Shield of Winter (Nalini Singh) (27 page)

Ivy spread her hand over her heart. “He’s hurt inside,” she said, the boy’s anguish so deep and heartrending she’d sensed it even without lowering her empathic shields. “His family?” It was an instinctive question; she’d checked on her parents the instant after Vasic ’ported out, discovered the shock wave had been nowhere near as violent in their region. Everyone in the settlement was safe.

Vasic’s response to her question was brief. “Unknown.”

Releasing an unsteady breath, she shook her head. “There’s a good chance one or both of them are dead, isn’t there?”

“Yes.” No expression on his face, no hint of care, but he’d wrapped the distressed teenager in a blanket and brought him here instead of leaving him to the medics on-site. That told Ivy everything she needed to know about the man who had quietly wound chains of stunning winter frost around her heart.

“You be careful, too,” she said, and touched his arm.

Glancing down, he just barely brushed his fingertips over her own.

She curled her fingers into her palm when he was gone, holding on to the contact like a precious jewel.

•   •   •

ADEN
sealed another part of the jagged tear in the fabric of the Net, conscious of the staggering depth of power that kept it closed so he could do what needed to be done. Kaleb Krychek’s strength was beyond all known measurements.

Repair complete,
he telepathed and moved to the next section.

Vasic,
Kaleb said without warning.
Do you want to pull him out of Alaska? I can have a unit of my own men in the area within a half hour.

The question betrayed an understanding of Vasic’s psychological state that Aden had trouble believing came from the ruthless dual cardinal. Emotional intelligence had never been a weapon in Krychek’s arsenal . . . but the other man was no longer working alone. The question and its attendant insight, Aden thought, was far more apt to have come from Sahara Kyriakus.

No,
he replied.
Vasic won’t leave, given the scale of the situation.
Aden couldn’t order Vasic to do so, as he could the rest of the squad. That wasn’t how their partnership worked.

I neither discard nor undervalue my people, Aden,
was Krychek’s response.
Vasic is too critical a piece of the squad to lose.

That sounded more like the cardinal, the equation a calculated one—but beneath the calculation was the same capacity for loyalty that had first drawn the squad to him. Unlike Ming LeBon, Kaleb Krychek might be ruthless, but he did not sacrifice or betray those who kept faith with him.

He’s stable at present,
Aden said at last, unwilling to trust Krychek with the changes he’d sensed in Vasic—their alliance remained a new construct, with secrets on both sides.

I’ll bow to your judgment on this point.
Krychek caught a fraying edge, held it in an unyielding telepathic fist.
However, we need to talk about the gauntlet. I’ve accessed the latest reports, and it’s clear the biofusion is becoming increasingly more unreliable.

Surprise was an Arrow’s enemy, but Kaleb Krychek had provoked it in Aden today. It wasn’t the fact the dual cardinal had managed to get his hands on medical files that were technically private that disconcerted Aden. It was that he valued an individual Arrow enough to bother. Then again, Vasic was a very useful tool.
The biofusion team is continuing to work on stabilizing it. The threat of a further malfunction is minimal at present.

They worked in silence for the next forty-five minutes, and again, it was Krychek who broke it.
Status on Cristabel Rodriguez?

Healing and liable to be back to active duty within a month
, Aden supplied.
The squad’s strength has not been compromised—we have another shooter with the same level of accuracy as Cris.

Kaleb’s reply was another unexpected statement.
I’m aware of that. Cristabel, however, is a highly gifted trainer, according to the squad’s own training records.

Again, it was information the cardinal shouldn’t have, but Aden didn’t interrupt.

Losing her would have a ripple effect,
Krychek continued.
Have you considered pulling her off active duty?

Retiring under Ming LeBon had inevitably led to an execution disguised as an accident—because no Arrow was ever permitted to retire until he or she was so worn-out that mistakes were inevitable.
Yes,
he responded carefully, wanting to measure Krychek’s response.
Cris has an affinity for teaching and is unlikely to oppose the transfer.
Aden had, in fact, discussed the possibility with the older Arrow. The E placement had been meant to be a quiet one intended to give her time to think.

Then do it,
Krychek said.
You now have total control of the Arrow training program. Shape it to fit the needs of those who come to you.
A long pause.
I know how I was trained. I can guess how Vasic was trained. There has to be a better way, a way that doesn’t threaten to turn children into monsters.

Aden was silent for over an hour, not because he didn’t agree with Krychek, but because he did. He’d already ousted the sociopaths and the sadists from the training program. Some had been Ming’s men, others Arrows so far gone that they couldn’t tell that what they were doing was wrong. Torture was no longer permitted on any level.

That had taken care of the short-term problem, but the larger one remained. Arrows were Arrows for a reason: their power was vicious and almost always deadly.
Yes,
he said at last.
There has to be a better way.
All he had to do was find it.

•   •   •

IVY
checked in on Eben two hours after he’d fallen asleep to find the teenager sitting up in bed. Rabbit was butting his head against Eben’s chest, the dog’s tongue hanging out in ecstasy, while the boy scratched him behind his ears.

“Careful.” Ivy kept her tone gentle, one hand on the screen she’d unfolded to block out the light from the open door and the kitchen window. “Rabbit’s a scam artist, will have you doing that all day.”

Eben had gone motionless at her first words, his eyes wild, but he jerked to movement again at Rabbit’s demanding bark.

“See,” Ivy said with a smile. “Would you like a hot drink?”

A hesitant nod.

Leaving the room, Ivy went to the kitchen and mixed up a nutrient drink, judging the boy would prefer the familiar. Traumatized on the deepest level, he had no control of his fear and pain, and it scraped against her every sense. The other empaths had felt it, too, offered to help, but she’d asked them to stay away for the time being, not sure Eben could handle any more strangers.

Footsteps on wood.

“Take a seat,” she said without stopping what she was doing. “I’m Ivy.”

Eben sprawled into a chair at the table in a way that was pure teenage boy, Rabbit hopping up onto his lap to shamelessly demand more scratches. “You’re Psy.” It was a blurted-out comment.

Placing the nutrient drink in front of him and bringing out a little pot for her tea, Ivy said, “So are you.”

“But you smile.”

“I was always a very bad Psy,” she admitted. “You’re safe, Eben. No one here will betray you.”

Adam’s apple suddenly prominent as he swallowed, he said, “I can’t maintain my Net shields.”

“I’m sure Vasic’s already taken care of that.” Her strong, protective, infuriating Arrow who thought he should be condemned to live in the shadows even as he fought to save countless others. “He’s the teleporter who brought you here.”

Eben’s eyes unfocused for a second. “Yes.” Shuddering, he seemed to crumple in on himself. “I hurt people.” His agony almost brought Ivy to her knees. “I hit and I hit and I hit and there was blood and other wet things and it was on me and they wouldn’t stop. I screamed at them to stop but they wouldn’t! They wouldn’t stop, Ivy. They wouldn’t stop.”

Throat thick, Ivy breathed past his pain and her own response, and managed to get herself into a chair across from him. “Will you let me help you?” She took his hand, understanding his nauseated disgust at what he’d been forced to do in a way only another empath could. The sole mercy was that he didn’t seem to be suffering from the rebound effect, perhaps because he’d acted in self-defense, with no desire to cause harm. “Eben?”

His fingers grasped hers with bruising force, his eyes awash in tears. “Please.”

This was far beyond anything she was trained to do, but there was no choice—Eben’s psychological state was devolving by the second. Opening up her empathic senses, she tried to take the boy’s pain into herself, where it would be neutralized.

She didn’t know how long it took, but she was conscious of her own stomach threatening to revolt as her mind began to blur at the edges. Ivy stiffened her spine, clenched her jaw—she couldn’t collapse in Eben’s presence. That would undo any good she’d done . . . and when she looked at him, she thought maybe she had done some good. The strain on his face had faded, his eyes clear, his shoulders no longer hunched.

Fighting the nausea that shoved at her throat, a toxic obstruction of fear, grief, rage, and guilt, she released his hand with a small pat. “Feeling better?”

Eyes wide, the teenager nodded. “Yes.”

Ivy could feel his need to ask questions, but she wasn’t going to last much longer. “Would you mind doing me a favor?” She found a smile from somewhere and told a small lie. “I haven’t taken Rabbit for his walk today.”

His face lit up. “Oh, sure. I— Does he like fetch?” A shy question. “One of my human classmates has a dog, and I’ve seen them playing fetch.”

“He’ll love you forever if you play fetch with him.” Tapping her thigh, she said, “Fetch, Rabbit.”

Tail wagging quick and excited, her pet skidded to his basket and returned with a stick they’d found in the woods. “It’s just right for throwing.”

Rabbit lunged for the door with a hopeful look over his shoulder, and Eben followed, too involved with the dog to look back. Just as well because Ivy was doubled over, Eben’s horror now her own.

Chapter 27

Intelligence and the capacity for independent thought are prerequisites for entry into the squad. An Arrow is a finely honed instrument capable of handling situations beyond the skill set of even the most well-trained black-ops soldier.
First Code of Arrows
IT ONLY TOOK
Vasic minutes to ascertain that Eben’s custodial parent, his father, was in a coma. His mother lived in another region and was uninfected, but it made no sense to send the boy to her in his current state—he was much better off with Ivy.

That task complete, he joined the other Arrows in their house-to-house search for further survivors. In view of the risk posed by the infected, many of whom had struck out wildly with their psychic abilities during the fighting, he’d informed the local authorities that no one would be allowed into the homes until the Arrows had cleared the area.

They found a number of dead victims in the first building. At first glance, they all appeared to have killed one another, but he was sure Aden would make the pathologists check for brain aneurysms such as that which had struck down Subject 8-91.

Reporting the locations of the bodies to the local authorities, Vasic and his small team continued inward, each taking a different floor as they entered the next building. The work required meticulous concentration and unremitting alertness. A small number of humans were hunkered down behind locked doors, and Vasic told them to stay there after verifying the fact they
were
human.

“We have injured,” a young male told him, his voice shaking. “Is it safe to take them out?”

Seeing the extent of one woman’s injuries when the youth opened the door fully, the wounded woman’s hands pressed over her blood-soaked sweatshirt, Vasic said, “I’ll ’port her out. Carry the others out quietly down the corridor and through the stairwell.”

His team also found a scattering of uninfected Psy—people who had just moved into the area, guests from out of town, a university student who’d had to barricade herself in the bathroom when her study partner came after her with a broken glass bottle. As with the humans, Vasic ’ported out the most injured, while human neighbors helped the walking wounded out through cleared exit routes.

It was on the third floor of the final building that Vasic heard something from inside an apartment with an ominously open door. Warning the others to be on standby, he moved quietly down the corridor. The door bore a single bloody handprint, the body of a middle-aged brunette lying just inside—it appeared she’d been bashed over the head with a vase that was now in splinters around her.

A small barren table by the door bore the faint mark of a water ring that told Vasic the vase had been sitting there before it was turned into a weapon.

Vasic checked the victim’s pulse, found her skin cold. Her heart had stopped pumping blood long ago; if he had to guess, he’d say at the start of the outbreak. She’d opened the door to a knock and found herself face-to-face with death. Noting the location of the body to pass on to the local authorities, he checked the other rooms. Bathroom, kitchen, first bedroom, they were all empty.

Looking into the final room, its walls pale yellow with a white trim, he saw a curtain waving in the breeze and disengaged the alert, guessing the fabric must’ve dislodged something from a nearby shelf. He’d just cleared the tall cupboard to the left when he heard wordless murmuring coming from the other side of the room.