Alterant (Belador #2)(70)

“One hour.”

“Ninety minutes.”

“One. Hour.”

She had to give him a reason that would overrule his concern for her. “Ninety minutes. If you call in Tzader and Quinn before I find these three Alterants, the Tribunal might twist it around to appear as though I called them in.”

He nodded, unhappy about it, but he agreed to the compromise.

She moved close and lifted up to whisper, “Please understand. If you need me to face something like the Maze of Death to help with finding you-know-who”—she didn’t even know the name of the woman Storm was hunting—“I will.”

He nodded again, not any happier, but understanding swept his face, uncovering a gaze filled with caring that warmed her heart.

“Need to go,” Tristan called over.

When she turned to leave, Storm pulled her back around and into his arms, kissing her before she could say a word.

Embarrassment heated her skin at Tristan watching them, but only for the two seconds it took for her to realize this was a new kiss. Her empathic senses burst awake and told her this kiss had a name and a meaning—possession. Any other time, she’d have shoved a man on his butt and straightened him out about the fact that no one possessed her, but her hands refused to untangle from their grip on Storm’s shirt.

She rode a heady wave of feeling at the idea of a man like Storm wanting her this much.

When Tristan made a disgruntled noise, she smoothed her hands against Storm’s chest and gave him a slight push until he lifted his head. “I have to go.”

He dropped his forehead to hers. “Be careful.”

“I will be.”

She’d made three steps away when Storm told Tristan, “Bring her back with so much as a scratch on her and VIPER won’t end up with enough of you to satisfy a pack of hungry rats.”

Tristan smiled and hooked an arm around Evalle’s waist. “See you, tomcat.”

She closed her eyes, hoping she’d been right about Tristan having a soul, because he was her only way out of the Maze of Death. Sen wouldn’t come unless the Tribunal sent for her, and even then he’d probably pretend he couldn’t find her.

One way in. One way out.





TWENTY-THREE




Voices skidded through his mind, playing dodgeball with his thoughts.

Quinn kept his eyes shut tight even though the room was as dark as a moonless night and he had an ice compress over his forehead and eyes. He tried to thicken his mental shields to stop the onslaught of voices, but the effort almost sent him back to worship the porcelain god.

He had nothing else left to throw up.

Images flashed in and out from minds he’d linked to and probed. Images as garbled as the voices.

“Quinn?”

Had he heard that voice in his head or in the room? Couldn’t have been in the room. No one could get in but Tzader.

No room service allowed since a bullet between the eyes wasn’t on the menu.

Energy swirled in the room, whipping the chilly air to frost level. No, not now.

“Quinn?”

He gritted his teeth and tried to reinforce his mental shields, but they were weak, too shaky to battle any real power. “You shouldn’t be here, Kizira.”

“Then you shouldn’t have called me.”

Huh? He tried to lift up, but an invisible hammer pounded his head with vicious enthusiasm.

“I didn’t call you, Kizira.”

“I wouldn’t have gone through all I did to be here if you hadn’t. I risked leaving my bodyguards in charge of a project I’m responsible for.”

Had he called her? He would have known that, right?

“You’re in pain. I can help.”

“No . . . don’t. Go away. Please.” His teeth chattered when the temperature dropped severely.

“I can drop the temperature even more to freeze the pain out of your brain.”

“No.” His thoughts tangled. How had she gotten in here? The mind probe. What had happened to him during that probe?

“You miss me.” She hadn’t asked, just spoken, as though saying the words would give them weight and value. “Remember the last time we were alone?”

All too well.

Good thing he’d stretched out still fully clothed. The last time he and Kizira had been alone they’d ended up naked.

Like he needed that image worming its way into his splitting head right now? She had to go. He was civilized only when he had all his faculties accounted for, and right now parts of his mind had taken a hiatus.

She spoke softly. “You were in my head today where you shouldn’t have been, Quinn. Why?”

He frowned, and even that hurt. Had he reached into her mind during the probe, too? No. She’d climbed into his, fearless of what he might have done to her. She’d been in a vision of the future, not here today. What kind of connection had opened up by tapping the spirit of Conlan’s evil father?

No matter what, Quinn had to keep her out of his mind.

He mumbled, “How was I in your head?” but the words might have come out, “Howz I in ure ’ead?”

She made a sound he recalled from their time alone when she’d get exasperated with him. “Can you at least sit up and talk to me?”

“Honestly . . . no. Had a . . . difficult day.” When he heard the shirr of material heading his way, he opened his eyes again, but the room blurred.