Dead silence.
“Well, shit,” Chris whispered. “And I thought Times Square was the worst-case scenario.”
Dana examined the faces around the table and noticed how pale some had become. “I’m not sure I understand what just happened. Is Seth okay?”
Heather nodded. “I was wondering the same thing. Was he angry or sick? I couldn’t tell.”
“He was both,” Roland answered.
Dana looked at Roland, then Aidan, still not sure she understood.
Aidan sighed. “I hope I’m not breaking a confidence here, but some of the youngsters present may not know that Seth feels it whenever a gifted one transforms.”
Heather frowned. “Feels it how?”
“He once described it as a sick feeling of dread or a burning in the pit of his stomach. It’s how he found each of us when we transformed and helped us adjust to our new circumstances. The closer he got, the more he felt it, like a beacon.”
Ethan cleared his throat. “I had heard as much, but didn’t realize it actually made him physically ill.”
“It usually doesn’t,” Aidan told them, “not to this extent at least. But gifted ones don’t transform as often as you might think. Humans number in the billions. We immortals only number in the thousands. As far as I know, the only time more than one gifted one transformed at the same time was when Richart, étienne, and Bastien all transformed within days of each other. This… twelve gifted ones transforming simultaneously… is unprecedented.”
Ethan frowned. “We’ve been using that word a lot since Gershom arrived on the scene.”
Sighing, Aidan shook his head. “And we’ll be using it again if Seth can’t locate the missing gifted ones and Gershom manages to raise his own private immortal army.”
“Merde,” someone muttered.
Days later, Aidan sprawled in a chair in front of Chris Reordon’s massive desk at network headquarters.
Chris sat behind it, his eyes on the computer that dominated the center of his desk.
“People,” Aidan said suddenly.
“What?” Chris murmured, his eyes still glued to the screen.
“You said people.”
“When?” he asked with little interest.
“The last time you bitched about my using mind control here at the network, you said my people, not my guards.”
Squinting at the screen, Chris leaned closer. “Damn it,” he muttered. “I must need sleep or something. I can’t seem to bring this shit into focus.”
Aidan smiled. “You don’t need sleep. You need reading glasses.”
“Bullshit,” the blond grumbled. “I’m too young for reading glasses.”
Rising, Aidan leaned over, braced one hand on the desk, and covered Chris’s eyes with the other.
“What are you—?”
“Shut it.” His hand heated as Aidan corrected Chris’s vision. Then he withdrew his hand and sank back down in his chair.
Chris scowled at him, then looked at the computer. His forehead smoothed out. “I’ll be damned. I did need reading glasses. Thanks.”
“No problem.”
“Now, what were you blathering on about?” Chris asked, no malice in his tone.
Aidan laughed. “When I expressed concern upon learning that Zach had mind-controlled Dana, you complained about my not having felt the same concern when I mind-controlled your people. Not your guards, but your people.”
“So?”
“So, I get it now.”
“Get what?” Chris returned his attention to the computer.
“Why you won’t let the matter drop. My messing with your guards’ minds just pissed you off. It was my using mind control on your assistant Kate that infuriated you.”
Chris’s eyes widened as his brows drew down. Leaping up, he crossed his office and closed the door. “You’re just guessing.”
“But I guessed correctly.” Aidan met his eyes as Chris returned to his seat behind the desk. “And I offer you my most sincere apology. I understand mind control better than you, yet I still panicked when Zach admitted he’d tampered with Dana’s brain.”
“Because any damage is unacceptable,” Chris finished for him. “Even that which can be healed.”
“Yes.”
“Mr. Reordon?” Kate’s voice emerged from one of the many devices on Chris’s desk.
He pressed a button. “Yes?”
“Roland and Sarah Warbrook are here to see you.”
“Thank you. Send them in, please.”
Aidan and Chris both stood as the couple entered, holding hands.
Aidan wasn’t quite sure how this was going to go but hoped for the best.
“Thanks for coming,” Chris said. “Would you have a seat, please?”
Roland and Sarah exchanged a glance, then sank down on Chris’s sofa. Aidan turned his chair to face them while Chris leaned back against his desk.
“What’s this about?” Roland asked, blunt as usual.
Chris released his breath in a long sigh. “I didn’t want to tell you in front of the others, but… Veronica Becker didn’t make it.”
Roland stiffened.
“Oh no,” Sarah whispered.
Leaning forward, Roland braced his elbows on his knees. “How did she die?”
“She was shot in the head, execution style. According to the memories Zach combed through at the installation, she refused to cooperate and repeatedly tried to escape. Because those at the facility thought her gift was one that would aid them the least, they opted to use her as an example to compel the others to cooperate.”
Roland swore foully. “Did they torture her?”
“No. She just suffered the one fatal gunshot wound. I’m sorry we couldn’t get to her in time,” Chris told them with genuine regret. “I really am.”
Sarah wrapped an arm around Roland and rubbed his back. “What about her little boy?”
“That’s the other reason I wanted to talk with you. Roland, since you’re Veronica’s only living relative, Aidan suggested I ask if the two of you would like to adopt her son Michael.”
Their eyes widened. They turned to each other and stared without speaking for a long moment. Their heartbeats picked up, pounding a rapid beat.
Roland looked to Chris. “Does Seth know about this?”
“Yes. And he’s already given his consent if you’re interested.”
Roland squeezed Sarah’s hand and again met her hopeful gaze. “Do you—?”
“Yes,” she blurted, then bit her lip. “I mean, only if you—”
“Of course I do.” He brought her hand to his lips for a kiss. “You don’t know how much I regret that I can’t give you children, Sarah.”
“But you can,” she said softly as she touched his face. “Michael is your descendant. He needs us.”
“And,” Chris added, “as a gifted one, he’ll need special guidance. Which is why we don’t want to place him with a human family. They wouldn’t understand his differences.”
Aidan eyed Chris curiously. “Do you know what his gift is?”
“Not yet,” Chris said. “Seth might, if you ask him. But whatever it is hasn’t drawn the notice of our caregivers yet.”