threatened the man into retreat. Today, so soon after her disconnection from the Net, the rage not yet trapped in the abyss where it lived, the switch in her brain, the one that had been thrown when she was a child, it flipped again.

She saw her hand punch out, hit the male in the nose. That took considerable control—she could’ve killed him with a single hit. Instead, she just punched him again and swept his legs out from under him. Blood flew and he was on the ground, his bulk no defense against a fully trained Arrow.

No defense at all against Zaira in a rage.

At some point, her arm began to hurt and she was aware the man wasn’t moving, but she couldn’t stop. He’d belittled Alejandro, threatened to harm him in the future. Zaira had to put a stop to it right now. No one could be permitted to see her or her people as weak, because the weak got hurt and no one was ever again going to hurt her.

Zaira.

When Aden’s voice sliced through her mind like a hot blade, she shrugged it off. He couldn’t be here. She’d left him, left the man she wanted more than anything. But his strong hands were pulling her off her target, his hold not painful but resolute. She went to snap his wrist, couldn’t make herself harm him. Changing direction, she twisted and kicked out in an effort to escape, get back to the man with a face smeared in red.

Arms clamping around her, Aden turned her forcefully away from the body. She caught a fleeting glimpse of another man. A tall one with winter gray eyes and dark hair. Some part of her said she knew who he was, but she couldn’t process the thought right then, her mind hot red.

When the world shimmered around her, she screamed in untrammeled rage, conscious she was being teleported away. Then Aden was releasing her, the other man was gone, and they were alone in a moonlit desert, rolling sand dunes as far as the eye could see. Turning on Aden, she slammed herself into his body, taking him to the ground with her momentum. “He was mine!” she yelled, lifting her arm with the intent of plowing her bloodied and scraped fist into his face.

Instead of bringing up his forearm to block the blow, he placed his hands on her hips and just looked her in the eye, the quiet, intense power of him a hum in the air. She couldn’t bring down her fist, couldn’t complete the hit. Muscles straining as she held the position, she said, “I had him.”

“Yes,” Aden said, no horror in his tone. “Vasic tells me he’s barely alive. He’ll be in surgery for hours to reconstruct his face.”

It felt as if her arm would break if she didn’t bring it down.

Getting off this man she couldn’t hurt, she rose to her feet, spun around to find something to fight, but everywhere she looked, there was only sand. It dissolved to nothing when she picked it up to throw, wasn’t solid enough to pummel. Dropping to her knees, she screamed and screamed but the rage continued to boil in her until it consumed her, became her, became everything.