as if it had been conditioned. Unlike the brutal suffocation of Silence, however, this conditioning was chosen, was wanted.
Gripping her lush lower curves, he opened to the kiss she claimed, felt his erection harden further as she licked her tongue against his. His hands flexed on her, his body hers to command. His mate had taught him pleasure after a lifetime of cold discipline engendered by torture that had forever ended his childhood, and now he craved that pleasure. Craved her. Only with Brenna could he be this man, a man who demanded and gave and who sank into sensation.
Sliding one hand up her back, he was about to deepen the kiss when he heard voices, felt the thunder of pounding feet. He broke the kiss just in time to witness an invasion, as all the adults who’d been in the White Zone jumped into the pond en masse, most with loud whooping and hard splashes. Brenna threw back her head and laughed as she was splashed, broke free to splash back. Judd watched her grin, watched her sparkle . . . and he played.
It was no longer a foreign experience.
As he stole a kiss from his mate a few minutes later, he hoped his friend Xavier would have the same chance at happiness, that he’d find his Nina. Of the three of them who had come together to form their own small rebel cell—Judd, Kaleb, Xavier—the priest was undeniably the only one who was good to the core of his soul. He might’ve struggled, might’ve looked into the screaming depths of the abyss, but Xavier Perez had never fallen into that darkness. He deserved joy, deserved to find the love he’d lost under a hail of bloody telepathic strikes over nine years earlier.
Good luck, my friend.
Letters to Nina
From the private diaries of Father Xavier Perez
July 8, 2073
Nina,
I’m sitting surrounded by the phantom image of what was once our village. A bare three months since the Psy attack and there’s nothing here anymore. The bodies are all gone, as are the houses. No sign remains of the vibrant place that was our home.
I can hear you laughing at the idea of me writing a letter. I never did write you romantic love notes like Jorge did to Fiorella, even after you hinted so hard you may as well have hit me over the head with a hammer. Why should I write letters, I thought, when my Nina is here beside me, and I can love her with my voice, my hands, my body?
But now I’ve lost you and all I have left is paper and ink.
I saw you go over the cliff into the river. I made you jump. I thought you’d be safe, that the waters would carry you away from the carnage.
The silence here is ugly, obscene. A heavy shroud.
In the months since the Psy murdered all those we loved, I’ve returned here many times hoping you’d made your way back, but I’ve found no trace of you. No one knows of a woman who came out of the river. No one has heard of my Nina. I’m not giving up. I’ll never give up. Because from the day I first grew old enough to remember my own thoughts, I knew two things: That I was a man of God, and that one day, I would marry you.
I’ll find you, Nina. No matter what it takes or how long I have to search. I’ll find you.
Your Xavier
Chapter 7
KALEB HADN’T BEEN serious when he told Judd he was thinking of taking Silver along to the meeting with Ena Mercant, but when his most senior aide walked into his office as he was buttoning up the jacket of his navy blue pin-striped suit, he considered it for an instant. Because the Mercants were . . . unusual.
In political terms and in terms of their intelligence network, their importance was far-reaching. Most people saw them as shadow players who wanted to manipulate puppets in positions of power, but Kaleb had always seen something different: a family that had stayed a family regardless of Silence. They were a tightly integrated unit with blood-deep loyalty to one another.
Kaleb had first hired Silver because he wanted an “in” with the Mercants, had kept her on even after he figured out that getting Mercant trust was nothing so simple. It had been an easy decision: Silver was the best aide he’d ever had, one who worked efficiently with and for him—as evidenced by the fact