Heart Of Obsidian Part 12

Glancing at Kaleb when he remained silent, the wind whipping her hair off her face, she said, "Did he search for me?"

Kaleb's eyes remained on the water, his gaze that blackness so absolute, she couldn't imagine what he saw. "Yes. Leon Kyriakus has led the NightStar search since the day of your disappearance, to the present day."

Hope struggled to life inside her. "Tatiana is . . . out of the picture"-tightening her stomach muscles to contain the roiling in her abdomen-"and there is no reason to believe anyone in my family was ever sympathetic to her. NightStar is a very tight-knit clan." They'd had to be. Foresight was not a gift that allowed for the survival of the individual without the support of the group. "Even if they did sell out Faith"-it hurt to think that-"it shows a profit motive. There is no possible economic advantage in giving up my ability to another."

No response from the deadly Tk who considered her his possession.

"I want to go home, Kaleb," she said again, and watched the waves turn murderous.

Chapter 19.

SAHARA THOUGHT THE sight magnificent, the cras.h.i.+ng thunder of the water a dark music. There was no fear in her blood because, foolish though it might be, she believed him when he said he wouldn't hurt her, this fascinating and lethal male her subconscious saw as safe, and who held the power to enslave her body. There was a haunting hardness to his beauty, as if he had been carved of pure iron, but that only made the temptation worse-because he burned for her, as he burned for no other.

"I want to sit in my father's kitchen," she whispered, tasting the salt of the spray thrown up by the waves, "and I want to sleep in the bed that was mine." She was no longer the teenager who had once shared the small, neat house with her father, but that teenage self was the only template she had for who she might've been. It was her starting point.

Kaleb's response was scalpel sharp and as cold. "Your s.h.i.+elds are paper-thin."

"Yes." Wanting desperately to hold him, to scream at the injustice of what had been done to them both, she tightened her grip on her own wrists until her hands threatened to go numb. "I'll need help to hide my broken Silence, as well as my vulnerabilities."

"Are you asking me to help you?"

It was a ridiculous request of this man who had confessed to having been an apprentice to a serial murderer, and who had kept her prisoner in a home far from civilization, and yet she said, "Yes."

Heart thudding at the risk she took, but no longer able to fight the hunger for contact, she touched her fingers to his forearm, directly above the mark that was less a scar and more a brand, the fine and slightly damp cotton of his s.h.i.+rt not thick enough to conceal the raised ridges she traced with her fingertips.

She wanted to ask him about that mark until it hurt, but every time she went to open her mouth on the question, her heart began to pound loud enough to drown out all other sound, her throat lined with grit so hard and rough, it threatened to cut. It was a key to the past, that terrible brand, but it was a key her mind wasn't yet ready to turn.

"You can reach me, take me, at any time." It was a simple fact, his power vast, and one she could not ignore, even as she fought for her freedom.

Her own power was as vast . . . but irrational though her decision might be, it was one she would not use on Kaleb. "All I'm asking," she said as that silent repudiation sang in her blood, "is that you give me time to become who I'm meant to be." Instead of this fractured facsimile. "It hurts to be so broken."

KALEB had spent seven years searching for her with ruthless focus, and now she asked him to set her free. Once again, the void, the part of him that he knew was perilously unbalanced, held in check only through the power of his will, responded with a primal negative.

Mine. She is mine.

No one else had any right to her.

That unbalanced part, however, was also insanely protective where Sahara was concerned, and it had already accepted that to hold her would be to break her. He had to let her go. Her gratefulness, the rational, manipulative part of his mind murmured, would serve to strengthen the embryonic new bond between them. Already, she'd asked for his help-if he played this right, she would always turn first to him.

As for her safety, NightStar was safe enough. The PsyClan might lock up its mad, but it did so in serene surroundings meant to offer the fragmented foreseers some quality of life, complete with a rotation of caretakers that meant they were never lost in isolation and never at risk of harming themselves. Anthony Kyriakus, the head of the clan, understood loyalty-no NightStar, even their most famous defector, had ever been publicly hung out to dry. As such, Sahara's broken Silence would be noted in-house and kept scrupulously out of public view.

"I'll continue to s.h.i.+eld you." His own power was enormous, but as Tatiana had discovered, he also had the resources of the NetMind and DarkMind at his disposal. "No one will be able to enter your mind."

Sahara nodded, her profile delicate against the background of the windswept dunes. Alone, desolate. In a way that he hadn't considered, and one that might be causing her excruciating pain. "Are you having trouble with the continued separation from the PsyNet?" he asked, conscious that to release her from his s.h.i.+elds while her own were paper-thin would be to paint a target on her back.

Pure Psy would term her an abomination in her broken Silence, and then there were the other predators. If, however, the separation was starving her mind as Tatiana's cage had done, he'd quite simply eliminate anyone who posed a threat. Soon enough, people would come to understand that to attempt to harm Sahara was to sign their death warrant.

"No," she said, playing the s.h.i.+mmering black sand through her fingers with the concentration of someone for whom such sensation had been out of reach for an eon. "It's safer and healthier for me to remain inside your s.h.i.+elds until my own are at full strength." A smile directed at him, one that held an open and deep tenderness. "And I'm not alone-you're there, but you never intrude, never take what isn't yours to take."

Even in the darkest part of his psyche, the part covered in blood and death, he recoiled at the idea of violating her. "I'll maintain the s.h.i.+elds until you say otherwise."

Sahara watched him with those eyes of blue midnight, and he wondered if she could see the ugliness that had shaped his stance. It was better for her if she didn't. Some memories couldn't be erased, some depravities too sickening to forget. Kaleb had survived by slicing away his capacity for empathy, for pity.

Sahara wasn't built to make the same choice, and so the memories would eat her alive. "Don't," he said. "You'll regret it."

"I would never," was the soft answer. "I would never."

Some part of her, he thought once again, remembered the promise she'd made him before the night a knife slid over and into her flesh and blood smeared his skin. And Sahara had never once broken a promise she'd made him. He was the one who'd done that, his betrayal unforgivable.

Continuing to maintain the intimacy of the eye contact, her gaze holding a haunting sadness that he knew was for him, Sahara touched her fingers to his jaw in a featherlight caress, but when she spoke, it was to say, "Tatiana may have shared the truth about me with others-another reason for me to avoid the PsyNet for now."

"I could take you to her." Subject Tatiana to the power of the very gift she'd tortured Sahara in an attempt to harness. "You can do whatever you like to her."

"I never want to touch that woman in any way, even on the psychic plane. She's evil." Quick, jagged words thick with revulsion. "She always spoke to me in such a cool, cogent way, but it was her orders the guards followed when they-" She cut herself off with vicious suddenness, the edges of her words torn raw.

"I'll find out what was done to you," he said, knowing she'd stopped herself because of him, because of what he'd done to Tatiana and to the guard who had dared enter his home with the intent of taking Sahara. "Whether you tell me or not."

Sahara set her jaw, her expression no longer haunted but fierce. "I won't push you deeper into the darkness."

He didn't tell her it was too late, that it had been too late the first time they'd met. Because Sahara hadn't wanted to believe him then, and she wouldn't want to believe him now. That was who she was, as he was a man who had no compunction committing murder when it was necessary.

s.h.i.+fting his gaze to the wind-lashed waves thundering to sh.o.r.e, he said, "I'll take you home." He rose to his feet and accessed his memory banks to locate an image he'd updated three weeks before. Retrieval was simple-a mental trick that came naturally to most telekinetics-and an image of a tree trunk with an idiosyncratic pattern of knotholes was at the forefront of his mind a second later.

"Wait," he said to Sahara when she got to her feet, and, activating the low-level hum of his ability, he did a test 'port. He appeared in the night darkness beside the tree at the back of Leon Kyriakus's home between one thought and the next, the tree large enough to provide concealment for a Tk who should have never set foot on this land. But he had, and in so doing, he'd altered the course of Sahara's life, coloring it in suffering and isolation.

The well-kept house at the edge of the NightStar compound appeared quiet, but a light glowed in the room he knew to be Leon's study.

Returning to Sahara, he said, "Are you ready?" as the void screamed its denial of what he was about to do, the madness threatening to suck him under.

A deep breath before she slid her hand into his. "I'll be able to reach you?" The question was quiet, her hand clenching on his.

"At will." His telepathy was agonizingly strong, would amplify her own abilities to allow them to speak as they wished. "If you feel at risk at any stage, just call. I'll come." He would always come to her call.

An unexpected uncertainty, her throat moving as she swallowed. "What if the clan disowns me because of my broken Silence?"

"They didn't disown Faith, and it's highly unlikely they'll do so when it comes to a family member they've been searching for for seven years." When her breath trembled, he said, "A single word and I'll get you out." It was keeping his distance that might yet prove an impossibility.

Pulse fluttering in her throat, she nodded. "Let's go."

He made the teleport with that slender hand curled around his, the connection causing his already raw nerve endings to bleed. Though he'd planned on using s.e.x to bond Sahara closer to him, he hadn't realized the brutal impact intimate touch-extended touch of any kind-would have on him when it was Sahara whose skin slid against his, Sahara whose taste was a drug in his system. To everyone else, he would appear as stable as always. He wasn't. And that could be devastating when it involved Kaleb's level of power.

Sahara's fingers flexed in his hold, causing another tiny rupture, another spike in the dissonance he'd initiated. "I never thought to check if he still lives here. This unit is meant for a parent and child, not a man alone."

"He does." Kaleb knew Leon Kyriakus had never stopped waiting for his only daughter to come home. He hadn't paused for a suitable period, then organized another fertilization and conception contract to replace his genetic legacy. He hadn't cleared out her room and thrown away her belongings. And he hadn't ever stopped searching for her.

Having no experience of parental loyalty, it had taken Kaleb years to accept that Leon would never give up on his child-and he would certainly never hand her over to Kaleb, should it be Leon who located her first. Not without a b.l.o.o.d.y fight. Such fidelity was something Kaleb respected, and he'd had every intention of permitting Leon to see his daughter-after she had bonded to Kaleb in a way that could not be severed by any power on this Earth.

The one thing he hadn't factored into his strategy was that Sahara was the greatest, deepest fracture in his psyche. He would do things for her he'd do for no one else, but while he'd empty the sky for her so she could spread her wings, fly, he would not set her free. She belonged to him, would always belong to him. "Your father," he added, "leaves an electronic key for you in the small hollow below the last step."

Wet in the deep blue eyes he'd waited seven long years to see again, Sahara took a step toward the house, halted. "You won't leave me yet?"

He stepped forward in silent answer.

AS Sahara raised her hand to knock on the door, however, Kaleb's palm broke contact with her own. She felt stunningly moorless, her heart aching with a sense of loss beyond all proportion to the act, but she knew he'd made the right choice. Her father was about to find his kidnapped daughter on his doorstep. Any further source of stress would be untenable.

A sound from inside that sent her heart into her throat. Kaleb.

Call and I'll come. Always.

The door opened to spill golden light onto her feet, on the heels of a promise that felt etched in stone, the man on the other side as tall and as wide as in her memory-her father had never had the body of the stereotypical Psy. He looked more akin to the old-fas.h.i.+oned lumberjacks she'd seen on the comm once, his face square, and his hair a deep auburn . . . though it now bore more than a few strands of silver.

New, too, were the deep grooves that marked the sides of his mouth and spread out from the corners of his eyes. Those eyes were identical to her own, a genetic accident that made their familial connection unmistakable. As she looked into them, her throat thick, she expected to glimpse confusion. It had been seven years, after all, and she no longer appeared the girl she'd been at sixteen.

"Sahara." Blinding recognition before he dragged her into his arms, holding on so tight she couldn't breathe. Her heart splintered with love. No, she wouldn't be disowned, not by this man who held her as if she were a treasure, the scent of him a mingling of the clinic where he treated the children of the clan and the smuggled coffee he drank in secret.

It was the scent of home.

"It's you." Voice hoa.r.s.e, he relaxed his hold enough that he could look into her face. "It's you."

"h.e.l.lo, Father." She let the tears fall, the knot choking up her throat making her voice near soundless. "I'm not the same as I was."

"You're home. That's what matters. And your father," he murmured, a sheen in his own eyes, "is not the same as he was, either. Losing a child alters a man in ways that can never be undone."

Tears turning into sobs, she clung to him, as she couldn't cling to the years forever lost. She didn't know how long they stood there, but when he pulled her into the house, Sahara turned to say good-bye to Kaleb . . . except the night stood desolate and alone, the deadly telekinetic who'd brought her home gone as if he'd never existed.

Chapter 20.

ADEN WAS IN Venice, having completed a discussion with the leader of the rebel Arrow cell in the city, when his cell phone rang with an incoming call from Kaleb Krychek.

"What progress have you made in discovering the ident.i.ty of the individual behind the leak in Perth?" Kaleb asked, and it was a question Aden had expected earlier. However, and but for his recent rescue efforts, Kaleb had been uncharacteristically quiet over the past two months.

"Considerable," Aden replied, thinking of all the Arrow tails the cardinal Tk had eluded in those months as he slipped in and out of distant parts of the PsyNet. "His name is Allan Dawes and thirty-six hours ago, just as we were closing in, he disappeared both from his physical life and from the PsyNet. It's certain he's being hidden by telepaths with more advanced training within Pure Psy." It wouldn't save the middle-aged male, simply delay the inevitable.

Kaleb's response made it clear he had the same expectation. "I'm changing my earlier order. Bring him to me. I want to have a personal discussion with Mr. Dawes."

"I'll arrange the transfer once he's in the custody of the squad." Hanging up, Aden relayed the request to his partner.

"You think Kaleb may be working with Pure Psy," Vasic said, his eyes on the ca.n.a.l not far in front of them, the water a broken mirror as a result of the early morning rain that fell in hard sheets.

Protected from the downpour by the overhang of the building where they stood, Aden slid away his cell phone. "Krychek is driven by power," he said, having never had any illusions about the other male's motivations. "If Pure Psy succeeds in totally destabilizing the current power structure, it'll leave a vacuum only Krychek will be strong enough to fill."

Vasic was silent for a long time, the sound of the rain hitting the ca.n.a.l water muted thunder. "Krychek," he said at last, "has the strength to wrench control of the Net on his own."

"But then," Aden pointed out, "he'd have to fight to hold on to it. Far better to come to leaders.h.i.+p as a savior, a hero."

Vasic nodded. "We watch him. Even a dual cardinal can be killed if it proves necessary."

Aden knew that if that decision were ever made, they'd have only a single shot at taking Krychek unawares. Failure would mean death for the entire squad. "We watch him," he agreed as the rain slanted to hit the ground at his feet, flicking droplets onto his regulation black combat boots.

Chapter 21.

SAHARA COULDN'T HAVE better timed her return.

Sleep was out of the question for either her or her father that night, both of them unable to let one another out of their sight.

"I have a scheduled day off today from my duties at the medical center," her father told her the next morning. "No one will come looking."

By silent agreement, they stayed inside, putting off the moment they'd have to speak to Anthony-her paternal uncle and the head of NightStar. Though they discussed a myriad of subjects, her father didn't ask probing questions, didn't force her to speak of things she didn't want to speak about.

He was simply happy to have her home.

They talked of family, and of the changes in the world that had led to the clan setting startling new protocols in place when it came to the gifted and troubled F designation. "Faith's defection taught us that we were wrong to follow the rules handed down to us after the inception of Silence."

Voice somber, he drank a sip of the nutrient drink he'd mixed for them both. "As a medic, I genuinely believed the actions we took lowered the risk of mental degradation for the Fs. So did Anthony. It's why he permitted Faith to be trained as she was. To find out that we might have been driving her, driving all of the Fs, toward the madness we intended to thwart . . . it shook the foundations of the family."

Sahara trusted her father in this as she'd trust no one else-he was a true healer at heart, had long ago adopted the human oath of "first do no harm," the plaque with the complete pledge hanging in his office. "I've missed so much," she said, anger bright and new awakening in her blood. "Had so much stolen from me."

"You have a lifetime ahead of you," her father said, closing his hand over her own. "You also have a father, and a PsyClan who will back you every step of the way."

Her father, she realized, her eyes on the freckled cream of his skin against her own, had always made casual contact, especially after the discovery of her shadow ability. Never had he treated her as a leper, and in so doing, he'd helped her maintain her sense of humanity. Kaleb, too, she realized with a sense of wonder, had never repudiated her touch, though he'd always been aware of the risk she posed.

"Don't. You'll regret it."

"I would never."

Her answer hadn't changed, would never change, but examined in the cold light of day, the unadulterated emotional fury of her refusal was a mystery. Not once-not once-had she been tempted to use her ability on him, though it would've fundamentally altered the balance of power. Even the idea of it made her feel nauseated.