Shield Of Winter Part 19

She's had a traumatic day.

You'll be the one having a traumatic day soon. Strong women don't like being wrapped in cotton wool.

Vasic held his ground. Were this your mate, would you tell her?

Of course, was the immediate answer. Mating is a partnership. It's not about keeping secrets or about one half of the pair bearing all the weight.

"Do you two geniuses think I can't tell you're talking about me?" Eyes narrowed, Ivy folded her arms.

"Sorry." Judd coughed into his hand. "I'd better be heading off anyway." A glance at Vasic. "Think about what I said."

Ivy waited until the other man was gone before raising an eyebrow. "Well?"

He realized she was tapping her foot. For some reason, that tiny action fascinated him. "You suffered a major psychic burnout earlier," he said, disregarding Judd's advice in his need to protect Ivy.

"Empaths are built to handle turbulent emotion." She rubbed the heel of her hand over her breastbone as she stated that fact in an exasperated tone.

Zeroing in on the unconscious act, he said, "You're feeling the aftereffects of working with Eben."

"Yes, like a bruise," she admitted. "And like any bruise, it'll fade." A piercing look. "Now talk to me-we can't work blind, Vasic."

She was right. Such blindness could be fatal. "It appears the infection is more stealthy than originally believed," he said, and gave her everything he had to this point. "I'll make sure to brief the rest of the Es, too."

"Thank you." She swallowed. "Were there any other Psy survivors?"

He knew she was talking about people anch.o.r.ed in the region, not visitors. "A mother and child. I'm certain they're empaths."

Ivy said nothing for a long time, and Vasic simply watched her. The top of her head just reached his breastbone and he could see the snow on her hair had melted to leave jeweled droplets of water on her curls. As he watched, a single droplet rolled stealthily down past her ear to disappear into the raised collar of his jacket.

He imagined it laying a wet path across her collarbone and over the creamy mound of her breast until it caught on the peak of a dusky pink nipple. The urge to tug down the zip on the jacket, push aside her other clothing, and undo the cruelty of the day with the soft, generous warmth of her was a violent storm surge in his blood. Holding it back with a bloodless grip, he told himself fantasies didn't count.

So long as he didn't put his hands on her flesh, he wouldn't taint her.

Another part of his mind grabbed on to that thought with hungry teeth. Looking wasn't touching, it whispered.

"That answers one question." Ivy's breath fogged the air as her voice merged with the voracious one in his head. "Empaths are immune to the infection."

Subtly altering the air molecules around her face so the air she inhaled was no longer so cold, he muted the sly voice that had found a loophole in his resolve. "Yes." Even if it could be argued that Eben and the baby's mother had somehow protected themselves, the same couldn't be said of the infant. "There may also be another empath among the wounded survivors."

"Three confirmed empaths in such a small area, possibly four." Ivy stepped close enough that the sleeve of her jacket brushed his arm. "It hints at exactly how many there must be in the Net."

"And the fact of their necessity." The PsyNet was alive in a way no one understood. It wouldn't have produced so many empaths in this generation unless they served a vital function.

Nodding, Ivy bit down on her lower lip as she had a habit of doing, her eyes focused on the ground and a vertical line between her eyebrows.

What are you thinking? he asked, though he had no right to know.

Give me a minute.

So close to him that he could reach out and embrace her, she- He paused, worked through all the tiny details he knew about her. Would you like me to hold you? he asked, unsure he was correctly reading the subtle cues.

She turned into his body in answer. Wrapping his arms around her, he took care to make certain the gauntlet didn't dig into her, and cradled her head as he'd done when he'd held her after the nightmare. She seemed not to mind the hold, and he liked the feel of her hair, silky and warm against his skin.

This touch didn't count, either, that starving part of him whispered. Ivy needed this; to deny her the contact would be to hurt her. Cheek pressed to his chest and arms around him, she was a small weight he could feel through her jacket and his combat uniform. He preferred her dressed as she'd been the other time, her clothing thinner, less of a barrier. It made him consider how much more of her he'd feel if he, too, was dressed in light civilian clothing.

His mind jabbed a warning down his spinal cord, telling him sensation equaled pain. Fighting the psychological brainwashing, because there was nothing painful about holding Ivy, he lowered his head to speak to her, the words quiet in the intimate s.p.a.ce between them. "Should I have been there when you woke?"

Ivy stroked his back, and he wanted the armor off, wanted to know what it felt like to be touched by someone who did it for no reason but that she liked him. "It's all right. I know you have a lot of duties." Continuing to pet him in the way he'd so often seen humans and changelings do with one another, she said, "Was it bad?"

Vasic knew he should break contact, not for his sake but for hers. But if he didn't hold her, protect her, who would? Yet the brutal fact was he had no right to even ask that question, have that thought.

"Not as bad as many other operations," he said, putting aside the cold truth for this stolen instant. "I found survivors this time." It hadn't only been blood and desolation.

"I'm glad you weren't hurt."

He didn't know what to say to that, so he just held her tighter.

"Thank you for holding me."

"It's what you need."

"What about you?" she asked, leaning back in his arms so she could look up into his face. "What do you need?"

"This." Having her so close, so trusting, was far more than he deserved.

Ivy shook her head a fraction. "I can sense you now. Just a hint every so often." The clear, penetrating copper of her eyes seemed to see right through him. "I felt your hunger before." A whisper that touched him in places she shouldn't have been able to reach. "You want something." Bracing her hands on his shoulders, she rose on tiptoe. "Tell me."

He could feel his pulse rate accelerating, her words threatening to unleash the selfish, hungry thing that lived in him. "Holding you," he said, because it was vital she understand, "it doesn't come with any strings attached."

Ivy's lips curved. "I know." Breath brushing his jaw as he leaned down a little to hear her quiet voice, she said, "You did it because you like taking care of me."

He couldn't dispute her conclusion.

"Well"-another whisper of air against his skin-"I like taking care of you, too. Let me give you what you want."

Vasic knew he shouldn't . . . but the news he'd received over the comm an hour ago appeared to have obliterated his defenses against his empath. "Send me another image," he said before he was aware of forming the words.

Ivy's eyes widened, her throat moved, and he knew he'd crossed a line, might just have lost the tiny part of her he'd permitted himself to have. A stabbing sensation in his gut, he went to withdraw his request when she said, "D-do you want to see me, rather than an image?"

Chapter 29.

BLOOD A ROAR in his ears, Vasic wasn't conscious of teleporting them back to her cabin. It was lit by a lamp Ivy had left on beside the bed, the glow soft around the screen she hadn't folded up.

Breaking contact with him, Ivy took a step back. "Rabbit's usually home by now," she said after a quick glance at her pet's cushioned basket. "Eben?"

"Spending the night on a cot in Isaiah's cabin." And because he knew her, he told her the rest. "Isaiah has three younger brothers-he offered to take Eben to allow you to rest, and the boy appears to have bonded with him. Rabbit is with Eben."

"Oh, that's good." Her voice trembled, her skin flushed hot . . . but she raised her fingers to the zipper of his jacket.

"Don't," he said, hating himself for having asked, for having pushed. "I'll go."

Ivy reached out to grip his hand. "Stay." A whisper that wrapped steel chains around him. "I want to . . . I just-" Blowing out a shuddering breath, she gave him a nervous, coaxing smile. "I've never done anything like this before. Be patient with me."

Her words turned him to stone. He didn't move when she released his hand and began to tug down the zipper. There were so many things he would never do with Ivy Jane, but this one thing, this experience of erotic pleasure, it would always be a thing they had shared. Breathing ragged despite his attempts at control, he followed her every move as she took off the jacket and put it on the chair to her right.

She wore her heavy orange cardigan beneath, over a long-sleeved white top. He watched her fingers fall to the b.u.t.tons, slide one after the other out of the holes until the garment was open. His rock-hard p.e.n.i.s pulsing in time with the thumping beat of his heart, he clamped down on his Tk. Using it on her would be breaking the rules, would be touching when he'd been invited only to watch.

Making a quintessentially feminine move, Ivy shrugged the cardigan off over her shoulders to drop it on top of the jacket. The white top was a thin thermal knit, shaped her curves with gentle precision. When she crossed her arms in front of her, hands going to the bottom of the top, he had to close his eyes, his chest screaming for air. His lashes flicked up the next instant.

He didn't want to miss even a millisecond of this.

Ivy bit down on her lower lip, released the swollen flesh . . . and tugged the top off over her head. Raising one hand to pull back strands of her hair that had curled over her face, she didn't attempt to hide herself from him, the plump mounds of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s cupped by a confection of ivory satin and lace. "That's not Psy issue," he said, fighting every single cell in his body not to push the delicate fabric aside and look his fill.

Ivy's own breathing was unsteady, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s rising and falling as if in invitation. "No," she admitted in a husky tone. "I've always liked certain textures against my skin." Raising one hand, she pushed off a strap.

Desert winds rolled around them, the wood of the floor suddenly porous. Ivy made a startled noise, and he had her back in the cabin the next instant. "Sorry." It was proving nearly impossible to keep a handle on his ability with so much of her bared to his eyes, despite the painful psychological echo of dissonance.

"It's okay," she said, breathing even shallower. "Shall I keep going?"

The cabin could've collapsed around them at that instant, and it wouldn't have induced him to say no. "Yes."

Ivy pushed off the other strap, and though her cheeks were hot peach, her skin heated, she reached behind herself to undo the bra . . . and lowered her arms to allow it to drop to the floor. He was aware of her backing up until her shoulders. .h.i.t the screen. It held, the black-painted wood framing her like an erotic artwork of golden cream flushed with life.

He was too close. He couldn't remember moving, but he was an arm's length from her. Gripping the top of the screen above her head, he looked down past her shyly lowered eyelashes, the soft curve of her cheek, the lush shape of her lips, the slope of the neck she'd angled to her right . . . lower.

The screen cracked under his hands.

She was made for his palms, promising to fill them to the brim, the dusky pink of her nipples tight little knots he wanted to touch, to feel, to know. Ignoring the sound of wood groaning under his hands, he looked and looked, her body separated from his by bare inches, the hard black of his Arrow uniform throwing the vulnerable softness of her into stark relief.

Hot desert winds as his ability slipped the leash again, Ivy grabbing on to him.

Back in the cabin, he said, "Please let go." He had to enunciate each word with extreme care, his mind not quite certain it remembered how to shape speech.

The tumble of her curls in his vision, Ivy released him . . . and he made himself back off before he teleported them somewhere less private. "Dress." The order came out harsh. "Please," he said, to ameliorate the roughness, and bent to pick up the sc.r.a.p of satin and lace for her.

Not meeting his gaze, she took it and turned her back to him. The line of her spine was a thing of unutterable beauty, the flare of her hips making his hands itch to shape them. Hooking on the bra with quick movements, she pulled up the straps and turned. He'd thought he'd hurt or insulted her with his order, his entire body rejecting that unwanted coda to the gift she'd given him, but she shot him a nervous, wicked smile as she reached for her white top and pulled it on over her head.

Tugging her hair out from beneath, she said, "Next time, I'm asking you to strip."

It took Vasic's hazed mind at least a minute to process the words. "It'd be a paltry subst.i.tute." His body was nothing in comparison to hers.

"Oh, I don't think so." Leaving her cardigan and jacket on the chair, Ivy didn't close the s.p.a.ce between her and Vasic. Her Arrow was on a razor-thin edge, his body rigidly controlled and his eyes pure black.

Ivy, too, realized she'd hit her limit . . . at least tonight. Pleasure was like a drug. She couldn't gobble it up, or her starved mind would overload.

Skirting around the only man with whom she could imagine taking the next bite and the next, she busied herself making drinks for them, her skin p.r.i.c.kling at Vasic's presence. He hadn't laid a finger on her, but his eyes, those eyes. Swallowing at the memory of the heat in the silver before it turned to midnight, the dominant strength of his body as he trapped her against the screen, she almost spilled the sugar she was putting into her tea.

She could hear the sound of his boot moving on wood as he headed to the door.

Ivy turned, searching for a noninflammatory subject to keep him here for a little longer. "Your gauntlet," she blurted out as the light caught on the black gleam of it. "Will you tell me about it?"

Vasic went motionless, the lingering heat in his eyes doused as if she'd thrown a bucket of cold water over his head. "We should talk about the infection."

Ivy wasn't stupid. "What's wrong with the gauntlet?" she asked, her blood turning to ice.

"It would take too long to explain the complexities of the biofusion."

She strode over to him, her pulse in her mouth and all thoughts of pa.s.sion buried under an incipient panic. "What's wrong with it?" she repeated through a throat gone bone-dry. "Vasic."

"It's cla.s.sified."

"You're scaring me."

He didn't flinch, but she had the sense the words had hit him like a blow. Glancing at the gauntlet, he said, "It's an experiment. There are significant glitches."

"How bad?" She gripped the hand of his gauntleted arm, held up the arm with her other hand under the smooth black carapace.

"When it was first integrated to my arm," he answered, not pulling away, "there was a twenty-five percent chance of an overload that could permanently short-circuit my central nervous system."

Death, she thought, horror uncurling in her gut, he was talking about a twenty-five percent chance of death. "And now? It's lower?" It'd be a terrible risk at any percentage, but the lower it was, the more time they had to find a solution.

Then his eyes met hers. "No."

The single word smashed her heart to pieces. "Don't make me ask," she whispered.

"Ivy, I volunteered for the experiment long before I knew you."

No, she thought, no. She couldn't have found her quiet, strong, protective Arrow only to have lost him before they'd ever exchanged a single word, a single touch. Eyes burning, she just stared at him.

"Seventy-two percent probability of a fatal overload."

A strangled, broken sound tore out of Ivy. "How could they . . ."

"The biofusion team believed they could use a living trial to work out the final glitches, but the technology is proving too complex and too unpredictable." None of that had mattered to Vasic until a woman with eyes of startling copper had looked at him and seen not a monster, but a man.

Just a man. Just Vasic.

"You have to get it removed," Ivy ordered, blinking rapidly. "Contact Aden right now and have him arrange it."

He wished he could do exactly that, turn back the clock on his self-destructive choice. "It's too late. The fusion is too advanced, the computronics integrated into my nervous system."