“Should that happen, I’ll pay her a quiet visit to reiterate the importance of the confidentiality clause.”
Vasic was unsurprised by the decision. The last thing Krychek wanted, or the Net needed, was a leak about this experiment. Pure Psy might be in pieces, but as evidenced by the attack on Ivy, even if the fanatical group no longer posed a threat to the Net as a whole, the last remaining Pure Psy faithful were still dangerous on an individual level.
The more problematic and potentially lethal threat, however, came from those in the general population who were having difficulty adapting to a life beyond Silence—to them the empaths would be the enemy, a direct risk to the way of life they sought to cling to with increasing desperation.
“Anything else I should know?”
“No.” Vasic saw Ivy glance toward him, see Kaleb Krychek at his side. Shoulders going stiff, her copper-colored gaze swung back to him. It was odd, but he could almost imagine she was concerned about him.
Impossible.
Then he felt her mind brush his, her telepathic touch so gentle it was unlike any he’d ever before experienced.
Vasic, be careful.
He thought he should tell her he was as capable of deadly force as Krychek, that they’d been formed in, if not the same, then analogous bloody crucibles. But now that he’d tasted Ivy’s smile, now that he’d felt her psychic touch, he didn’t want to see fear chill her skin again when she looked at him.
So all he said was,
I am safe, Ivy.
And he thought perhaps if he had met her a lifetime ago, he would’ve been better than he was . . . but he hadn’t. Now it was too late, his soul pitted and shredded, his hands instruments of death. Still, he could do one thing, he thought, his eyes dropping to the gauntlet that was an outward reminder of his inhumanity.
He could protect her to the last beat of his heart.
Chapter 13
Authorization not recognized. Any further attempt at access will be met with terminal action.
Automated security system response to Ming LeBon’s final bid to reenter Arrow Central Command
MING LEBON HAD
lost the Arrows. He’d accepted that, accepted too that it had been a mistake to treat them as ordinary grunts who would come to heel at his command. The Arrows were not the least ordinary, each operative having gone through rigorous psychological testing before being inducted into the squad. The majority were also acutely intelligent.
There was one loss, however, that he was unwilling to accept: Vasic.
The sole known true teleporter in the PsyNet was a critical asset. He’d saved Ming’s life more than once by ’porting him out in the split second before terminal impact. No other Tk on the planet could do it as fast, and Ming had no intention of losing access to Vasic’s ability. Vasic, however, was loyal to the squad and to Aden.
That left a single viable way for Ming to secure the teleporter’s abilities. “You have the Jax?” he asked the medic who was the only one who knew of his plans.
The other man nodded at Ming’s reference to the drug that, used as Ming planned to use it, could turn an Arrow into a weapon that could be pointed in any direction wished by its master. “Prepped and ready at the correct dosage.”
That dosage wasn’t calibrated for a temporary reset, but a permanent one, because Ming didn’t want Vasic’s brain, only his ability. He’d believed the teleporter’s brain had already permanently reset years ago, but recent events had made that seem a premature conclusion.
“You’re certain the problem that led to the Arrows being weaned off the drug was manufactured?” He’d initiated the inquiry after discovering that Judd Lauren wasn’t only alive, but a defector who’d joined the SnowDancer wolves.
The rebel Arrow was the first Tk who’d shown signs of impaired physical and mental ability while on Jax, a side effect that had then spread subtly through the ranks, leading to dangerously erratic behavior. Given that Arrows were meant to be shadows, subtle and invisible, Ming had authorized the discontinuance of the Jax regime.
Judd Lauren’s apparent mental health, however, argued for a far different interpretation.
“Yes,” the medic answered. “I’ve run multiple controlled tests on the assigned unit of your soldiers.”
Soldiers, who, Ming thought, had no idea they were being dosed with Jax and thus couldn’t doctor their responses.
“It appears,” the M-Psy continued, “the Arrows collaborated to get off the drug.”
It was another indication of how little Ming had understood the men and women he sought to lead, a critical flaw in his strategic thinking. Ming didn’t accept or tolerate flaws, so he would fix this. “Keep the Jax prepped at all times.” It would take considerable planning, but Ming would find a way to enslave Vasic.
Chapter 14
Empaths can endure a lack of tactile contact, but those of designation E find such a lack difficult at best. When asked to describe the sensation, most simply said that it “hurt.” What is impossible to put into words is the profound pain embodied in that single word.Excerpted from
The Mysterious E Designation: Empathic Gifts & Shadows
by Alice Eldridge
DINNER WAS A
quiet affair for Ivy, she and the other Es having decided they needed space to consider everything that had been discussed. First, she spoke to her parents on the comm; she’d messaged them after her arrival at the compound, and now she reiterated that she was safe and excited about this new phase in her life.
Then, ignoring the nutrition bars and drinks in the pantry, she put together a simple meal, akin to what she’d have at home. That, of course, was only possible because of the fresh ingredients stocked in the kitchen.
Would you like to have dinner?
she asked the man who’d no doubt arranged the supplies. The quiet, intense compulsion he aroused within her continued to grow unabated. She’d watched him organize his unit with military efficiency in the past hours, deal undaunted with the most lethal predator in the Net, handle multiple questions from the Arrows and empaths both. Through it all, he’d been a solid wall.
No, she frowned, that was the wrong analogy. Vasic was stable, but in the way the sea was stable on a day without a breeze, his depths hidden beneath a reflective surface that was an impenetrable shield.
His voice slid into her mind like ice-kissed water on the heels of that thought. Almost too cold . . . and yet delicious to a parched throat. She shivered, her nipples tightening in a confusing physical response that left her breathless.
I’ve had the nutrition bars I need.
His response was a jolting reminder that her awareness of him was most-assuredly one-sided. To Vasic, she was simply a task, his job to keep her alive for the duration of this experiment. It might be that the winter-frost eyes in which she saw haunting mysteries, were instead nothing but remote gray: flat and without depth.
Disturbed at the idea, she took the salad she’d prepared and—leaving the fish to grill—went to sit on the edge of her little porch, her booted feet on the hard-packed snow below. When Rabbit ran out to join her with a reproachful look, she got up with a laugh and carried out his food and water bowls so he could eat with her under the night sky. She could’ve turned on the porch light, but she liked the silver caress of the moon, the way the glow from the cabin windows around her painted the air in hazy warmth.
Two seconds later, the hairs rose on the back of her neck and Rabbit growled.
“Is there a problem with your cabin?” Vasic asked.
Stomach clenching, she looked up at where he stood silhouetted against the night, tall and distant and every inch a soldier. “I just wanted to sit out here.” Her breath was puffs of white, her pulse a rapid flutter in her throat
“The temperature is continuing to drop.”
“I’m wearing warm clothes, and it’s nowhere near as cold as the orchard.” She ate a little of her salad in an effort to ease the sudden nervous tension that had her muscles taut, and decided to follow instinct. “Why don’t you sit?” If he’d wanted solitude, he could’ve left as soon as she’d confirmed she was happy out here. “Keep me company.”
When he took a seat on the porch, a foot of distance between them, she had to bite back an exhilarated cry. No, Vasic was no flat mirage. Never would be. He was an intelligent, complex,
fascinating
male who made her body and mind respond in a way with which she had no experience . . . but she knew she didn’t want it to stop. “Are you sure you don’t want anything?” she asked, feeling a deep need to give him something. “A drink?”
“No.” Forearms braced on his thighs, he stared out into the darkness, his profile ascetic in its purity and his shoulders broad. “What are your views on the other Es?”
“Why?” Teeth sinking into her lower lip, Ivy fought the urge to trace the clean lines of him. “Are you making a report?”
No movement; even his breathing was strictly controlled. “If you’d rather I didn’t utilize your answers in any official report, I won’t.”
“I’d rather.” Forcing her eyes off the stark, dangerous beauty of him, she ate another bite of salad.
Vasic didn’t rush her, just waited. He was, she realized, comfortable with quiet in a way very few people ever became. Again, she thought of a warrior-priest, relentless and devoted . . . but she no longer liked the idea of a man dedicated to an ideal. A warrior-priest was untouchable, and Ivy was beginning to understand that she very much wanted to touch Vasic.
All her life, she’d made physical contact with her parents. As a child, it had been instinct. As she grew older, she’d realized how lucky she was that they never rejected her touch as other Silent parents might. Tactile contact, she’d long ago comprehended, helped her feel centered . . . happy, but not just anyone would do. Aside from her parents, she’d exchanged hugs with only two others in the settlement, both close women friends.
Her pulse rocketed at the idea of such intimacy with the deadly male who sat beside her. Self-protective instincts should’ve shut that thought down before it took form, but it continued to grow in her abdomen, a tight ball of warmth and nerves and foolishness. Because Vasic hadn’t given her a single sign that he’d welcome any physical contact. He was an Arrow, as inaccessible as the cold splendor of the stars.
Unfortunately, Ivy’s body and mind refused to listen to reason.
“I talk a lot,” she said, keeping a firm hold on her bowl and fork so she wouldn’t yield to the compulsion to run her fingertips over his skin. “To Rabbit mostly, but I’ll probably talk to you too if you’re around.” It came out too fast, his proximity continuing to do strange things to her. “Do you mind?”
Vasic’s lashes, straight and dark, came down, lifted again. “No.”
Deciding to take the one-syllable answer at face value, she hauled her wandering thoughts back in line with teeth-gritted concentration. “I like the majority of the other empaths,” she said in answer to his original question. “A couple get on my nerves, and I think I’ll become good friends with Jaya.” The two of them had clicked at once. “All pretty normal.”
“Yet you sound . . . disappointed.” The last word was chosen with care, as if he’d taken in her words, considered her tone of voice, then run it against a mental database of emotional expressions.
Wondering if he’d tell her, she said, “How did you judge my emotional response? Do you have a specific process?”
“Yes,” Vasic said, turning to look at the copper-eyed woman who didn’t seem to comprehend that he was a monster. “Does the analysis have less value for being done consciously?” It was a serious question, her answer important to him in a way he couldn’t articulate.
“No,” she said at once. “People who live with emotion do it instinctively, but the process is the same.”
It affected him to realize she saw him as a man, not as something lesser, but he couldn’t permit her to believe a lie. “The empathic connection is missing.” He didn’t feel an echo of her emotions or think back to a time when he’d felt the same. “It’s a wholly remote calculation.”
Her fork making a clinking noise against the bowl as she abandoned her salad to one side, Ivy braced one hand against the wood of the porch and angled herself to face him. “I’ve never been truly Silent,” she admitted as her pet wriggled under her arm to sit tucked up against her. “Not even when I thought I was.” A sudden tightness to her jaw, her lips pressed to a thin line, and her spine rigid.
“Once, when I was fourteen,” she said as he recognized the signs of cold fury, “I saw an older Psy boy using a sharp branch to stab at a cat trapped in a culvert. I told him to stop, and he said he was running an experiment.”
Vasic went motionless. “That wasn’t Silence.” He knew because he’d seen men and women like that boy too many times—and a large number were in positions of power in the PsyNet. “It was a sign of the psychopathy Silence makes it easy to hide.”
“Yes.” Ivy shifted to run her hand over Rabbit’s back, petting the dog to heavy-eyed somnolence. “But back then I couldn’t think that clearly. I was so
angry
at him that I found another stick and began to poke him in the neck and the face until he lost his balance and fell.” A tremor shook her frame, and her hand fisted on Rabbit’s coat.
The memory, Vasic understood, still incited the same rage.
“He said I was being irrational and he’d report me”—the copper of her eyes glittered—“and I said go ahead.”