“It appears,” the M-Psy continued, “the Arrows collaborated to get off the drug.”
It was another indication of how little Ming had understood the men and women he sought to lead, a critical flaw in his strategic thinking. Ming didn’t accept or tolerate flaws, so he would fix this. “Keep the Jax prepped at all times.” It would take considerable planning, but Ming would find a way to enslave Vasic.
Chapter 14
Empaths can endure a lack of tactile contact, but those of designation E find such a lack difficult at best. When asked to describe the sensation, most simply said that it “hurt.” What is impossible to put into words is the profound pain embodied in that single word.Excerpted from The Mysterious E Designation: Empathic Gifts & Shadows by Alice Eldridge DINNER WAS A quiet affair for Ivy, she and the other Es having decided they needed space to consider everything that had been discussed. First, she spoke to her parents on the comm; she’d messaged them after her arrival at the compound, and now she reiterated that she was safe and excited about this new phase in her life.
Then, ignoring the nutrition bars and drinks in the pantry, she put together a simple meal, akin to what she’d have at home. That, of course, was only possible because of the fresh ingredients stocked in the kitchen.
Would you like to have dinner? she asked the man who’d no doubt arranged the supplies. The quiet, intense compulsion he aroused within her continued to grow unabated. She’d watched him organize his unit with military efficiency in the past hours, deal undaunted with the most lethal predator in the Net, handle multiple questions from the Arrows and empaths both. Through it all, he’d been a solid wall.
No, she frowned, that was the wrong analogy. Vasic was stable, but in the way the sea was stable on a day without a breeze, his depths hidden beneath a reflective surface that was an impenetrable shield.
His voice slid into her mind like ice-kissed water on the heels of that thought. Almost too cold . . . and yet delicious to a parched throat. She shivered, her nipples tightening in a confusing physical response that left her breathless.
I’ve had the nutrition bars I need.
His response was a jolting reminder that her awareness of him was most-assuredly one-sided. To Vasic, she was simply a task, his job to keep her alive for the duration of this experiment. It might be that the winter-frost eyes in which she saw haunting mysteries, were instead nothing but remote gray: flat and without depth.
Disturbed at the idea, she took the salad she’d prepared and—leaving the fish to grill—went to sit on the edge of her little porch, her booted feet on the hard-packed snow below. When Rabbit ran out to join her with a reproachful look, she got up with a laugh and carried out his food and water bowls so he could eat with her under the night sky. She could’ve turned on the porch light, but she liked the silver caress of the moon, the way the glow from the cabin windows around her painted the air in hazy warmth.
Two seconds later, the hairs rose on the back of her neck and Rabbit growled.
“Is there a problem with your cabin?” Vasic asked.
Stomach clenching, she looked up at where he stood silhouetted against the night, tall and distant and every inch a soldier. “I just wanted to sit out here.” Her breath was puffs of white, her pulse a rapid flutter in her throat
“The temperature is continuing to drop.”
“I’m wearing warm clothes, and it’s nowhere near as cold as the orchard.” She ate a little of her salad in an effort to ease the sudden nervous tension that had her muscles taut, and decided to follow instinct. “Why don’t you sit?” If he’d wanted solitude, he could’ve left as soon as she’d confirmed she was happy out here. “Keep me company.”
When he took a seat on the porch, a foot of distance between them, she had to bite back an exhilarated cry. No, Vasic was no flat mirage. Never would be. He was an intelligent, complex, fascinating male who made her body and mind respond in a way with which she had no experience . . . but she knew she didn’t want it to stop. “Are you sure you don’t want anything?” she asked, feeling a deep need to give him something. “A drink?”
“No.” Forearms braced on his thighs, he stared out into the darkness, his profile ascetic in its purity and his shoulders broad. “What are your views on the other Es?”
“Why?” Teeth sinking into her lower lip, Ivy fought the urge to trace the clean lines of him. “Are you making a report?”
No movement; even his breathing was strictly controlled. “If you’d rather I didn’t utilize your answers in any official report, I won’t.”
“I’d rather.” Forcing her eyes off the stark, dangerous beauty of him, she ate another bite of salad.
Vasic didn’t rush her, just waited. He was, she realized, comfortable with quiet in a way very few people ever became. Again, she thought of a warrior-priest, relentless and devoted . . . but she no longer liked the idea of a man dedicated to an ideal. A warrior-priest was untouchable, and Ivy was beginning to understand that she very much wanted to touch Vasic.
All her life, she’d made physical contact with her parents. As a child, it had been instinct. As she grew older, she’d realized how lucky she was that they never rejected her touch as other Silent parents might. Tactile contact, she’d long ago comprehended, helped her feel centered . . . happy, but not just anyone would do. Aside from her parents, she’d exchanged hugs with only two others in the settlement, both close women friends.
Her pulse rocketed at the idea of such intimacy with the deadly male who sat beside her. Self-protective instincts should’ve shut that thought down before it took form, but it continued to grow in her abdomen, a tight ball of warmth and nerves and foolishness. Because Vasic hadn’t given her a single sign that he’d welcome any physical contact. He was an Arrow, as inaccessible as the cold splendor of the stars.
Unfortunately, Ivy’s body and mind refused to listen to reason.
“I talk a lot,” she said, keeping a firm hold on her bowl and fork so she wouldn’t yield to the compulsion to run her fingertips over his skin. “To Rabbit mostly, but I’ll probably talk to you too if you’re around.” It came out too fast, his proximity continuing to do strange things to her. “Do you mind?”
Vasic’s lashes, straight and dark, came down, lifted again. “No.”
Deciding to take the one-syllable answer at face value, she hauled her wandering thoughts back in line with teeth-gritted concentration. “I like the majority of the other empaths,” she said in answer to his original question. “A couple get on my nerves, and I think I’ll become good friends with Jaya.” The two of them had clicked at once. “All pretty normal.”
“Yet you sound . . . disappointed.” The last word was chosen with care, as if he’d taken in her words, considered her tone of voice, then run it against a mental database of emotional expressions.
Wondering if he’d tell her, she said, “How did you judge my emotional response? Do you have a specific process?”
“Yes,” Vasic said, turning to look at the copper-eyed woman who didn’t seem to comprehend that he was a monster. “Does the analysis have less value for being done consciously?” It was a serious question, her answer important to him in a way he couldn’t articulate.
“No,” she said at once. “People who live with emotion do it instinctively, but the process is the same.”