Allegiance of Honor Read online

  “No, but I’m a teleporter.”

  A graceful incline of Ena’s head. “Point well made.” She moved her hand. “Come, sit, let’s talk.”

  • • •

  KALEB left the meeting two hours later with the understanding that the Mercants were in his corner—and that Ena Mercant might be the most dangerous individual he’d ever met. She had ruthless intelligence paired with ruthless ambition. But where others used such ambition for themselves, Ena used it in pursuit of power for her family.

  “We’ve accepted you as one of us,” Ena had said to him, point-blank. “Don’t betray the family and we will never betray you.”

  It was a far better outcome than Kaleb could’ve ever anticipated. “I won’t be like the rest of your family, Ena,” he’d pointed out. “The only orders I take are my own.” And Sahara’s. But Ena Mercant didn’t need to know that.

  The older Psy had given him a look that betrayed nothing . . . but that wasn’t as closed as her expression had been at the start of their meeting. “I’m well aware we’re welcoming a predator into our midst, Kaleb. But never forget that even predators can be taken down by a single poison dart.”

  He’d smiled. “So, we understand each other.” Two predators who had decided to cooperate and to watch one another’s backs.

  “Yes.” Ena had raised the delicate bone-china teacup in her hand, full of a pale green liquid that wasn’t part of the ordinary Psy nutrition list. “Welcome to the family.”

  Having teleported back to his office rather than to Sahara because she’d had to go into a meeting herself twenty minutes earlier, Kaleb kept the door shut and considered the implications of the day. Mercant help was not to be taken lightly and Kaleb had no intention of abusing their trust. He was a man who knew how to value his assets and the Mercant intelligence network alone held the power to topple countless individuals.

  Ping.

  The psychic alert was faint and part of the myriad pieces of data flowing into his mind at any one instant, but he took a second to glance at it. Interesting. His search had picked up a mention of the DarkRiver alpha’s child.

  Stepping out into the PsyNet with his mind cloaked so well that he was a ghost, he shot himself to the exact location of the ping. Around him, the PsyNet was a vast blackness populated with millions of stars that represented the minds of the Psy in the Net. But where there had been only black and white, there was now a delicate golden framework underlying everything.

  The Honeycomb, created by the empaths, the fragile golden structure that kept the Net from crumbling. Brilliant in the once pure-black spaces in between the bonds of the Honeycomb were the sparks of color that denoted a psychic network awash in empaths. Research suggested the reason those sparks were so prevalent was because the PsyNet was sick, needed a lot of healing.

  Today, however, his attention was not on those sparks or on the fine golden lines that connected people to the Es and the Es to one another. It was on the data that flowed constantly through the empty spaces between minds, endless streams of it.

  He was only interested in a particular piece of it.

  . . . Psy with shifting powers?

  Catching the first hint of the conversation that had prompted the alert, he came to a halt, listened.

  Such an individual would have enviable abilities.

  Do you truly believe so? Don’t forget, the child will be hampered by her animalistic instincts.

  The changelings have proven intelligent.

  Yes, but Psy are more intelligent. Nadiya Hunter is unlikely to have the same brainpower.

  Kaleb didn’t need to listen any longer. It took less than a minute to identify the minds as belonging to would-be-intellectuals from a university. Like many academics, their shields were all but useless. Inserting a complex “reporter” bug in each mind, one that would awaken if and only should the mind involved begin thinking about the child in a way that indicated danger to her, he left them to their pontificating.

  He returned to his own mind with the awareness that a large cross-section of the Psy race still couldn’t see outside their bubble of perceived superiority. Fools. Those who thrived post-Silence would be the ones who knew the truth, knew that their competitors had the same hard-nosed intelligence and capacity to innovate. In the case of humans, they often had more because of the way they had so long been sidelined or abused.

  Mention of the child, he messaged Judd. No threat. “Intellectual” curiosity. More like speaking simply to hear their own voices.

  The reply was prompt. Let’s hope they keep it to that.

  Yes, Kaleb thought, highly conscious of what Nadiya “Naya” Hunter represented. Considering the bloodshed that would erupt should she be harmed, he decided to use the NetMind and DarkMind to heighten the watch. The NetMind was the librarian and guardian of the Net, its task to create order out of a chaos of data and minds. The DarkMind was far different, a twisted and homicidal creature.

  Kaleb could speak to both. Understand both.

  Yin and yang. Dark and light. Innocence and horror.

  When the twin sentience came to him, however, they were disturbed. Or, the NetMind was disturbed and the DarkMind was ambivalent. Following them back into the Net, Kaleb found himself being taken to a section that was dark. Dead. No empathic sparks. No minds within the dead section. No Honeycomb strands. That wasn’t unusual. Parts of the Net had suffered catastrophic damage before the empaths woke and began to sew it back together.

  At the current rate of improvement, it would take years, an entire generation, maybe two, for those sections to recover. No minds could anchor there until then. Nothing would survive—or if it did, it would be a creature of raving insanity.

  ?!!

  Following the NetMind’s wordless urgings, he shifted his point of view . . . and saw the problem. The rot, the disease, was spreading. Not, however, in a way most people would be able to detect. No, the fine threads of the Net were literally coming apart strand by strand below the surface. Kaleb only saw it because the NetMind had imposed its vision over his. “Did you show the empaths?”

  A sense of the negative, of an awareness the Es were already close to exhaustion.

  Kaleb couldn’t disagree. Sahara worked closely with the Empathic Collective, and she’d been sharing her worry with him that Designation E was being asked to take on too much too soon. “No one designation can shoulder that much responsibility,” she’d said, eyes of darkest blue passionate. “It’s getting impossible to juggle the workload. I’m terrified that despite our best efforts not to repeat the mistakes of the past, they’ll begin to crumple under the pressure.”

  The problem was that no one else could do what the Es could.

  Now it appeared even their efforts hadn’t totally stopped the insidious disintegration of the psychic fabric of the PsyNet. They’d given the PsyNet a fighting chance, but it was struggling not to fray apart. Yet . . . despite his first thoughts, this didn’t feel like a resurgence of the disease. Rather, it seemed an indication of a deeper issue, a structural weakness that had permitted the disease to take hold in the first place.

  “Is it because there aren’t enough Es at this location?” he asked the NetMind, because if that was the case, the Es could rearrange themselves to fix the damage before it became critical.

  The NetMind sent him a sense of the negative.

  The DarkMind, meanwhile, swam into the dead space, becoming at one with it. The two were created of the same primordial soup—all the rage, anger, jealousy, and other dark emotions the Psy race had refused to feel for so long. Only it hadn’t ever disappeared. It had simply collected in dark pockets of the psychic network until it split the NetMind into a stable innocence and a murderous darkness.

  Today, neither half could tell him why the PsyNet was breaking apart, filament by filament, even as the Honeycomb fought to hold it together, even as the spark
s of color that were the emanations of the Es spread through the black night of the spaces between minds.

  The PsyNet should’ve been healing. Instead, it was simply dying more slowly.

  Chapter 8

  SASCHA HUNG UP after a troubling conversation with Ivy Jane. Her fellow E and president of the Empathic Collective had called to discuss the information she’d just received from Kaleb Krychek. Coming on top of the possible threat to Naya that Lucas had warned Sascha about earlier that day, it left her worried on multiple levels.

  Naya was her first priority and always would be, but there were tens of thousands of children in the PsyNet, too. Even if the Honeycomb meant the PsyNet wouldn’t collapse on them as it had done in sections prior to the awakening of the Es, the disintegration and hidden weakness within had to be having an impact on all those developing young minds.

  It frustrated her that she hadn’t been able to give Ivy any answers. Part of it was because she’d been out of the PsyNet since her defection and was receiving all data secondhand, but mostly it was because they were all stumbling in the dark. No one knew the exact extent of the damage done by a hundred years of forced conditioning, of erasing emotion.

  “Coming,” she said when Naya made a questioning noise from the living room.

  It would’ve sounded like “da mi” to most people. Sascha knew her daughter was asking after her milk. Setting aside the issues preying on her mind for now—Naya was far too good at picking up emotional nuances—Sascha breathed deep to calm herself. “On its way, sweetheart.”

  She’d just brought out the milk to warm it on a low setting on the cooker when Ivy called. Naya liked it when Sascha made her milk that way, especially if she dusted it with a little dark chocolate.

  “Her mother’s daughter,” Lucas said with a sinful grin each time he saw Sascha sprinkling chocolate onto Naya’s milk. Not a lot, never enough to harm their baby’s health. Just the tiniest taste to make this a sometimes treat now that Naya was almost one and starting to become more adventurous with her food choices. The milk would hold Naya over until Lucas arrived home and they could have dinner together—changelings tried to have meals together with their cubs whenever possible.

  Naya’s mind touched hers right then, sending her hungry thoughts.

  Sascha’s lips tugged up at the corners, all stress suddenly melting away. “I know you’re not starving, munchkin,” she said, layering her response with emotion so Naya would understand her meaning.

  Her and Lucas’s baby was smart, but she was still a baby.

  Guilty giggles sounded from the living area. Even as her smile deepened, Sascha told herself to be firm. It was extremely difficult when Naya was smart enough to know she could get out of trouble by being adorable, and when Sascha was terrified of ever hurting her baby’s heart as her own had been hurt when she’d been a vulnerable child. Consciously, she understood that gentle correction was nothing like the harsh lessons she’d been taught as a child, but it took real effort of will for her to put that into practice.

  Every time she began to backslide into being too permissive, she reminded herself that Naya was a happy, settled child who knew she was deeply loved. She asked for affection whenever she needed it, with zero expectation that she might be refused or rejected—that idea was simply not part of her worldview, exactly as Sascha wanted for her. She was also secure enough to be naughty.

  Lucas had had to chase Naya around the aerie at bedtime last night—her walk might still be a little shaky, but she was a rocket when it came to crawling. Dressed only in a diaper, she’d laughed uproariously and said a loud, firm “No” each time Lucas caught her and put her in her crib.

  After which she’d clamber out—she’d figured out how to escape a month earlier—and the game would begin again. Of course, since Lucas was a cat, he’d been having just as much fun as their daughter. Sascha, meanwhile, had sat in the living room with a cup of hot chocolate and just indulged in the sight of her mate playing with their cub.

  She’d had to pretend to be stern when Naya ran over and pleaded her case with loud sounds and wild gesticulations of her hands. “No, Naya,” she’d said, biting her tongue in an effort not to laugh. “It’s time for bed. Go with Papa.”

  At which point, Naya had growled at her, eyes sparkling with mischief.

  And Sascha had cracked, laughing so hard she’d had to put down her hot chocolate before she spilled it. Lucas had shaken his head as Naya plopped down on her diaper-covered butt and joined in, clapping her hands at having made her mommy laugh. “No discipline.” Lucas had mock-growled at her before picking up their misbehaving baby. “And you”—a growly nuzzle that made Naya laugh harder and pat his stubbled cheek—“time for bed.”

  He’d finally got her to sleep—by walking around with her pressed up against his bare chest.

  Today, their cub was playing in the living area just outside the kitchen nook. Sascha had locked the aerie door to ensure Naya wouldn’t undo the latch and go out onto the balcony, and Lucas had childproofed the entire main area of the aerie, so Naya was free to roam as she liked. A lot of the time she practiced her walking skills. And no matter how often she fell down, she started back up again after a little break.

  Stubborn, determined baby.

  Peeking out from the kitchen, Sascha found her concentrating on stacking the colored alphabet blocks Faith and Vaughn had given her as a gift. Beside her sat a more than slightly ragged wolf plush toy, aka “The Toy That Shall Not Be Named.” Hawke had given that to Naya when she was a newborn, and it remained her favorite snuggle toy, much to her father’s despair.

  Though Lucas did enjoy it when Naya went leopard on the toy, growling and “fighting” with the wolf. Then he’d smile and say, “That’s my girl.”

  Laughing softly and making a note to steal the toy for a wash after Naya went to sleep one night this week, Sascha returned her attention to stirring the slowly warming milk. As she waited for it to reach optimum temperature, she picked up an organizer with her other hand to finish reading a note from Tamsyn about the joint DarkRiver-SnowDancer event she and Lara had proposed to celebrate the birth of Mercy and Riley’s babies.

  The pupcubs would, after all, belong to both packs.

  It’s a good excuse to acknowledge how deeply the two packs are now linked, the pack healer had written. I think we need to recognize that, start getting everyone used to the fact that with the birth of the pupcubs, we’re going to truly become two independent parts of a much stronger whole.

  To her original message, Tamsyn had added an update: SnowDancer has suggested Mercy take the lead on this. I can see their point.

  Sascha smiled. Lucas had decided on Mercy, too, but had been waiting to hear back from the wolves, see if they’d insist on a more hands-on approach. It would aggravate him that he and the wolves—especially Hawke—were on so much the same wavelength.

  Grinning, she tapped back a message to Tamsyn, thanking the healer for the update and saying she’d pass it on to Lucas when he returned to the aerie. She and her mate switched off with child-care duties during the times Naya was home, but they were never out of touch with each other or the pack.

  As alpha, Lucas had the heaviest workload, but Sascha had carved out her own place in DarkRiver, was the main point of contact for multiple matters so he could be free to focus on the wider picture. She missed Naya when she was away from her, but changeling cubs thrived on social interaction with other packmates. As a result, Naya was often at nursery school or on playdates with friends.

  Conscious of the responsibilities that befell the alpha pair, their packmates were more than willing to take full charge of those playdates, but Sascha and Lucas took their turns as the hosts.

  Naya needed to see her parents just as much as any other cub.

  Pack was built on the bonds of family.

  Putting down the organizer as the milk heated to just a lit
tle hotter than the temperature Naya liked, she turned off the cooker and carefully poured the milk into a sippy cup. It would be the right temperature by the time she got it into Naya’s impatient hands. She was just sprinkling on the dark chocolate—from her personal stash, courtesy of her mate—when she felt a ripple along the mating bond that connected her to the man who was her heart.

  She smiled and looked out at Naya. “Papa’s almost home.”

  Face lighting up, Naya ran to the door on wobbly legs. She banged her small palms against it while saying, “Pa-pa! Pa-pa!” Her speech development and comprehension skills had kicked in closer to the Psy timeline than the changeling one, the likely result of her having constant telepathic contact with her mother.

  Sascha screwed on the lid of the sippy cup before she walked out barefoot to pick up her daughter. Only when she had a firm hold did she unlock the door and open it to the early evening darkness. Lucas jumped up onto the balcony less than a minute later.

  He’d clearly run full tilt from where he usually parked his car overnight; changelings took care not to ruin the environment in which they thrived, and if that meant a long run home, so be it. Lucas’s T-shirt was stuck to his chest, that chest heaving. Given his fitness, he had to have run really fast.

  “Racing to beat your best time?” Sascha asked as Naya stretched out toward her father, a wriggling, excited armful.

  Lucas’s grin was pure sin, his green eyes all panther right then. Smacking a kiss on Naya’s cheek after taking her into his arms, he hauled Sascha close with a grip on the back of her neck and claimed her mouth in a distinctly adult kiss. Even after more than three years as his mate, Sascha’s bones melted.

  Pressing her hands against his chest, his heart thumping strong and fast under her palms and the scent of sweat and man around her, she rose up on her tiptoes, only breaking the kiss when her lungs protested. “I’m glad you’re home.” She hadn’t seen him since six that morning, when he’d had to leave for an international conference call held in the comm room of DarkRiver’s Chinatown HQ. To do with the fragile new Trinity Accord, it’d had too many participants for him to take the meeting on their home comm screen.