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

Never had she reached out to anyone as an adult. That was why Canto was so dangerous to her, why she’d decided to push him away. A choice between a precious and rare connection, and her sanity and reason.

Not fair. But the world had never been fair to them.

CANTO had managed to get his raw emotions under unyielding control by the time he reached the shelter. He’d rage when he was alone. Right now, Payal had asked him to help her maintain her foundations—to help her live as Payal Rao and not a wild and out-of-control falling star—and he would not let her down.

“Here.” Sliding out the large-format organizer he’d put in the case built into the side of his chair, he brought up the plan his grandmother had received from Kaleb. Canto had read the signs in the slipstreams of the PsyNet, knew the Ruling Coalition had to be considering this dangerous solution, and asked his grandmother to feel things out.

She’d just gone ahead and asked the most powerful man in the Net.

It was a measure of Kaleb’s respect for Ena that he’d passed on the classified plan titled “Sentinel”—though he had asked why she wanted to know. When informed that the request had come from a Mercant hub-anchor, Kaleb had apparently become very interested in return.

“He doesn’t know the whole family yet,” Ena had told Canto when she sent him the Sentinel papers. “Had no idea we had a hub in the mix—he wants to meet with you.”

Canto wasn’t ready to talk to the cardinal Tk. Not yet. He had to figure this out with Payal and the other anchors first. This was an A problem, the subject so specific and esoteric that it had been forgotten by the rest of the world. “I think all of us should talk about Sentinel,” he said. “You, me, and the four As who’ve agreed to be part of the advisory panel.”

Payal—who’d once more taken the seat next to him—didn’t look up from her intense focus on the severance plan, her skin no longer pale as it had been when she’d looked at him with such open vulnerability. She was once more Payal Rao, CEO, and her skin held a honeyed glow under the filtered sunlight. Canto had set the walls of the shelter to medium clarity—a setting that allowed in light but muted it to a more comfortable softness.

“The members of the advisory board,” she murmured. “They agree with the decision to face off against the Ruling Coalition?”

“More or less.”

She raised her head.

He rubbed his face rather than give in to the compulsion to touch the curve of her chin. “None of us are used to working as a team—or being so visible—but they’re all intelligent people. I don’t think we’ll have too much trouble.” He’d made sure not to choose anyone so insular and isolated that they’d panic at the idea of being exposed to the world.

“We’ll allay their concerns by making it clear I’ll be the face.” Payal zoomed in on part of the plan. “You’re willing to be my lieutenant? To step in if I can’t?”

“According to my grandmother, Mercants were knights to a king at the beginning of our history and rode into battle at his side,” Canto said. “Only one of us was left standing by the end.” He looked into a face he’d never be permitted to touch. “We’re good at standing by our generals.”

“Such language makes us sound like an army going into war.”

“That’s exactly what we are.” There was no getting around that. “We’re battling for the survival of the entire PsyNet. We are the last guard against a total system failure.” And Payal—strong, determined, unbending against pressure—would go into battle at the forefront, the anchor flag held high.

He’d fight to the death to protect her as she fought for Designation A.

A flicker at the corner of his eye, the first of the advisory board members being teleported in. It was the only non-cardinal in the group: Bjorn Thorsen.

Almost eighty-seven years old with gray hair and gray eyes, his skin white with a tinge of pink, the senior anchor took a look around the oasis, then glanced inside the shelter and did a double take. “You’re an A?”

Payal crossed one leg over the other, while holding the organizer on her thighs. “Yes.”

“Payal Rao, meet Bjorn Thorsen,” Canto said, “professor of mathematics and hub in California.”

Next to come in was Suriana Wirra, a twenty-seven-year-old woman of medium height with skin of darkest brown, softly rounded cheeks, and thick hair she’d pulled back into a single braid. Her teleport was thanks to the second Mercant teleporter, since Genara would’ve flamed out if asked to make all the ’ports.

Shy and quiet, Suriana just nodded as she settled in.

The next person to arrive did so under his own steam: Arran Gabriel, with his black hair and brown skin, his body tightly coiled under his torn jeans and faded black T-shirt, was another telekinetic with teleport-capable abilities. As a result of the latter—and because his family hadn’t held the power of Payal’s—he’d been taken from his family unit at age four and thrown into a strict martial training program.

He’d initialized at age seven, but somehow, no one had realized what was happening, what he was. Arran was the only hub of whom Canto was aware who hadn’t immediately been tagged as an A upon initialization. His experiences had left him angry in a way Canto knew was dangerous. But at twenty-four years of age Arran had that violent anger under vicious control.