Shards of Hope (Page 150)

You finally won our argument, she said along the dead psychic pathway. I chose to be better than my past today. Wake up so you can savor your victory.

No response. Nothing but a blankness that made ice form in her blood, and the rage build again. Pulling away from Walker, she began to pace the corridor for what seemed an eternity.

And then she reached out to Aden . . . and his mind caught her own.

Twisting around as her blood thundered, she ran into the operating theater. A drained-appearing Judd was slumped against a wall, the doctor and nurses looking as tired, but Zaira’s focus was on Aden. To her shock, he pulled himself into a seated position as she watched. He was paler than he should’ve been, the skin at his neck appearing delicate and new, but he was conscious and unhurt and she could feel the wonderfulness of him inside her mind.

Opening his arms, he hauled her close. She held on tight, her heart squeezing so hard inside her chest that it hurt, her breath stuck in her lungs. She didn’t care about that, or about the others in the room, leaving that to Aden.

He would watch her back. He always had.

•   •   •

ARMS steel around her, Aden breathed Zaira in. When he looked up, it was to see Walker and Vasic getting everyone else out of the room. Vasic had his arm around Judd’s waist, the exhausted Tk only minutes away from a total flameout, while the doctor’s face held lines of exhaustion. Her nurses weren’t in any better condition, their feet dragging.

Walker met his gaze, the raw depth of his relief open. Hold on tight to her. She loves you.

I know. Pressing his cheek against Zaira’s temple and sliding one hand in her hair, his other arm still locked around her, he basked in her fire, letting it banish the coldness of near death.

When she pulled away and shoved at his shoulders, he noticed she’d tempered her strength. “You aren’t meant to get hurt.” The words were gritted out. “You aren’t meant to leave me alone.”

Getting to his feet, his strength enough for that thanks to a blood transfusion, he closed the distance she’d created. She stood her ground but she was careful with how she pushed him, his lethal Arrow mate. He’d accepted that the bond might never form, her scars too deep to allow such trust, but she was his mate in every way that she could be; she had given him every trust she could.

Cupping her angry face, he said, “I’m sorry.”

She pressed her fists against his abdomen and shook her head. “I’m never allowing you out alone again.”

He loved her wildness, her spirit. “That’ll make being the leader of the squad difficult.”

“Shut up.” A growl of sound before she hugged him again, a tiny Fury who’d claimed him as her own. “We found Persephone. Alive.”

Hard, almost painful joy in his blood. “How?” He could feel exhaustion starting to drag him down, the work the medics and Judd had done not enough to erase the effects of the catastrophic hit he’d taken.

“I made the shooter talk.” Pressed up against him, Zaira suddenly stiffened her body and slipped an arm around his waist. “You’re about to keel over. Get back in bed.”

“I will, but not here.” Touching Vasic’s mind, he asked his friend for an assist, shooting him an image of the location he wanted.

The remote teleport was flawless, and Aden and Zaira were standing by the bed in their cabin the next second. Pushing him gently into it, Zaira went to the end and unsnapped his boot clips before tugging one boot off.

“I never expected you to be so domestic,” he said softly, feeling his heart expand to an impossible size.

“I told you to be quiet.” She glared at him even as she removed his other boot, then stripped off his socks. “You’re bloody. You need to be clean before you can sleep.”

“I’m not sure my legs will hold me upright at the moment,” he admitted, waves of exhaustion crashing into him. “Did the shooter tell you anything else?”

“It’s what you thought,” she said, coming around to help remove the shreds of his shirt. “This group wanted to assassinate you in order to subvert the stability not only of the PsyNet but of the world. All their actions are fueled by that single aim: to foster discord, fear, and panic.”

Zaira disappeared into the bathroom and returned with a wet cloth. Climbing into bed behind him after nudging him to a seated position, she tugged him back against her and gently cleaned the blood on his shoulders and chest that the medical staff hadn’t bothered with in the rush to save his life. “The group calls itself the Consortium.”

“You missed a spot,” he said, his mind heavy.

She kissed him for the teasing. “Do you want to hear the rest?”

“As much as I can before I fall asleep.”

“We have one of the Consortium leaders in custody,” she told him. “His memories confirm that the people at the top of the organization come from all three races—their plan is to take advantage of the post-Silence fractures to destabilize the world while putting their own empires in position to benefit from the ensuing chaos.”

Sinking against her, Aden permitted his eyes to close. The Consortium’s plan was predictable in a way—but only if you thought solely of individual gain rather than the good of the world. “Like an arms dealer who starts a war.”

Zaira ran the clean side of the damp cloth over his chest. “Yes. And here’s the other thing—they’ve made certain they can’t identify one another. All meetings were done via audio and even the voices were disguised.”