Newsletter Exclusives [Volume I] Read online

  By Nalini Singh

  Sunday—you and me. No cell phones, no messages, no world-altering events. If anyone needs either one of us, they can damn well come to the apartment. At which point, we’ll have trouble hearing them. Better yet, I’ll cut the power to the doorbell. —Note from Max to Sophie

  Dear husband: A cunning plan, but alas I am a telepath. —Note from Sophie to Max

  No alas about it. You’re perfect. And you’re all mine this Sunday. —Note from Max to Sophie

  Sophia sat in the living room window seat of her and Max’s apartment on the Embarcadero, her fingers in Morpheus’s fur where the big black cat curled up in her lap, and her eyes on the street below. “There he is, Morpheus.” Her heart ached in a joy pure and wild as she glimpsed her lover and husband jogging across the street.

  As if sensing her scrutiny, he looked up and grinned, before disappearing from sight.

  Dropping a loudly complaining Morpheus to the floor, she laughed and knelt down to scratch the temperamental cat under his chin, the tails of the large white shirt she wore brushing the backs of her thighs. “I’ll pet you some more later.” When she rose, Morpheus padded after her, standing sentinel with her in the doorway until Max appeared at the top of the stairs.

  “Hello, beautiful,” he said, the slanted near-black of his eyes warm with a look she’d learned was for her alone.

  Even though she’d only seen him fifteen minutes earlier, when he’d run downstairs and across to the pier to pick up the baked goods she’d mentioned yesterday, she felt her heart kick. Max’s smile…there was nothing in the world like it. “Hello, handsome.”

  The lean dimple in his left cheek a playful temptation, he stroked his hand to close over her nape, touched his mouth to her own. Teasing, coaxing, loving. They could be free here, the corridor stripped of surveillance, the two other couples who shared their floor both human. Neither would see anything wrong in a husband kissing his wife on the doorstep while their cat wove between their legs.

  Releasing her after a soft suckle of her lower lip, Max nudged her back into the apartment, Morpheus bounding off to jump onto the window seat and curl up in the sun, his head turned pointedly away. “I think he was expecting tuna,” Sophia said in a soft tone, familiar with their pet’s moods.

  “Now he’ll sulk all day.” Kicking the door shut, Max took the bakery box to the table. “Come sit in my lap, Miss Sophie.” He sprawled in a chair, patted one muscled thigh.

  Never in her life before Max had Sophia imagined she’d one day sit in a man’s lap dressed in nothing but one of his shirts, her hair wild around her shoulders from the way he’d loved her this morning, and her skin intimately abraded from his unshaven jaw. “What did you get?” she asked, pressing her lips to that jaw.

  There was nothing in the world she loved so much as touching Max.

  Leaning back, one arm wrapped around her, he groaned when she found the spot on his throat that always made him shudder. “There you go, rushing me again.” It was a husky complaint, his hand fisting in her hair to tug up her head. “Even after I made the supreme sacrifice of getting out of bed on a Sunday morning”—his free hand stroking her thigh—“to get breakfast for my wife.”

  Sophie loved how possessive he was, the directness with which he made it clear what he felt for her. Never had Max played those games with her, the ones that confused and made her feel lost. No, the only games Max and Sophia played were ones that delighted them both. “I’ll behave,” she said, then immediately stole another kiss.

  “You’re a terrible influence,” Max murmured some time later, having undone half the buttons on the shirt, his hand splayed on her ribs, his shoulders living silk under her touch because she’d managed to tug off his tee. “But I can hear your stomach growling, and I don’t like my Sophie going hungry.”

  Buttoning the shirt with that firm statement, he opened the box to expose a delightful array of pastries. “I went to a new place; got you the croissants you wanted, plus a couple of other things.” One big, warm hand dropping back to her thigh. “I figure you should try a bite of each. Best way to work out your favorites for next time.”

  “I know my favorite,” Sophia said, feeling mischievous as she only ever did with Max, her beautiful cop.

  He looked up. “What?”

  “This.” Sliding her fingers into the silky black of his hair, she surprised him by claiming his mouth again. Once, touch had meant pain, meant violation. With Max, it equaled only pleasure, that pleasure far beyond the physical. The way he shared his soul with her, no secrets between them, the way he treated her as his partner, the way he saw beauty and strength in the fine tracery of scars that marked her face…it made her his. Utterly and absolutely.

  “God, you are so in trouble.” His breath uneven, Max slid the hand on her leg to between her thighs, callused fingers spreading against skin so sensitive, the mere brush of his jaw over it earlier that morning had made her tremble.

  She shivered now, angled her neck to give him better access as he kissed her, but she should’ve known her husband wouldn’t be so easily dissuaded from his goal. A quick bite, a sensual stroke of his tongue, and he was drawing back, though his chest rose and fell in a rhythm that told her he was violently aroused, his body rock hard. “Eat first.” Narrowed eyes, tone resolute. “I don’t like you skipping meals.”

  Max was the only person in the whole world who had ever looked after her, and Sophia had no shields against him when he got like this. Melting in his arms, she reached for a pastry. It was a fruit tart of some kind, with what looked like a sugared coating. Tasting it as he took a sip of the coffee she’d put out on the table in anticipation of his return, she made a face. “Too sweet.”

  Max shook his head when she offered it to him, biting into a bagel instead. “I tried that one when River showed me the place.”

  A wave of affection in her blood as she took a nibble of his bagel. “How is it your brother knows so much about the city after only being in it a short time?” River Shannon was the third member of their tiny but strong family unit, Max and his younger sibling unflinchingly loyal to one another even after years of separation. As for Sophia, she and River had liked each other from the start, united in their love for Max.

  It wasn’t always easy—the scars of River’s past meant there were setbacks, moments of grief and anger, pain and fury, but this time, River was with them, not out alone in the world. No matter how rough the road, the three of them were navigating it together, and each time they cleared another bit of jagged rubble, River’s smile became deeper, brighter.

  “He’s made friends with the Rats,” Max told her now, choosing another pastry from the box after she took a sip of his coffee. “Teijan and his people know everything that goes on in San Francisco.”

  A perfect fit for smart, resourceful River. “Didn’t I hear him say he was going to come by today?” she teased Max, recalling how River had yelled out the grinning threat as he left the apartment on Saturday morning, having spent Friday night in the spare bedroom Max and Sophia had set aside specifically for him—and where he ended up several nights a week, regardless of the fact he had his own place.

  Max lifted a small pie to her lips, his tone dark as he spoke. “I love my brother, but I’ve warned him that if he dares interrupt us today, I’ll wait until he’s asleep one night then shave off all that blond hair the girls love.”

  Laughing, she took a bite of the pie, felt her eyes widen. “Apples. And…cinnamon…other spices.” Enjoying the burst of flavor against her tongue, rich without being too sharp, she fed him a bite. “Let’s get this again.”

  Morpheus, tail in the air, deigned to come over and hop onto the opposite chair. Where he then proceeded to ignore them, intent on licking his paw. Sophia turned to Max. “Can I give him—”

  “No.” A scowl. “That cat scams you at least three times a week. He’s not the least bit hungry, just greedy.”

  “But we’re getting treats,” Sophia argued. �
��He should get a treat too.”

  “He had fresh fish yesterday, remember?” Max fed her a bite of deliciously buttery croissant when she parted her lips to speak. “He won’t thank you if he becomes too tubby to sneak around doing whatever it is ex-alley cats do while the rest of us sleep.”

  Chewing and swallowing the bite, Sophia had to concede that point. “You’re right, he does love sneaking about—and I still don’t understand how he gets to the ground floor from here.” They’d moved into the fourth floor water-view apartment just before their small, private wedding in this very room; Morpheus had figured out an escape route the first night.

  “If he told us, Morpheus would have to kill us. Code of cats.” Feeding her the rest of the croissant piece by piece, Max buried his nose in the curve of her neck, chest rising as he drew in her scent. “More coffee?”

  Heart a beautiful tightness, and his own scent—soap, warmth, Max—in her lungs, she went to get the carafe on the counter, but her husband continued to hold her close.

  Meeting the bitter chocolate of his gaze, she wasn’t expecting the intensity of his expression, his fingers clenching on her thigh. “What is it?” She touched his cheekbone, unable to keep her distance when her Max was near.

  “I’m looking at my wife—and trying to convince myself I’m not dreaming. My sweet, sexy Sophie.”

  Painful as her past had been, Sophia wouldn’t change a single second of it. Because the journey had led to this instant, to this man. “I love being yours…and having you be mine.”

  His lips curved, his hand sliding to her throat to draw her down to his mouth…just as a telepathic message pinged in her mind. “Someone’s trying to contact me,” she whispered, as if the other party was in the room.

  Max brushed her ear with his lips, his thumb stroking over the skin of her inner thigh. “I hear there’s been an inexplicable epidemic of telepathic interference in this area recently.”

  Shoulders shaking and eyes tearing up, she spoke through her bubbling laughter. “Must have something to do with the changes in the PsyNet.” Deliberately fading out the telepathic connection before it could take hold, she did the same thing two more times before the person on the other end gave up. “Is this what’s called playing hooky?”

  “It’s called having a damn day off,” her husband muttered. “It’s also called having a lazy Sunday in bed. The last part is important.” Rising, Sophia going with him, he swept her up in his arms. “Very important.”

  Morpheus took the opportunity to hop onto the table and poke his nose into the box that held the remnants of the pastries. Where he sneezed and jerked back, his bi-colored eyes hot with insult.

  Sophia bit back her grin, certain Morpheus would not be amused. “I guess he doesn’t like the tart, either.”

  The deep, warm sound of Max’s laughter wrapped around her as he tumbled her into bed, where they lost themselves in one another, touching and talking and playing and being lazy.

  Together.

  No matter what happened in the days to come, she thought as she watched Max sleep that night, so long as he was by her side, she’d stand strong against any challenge, any change. The Net might be on a dangerous precipice, the world holding its breath, but Sophia remained firmly anchored by a connection that she could feel in every pulse of her heart, a connection that tasted of Max and of a love fierce and beautiful.

  Settling her head against his shoulder, his arm a protective weight around her, she closed her eyes…and smiled as she felt Morpheus prowl into the room to jump onto the bed and curl up against her back.

  Copyright © 2013 by Nalini Singh

  Rowan

  Author's Note: This short story is one that many, many of you have requested since Allegiance of Honor came out. I hope you love. :-)

  Rowan

  By Nalini Singh

  Kaleb glanced once again at the message he’d received from Zachary Quinn. He’d met the other man at the party the DarkRiver leopards had thrown to celebrate the birth of three new cubs, and now Zach was reminding him about their dinner plans. Because that dinner mattered to Zach’s mate, Annie.

  Kaleb had met Annie long before he’d ever known Zach. Both of them children, both of them trapped in different ways. Kaleb hadn’t been able to free himself then, but he had been able to help Annie, had used his vast telekinetic strength to lift the train compartment off her crushed leg so that she could be rescued. And she hadn’t forgotten.

  All this time, all these years, and she’d remembered.

  Not only had she remembered, she’d held the memory close enough that her baby’s name was Rowan Kaleb Quinn. Kaleb wasn’t quite sure how he felt about that. It wasn’t the use of his name that concerned him. It was the impact the connection would have on an innocent child’s life.

  He’d even said so to Annie when he first learned of her intention. “Are you sure you want him linked to me?”

  “Yes,” Annie had responded, her voice gentle yet immovable. “You will always be a part of our family.”

  Now, Kaleb looked across at where the woman whom changelings called his mate—and Kaleb called his everything—sat in the armchair she’d dragged into his office one day. It was very definitely her chair. Even when she wasn’t there, he found his eyes drawn that way, his lips parting to speak to the only person who had ever truly known him.

  It helped that he was a telepath who could communicate across vast distances. Sahara never turned him away when he reached for her, whether in person or on the psychic plane. She knew that the twisted darkness deep within him needed her like he needed air. “Zach and Annie are insistent.” He told her about the reminder.

  She looked up from her organizer with a smile, her unbound hair dark against the white shirt she’d stolen from his wardrobe and wore with the sleeves folded partway up her forearms. “Why do you sound like you were thinking about pulling out?”

  “I keep hoping you’ll change your mind.” He’d do anything for her but social interaction wasn’t exactly something with which he was familiar or comfortable. It was one thing to go to a large gathering like the DarkRiver party. There, he could find a quiet space to himself.

  But to go into someone’s home? It would be a far more intimate encounter.

  Sahara’s laugh was a warm caress, the midnight blue of her eyes inviting him to laugh with her. “Forget it. We said we were going to go and we’re going.”

  Realizing he’d been bested, Kaleb walked over to lean up against the wall beside her armchair. “We have to take a gift, don’t we?”

  “Yes. This is the first time we’ll really be meeting Rowan,” she said. “We did meet him at the party, but this will be…more official.”

  Kaleb had the same feeling, a sense that this event would be a momentous one in both his and Rowan’s life in some way he didn’t yet understand. “What shall we get?”

  Sahara just stared at him. “Why do you think I know?”

  “Because you know things like this.” Straightening against the wall, he turned so that he could see all of her. Sometimes he wondered if she knew, if she had any idea of what it did to him to simply look at her and know that she was his, that she chose to be his even though she saw all his darkness, all his mistakes, all his nightmares.

  Despite it all… No, not despite it all. Sahara didn’t put limits on her love for him. He could feel the untamed wildness of it like a tidal wave inside his mind, a storm that surrounded him in a love that had defied time and horror and pain and the cruelty of those who’d sought to destroy her.

  “I don’t often have—” She stopped herself. “In fact, I’ve never had a reason to buy a gift for a baby.”

  Kaleb wanted to trace her lips with his finger. “You seem to have forgotten the triplets. I’m certain we must’ve given them a present.” He hadn’t even worried about it, certain Sahara would take care of that social necessity.

  “Of course we did.” She put aside her organizer. “But I didn’t actually have to think of anything m
yself. I asked Sascha and she said that a number of packmates were getting together to open up a roaming account for the children.”

  “A roaming account?”

  “For when the cubs grow up and want to go off and explore the world. Usually they’re responsible for themselves during that time—apparently, it’s part of roaming. Being independent, growing into adulthood.”

  “Then?”

  “Changeling parents are like any parents. They have trouble letting their children go off into the wilderness completely alone," Sahara told him. "All roamers start off with a little fund. Just enough to get them started and cover their costs for the first few weeks. After that, they’re on their own.”

  Kaleb had never had family except for Sahara, felt as if he was hearing about an alien culture. “I’m happy to pay the suggested amount into Rowan’s roaming account.” It would be a simple solution to the problem of what to get a being who didn’t yet speak and couldn’t make his wishes known.

  Sahara bit down on her lower lip. “I don’t think that will do,” she said, frown lines forming on her brow. “It has to be more personal. Rowan and you will always be connected. As you are to his mother.”

  The only woman in the world with whom Kaleb had an indelible connection was Sahara. For her, he’d burn down empires and destroy civilizations. Except she kept asking him to save them and so he had to turn away from the darkness and attempt to walk toward the light. He knew he would never be a creature of that light, but he was comfortable walking in the gray.

  “Do we need to call one of our friends?” It felt odd to say that even now, to acknowledge he had friends who’d find it nothing extraordinary should he contact them for assistance; they’d also provide that assistance without hesitation.

  “No.” A stubborn set to her jaw. “We’re two intelligent people. We should be able to figure this out.” With that firm statement, she got up and went over to his desk, taking a seat in his chair.