Total pages in book: 131
Estimated words: 121389 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 607(@200wpm)___ 486(@250wpm)___ 405(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121389 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 607(@200wpm)___ 486(@250wpm)___ 405(@300wpm)
“What?”
She ducked her head a fraction, her unbound hair sliding over the shoulder of the vibrant red-violet dress that she’d paired with a denim jacket. “I brought it for you.” A quick look up. “It’s silly, isn’t it? I’ll take it back. Sorry, I shouldn’t have—”
He kept it out of her reach. “No. You said I could have it.”
Dropping her half-raised hand, she looked at him with eyes that were big and oddly soft. Vulnerable, he realized. As vulnerable as Arwen’s. And he knew she truly was afraid he wouldn’t want the gift.
Parting those soft lips, she said, “You like it?”
He brought it back down, looked at it again. “Yes.” It was a thing he’d never thought to have in his life, but he would now protect it with everything he had. Because she’d given it to him. “Thank you.”
Her smile was dawn breaking across the sky; it made his heart twist in ways he didn’t understand. He didn’t smile back. He didn’t know how to smile in truth, had only ever put it on as a mask and he couldn’t wear a mask with her—but she didn’t seem to mind.
“I packed a whole bunch of things for our picnic, not just the tart.” Her joy was a welcoming fire flickering against him, warming places that had been cold for an eternity.
When she handed him small bites to try, he did so without argument. The flavors were explosions of sensation on his tongue, an overload of input. He must’ve betrayed some response because she laughed—the kind of laugh that said this was a shared amusement. He knew that even though he had never laughed.
“Try this instead,” she said, offering him another tidbit.
He took it, but waited. “You, too.” Ivan didn’t know about relationships like this, but he knew he wanted to take care of her, keep that happiness on her face.
When her smile dimpled the roundness of her cheeks, he realized this wasn’t so difficult after all. Arwen was right; he could figure it out if he only listened. So he did exactly that, content—more than content—to stay quiet as she spoke about what she’d got up to with her friend, how she’d made the tart, and myriad other topics. Her mind was a quicksilver place, bright and enthusiastic.
But she wouldn’t allow him to listen alone. No, she asked him questions, wanted to know about him as much as he wanted to know about her. He answered with honesty; he would not lie to her, would not steal her by hiding the scars on his mind and psyche.
“I’m part of an unusual PsyNet family,” he said. “My cousin turned up yesterday to check that I wasn’t dead, after I fell out of contact for a week. I guess you could call us a pack.”
Laughter, but hidden within the sparkle was a thread far darker and less joyful. “That’s exactly how a pack should be—a strong, cohesive, loving unit.”
“Is your pack not that way?”
“No. I’m visiting with my friend partially because I needed space to come to a decision.” She swallowed. “I’m thinking about leaving the pack.”
Pack was the core of changeling life. Even Psy knew that. For Lei to be considering a permanent break, particularly given the lack of stability in her past, things had to have gone terribly wrong. “Have you decided?”
“No.” She twisted her lips. “I love my packmates, but—” An exhale. “Is it okay if we don’t talk about this anymore? I’m not being sly by not telling you details about my pack. I will. I just … I need time apart from them, even in my own head.”
“Just tell me one more thing—are you safe there?” Unspoken was that if she wasn’t, he’d handle it.
A blink, her pupils expanding. “Yes,” she whispered, then raised her hand as if to touch his face.
When he didn’t shift away, she brushed her fingertips over his skin, and the contact was a tactile punch that rocked him. He tightened his abdomen, held his breath, not about to flinch and cause her to believe he didn’t want her touch. He did. But his body wasn’t used to it, didn’t know how to process the sensations.
Dropping her hand, she said, “You’re a dangerous man.”
Ivan gripped the wrist of his left hand with his right, squeezed. “Yes.”
“Have you killed?” A soft question.
Chapter 6
The infection is in the Net … we’re all vulnerable to breathing in the poison if we come too close to it.
—Vasic Zen, Tp-V, Arrow Squad (January 2082)
GIVING A CURT nod, Ivan said, “Many times. There can be no forgiveness for some crimes, execution the only appropriate punishment.”
No flinch. No withdrawal. “Changelings have the same law.” Hugging her arms around her raised knees, she said, “But meting out death, it changes a person.” A look at him. “Each life taken darkens a piece of your soul.”