Heart of Obsidian

Seeing her interest, he gave her the full details, before adding, “In a Psy host, infection leads to mental degradation, including outbreaks of violence and, eventually, death.”



Expressive, her face hid nothing as she worked through the ramifications. “It’s us,” she said, her intelligence as acute as it had always been. “The Net is created out of the minds of our race, and we’re broken on a fundamental level.” Sadness lingered in the midnight blue. “If it’s a Netwide problem, it must be manifesting in more subtle ways even in areas that appear free of infection.”



She had understood in a single minute what others had not seen after months of exposure, even people who should know better. “There are those who are becoming more and more innocent”— almost childlike—“while others are turning twisted and dark to the extent that their future rampages will eclipse the insanity and serial killing that made Silence seem the better choice.”



Sahara hugged her arms around her raised knees. “That’s bad, but not as bad as what the infection is doing to the psychic fabric of the Net.”



Kaleb said nothing, his attention on the scent of her hair as the wind swept the strands across her face and over his arm.



“If the rot creates enough points of weakness,” she whispered, “the Net will fragment and eventually collapse. Everyone will die.”



“It won’t fragment, won’t collapse.” If it did, Sahara would die and that was unacceptable. “I have the power to ensure it maintains its integrity.”



Sahara had already begun to understand what drove Kaleb. “You plan to seize total control.” She knew she should be horrified—Kaleb was an avatar of darkness, in no way the right man to trust with the fate of an entire people. But she couldn’t argue with his reasoning; his power was vast. He might be the only one capable of saving their race from the day of reckoning coming ever nearer with every infection, every inch of rot. “What will you do with it?”



“That has yet to be decided.”



Beads of cold sweat rolled down her spine, and suddenly the declaration of possession she’d taken as a sign of an obsession that could entomb them both in black ice was something else altogether.



“That’s why you want me, isn’t it?” she said, her pain so deep, it had no name, no ending. “You know what I can do.”



Kaleb stared out over the water, his profile limned by the sun. “I’ve always known what you could do.” Had been aware of the vast potential locked within her slender frame since she was a child. “I won’t use you or hurt you.” The promise was one he’d made long ago, one she could no longer remember . . . though she’d kept her own promise.



Sahara had no comprehension of the power she wielded, of the empires he’d destroy for her, the blood he’d spill. All she saw was the monster he’d become. “I would never hurt you.” Every man had a breaking point, and Sahara was his—and though he knew his declaration to be the wrong move on the chessboard, her trust in him wavering, he could no longer stand the wariness of her.



Sahara’s eyes were of infinite depth when she looked at him, the clarity of her gaze seeming to strip away the mask until she saw the ugly truth of his becoming. “I want to go home,” she said, “to Tahoe. To my father.”



Every muscle in his body went rigid. “I’ve told you, you belong to me.” She was the only person in the world who did, and he would never surrender his claim.



Not unless and until she did the one thing that would forever separate them.



“You also promised me you’d never hurt me.” It was a quiet reminder of the vow he’d just remade.



“This— us—I’m being subsumed in it.” Acrid fear, the line of her jaw taut as she turned her gaze to the water. “I can’t become who I’m meant to be in your shadow. I’m afraid of waking up one day and finding there’s nothing left inside me but this furious need for you that wrenches away my sanity.”



The cold void in him, the part that spoke to the DarkMind and found satisfaction in Tatiana’s terror, saw in her confession—in the memory of the way she’d held him to her, both of them out of control— a submission that gave him the power to bend her to his will. If he held her long enough, Sahara would be his in every way. But even the part that was the void, merciless and without conscience, knew one thing: the woman who remained would no longer be Sahara, her murder a quiet suffocation.



“There is no guarantee NightStar will be safe for you,” he said, the waves crashing to shore with increasing force as his telekinesis threatened to slip its bonds. “You had your suspicions about what they did to Faith.”



“My father, I remember him now.” She blinked against the spray of a wave that slammed to the sand with enough force to reach them both. “He’s not just a name, was never just a genetic donor. He would’ve missed me.”



Seeing the flecks of water on his shirt, Kaleb was reminded of the shards of glass that carpeted the living room. “Your father is Silent.” As he spoke, he switched on the dissonance at the highest level, wracking his body with a nerve-shredding pain that he bore in expressionless quiet. He could not risk losing lethal control while Sahara sat next to him, asking to walk away. The pain itself did nothing to halt the Tk—no, it was simply a reminder that he could never, ever let go.



If he struck out and ended her, he would become a nightmare in truth.



“He might be Silent,” Sahara said, her mind filled with images of a big man who had picked her up and dusted her off after countless childhood accidents, “but I was more to him than a biological legacy.” In front of her, the waves remained aggressive but no longer violent, and she knew the Tk beside her had found the black ice again. Passionate anger bubbled below her skin, her hatred directed at the very remoteness that might make him open to reason.



“My father treated me with care”—she tightened her grip around her own wrists to stop from reaching for Kaleb—“even when my only known gift was backsight at a level far below my standing on the Gradient. He never once made me feel as if I were a disappointment. My whole life, I knew I was important to him.”



Glancing at Kaleb when he remained silent, the wind whipping her hair off her face, she said, “Did he search for me?”



Kaleb’s eyes remained on the water, his gaze that blackness so absolute, she couldn’t imagine what he saw. “Yes. Leon Kyriakus has led the NightStar search since the day of your disappearance, to the present day.”



Hope struggled to life inside her. “Tatiana is . . . out of the picture”—tightening her stomach muscles to contain the roiling in her abdomen—“and there is no reason to believe anyone in my family was ever sympathetic to her. NightStar is a very tight-knit clan.” They’d had to be. Foresight was not a gift that allowed for the survival of the individual without the support of the group. “Even if they did sell out Faith”—it hurt to think that—“it shows a profit motive. There is no possible economic advantage in giving up my ability to another.”



No response from the deadly Tk who considered her his possession.



“I want to go home, Kaleb,” she said again, and watched the waves turn murderous.



Chapter 19



SAHARA THOUGHT THE sight magnificent, the crashing thunder of the water a dark music. There was no fear in her blood because, foolish though it might be, she believed him when he said he wouldn’t hurt her, this fascinating and lethal male her subconscious saw as safe, and who held the power to enslave her body. There was a haunting hardness to his beauty, as if he had been carved of pure iron, but that only made the temptation worse—because he burned for her, as he burned for no other.



“I want to sit in my father’s kitchen,” she whispered, tasting the salt of the spray thrown up by the waves, “and I want to sleep in the bed that was mine.” She was no longer the teenager who had once shared the small, neat house with her father, but that teenage self was the only template she had for who she might’ve been. It was her starting point.



Kaleb’s response was scalpel sharp and as cold. “Your shields are paper-thin.”



“Yes.” Wanting desperately to hold him, to scream at the injustice of what had been done to them both, she tightened her grip on her own wrists until her hands threatened to go numb. “I’ll need help to hide my broken Silence, as well as my vulnerabilities.”



“Are you asking me to help you?”



It was a ridiculous request of this man who had confessed to having been an apprentice to a serial murderer, and who had kept her prisoner in a home far from civilization, and yet she said, “Yes.”



Heart thudding at the risk she took, but no longer able to fight the hunger for contact, she touched her fingers to his forearm, directly above the mark that was less a scar and more a brand, the fine and slightly damp cotton of his shirt not thick enough to conceal the raised ridges she traced with her fingertips.



She wanted to ask him about that mark until it hurt, but every time she went to open her mouth on the question, her heart began to pound loud enough to drown out all other sound, her throat lined with grit so hard and rough, it threatened to cut. It was a key to the past, that terrible brand, but it was a key her mind wasn’t yet ready to turn.



“You can reach me, take me, at any time.” It was a simple fact, his power vast, and one she could not ignore, even as she fought for her freedom.



Her own power was as vast . . . but irrational though her decision might be, it was one she would not use on Kaleb. “All I’m asking,” she said as that silent repudiation sang in her blood, “is that you give me time to become who I’m meant to be.” Instead of this fractured facsimile. “It hurts to be so broken.”



* * *



KALEB had spent seven years searching for her with ruthless focus, and now she asked him to set her free. Once again, the void, the part of him that he knew was perilously unbalanced, held in check only through the power of his will, responded with a primal negative.