told, please do it.”
“I will.” But first, after Ivy logged off, Ashaya needed to deal with the agony inside her. She slid down to sit on the floor of her home office, her arms curled around her knees. Sobs rocked her, when tears were things she’d never shed in the PsyNet.
It didn’t startle her when Dorian entered the room within seconds, though she’d left him fast asleep in their bed. Her mate had felt her sorrow, run to her despite the fact that his leg was still in a plascast. “Zie Zen’s dead,” she managed to say before she couldn’t speak.
Kneeling down beside her, Dorian held her against his chest and he let her cry.
“K-Keen . . .” Her son’s heart would be broken; she needed to get herself together so she could deal with his pain.
Dorian pressed a kiss to her temple. “I shut the office door when I walked in. He won’t wake.”
“I c-can’t stop,” she said at one point.
“You will when you’re ready.”
So she cried and she thought emotions were a horrible thing sometimes . . . but she wouldn’t trade them for cold peace. Never again. A life of freedom from chains psychic or emotional or physical was Zie Zen’s gift to her and she would honor it always.
• • •
HIGH in a skyscraper in New York, a woman who’d once been under Ming LeBon’s ugly control hung up the phone with a thickness in her throat. Ashaya was devastated by the news of Zie Zen’s death but she’d taken the time to call Katya. “I thought you’d want to know,” Katya’s friend and former boss had said.
Katya couldn’t believe Zie Zen was gone. He was like an ancient tree in the forest. Always there, offering shelter under its branches. It was near impossible to comprehend that the tree had fallen, leaving a gaping hole in their midst. She’d never been as close to him as Ashaya, but he’d had a profound impact on her life nonetheless—for it was Zie Zen who’d built the foundation on which every Psy rebel stood, whether they knew it or not.
Conscious her husband would want to be informed as soon as possible, she looked up his private diary and saw he was scheduled for a consult with the Forgotten’s head medic.
She knew what “consult” was code for, so instead of heading to the infirmary or Dev’s office space, she used her handprint to authorize the elevator to take her to a secret subbasement. Triple-shielded against interference, this was the space where the Forgotten ran experiments testing the limits of the new psychic abilities popping up among their people.
The elevator doors opened to reveal another locked door.
Scanning herself through using retinal fingerprinting as well as a voice code, she entered to find Dev and Glen the only two people in the cavernous gray space that always seemed cold to her.
Rubbing her hands up and down her upper arms, she nodded hello to the doctor, but stayed out of the way. Dev didn’t acknowledge her, likely couldn’t. Her husband was seated in a chair surrounded by complex monitoring equipment. Hooked up to them by multiple wires, he stared straight ahead at what looked like a computer set to solve logic problems.
As Katya watched, the computer’s behavior changed. It began to scroll data across the screen. Katya didn’t know what was happening but she knew Dev was behind it. He’d become part of the machine.
Gut clenched, she looked into his eyes. They were the same gorgeous brown with amber, gold, and bronze flecks that she loved . . . only ice-cold, no humanity, no warmth. “Dev,” she whispered, unable to hold back the visceral need to claw him back from the metallic ice of the machines.
Though she’d spoken at the lowest possible volume, his response was immediate. Lashes coming down, he said, “Katya, mere jaan.” A rusty voice, but his lips curved into a smile as his eyes warmed to shimmering gold on the upward rise of his lashes.
She could barely wait long enough for Glen to unhook him from the monitoring sensors. Wrapping her arms around him the instant he rose to his feet, she shivered and held him even tighter. “You’re so cold.”
Dev cuddled her to his chest. “I don’t feel it, but Glen says there’s a definite surface temperature drop when I interface with higher-level machines.”
“No need to worry though,” was the doctor’s cheerful addition. “His vitals carry on as per usual.”
Katya drew back, took one of Dev’s hands, and