Allegiance of Honor (Psy-Changeling #15) - Nalini Singh Page 0,163

night, who he’d then chewed out for hitchhiking. That girl had grown up, grown even tougher and smarter, and become one of Isaac’s best drivers. She’d also turned into a “tall gorgeous woman” who seemed to find pleasure in driving Isaac to distraction . . . until one day, she stopped calling, stopped forwarding him funny e-mails, stopped being an integral and daily part of his life.

Leila’s heart squeezed. “No,” she whispered. “I don’t want a sad ending.” Couldn’t deal with it. Not today. Maybe not for many days to come.

Isaac winked at her. “Jessie just got sick and tired of my thick head and decided to say to hell with me.” His expression devolved into a dark scowl. “She started dating that pretty boy trooper Michel Benoit.” Growling words that could’ve come from one of the big bull sea lion changelings. “I mean, really? A trooper?”

Leila’s shoulders shook. “How did you win her back?” She knew he had, had just noticed the golden wedding band on his left ring finger. It was visible in the photograph, too, as was the glint of gold on Jessie’s hand.

Shaking his head, the bearded trucker said, “That is one hell of a tale.” He began to tell it, snarling every time he got to a part that involved his apparent mortal enemy Michel Benoit.

She was so caught up in his story that she didn’t know when she fell asleep, but when she came awake, it was to a moonlit darkness and the salt-laced scent of the ocean. Eyes burning and heart thumping, she began to push at the heavy door. Isaac had already unlocked it, and by the time she pushed it open, he was there to catch her.

“Isaac”—tears rolled hot and wet down her face—“you brought me home.”

He refused to release his grip on her. “I did, sweetheart, but you know what Malachai said. You won’t survive a swim in your current condition.”

Leila barely heard him, the music of the crashing waves a visceral pulse that pounded her name. Then a tall brunette with features that reminded Leila of another marine biologist she knew, a woman who hailed from the Lil’wat Nation, exited one of the escort vehicles and came over. She carried the scent of the ocean, too, deep in her skin.

Pack.

The realization was enough to pull Leila’s attention from the sea, but not to separate her from Isaac. She didn’t know this packmate, had never before seen her. Then the woman made a call, gave her the phone. Her entire body shook, because it was Miane on the other end, telling her she was safe, that this woman and her partner would bring her to her own waters.

“Canadian waters are too cold for you in your current condition,” Miane said with command inherent in her every word. “It’ll stop your heart even if you shift. Stay in human form a little longer.”

Leila’s entire self hurt with need for the sea, but she couldn’t gainsay the first among them. “I won’t shift.” It came out a trembling promise.

“Only a short while longer, little dancer.”

Little dancer.

No one had called her by the childhood nickname for an eon. Of course, Miane would remember—and in so doing, remind Leila of who she was under the scars and the pain. “I’ll hold on,” she promised in a stronger voice. “Until I’m home.”

Taking the phone after Leila handed it back, the brunette pointed out a yacht moored in the distance, its sails glowing white under the silver kiss of the moon, then gestured toward a small jetboat in the shallows. “If you’re ready?”

Leila swallowed, looked up at Isaac. “Thank you. Your Jessie is a lucky woman.”

His smile was sunrise over an ocean. “Send me a postcard with palm trees on it someday. I’ve never made it to the tropics.”

Throwing her arms around his big, sturdy form, she whispered, “Come visit me. Bring Jessie.”

And then she couldn’t fight the pull anymore, was heading down the beach so fast that her knees threatened to crumple out from under her. The brunette woman and a slender black man helped her onto the jetboat. She trailed her hand in the water and tried not to sob with need as they began to pull away.

Home, she was going home.

Letters to Nina

From the private diaries of Father Xavier Perez

July 14, 2081

Nina,

War has broken out. The streets of San Francisco crawl with soldiers. I’m writing this in the cellar of the church, in a stolen moment. Around me are refugees I and other