Heart of Obsidian

Chapter 40

“IT’S A COMPLEX poison,” Vasic said in less than a minute, “would’ve incapacitated you almost immediately.” His eyes shifted to the would-be assassin. “At which point, she would’ve killed you with the garrote in her bracelet.” Removing the bracelet, he snapped out the thin metal wire designed to cut off a target’s air supply with silent efficiency.

“Who sent you?” Kaleb asked, releasing the woman’s jaw so she could reply.

“Do what you will, Councilor Krychek,” was the icy response. “My mind is set to implode at any attempt at an intrusion.”

“Interesting.” Having already told the DarkMind to entrap her so she couldn’t connect to anyone on the psychic plane, he pinched a nerve that made her slump to the ground, then ordered another of his men on the scene to blindfold and tie her up. “Put her somewhere out of the way. I’ll deal with her later.”

He ’ported the poisonous drink into a biohazard container on-site, just as Vasic said, “The explosives used at this site have been traced back to a Council depot in Europe under Ming’s control.”

Kaleb had always believed Ming to be the martial mastermind behind Henry Scott during the time the now-dead Councilor headed Pure Psy, but this type of indiscriminate violence didn’t fit Ming’s modus operandi. Neither did Pure Psy’s racial agenda. It was far too irrational and Ming was nothing if not rational; that was part of what made him so dangerous.

However, Ming was also fully capable of playing a deep game, Pure Psy likely nothing but a pawn to help further an agenda of which the fanatical group knew nothing. “I’ll have one of my men tug that thread,” he said to Vasic, “see what comes of it. I want the squad to remain on Pure Psy.”

It wasn’t until six hours later, having done everything he could to assist in the search for survivors, that Kaleb had time to deal with the woman who had attempted to poison him. But first he wanted to see Sahara. Locking on her image, he found her alone in the tent that had functioned as a canteen for survivors and those working in the field hospital. She was tidying up the detritus, the area quiet and calm.

From his telepathic conversations with her during the past hours, he knew the majority of the survivors were now in hospitals in Geneva and nearby cities. Each also had the support of at least one individual from his or her own country, the multilingual representatives having been flown in from around the world on high-speed jets courtesy of an airline controlled by Nikita Duncan.

The ex-Councilor wasn’t famous for being a humanitarian, but she was smart enough to know the action would paint her in a positive light when the dust settled. It was an intelligent, calculated move worthy of the woman who had lasted more than a decade on the Council. Nikita, he thought, would always find a way to come out alive on the other side.

Anthony Kyriakus, too, had made his mark. An unidentified NightStar foreseer had seen a vision of further bombings in Luxembourg and Paris with enough specificity for both to be averted. “It is unfortunate that we could not do the same for other recent tragedies,” had been the statement of the NightStar press officer when questioned by media in the aftermath. “Nonbusiness foresight is a new area for NightStar, and we are learning that not all events can be foreseen or averted.”

Some things, Kaleb thought as Sahara looked up and saw him, had to be survived.

“Kaleb!” She flew into his arms.

Holding her close, her breath warm on his cheek, her body slender but strong against his, he felt as if he’d come home. He didn’t know how long they stood locked together, but when they did draw apart, he kept his promise to not withhold anything from her and told her about the attempted poisoning.

Sahara hissed out a breath, eyes incandescent with fury. “Take me to her.” No one hurts you.

“Only a retrieval, Sahara,” he said, gripping her chin. “Nothing else, nothing that will affect your memories.” I need you to remember me.

“She’s not worth a piece of my life.” A scathing judgment. “Now take me to her.”

This time, he did as ordered. Sahara didn’t speak, simply stepped close enough that her hand was an inch from the blindfolded woman’s face, then nodded at him. He ’ported them directly to the Moscow house. Should her language skills be needed again, he’d take her back, but the nonspecialist volunteers were capable of handling the cleanup.

“That woman is one of Ming’s people,” she said, heading into the kitchen to get them both energy supplements. “A low-level operative who was in the area. It wasn’t a well-planned operation, but a chance opportunity Ming decided to utilize.”

“He knows I’m on the verge of taking over the Net.”

Sahara stirred cherry flavoring into her drink, after passing him an undoctored glass. “What will you do to him?”

“Nothing.” Seeing her open disbelief, he traced the shape of her upper lip with his finger. “There are others who have deeper grievances against Ming. It’ll be handled.”

“Kaleb, you don’t trust anyone except me . . . and your two friends.” Sahara nudged at him to finish his drink. “Is it the fallen Arrow who has the prior claim?”

“Not Judd alone. He’s simply the one with whom I have a connection.” Kaleb put down his empty glass. “I’d be extremely surprised if Ming doesn’t end up torn apart by changeling claws and teeth.”

Sahara halted with her own drink halfway to her mouth. “Changelings?”

“Judd’s niece is someone Ming wants dead or in his control. She’s also mated to the alpha of SnowDancer, considered the most dangerous changeling pack in the world.” Kaleb tapped her glass until Sahara lifted it to her mouth. “Man like that won’t rest until he’s eradicated the threat against his woman.” Kaleb wondered if the wolf alpha would be surprised to find he had something in common with Kaleb Krychek. “Hungry?”

Sahara wrinkled her nose. “Shower first.”

They’d just reached the bedroom when his cell phone rang. It was Aden on the other end. “Vasquez is proving his intelligence,” were the Arrow’s opening words. “His entire team split up after Geneva and scattered in different directions. We captured one; two others suicided when cornered. There are signs two more remain at large.”

An impressive result, but they both knew it wasn’t enough. “Vasquez?”

“Signs point to him being here, but he slipped away.” Though Aden’s voice betrayed nothing, his frustration level had to be high—in the icy way of any Arrow denied his target. “Interrogation of the captive did yield one piece of data; he was assigned to the Luxembourg site with a member of the team we haven’t yet captured. Luxembourg and Paris, however, were also both meant to be distractions.”

“The prisoner didn’t know why Pure Psy needed the distractions, did he?” Vasquez was smart, smart enough to keep information on a need-to-know basis.

“No,” Aden confirmed. “But whatever it is, it’s happening soon, and it’s important enough that a lieutenant we were about to capture threw herself off the side of a building rather than surrender.”

No organization could afford to lose its entire leadership, and now not only had Vasquez risked exposure, his top people were sacrificing themselves to protect their secret. “Leave the teams who have live leads in the field,” he said to Aden. “I want you to rest, along with a rapid response team. We move the instant Vasquez surfaces or Pure Psy makes a move.”

“Agreed.”

Hanging up, he relayed the information to Sahara. “Vasquez might have gone under,” he said, “but his options for safe harbor are limited and shrinking by the minute.”

We wanted to protect our people. We didn’t want the blood of children on our hands.

It was a refrain Kaleb had seen over and over again in the reports Silver had forwarded him, of minor players who had either turned themselves in after his warning blasted through the Net or been turned in by others. “The populace isn’t so Silent,” he said, watching Sahara peel off her T-shirt, “as to not be horrified by the growing atrocities.”

She dropped the T-shirt to the floor and kicked off her shoes. “It makes me hope,” she said softly, “that we have inside us the capacity to build a better future.”

Kaleb didn’t understand hope, but he knew he would do everything in his power to give Sahara the future that was a fragile dream in her eyes as she walked toward him, bare to the skin. Reaching him, she tugged up his long-sleeved black T-shirt, then undid his belt.

“I’ll wait for you in the shower,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to the center of his chest. “I think, after so many years, no one can begrudge us for stealing a little time.”

His eyes caressed every inch of her as she walked away from him with the grace of the dancer she’d always been . . . and he knew she was healing in the deepest of ways. Ripping off the rest of his clothing, he stepped into the shower behind her, his hands at her hips. The hot water pounded over them, but the beat of his heart was louder, deeper, stronger.

Bending his head to her neck, he kissed her throat, his hands rising to cup her breasts. She arched into him with a shudder, her hands slippery on his thighs, his Sahara who had never turned away from him. Picking up her arms, he brought them around his neck, then poured some of the liquid soap into his hands. She moved with a sinuous sensuality against him as he slicked the soap over her skin, the foam trickling down her legs.

“Put your hands on the wall.”

She obeyed his quiet order with a smile that was at once sultry and possessive. “Have you gone obsidian?” Hands flat on the tile, she moaned as he stroked the soap over her back and onto the curves of her buttocks.

“Yes.” He took his time with the task, before going down on his haunches to run the soap over her legs.

His kiss to her inner thigh made her gasp and turn around. Tugging him to his feet, she let the spray hit her back and held out her hand for the soap. “You’re dirty, too.”

Somehow, those simple words took on a far different nuance in this context. Curving his hand around her neck, he took a kiss from those soft, wet lips, her tongue hot in his mouth and her body pressed against his erection. When she broke the kiss, it was to clasp her hands around that pulsing hardness, her firm grip as possessive as her eyes had been.

“I,” she whispered, moving her hands in tight strokes that had him gritting his teeth, “have been doing some research of my own.”

His mind threatened to blank as she went down in front of him, her breasts wet, her hands spread on his thighs . . . and her mouth red-hot as she took him inside her. Pleasure engulfed him in a tidal wave, dark and vicious, and he knew this time, his Tk wouldn’t only be tearing up the fields outside.

TWENTY minutes and a storm of wracking pleasure later, Sahara pushed her damp hair off her face where she lay on her stomach in their bed and ran her hand over the chest of the man who lay beside her, his breathing rough. “I just checked the PsyNet,” she said, her own breathing not exactly even. “This region just experienced a medium-sized earthquake.”

Kaleb turned his head on the pillow. “It was located deep underground, I made sure of that. No real damage.”

It should’ve been surreal, lying in bed with a man who had just caused an earthquake, but this was Kaleb and he was hers. “The poor scientists,” she said, “are going to be scratching their heads over the sudden seismic activity in this region over the next few decades.”

Kaleb’s lips didn’t curve, but she saw the wicked smile in his eyes as he said, “You took me by surprise.”

“Good.” Lax and sated, her mind on the rage of his power, she went to ask him how he’d controlled it as a child, then realized what she’d be bringing into this bed, the blood and the horror and the one event they’d both shied from facing. Body and mind, she was ready to handle it, but not today, when Kaleb appeared as young as she’d ever seen him.

Instead, she drew a design on his arm with her finger and said, “Food, then rest.” The afternoon sun might be bright beyond the terrace sliders, but neither one of them had had enough sleep over the past two days. More, they needed to maintain their strength.

She didn’t have to be an F to know the war wasn’t yet over.

KALEB woke in the middle of the night to a telepathic hail from Aden. An individual we believe to be Vasquez has been tracked to California by an Arrow team and independently by the Forgotten tracker and her changeling partner. Past experience makes it highly probable that San Francisco is his destination and his target.

Yes. The city had become a focal point for Psy who were fractured, making it anathema to Pure Psy. Even more provocative was the fact that the changelings, humans, and Psy in the region had worked together to repel the last attack by the fanatical group. Send me all the data.

Scanning it as it came in, he looked down at the woman who slept with her head on his chest, her hair tumbling over the arm he had around her waist. “Sahara.”

“Mmm.” Hand flexing against him, she ran her foot over his shin before snuggling back down to sleep.

He felt something inside him that was so gentle it was painful, something that awoke only for Sahara. Maybe it was the emotion called tenderness. Running his hand up the line of her spine, he curved it over her nape. “It’s time to get up.”

“No.” In spite of the bad-tempered mumble, her lashes flickered against him. “Why?”

He saw the last of the sleep fade from her face as he told her. “But,” she said, sitting up, “from everything I’ve read, Pure Psy suffered a decisive defeat in the region at a time when they had an army. Why would they risk a return with such a ragtag team?”

“There are two options,” Kaleb answered, his eyes on the beautiful woman who sat nude beside him in a silent indication of bone-deep trust, the sheets pooled at her waist.

“The first”—he curved his hand around her hip—“is that Pure Psy does have an army waiting in the wings, and this is the major strike they’ve been planning.” It would make sense, the previous defeat a cause of shame for the group. “However, I’ve been keeping an eye on the region, and there are no signs of any offensive force in or around the area.”

“So that leaves the second option.” Sahara frowned, her fingers running absently over the ridges of his abdomen. “That Vasquez wants to cause as much chaos as possible to cover this unknown other action?”

Kaleb clenched his stomach muscles as her hand drifted lower. “A man working alone,” he said, stroking the curve of her hip once before he forced himself to get out of bed, “or only with a small covert team, can create it on a large scale, especially if we take Vasquez’s training into account.”

Pulling on a pair of black sweatpants that hung loosely on his hips, he considered the situation and the necessary response. “We need to corner Vasquez in the city, but entering changeling territory without an invitation risks creating a political situation”—a fact Vasquez could be counting on to delay any pursuit—“so we get that invitation. I’ll contact Judd.”