Last Guard (Psy-Changeling Trinity #5) by Nalini Singh

She let it get around that she was interviewing him for a possible secondary assistant position, and he played the part, taking notes and fetching documents as needed. Ruhi, sure of her position since Payal had made it a point to tell her that she was to remain the most senior member of the office staff, had taken him under her wing.

One thing was non-negotiable: the succession could not be put on Karishma’s shoulders. Payal’s sister was an artist, a gifted one. She no more understood business than Payal understood how to put paint together in such a way that it came alive on the canvas. But ownership of all Rao enterprises would remain hers, to be passed on to her children if she so wished.

Payal intended to leave the oversight of her plan in Canto’s hands.

He refused to discuss it with her, gritting his jaw and changing the subject anytime she tried to bring it up. But she knew that should the worst happen, he’d take care of it, take care of Kari. Because he was in her corner. Always.

“Payal?” Arwen hesitated in the act of rising from the chair across from her own.

The two of them had finished their final meeting of the day, and he was now free to do as he wished. He’d mentioned going to see the art that lined the walls of the lower floor of Vara.

Her headache dull rather than sharp thanks to medication, she looked up. “Yes?” Protectiveness was a pulse in her veins. There was a gentleness to Arwen that made her want to wrap him up in cotton wool.

Eyes of clear silver searched her face. “You’re not mad with Canto for how he’s acting, are you?” He swallowed. “He loves so hard—and the idea that he might lose you, it’s making him act angry and grumpy. He feels helpless and he hates that beyond anything.”

“I know.” She still touched their bond compulsively, felt it grow stronger with every hour that passed. “I don’t know how to shield him from this, Arwen.” It devastated the feral girl in her that Canto would hurt after she was gone.

Because it turned out even a survivor couldn’t outrace this clock.

Eyes shining with wetness, Arwen shook his head. “You can’t shield from life—that’s what got our race into trouble in the first place.”

She was still thinking of his words when Canto rolled his chair into her office. Darkness was falling outside, the lights of Delhi beginning to flicker to life. Stopping her work the instant he appeared, she rose to go over to him.

He glowered at her but wove his fingers through hers. “You look exhausted. Have you eaten?”

“I love you.” No more hiding from that huge emotion, no more cowardice. “Do you know?”

“Yeah.” It came out as rough as his bristled cheek. “But it’s nice to hear it.”

“Shall we go for a walk in the streets of Delhi?” She wanted to show him her city, the vibrancy and the chaos and the stark contrast of new and old.

Canto’s eyes held no galaxies, his jaw a brutal line, but he nodded.

He was a tense, alert presence at her side as they exited through the main gates of Vara.

Which was why it didn’t surprise her in the least when he said, “Stop,” in a cold tone to a short and skinny man who’d darted toward her—from behind a tree outside the gates. He wore a satchel crosswise across his body.

The man skidded to a halt, his dark eyes shifting to Payal. “Miss Payal, I have information for you,” he said in the local dialect.

Canto had subtly angled his chair so he—and his hidden weapon—were in front of her.

Wait, Canto. Payal put a hand on his shoulder. I think I recognize him. The memory was a few years old, and she couldn’t quite place the man, but he wasn’t a stranger. “Why are you lurking outside? You could have contacted me in other ways.” As the Rao CEO, she wasn’t easily accessible, but neither was she insulated from the outside world.

He looked around, as if searching for watchers. “I wasn’t sure who to trust.”

Canto, able to understand the dialect because she was permitting him to link to her in a way that was beyond telepathic, said, He’s Psy. Good shields, but nothing martial or extraordinary. No weapons that I can spot, though the satchel is suspect, and his body language isn’t threatening. More scared.

Payal processed that, said, “All right. Let’s speak.” And because she saw his jittery gaze and constant swallowing, she invited him through the gates of Vara. Once safe from outside eyes, she led him into the garden and said, “You can speak freely. My home has been cleared of those not loyal to me.”

Payal didn’t seek devotion from those who worked for her, but she did want to know that she could walk the halls of her home without worrying about a knife in the back. To Sunita, the member of staff who had been so very loyal to her, she’d offered a generous pension should the woman wish to retire, but Sunita was basking in her promotion to head of domestic staff and had no intention of retiring.

It was a promotion long overdue; skilled and hardworking Sunita had been overlooked too many times in favor of Pranath’s favorites.

“What is your name?” she asked the man who’d stopped her, the garden lights a soft glow against the falling night, and the leaves of the guava tree rustling in the gentle breeze.

“Nikhil Varma.” Perspiration dotted his dark skin, though it wasn’t a hot night by Delhi standards. “I’m a cleaner. Chemical and medical waste.”