Heart of Obsidian

If Judd and Xavier had helped him remain sane enough to give Sahara what she needed, then he owed them a debt that could never be discharged. “Ming,” he said, “is in France.

“Champagne region as before,” he added, having updated the data the previous day, “though he’s shifted his base of operations. I’m in the process of tracking that base, but he’s tactically minded and careful.” Ming also knew how to lay traps with blade-sharp teeth.

“The confirmation he’s in the region is enough. We have certain sources in the area.”

“You can’t kill him yet. I need to stabilize the Net enough that his death won’t cripple it.” Even with the Council in ruins, each of the former Councilors held so much economic and psychic power that a violent or sudden death could cause a deadly shock wave.

The ripples had been minor when Kaleb assassinated a Councilor just over a year and a half ago, but the PsyNet had been stable then, not teetering on the brink of collapse. The backlash from the loss had been absorbed with no more than a few minor incidents. “A shock wave right now could be catastrophic.”

“It’ll take time to set things up,” Judd said. “I’ll give you a twenty-minute warning before we move, so you can be on alert for any structural weaknesses in the Net.”

“How do you plan to reach Ming?”

“The same way the packs reached Santano Enrique,” was the cool response.

Kaleb knew he’d get nothing more. As Kaleb’s first loyalty was to Sahara, Judd’s was to his mate and the changeling wolf pack he now called family. It was a measure of the trust that had grown between them that Kaleb allowed the matter to rest.

Xavier spoke into the silence. “We sit in a house of God and speak of murder. What does that make us?”

“Men who understand that there is evil in the world,” Judd answered. “The data I passed on—did it help you track down your Nina?”

Nina, Kaleb knew, had been Xavier’s love before a Psy attack tore them apart.

The priest’s breath shuddered out of his chest. “The information points to a tiny village in the mountains of my homeland. I am . . . afraid to go there. I must gather my courage to face the truth, and perhaps my Nina’s hatred.”

They spoke of other matters then, Kaleb leaving an hour later, just before Judd. Waiting in the shadows until the former Arrow was out of sight, he returned to the church to find Xavier where he’d left him.

“I expected you,” the priest said without turning around.

Kaleb took a seat behind the other male. “Did you?”

“A man who has lost his only love knows when he hears the same loss in another’s voice.” Xavier shook his head, the near black of his skin gilded gold by the candlelight. “Has your Nina returned? Is she the one who asks you to have mercy on the innocent?”

“Yes.” Leaning forward, he crossed his arms on the back of Xavier’s pew. “I don’t know how to love her.” He would die for her, kill for her, but he did not understand the emotion he had always sensed she needed from him, even when she’d been a bright-eyed sixteen.

“Love is the greatest form of loyalty, one that places the happiness of the beloved over that of the lover,” Xavier said with a peace that was an integral aspect of him, even in his confusion. “And you know loyalty.”

“I will,” Kaleb said as the candles burned around them, “think on what you’ve said.” He paused. “Xavier, I can take you to your Nina.” It could be done without the other man ever glimpsing Kaleb’s face.

“Thank you, friend.” Xavier’s voice shook. “But I think I must do this the hard way. I must earn her.”

Leaving the priest to his thoughts, Kaleb went to Sahara after he exited the church, simply to watch her sleep. To see her safe and alive, the need he had to ensure her well-being one that would never fade. And though he made not a sound, thick lashes lifted to reveal eyes of sleepy dark blue. “Kaleb?” Scooting over, she raised the blanket with a mumbled invitation. “C’mere. ’S cold out.”

He hadn’t meant to stay, but he slept that night in the arms of the only person in the entire world to whom it mattered if he was cold . . . and he thought that perhaps he might understand not only love, but joy.

Maybe it was that thought that ignited long-dormant neurons in his brain, but for the first time in over seven years, he dreamed not of blood and pain and cruelty, but of the day a girl with eyes of darkest blue had forever altered the course of his existence.



*



HE sat motionless in the chair beside Santano, his feet flat on the floor and his eyes trained straight ahead. He’d already noted everything about Anthony Kyriakus’s office, particularly the two doors and the large windows that spilled sunlight into the room and onto his legs.