Wild Invitation

Cookie crumbs wreathing their mouths, they nodded and waved.

"Bedtime in an hour."

"Dad!"

"Uncle Walker!"

"Forty-five minutes."

There were no more arguments.

Turning to see Lara biting back a smile, he pointed a finger at her. "Early bedtime for you, too" - he dropped his voice - "so I don't feel guilty waking you when I return." He hadn't been a physical man before her, having learned to live with his touch-hunger until it was simply a part of him, but now he wanted to explore each and every sensation with her, then he wanted to do it all over again.

"That's one thing," she whispered, rising to press her mouth to his, "you never have to feel guilty about. I'll wait for my wake-up."

The taste of her - lush, addictive, exquisitely familiar - lingered on his lips as he went to take his position on the perimeter. While he didn't often do a security rotation, his assignment being to oversee the education and general development of the ten-to-thirteen-year-olds in the pack, he was on the backup roster. And with a significant percentage of his charges still in the safe zones where they'd been evacuated, it had made sense for him to step up.

However, Walker had also made certain to stay in touch with his group throughout, addressing their worries and questions. They were good kids, belonged to him as much as they did their parents. That was a truth it had taken him a long time to understand -

that everyone parented the children in SnowDancer.

An integral aspect of Walker's job was to make certain no child - dominant or submissive, shy or aggressive -

slipped through the cracks. He often had pups seated along the bench in his workshop, doing their homework and eating afternoon snacks. And he'd tucked a few into bed, too, when needed.

Perhaps he wasn't as affectionate as a changeling parent, but the children seemed to feel safe with him, and that was what mattered.

"Part dean, part teacher, part trainer, part mother, part father." That was how Hawke had explained the position to Walker when the alpha had first extended the offer.

"You'll be responsible for making sure each pup navigates this time of growth in a way that leaves him or her with the skills needed for the next stage of their development. If you're good at what you do, the pups will come to see you as another parent."

"Don't you occupy that role as alpha?"

"Yes, but there's only one of me.

That's why we have people in charge of all the separate age groups - so a child or juvenile never feels lost or isolated, even if their parents have to be away from the den.

"You'll work closely with the maternals and the teachers, and while they're responsible for different aspects of the children's health and education, you're the one who coordinates everything and makes certain every child in your group gets what he or she needs to feel safe, happy, and challenged."

Drawing in the crisp night air as he considered possible issues that might arise on the children's return, he caught an acrid scent, identified it as ash. He was, he realized, about to pass the area that Sienna's power had denuded, the earth barren...though he saw that someone had been out here since the last time he'd checked, marked out what appeared to be a planting grid.

Good.

The sooner this land began to heal, the sooner Sienna would be able to come to terms with what she'd done.

Because while his niece put on a good face, he knew it haunted her, the lives she'd taken. That they had been of the enemy made no difference - and that was why Sienna would retain her soul in the face of a power that could well have corrupted her from the inside out, turning her into a presence as malignant as that of the Councilor who'd taken her as a child and attempted to form her into a weapon.

When, ten minutes later, he saw a tall, dark-haired man standing on the small rise that provided the best vantage point over Walker's section of the outer border, he thought again of power and corruption and of the strength it took to fight the insidious rot. Arrow training was cold and inhuman, designed to create killers.

It had succeeded in Judd.

"The blood on my hands will always be there."

A brutal acceptance, made without excuse, though his younger brother had been a defenseless boy when their parents had given him up to the horrors of the squad's training rooms. Never once had Walker heard Judd attempt to justify his lethal actions as an Arrow.

No, his brother took responsibility, carried the weight, and in so doing, found his redemption.

"Did Riley make an error," he asked, halting beside Judd, "and assign us both to the same section?" It would be unlike the organized senior lieutenant, but as Hawke's right hand, Riley had a lot on his plate at present.

"No - I'm actually the one handling security assignments right now. Frees Riley up for other duties." Judd glanced at him, the gold flecks in his dark brown eyes shimmering under the moonlight. "I wanted to speak to you." Dressed in a plain white T-shirt and jeans, his hair tumbled by the night winds, he looked young, as carefree as the novice soldiers in the pack.

It was an illusion, of course, but still..."Something's made you happy." Even now, it felt strange to say that, to acknowledge his brother had broken the icy Silence forged in him by the merciless application of pain and torture; that he was free to feel, free to love.

Walker's own Silence had never been as pristine, though he'd concealed the flaws using telepathic abilities so subtle, no one had considered him a threat. It was his very need to hide the fact that he would die for his brother and sister...and later, for his daughter, his niece, his nephew, that had led him to develop and hone his skills at the most delicate, most complex of telepathic deceptions.

Flawed conditioning or not, those years of unrelenting control had left their mark. In many ways, Judd had managed to come further than he had.

His brother chuckled, proving Walker's line of thought. "Brenna," he said, "made me sit through a show about finding the perfect wedding dress. Not only that, she insisted I have opinions about the gowns."

The image was an incongruous one, but then, this Judd was not the same Judd who had worked with cold-blooded calculation beside Walker to ensure their defection did not fail, ready to stop hearts, slit throats, seize hostages, whatever it took. His own life had been a negligible consideration to Judd, his eyes dead, devoid of hope.

Why would such a show interest Brenna? Walker asked, and it was a surreal conversation to be having with his assassin of a brother...and yet it felt strangely good. As if they were normal men with normal lives and loves.

Changelings don't tend to choose traditional wedding gowns for their mating or bonding ceremonies.

Brenna's, he recalled, had been an ice-blue silk sheath shot with silver that fascinated Marlee.

Judd's response was a shrug.

Brenna said I should just accept it and consider myself duty bound by our mating to keep her company. A quick grin. Every week.

A slow curl of anticipation in his gut, Walker wondered what Lara would demand from him. He wanted to create such memories with her, add them one after the other until the darkness of the past was buried under the brilliance of the present. And did you?

What?

Have opinions?

Yes. Apparently I have no taste.

As Judd grinned again, Walker felt something deep inside him close its watchful eyes at last. Judd might be a deadly blade, but he'd been Walker's younger brother first, his to protect.

Except Walker hadn't been strong enough, old enough to keep Judd from being taken away, from being hurt until he was almost broken, the innocent boy Walker had once known buried under the angry loneliness of believing he'd been forsaken by his entire family.

Seeing his brother happy, centered, was a gift. "What did you want to discuss?"

"I've told you of my contacts with other Arrows," Judd said into the night-dark silence, "but do you personally remember Aden?"

Texture of Intimacy Chapter 3

WALKER'S MIND RACED back over two decades to present him with an image of a small boy with slanted eyes of liquid brown and hair of silky black cut close to his skull in an effort to keep it tamed.

He'd appeared fragile, his bones sticking out against his skin, but that boy, he'd had a will akin to a Lauren and a mind that echoed Walker's own - a telepath dismissed as a power because his ability was so subtle, so very fine-tuned. Like Walker, Aden had been miscategorized, his power level far, far more dangerous than indicated by his official classification.

Eyes widening a fraction as Aden realized Walker knew the truth. "Will you tell?" A child's voice, but an ancient's gaze.

"No." Never would he betray one of his children. "I'll teach you to hide the truth better, until no one will ever again find you out."

"Why?" A flat question.

"Because you deserve to live without fear or pain. I can't give you that - but I can give you a weapon, show you how to use it so that you can fight when the time comes."

"Yes, I remember Aden." As he remembered every single child he'd taught in the Arrow school; every single bruise and broken bone he'd witnessed; every complaint he'd made as a wet-behind-the-ears teacher to the "protective" branch of the training squad, to his superiors, even to the Council itself, before coming to understand that no one was listening.

It could've broken him, but Walker had refused to buckle...because he did have the ability to give his charges psychic weapons, and sometimes, he'd even been able to protect them, if only for a short while. He'd kept more than one student after school, ostensibly for detention or extra tutoring - only to tell that child to sleep, to rest, to heal as much as he or she could, safe in the knowledge that no one would drag them out of sleep to face some dark horror meant to turn a child into a perfect killing machine.

So many of the youngest, their emotions not yet crushed under the weight of Silence, had ended up sobbing in his arms at the small kindness. He could still feel the weight of their tiny bodies against him, their tears drenching his shirt, their nascent conditioning fracturing inside the telepathic wall of protection formed by his mind...freedom for a fleeting instant.