Allegiance of Honor (14 page)

Faith shook her head, her pride in her brother a tidal wave of pressure against her heart. “That’s not all you do,” she corrected. “I know you’ve helped find more than one lost or kidnapped child.”

Tanique didn’t blink or shift position, but she caught a subtle change in his expression. “Father’s taught me that we aren’t only machines bound to our gifts.” A glance at their shared father that held unhidden respect. “Yes, we need to support ourselves, but we can also choose to use our abilities in ways that are good for society . . . and for our spirits,” he finished hesitantly.

At that instant, Faith saw only a younger brother still struggling to find his footing, not the gifted Ps-Psy who’d once carried a child a mile out of a dense jungle after picking up a lost backpack and catching a glimpse of where the child’s abductor had taken him.

“Choosing to do the right thing can be hard at times,” she said softly, “but it’s worth it.” The dark visions used to leave her crumpled in a fetal
ball until she accepted them as part of her gift and took ownership. Now, sometimes, she saved a life. Against that, the intense psychic control, the pain of living a murderer’s dreams, none of it mattered.

Tanique gave a nod so like Anthony’s that Faith bit back a smile. For all his poise and training, her brother suddenly put her in mind of the youths in DarkRiver. Adorable. He’d probably hate that description had he embraced emotion, but she thought an older sister should have leave to think such things. “I was actually hoping to ask your help with something.”

“I’d be happy to provide it.” His reply came so quickly on the heels of her words that she realized he wanted to build a relationship with her as badly as she wanted to build one with him. “You have an object for me to look at?”

Faith gestured to the box on the table. “It’s in there. Can you take a look, see what you sense?” It was a deliberately vague statement on her part; she didn’t want to influence him in any way.

“Can you open the box?” Tanique’s tone was more sure now that they were in his area of expertise. “It’s so I don’t get sidetracked by any impressions left on the box by those who’ve carried it.”

“I should’ve thought of that.”

Once she’d opened the box, Tanique simply looked at the barnacle-encrusted bottle for a long minute before he reached in and lifted it out, while being careful not to brush so much as his knuckles against the inside of the box. The letter had been deemed too fragile for handling, but Miane had sent a small piece from it that had broken off during the original transit. A blank corner, the paper was protected inside a small plastic sleeve.

Tanique left it in the box for now.

His first words came bare seconds after he touched the bottle. “Youth, curiosity, a feline energy, cold anger. A surface layer only, likely from the people who handled it over the past few days.”

Faith didn’t interrupt, though she was impressed by how quickly and accurately he’d picked up all that.

“The sea,” he murmured, running his fingers over the barnacles. “I can hear its crashing whisper in my mind . . . but you don’t need me to tell you this bottle was in the ocean.”

He angled his head to the right, as if struggling to hear a faraway voice.

“Age,” he murmured. “There are long-ago echoes here, from decades ago. Of an elderly man cleaning the bottle . . . but there’s a new deep imprint, too. A girl . . . no, a woman. A young woman held this not recently but recently enough and for long enough that the imprint hasn’t faded.”

When he looked at Faith, she had to bite back a gasp.

She’d seen Psy eyes turn black. Her own did that during a surge of emotion or when she was using large amounts of psychic power. She’d also seen the colors in Sascha’s eyes when she was using her empathic abilities . . . but this, she’d never seen. Tanique’s irises had taken on a shimmer of pale green. As if reflecting the bottle.

“She was afraid, but fierce. Hurt.” Squeezing shut his eyes, he lowered his head, only to shake it after thirty seconds. “That’s all I get.”

It wasn’t as much as Faith had hoped, but it was fascinating to see her brother at work. “Thanks for trying.”

“I don’t think anyone but the old man spent great amounts of time with the bottle.” Eyes ordinary now, he looked at the plastic sleeve that held the piece of paper. “May I . . . ?”

Faith nodded. She knew the water changelings wouldn’t have offered the piece to a Ps-Psy if they didn’t expect it to be touched. While her brother’s specialty was esoteric and not well known outside of museums—and some crime departments who’d been able to secure the services of a Ps-Psy—most people could connect the dots.

This time, he didn’t have to tell her to open the bag for him. Unsealing it, she shook the piece of paper straight out onto his palm.

Tanique’s spine snapped straight, his jaw going rigid. “Pain,” he said. “Anger again. More pain. Anguish.”

Faith saw her brother’s other hand fist at his side and had the startling realization that to be a Ps-Psy was to be bombarded by emotion. How
had her brother survived Silence? It was a question she’d ask him one day, when they were alone and he didn’t feel so overwhelmed.

“The young woman who touched the bottle, she handled this paper on a boat.” His breathing grew ragged as his body swayed from side to side, as if he were on a boat himself. “The boat rocked . . . but not for long. She was frantic to get the paper away before it was too late and they reached land again. Home, she was thinking of home the last time she touched this.” Releasing the paper so it floated down to lie inside the box, he opened his eyes.

Faith went to say thank-you, but Tanique wasn’t done.

“I have fragments of what she saw,” he said. “A glimpse of what might be part of a wall, an image of her toes, what looks like a chain attached to a wrist.” Another deep breath, his expression difficult to read but his body vibrating with tension. “An old sign, chipped white paint on graying wood:
Edward’s Pier
. Apostrophe before the
s
in
Edward’s
. Worn wooden boards under her feet, water below . . . and that’s it.”

“I’ve got it,” Vaughn murmured, his phone already in hand as he messaged BlackSea the details Tanique had given them.

Faith reached out a hand toward her brother. “Thank you.”

Only a small hesitation before Tanique put his hand in hers. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more assistance. She’s in trouble, isn’t she?”

“Yes, and you helped.” The sign he’d picked up was a highly specific detail. “I didn’t really understand until I watched you work, but our abilities are on the same continuum. I don’t know why they’re not listed together in the Designation charts.” She frowned in an effort to find the words to say what she meant. “We both see what isn’t there. In my case, I see what will be, while you see what has been.”

Tanique blinked . . . and his fingers, they seemed to curl further around hers. “Perhaps we should write a paper arguing the case.”

“I think we should.” Faith smiled at the excuse to spend more time getting to know her brother. “Do you have to go yet? We could head outside for a while, talk.”

But Tanique shook his head. “Since I’m officially part of NightStar, it’s not safe for you to be connected to me in a non-business context.”

Disappointment was lead in her gut. “Oh, of course.”

Vaughn prowled over. “How about you two meet in DarkRiver’s home territory? No prying eyes there.”

Faith didn’t bother to hide her delight when Tanique agreed at once.

“Tanique,” Anthony said after Faith and Vaughn finished giving Tanique their direct contact details so he could get in touch when he had a day off. “Your transport is here.” A piercing look. “Be very careful. Your ability is rare enough that no one has truly worked out your vulnerabilities, but you’re a NightStar. Don’t let down your guard.”

“Yes, sir.” Tawny brown eyes met Faith’s. “I hope to see you again soon.”

Faith just did it. She hugged him. He froze, didn’t respond. But neither did he push her away, and that was enough for today. “I can’t wait.”

Anthony waited until Tanique was gone to speak. “I’ll have the chair delivered to DarkRiver’s HQ.”

“Thank you, Father.” Then, prodded by the silent mischief in the eyes of the jaguar who was her mate, she said, “Is Councilor Duncan well?”

Anthony’s response was icy. “You should get going, or you won’t arrive home until the early hours of the morning.” The faintest touch of his hand to her hair before he was gone.

Vaughn held it together until they were in the car and on their way to a casual restaurant for a late-night snack. “Your father and Nikita. Man likes to live dangerously.”

Faith shot virtual daggers at the highly amused cat next to her. “He was so mad.”

“No, he was just telling his daughter to mind her own business.”

“I would have if you hadn’t been egging me on.” She fiddled with the edge of the simple white top she wore with jeans and ankle boots. “Do you think they really are? In a relationship?” Faith could imagine her father loving a woman, but
Nikita
? “Sascha’s mom is . . .”

“A cold, heartless bitch?” Vaughn supplied before adding, “They do have one thing in common.”

“What?”

“Both would kill for their kids.”

Faith nodded slowly, though she continued to find it difficult to imagine how a relationship between two such icily controlled people could work. And which one of them would bend in any particular situation when both were used to ruling their domains with iron hands? As for physical intimacy . . .

She shuddered, banishing those thoughts far,
far
from her mind. “Quiet,” she ordered when her mate chuckled with a knowing glint in his eye. “Shall we go see Mercy tomorrow afternoon since you’ll be off-shift?”

Vaughn’s thigh bunched under the hand she’d placed on it. “No. She’ll just complain about exploding any day soon.” It was a bad-tempered growl. “I’ve never seen a woman be so bad at pregnancy.”

“It’s only been the last few weeks, when she can’t be as active as usual.” Even Mercy’s sentinel-fit body had said “Enough” at that point. “You know she’d like the company, and I know you miss her now that you don’t run into her on patrol.”

Vaughn growled again but muttered that he’d stop by a bakery and pick up Mercy’s favorite upside-down pineapple cake.

Faith smiled, wondering if they could steal Naya again and take her along on the visit. But her smile faded as she considered what had happened tonight. “You think Tanique’s reading will help?”

“Edward’s Pier doesn’t sound like an official name,” Vaughn said. “If it was put up on private land, it won’t be easy to find.” He shrugged, the movement quintessentially feline. “But it’s a whole lot more than BlackSea had before.” Golden eyes locked with hers for a primal heartbeat. “Now we see how well they hunt.”

From the private diaries of Father Xavier Perez

March 22, 2074

Nina,

I keep writing these letters knowing they’ll die with me, but I can’t stop. You’re the one to whom I always told my secrets. Now I have another one: I spoke to a man in the bar five minutes ago.

Not a man. A soldier. A Psy.

Like the ones who came to our village, came to annihilate because we refused to allow them to strangle all trade in the region, cutting us off from our livelihoods. The only difference is that this Psy looks even more dangerous. I drank tequila and I told him about the murderous evil of his people.

He thought I was drunk, that I didn’t know to whom I spoke.

He was wrong.

I can see him still from my new position in the very back of the bar. He’s waiting for whoever it is he’s come to see. Dressed in civilian clothing, he’s trying to blend in, is fooling most people, but I know the way Psy soldiers walk and I know the way their eyes scan a room.

I’m going to kill him.

I can hear you in my head, telling me not to commit this mortal sin, but the drink and the blood and the grief have washed away my faith. All I want is vengeance. If I can’t get the men and women who took you from me, took everyone I ever loved away from me, then I’ll take their brethren.

Xavier

MERCY AND THE
always-ravenous pupcubs were having a good couple of days. Not only had Vaughn and Faith brought cake and news and Naya yesterday, today Mercy and the football team inside her were getting all kinds of delicious. As for Naya and her pride in being able to shift, “adorable” didn’t begin to describe it.

Far more mobile in her leopard form, Mercy had shifted, too, and played gentle games with her alpha’s cub. Because, pregnant or not, she could still shift. Scientists had been trying to figure out the whys of that particular trick for centuries, but so far, all anyone could say was that because a changeling was meant to be both forms, a pregnant changeling who shifted also took control of the cells of her embryo or fetus and shifted that embryo or fetus with her.

Despite that, Mercy had worried about shifting the first time after she found out she was pregnant because it was possible the pupcubs weren’t built to shift into the same animal as her. But not only had Lara and Tamsyn both reassured her nothing would go wrong, she’d known that
not
shifting would cause far more harm to her, and thus to her pupcubs.

She’d shifted.

And the pupcubs had continued to grow, happy in either form.

Yesterday, she’d been certain she could feel their delight as Faith and Vaughn played with Naya alongside Mercy. Her jaguar packmate had taken his animal form, while a barefoot Faith had happily tumbled in the
grass with Naya. Then Riley had returned from a run to get Mercy something she’d been craving; he joined in and the day had turned from almost perfect to perfect.

Especially given Naya’s deliriously excited reaction every time she saw Riley in his wolf form. She seemed to think he was a living version of The Toy That Shall Not Be Named and pounced on him without fail. Once, before Mercy and Riley moved down to this cabin, while they had been babysitting, Mercy had come out of their home to find her mate on the grass in wolf form, snoozing in the sun, while Naya did the same curled up on his back, one little hand fisted possessively in his fur.

The image had slayed her, her knees going so weak she’d had to sit down on the steps leading down from their verandah and just watch the two of them as they dozed. Then yesterday, seeing how patient he was with Naya’s antics . . . Mercy blew out a breath.

God, her sexy, quietly stable wolf mate was going to be one hell of a father.

To top it all off, she had a genuine task in putting together the DarkRiver-SnowDancer event. She knew Lucas had assigned her the job to keep her busy and stop her from driving Riley crazy, but though she made growly noises at Lucas and Hawke both when they asked her how it was going, secretly, she was enjoying it.

A sentinel wasn’t meant to sit around. She was meant to
do
.

At least neither her alpha nor her fellow sentinels tried to shield her from bad news, such as the developing BlackSea situation and the possible threat to Naya. Mercy had helped Jamie and Dezi rejig the communications aspect of DarkRiver’s security protocols when it came to the pack’s cubs, was certain that between the three of them, they’d plugged any possible gaps.

She’d also racked her brain thinking of how either pack could assist the captive Leila Savea, but right now, she had nothing. What she
could
do was help nurture the ever-growing bond between DarkRiver and SnowDancer. In their blood alliance was a strength that wouldn’t only
shield the packs from the bastards who hid in the shadows pulling strings designed to cause as much chaos as possible, it could well lead to the downfall of those same assholes.

Most important to her on a personal level was that the blood bond between the two packs meant her pupcubs would grow up in a cohesive single entity with two independent parts.

“See, babies,” she said, patting her hard belly, “you’re already a force for peace among mankind—or at least among a bunch of stubborn wolves and leopards.”

“You talking to yourself again, Merce?” her brother yelled out from the kitchen where she had him prisoner.

“Shut up and cook, Frenchie!”

Bastien poked his head out the door, the dark, dark red of his hair as pretty as the green eyes that made him such a favorite with the women. Too bad for them that he was head over heels for his sweetheart of a mate. Who was just as loopy over him. Loopy enough to take Mercy on. Since Mercy would’ve accepted no woman who
didn’t
fight for Bas, she loved Kirby.

Bastien’s sweetheart came with a spine.

“I thought pregnancy was supposed to make you soft and glowy and smooshie.”

“Smooshie?” She threw a wadded-up piece of paper at his handsome head. “Is that even English?”

Throwing up a hand, he caught the paper in midair. “I pick up Kirby after work sometimes, and if she’s still got kids in the kindergarten because the parents have been held up, we hang out. Apparently ‘ooshie’ can be attached to most words.” He pointed a large wooden spoon at her belly, his white T-shirt and black cargo pants partially covered by a sleek black apron. “You should know that since you’ll be hearing words like it very soon.”

Mercy smiled. “Come ’ere.”

Her big, burly brother immediately looked suspicious. “Why?” he asked, not moving from the doorway.

“I’m the size of a tank and slow as a drunk bear. I’m not going to bite you.” Mercy crooked a finger.

Eyebrows drawn together, Bastien came to where she sat in the large armchair Riley had moved to the end of the dining table; papers and a thin organizer were spread out in front of her. When she waved Bas down, his expression darkened even further, but he bent toward her. She put a hand on his muscled shoulder and kissed him on the cheek, his scent so familiar that she was sure she felt the pupcubs squirm in happiness at having their uncle so close.

Bastien rose to his feet, his suspicious expression having transformed into full-blown accusation. “What do you want me to cook now?”

“Cherry pie with your special crust.”

“Cherry
pie
?” Bastien glared at her. “Do you know how much work it is to get that crust exactly right? And I’ll have to go get the cherries.”

Mercy gave him her best “I’m pregnant with multiples” smile. “I love you.”

“Grr.”
Putting a hand on her hair, Bastien leaned down again and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I’ll make you your pie after I finish the casserole you wanted for lunch.”

Smiling as he went back into the kitchen, Mercy patted her belly again. “Yes, Uncle Bastien is the best.”

“Stop sucking up,” her brother growled from the kitchen. “I’m making the damn pie.”

Mercy laughed and picked up the old-fashioned notepad on which she was jotting down ideas for the joint event—officially, it was to welcome the pupcubs, but Mercy knew that was just an excuse.

It was time: DarkRiver and SnowDancer had gone from wary neighbors to wary allies to true allies to blood-bonded friends who’d lay down their lives for one another without hesitation. While they’d never be one pack, their animals too different, they were as close to it as possible. This celebration was about acknowledging that.

Planning a social event wouldn’t usually be a task assigned to a sentinel, and it wasn’t anything at which Mercy was an expert—but she wasn’t
doing this alone. Riley was better at this kind of thing. Despite being as aggressive a dominant as Mercy, he’d also long been in charge of SnowDancer’s overall personnel. His experience at organizing a whole bunch of snarly wolves into some sort of order translated surprisingly well into breaking down the manpower required for a large event.

He’d done just that last night, while she did a few exercises with him playing spotter. And scowling. Her lips quirked. Poor Riley. Ending up with a mate who refused to sit still and let him take care of her. Her gorgeous wolf didn’t realize she was taking care of him, too—the last thing Riley needed was peace and quiet. Give him time to think and his worry for her went into hyperdrive.

“I’m amazed at your patience,” Indigo had said to her a month ago, the wolf lieutenant’s eyes curious. “I’d have expected you to have clawed him bloody by now for his overprotectiveness.”

Mercy had promised Indigo a clawing was on the horizon, but the truth was that Riley had earned his right to worry. That massive heart of his? It loved so fiercely that it held nothing back, maintained no protections against hurt. For a man like that, she could give a little, accept what he needed to do to keep himself on an even keel.

Quite aside from her wolf, Mercy had two packs of helpers at her disposal when it came to organizing this event. Plus, thanks to Riley, she knew approximately how many people she needed for each task. “Bas?”

“Yeah?”

“You up for doing some catering for the—”

“N.O
. No.
”

“But you’re an amazing cook.”

“I’m a genius in charge of DarkRiver’s financial assets, not your personal chef slave.”

She grinned, because grumpy as he sounded, her brother had taken time out of his genuinely busy day—because he
was
a financial genius—to come hang out with her. The food was just an excuse; this was about family. “Is Kirby okay with you being here today?” Bastien and Kirby hadn’t been mated long, were understandably possessive of one another.

“Are you kidding? She loves the pupcubs.” He poked his head out of the kitchen again. “I think she still occasionally worries about the fact that she’s a lynx and I’m a leopard. The pupcubs reassure her that’s not and never will be an issue.”

Mercy knew her sister-in-law well enough to guess what lay at the root of her fears. “Just love her.” Kirby had been alone for a long time—she was pack now and understood that she belonged, but a little extra affection would help cement that realization.

“I love her until my heart hurts.” Bastien’s expression softened. “She’s smart, sexy, funny, perfect.”

“I just threw up a little in my mouth.” Mercy pretended to gag, wasn’t fast enough to dodge or catch the cushion Bastien grabbed from the closest sofa to throw at her. It hit her in the chest with so little momentum she knew he’d been purposefully gentle. All three of her hooligan brothers had reverted to type now she was pregnant: protective DarkRiver dominants.

You’d think they’d never pushed her into a mud pool or five, or tripped her up, or played hard-out football with her complete with bruising tackles. Of course, she hadn’t been innocent of hooliganism herself. In fact, she might’ve pushed Bas and Sage into a mud pool first.

Grinning at the thought of her own children playing rough and tumble games with each other, she said, “Is your lynx coming over after work?”

“I’ve messaged to let her know you need another kitchen slave so she’ll be roped into cherry pie prep.” A deep smile. “She said she’ll pick up the supplies on the way.”

“Did I tell you I adore your mate?”

“She is highly adorable.”

Laughing at the smug cat look on his face, Mercy went back to her plans while Bastien busied himself in the kitchen.

The first problem was location.

Usually when DarkRiver held such gatherings, it was in the Pack Circle. SnowDancer had a comparative space up in their territory. DarkRiver was a much smaller pack and as such had a smaller central gathering space.
However, SnowDancer’s celebration area was in the Sierra Nevada and at a higher elevation. If the event was to be held soon after the birth, then Mercy and the pupcubs would have to travel to that elevation.

The babies might feel like linebackers inside her, but they’d be very small at that stage and she didn’t want to shock their little bodies. It would’ve been different were they to be born in the Sierra Nevada, but they’d be born in DarkRiver’s Yosemite territory. She wanted them stronger before taking them up.

Any wolves who wanted to visit would be welcome in DarkRiver lands.

“Hmm.” Tapping a finger on the dining table, she picked up her phone to contact Riley. Her mate was worried she’d go into labor while he wasn’t with her, had only reluctantly left to run an errand for SnowDancer. Mercy couldn’t argue with his concern—most changeling multiples were already born by this stage of the pregnancy.

He’d given the pupcubs strict instructions to stay put while their daddy was away. Mercy could almost feel them listening as he spoke, had full faith they’d behave—because she was not having them without Riley next to her. The end.

Location for party?
she messaged him.
DR circle is too small and I don’t want to switch elevations on the pupcubs so soon after birth.

Pupcubs are half wolf,
Riley responded.
They won’t mind.

That was a good point. Regardless of what their babies chose to shift into, they had Riley’s genes as well as her own. And Riley was built for the higher elevations, barely felt the cold. He was also tough, gorgeously sexy with those big shoulders and that wall of a body that could take anything she could dish out.

Mercy pressed her thighs together.
I wanna pounce on you.

Your pregnancy hormones are going to kill us both . . . and we’ll die happy.

She giggled, slapped a hand over her mouth before Bas heard and grew curious.

What about the area around our place?
Riley sent.

She knew he wasn’t talking about this cabin; he was referring to their permanent home, a home that was part Swiss chalet, part rugged
mountain cabin.
It’ll also mean an elevation change,
she replied,
but not such a big one. And it’s where the older teens and early-twenties group had their new year’s party.
A successful effort to get that age group talking to one another across pack lines.

Only problem is I’m not sure there’s enough open space.

Mercy considered Riley’s point. Cutting down trees wasn’t an option. No changeling would ever damage the environment for such a fleeting reason.
We could use our house and the land around it as the focus and people could spread out into the trees.

Close to the house, those trees weren’t packed so tightly together that it would make mingling difficult.
We have enough open space for dancing and for the kids to play.