Last Guard by Nalini Singh

Chapter 27

To say Mercants are a tight-knit unit is a slight understatement. More correct would be to say that if they consider you a threat to one of their own, they will cut out your liver, fry it in front of you, then offer it to you with a side dish of your poison of choice.

—Quote by an anonymous source for the PsyNet Beacon (2082)

DESPITE HIS TWINYakov calling him as subtle as an elephant, Pavel could be pretty light of foot for a bear, so he padded over to tuck the blanket more firmly around Canto’s cardinal, frowning at the dark shadows under her eyes. He’d seen Arwen get that way—it happened when Psy burned too hot and used up all their psychic energy.

Canto had looked the same when Pavel arrived.

Grumbling under his breath about “Psy who don’t take care of themselves,” he turned off the one light he’d left on while Payal was falling asleep. She might as well sleep in nice cozy darkness. But he didn’t lower the blinds over the sliding doors—the moonlight would allow her to orient herself if she woke.

The next thing he did was check on Canto. Also in a deep natural sleep. Pavel had never seen anyone sleep that way—almost as if the body were in hibernation—but Silver had told him it was normal after a psychic burn so severe it flatlined the user’s powers.

A scent caught his nose just as he exited the bedroom, and suddenly, he felt like a high school bear with his first crush. He wanted to bounce on his toes. Would it always be like this? Probably. Was he fine with that?

Hell yeah.

He grabbed Arwen in his arms the instant the more slender man hit the top stair. He was as impeccably dressed as always, today in a suit of black paired with a dark gray shirt and perfectly knotted black tie. His hair was combed to within an inch of its life, his black leather shoes shined to a polish.

He looked as if he’d walked off the page of a high-end menswear catalog.

Pavel, meanwhile, wore old blue jeans, a once-green tee that had seen better days, and beat-up sneakers. Yet Arwen’s delight wrapped around him like a hug even as he looked snootily down his perfect aristocratic nose and said, “You’re creasing my jacket.”

Laughing, Pavel kissed him on that gorgeous mouth. The thing with empaths was that they could be as snooty as they liked—if they loved you, it showed. Hell, it surrounded you until it was in every cell of your being. Pavel had told Yakov that it was like being enfolded in Arwen-scented sunshine.

The kiss was a wild, familiar thing until Arwen pushed at his shoulders.

Pavel let go at once. Arwen wasn’t a dominant, not the way changelings saw things. He wasn’t a submissive, either. He was closer to a healer than anything else. And healers were to be protected. Though Pavel wasn’t stupid enough to say that out loud; Arwen would cut him to shreds with his tone alone.

He’d taken lessons at Ena Mercant’s knee, after all.

But the crux of it all was that Pavel was far, far physically stronger. The only way this could work—whatever it was they were doing—was for him to listen to and follow Arwen’s physical cues. “Silver sent you, didn’t she?”

“Of course she did—not just because of Canto, either. She’s worried about you hanging around an unknown Tk.” Arwen looked him up and down. “You seem whole.” Cool words, but the happy sunshine wove through his hair, sank into his skin, was a near-taste on his tongue.

Arwen fixed his jacket back into place, then leaned over and nudged Pavel’s glasses up his nose. “Cute.”

Pavel grinned, even though he’d pound anyone else who dared call him cute. “Your cousin’s asleep. Looks normal to me, but you want to check?” He nudged his head toward the sofa. “She’s out like a light, too. Not a stir despite our noise.” He’d kept a bearish ear out for any sign of disturbance.

After a curious glance at the cardinal—whose face was obscured by the way the blanket had bunched there—Arwen walked into the bedroom, his stride as fluid as Silver’s. That they weren’t changeling was clear, but Mercants had a deadly grace about them.

When Arwen exited, he went to stare down at the cardinal. “Shit, it really is Payal Rao,” he said, his breath hitching in his throat and his voice an octave higher than normal. “She’s in Canto’s house, asleep.”

Blinking rapidly, he reached down to undo his suit jacket, then put his hands on his hips, pushing the jacket back as he did so—to reveal a black leather belt initialed with a discreet designer logo. “Canto and Payal Rao.” He sounded as agog as many people did when they said Valentin Nikolaev and Silver Mercant.

A shake of his head. “I told Silver to leave it be, but it was all theoretical then.”

“Come here before you hyperventilate.” Pavel dragged him out onto the deck.

Arwen came but he was still muttering. “Grandmother must know. Canto wouldn’t go behind her back.”

“Your grandmother knows everything.” Swinging his arm around the other man’s shoulders, Pavel drew him out to the railing. “And Canto will kick your ass if you interfere.”

Arwen looked mutinous for a second before wincing. “You’re right.”

“So, you consider my invite?” Because their relationship? It wasn’t settled like Silver and Valentin’s or Chaos and Nova’s. The two of them had been playing this game of back and forth for months.

“Aren’t you frustrated?” Yakov had asked him the other day.

Pavel’s answer had been easy. “No. He’s an E who’s been in hiding all his life. Not from his family, but from the rest of the world. This is the first time he’s been free to be himself. He needs to do that first before he can come to me.”

“If he decides he doesn’t want that? To come to you?”

“Why are you so mean? What did I ever do to you?”

“Kick me in the womb.”

“Mudak,” Pavel had muttered, but hadn’t pounced on his twin for a fight that let their bears out. “If he doesn’t want me after, I have to let him go. That’s who we are. StoneWater bears court our lovers. We might occasionally try to kidnap them, but we don’t force.”

Long, elegant fingers with nails buffed and squared stroked his jaw. “What’s the matter, Pasha bear?” Arwen murmured, looking at him with those empathic eyes that saw too much.

Pasha bear.

If Yakov ever heard that, he’d die laughing, then come back from the grave to laugh some more. But Pavel melted. “Big bear thoughts,” he said with a grin, because he wouldn’t put that pressure on Arwen.

His E had to come to him on his own terms.

“Tell me about this Payal Rao,” he said. “She sounds like your sister.”

An immediate scowl, the gentle touch gone. “Silver is not like Payal.” Arwen folded his arms. “From what I know, she’s ruthless and calculated and doesn’t care about anything but power.”

Pavel’s lips twitched. “Moy luchik, do you think Silver is a fluffy kitten?”

Growling low in his throat—and yes, Pavel was proud of having taught him that—Arwen turned and leaned on the balcony railing. “Silver is loyal to family. She’d die to protect us. Payal, as far as I know, has no deep family connections.”

“Her fault?”

Arwen took a moment before shrugging. “I don’t know. It’s not my job in the family to keep track of stuff like that.” He sighed. “I have to apologize to Silver for being so smug—I can’t stop worrying, either, now that it’s real. She’s so dangerous, Pasha.”

Shifting to lean on the railing beside him, but facing the house, Pavel said, “Canto can take care of himself, you know. Man’s a cardinal and as tough as any bear.” He watched the wind riffle its fingers through Arwen’s hair, and his fingers itched to do the same.

Later, he promised himself.

“You don’t understand.” Arwen’s fingers tightened on the railing. “Canto’s about to hit thirty-nine, and the only people he’s ever trusted are family—and family adjacent, like you.” Shoulders tense, he stood to his full height. “I just … I don’t know if he understands the power of emotion. I don’t know if he understands that it can be used to manipulate.”

“I gotta disagree, Arwen. Canto’s about as un-Psy a Psy I’ve ever met.” Grumpy, open, generous. “I say you should worry about Payal. Is she good at emotions?”

Arwen hesitated, then reached over to pull Pavel’s phone out of his back jeans pocket and did a search. They both watched the video that came up—an interview with Payal in relation to a recent merger.

Afterward, Pavel raised an eyebrow. “Payal Rao has no fucking idea how to deal with a sneaky Mercant.”

“Canto isn’t sneaky,” Arwen muttered. “He’s a straight arrow.”

Chuckling, Pavel slid his hand around the back of Arwen’s neck. “Sneaky is in your blood,” he said against his lover’s lips. “You can’t help it.” Then, as his bear stirred against the inside of his skin, its fur rich and luxuriant, he kissed the man who held his wild changeling heart.

And he wished Payal Rao luck.

She’d need it with her Mercant.