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

Then she sat with Canto and, as the sun rose in a glory of washed gold, ate with no concern of poison.

It scared her, just how safe she felt with him, causing tremors that cracked her shields and threatened to set her madness free. Her fingers ached to make contact with his skin, her eyes going over and over to the musculature of his arms, the strong tendons of his neck, the damp strands of his hair … the mobile firmness of his mouth.

Pain stabbed behind her left eye even as she struggled with her need. She was an expert at hiding such attacks, but Canto’s eyes narrowed. “What’s the matter?” He reached out a hand.

Despite the terrible danger of it, she leaned into the touch. The rough pads of his fingertips brushed her cheek. “Migraine.”

“That’s the second one in the past few days.” Scowl dark, Canto brushed the pad of his thumb over her cheekbone.

Payal jerked away. Not because it felt bad. But because it didn’t. She wanted to crawl into his lap, take off his tee, bare her own body, and rub skin against skin.

It was a red warning sign.

And still, she stayed.

Canto continued to scowl. “Have you had scans to make sure it’s not due to a recurrence of your childhood tumor?”

All at once, she’d had enough of secrets with her 7J. If she couldn’t trust Canto, then she was so badly broken that she could have no hope of a life beyond mere robotic existence.

It would mean her father and brother had succeeded in breaking her.

No.

“I have small tumors the surgeons were never able to remove—they’re in a location that can’t be excised without the risk of significant and irreparable damage to my mental capacity and possible physical function.”

A muscle ticked in Canto’s jaw. “Are they growing?”

“No. A type of chemotherapy keeps it in check.” Her pulse beat in her mouth, her skin too hot, then too cold. “Unfortunately, the ‘recipe’ was created by a chemist hired by my father. That chemist then conveniently died. I’ve attempted to have other chemists reverse engineer it without success.”

“He’s using it as a leash, isn’t he?” Canto’s voice was an unsheathed blade. “That’s why we sense Pranath Rao’s stamp on many of your family’s actions, though you’re the CEO.”

“Don’t use this knowledge against me, Canto.” It was the first time she could remember asking someone not to hurt her.

Canto moved quickly, shifting his chair so that he was right next to her. Reaching out, he cupped the back of her neck when she didn’t make any move to stop him. “Understand this, Payal. I will protect you always. Never will I hurt you.”

No one had ever before cared if she was hurt or used. It was too much … almost. “I have to go,” she whispered, but didn’t wrench away. “It’s time for a dose.”

Eyes full of constellations shifted to pure darkness. “How long between doses?”

“It should last seven days, but things can be accelerated by power usage—and we’ve had to deal with two major incidents.” She’d used too much psychic energy in too close a time frame.

“Can you get me a sample?”

“I’ve hired the best of the best in the world.”

“You haven’t hired everyone.” His fingers tightened on her nape, the heat of his skin a rough warmth. “Give me the chance to try to set you free.”

The offer froze her blood, then shattered it, tiny shards ricocheting around her bloodstream and smashing into her already fragmented shields. Making a sharp, pained sound, she gave in to clawing need and pressed her lips to his, her hands on the wall of his chest.

She didn’t know how to kiss, but the contact, the way his hands came immediately to cup her face, it was everything. So many years of loneliness inside her, so much need. I’ll overwhelm you, she warned. I’ll take and take and take.

Take as much as you want. His hand wrapping itself in her ponytail, the taste of him turning her hunger into an addiction. I’ll always have more for you.

Madness sparking like electricity in her veins, she broke the contact as fast as she’d made it. “Please don’t forget me, Canto.” Words torn out of her. To ask someone to care for her enough to remember her, it was the hardest thing she’d ever asked of anyone. If Canto forgot her … she’d break.

She teleported out before he could answer.





The Architect



I am God. Death is meaningless.

—Suicide note left by participant in Operation Scarab (circa 2003)

THE ARCHITECT STARED at the back of her hand, at the fine blue veins that made her heart pump, her brain work. How was it possible that someone like her, someone of the ascendent race, was still bound by flesh?

Picking up a letter opener with a razor-sharp edge, she cut a line on her skin. Blood blossomed wet and a bright, bright red. She tilted her head, watched the line of it form, bubble, then slowly drip down the side of her hand when she angled that mortal thing of bone and skin and distasteful organics.

She was beyond this, her body nothing but a weight holding her down.

There had to be a better way to exist, to grow, to become all that she was meant to be.





Chapter 29



To the end.

—Motto of the Anchor Society (1701)