Tethered (15 page)

“Tyree...”

At first the harsh whisper didn’t register. Zander had never spoken like that, as if he had to force out the words. Her gaze lifted and met his. He leaned against the wall, hunched over with his hands clenched around his abdomen. Was he hurt?

She moved toward him, certain it was nothing more than a glancing blow, certain he was no more than winded or a little bruised. She’d seen him fighting, seen him resist. Admired the way he fought.

Zander slid down the wall, and her heart dropped into the pit of her stomach. No, he couldn’t be hurt, he couldn’t...

“Zander?” She darted forward as he sagged to the ground. Caught him before he fell. Pain in shards of silver and black haloed him. “No. What happened? Where are you hurt?”

His voice shook but he held her gaze. “I’m afraid I’m a bit out of practice,” he gasped. He lifted one hand, his palm stained scarlet. “Careless of me...”

“No.” Shock pounded an ice-cold fist into her chest as his full weight fell against her. “Zander.”

Tyree lowered him carefully. All the warmth had drained from his face and the scars stood out in stark contrast to the sudden blue tinge of his skin. She laid his head in her lap and felt tears crawl down her face. “No, please...”

“Tyree,” he whispered. “Tyree, listen...”

She leaned down to him, but his voice faded as his eyes flickered closed. Whatever he’d wanted to say went unspoken. She could see the life pulsing out of his body with each gasping breath he took, and cursed her psi vision for it. Her talent lay in killing, not healing.

She reached a hand toward his injury, and her gaze fell on the ring of silver she wore.

Squeeze it and help will come. Should you need it.

“Oh, help me now,” she whispered, and gripped the ring until she thought it might snap.

Chapter Nine

Tyree paced the narrow corridor outside medical as if intent on wearing a groove in the pseudo-marble floor. Two gleaming white Paladins stood either side of the doorway, barring Tyree from Zander’s presence, along with a verbal injunction that she wasn’t to Mist in. Only the
Centralis
authorized medico and Callista had been allowed inside. The avian medic had spared just an instant to assure Tyree that Zander was stable before whisking him away.

Expelling a sharp breath, Tyree turned and repeated her circuit, pounding one fist into the palm of her other hand. Someone approached her and she paused to see Pevanne, his face even more furrowed than normal and a cup in his hand.

“I brought you some capprey, lady.”

Tyree gestured it away, but he seized her hand with a deftness no doubt part of his enhancement. Her instincts urged her to snatch herself free but she let him hold her, let him push the warm beaker into her hand, and then lift the other so that his hands clasped hers around the capprey. The heat of it concentrated her attention, and she sighed as she stared into the cup, breathing in the spiced, steamy scent. The mere thought set her mouth watering and stilled some of her turmoil.

“Thank you,” she whispered, and Pevanne squeezed her hands.

“The master has survived far worse than this, my lady. You know that.”

“I know.” She met his gaze. “But I should have been there to prevent it. I’m not doing a very good job, Pevanne. What if he’d died?”

“But he did not. You were there in time.” Pevanne dropped his gaze. “You should drink your capprey before it goes cold, my lady. You will need your strength.” He strode away without another word.

Does he blame me for not being there at the start?
Tyree wondered, and shivered.
Or is he grateful I wasn’t too late?

She drank the capprey in several quick gulps that scalded her mouth, and silently thanked Pevanne again. Though it did nothing for her anxiety, she felt a fraction better.

Her fretting was interrupted as the door slid open and Callista stepped out to grab her hand. “He’s asking for you.”

“He is?” Her heart lightened at the thought. Callista tugged her into the medical bay past the Paladins. Presumably the medic’s presence granted Tyree access since the guardians did nothing to stop her this time.

Tyree bit her lip. Zander lay on one of three beds in the center, his torso bare and his eyes closed. As Callista released her hand, Tyree’s approach slowed. Did Zander blame her? How many times had she insisted she was his protection, only to let him, and herself, down?

The wound showed as a thin red line just below his ribs on the left side. Tyree flinched. She should’ve been able to get to him before that happened. But at least she could see him breathing.

She reached his side and put out a hand, not quite touching him. She’d shielded herself, unable to deal with the influx of auras in the base at a time when her self-control had become so fragile.

“Zander?”

His eyes snapped open. “Tyree.” He stared up at her. “I’m so glad to see you’re unhurt.”

“I wish I could say the same about you, I’m so sorry—”

He cut her off with a gesture. “No. Time and again these assassins have slipped past all security. And I was careless to allow us to be separated. You’re not to blame. And you’re not to apologize.”

“But—”

“I said no.” The quiet authority in his voice silenced her more effectively than any of M’roc’s admonitions ever had.

“D’joren?” Callista said. “The Tier would like to speak to you by see-vu.”

He glanced at Tyree. “This should be interesting. I’ve had several apologies from them already, sent as recorded audio.”

“Why are they apologizing?” Tyree said, confused. “Are they admitting to it?”

Zander chuckled. “Hardly. It’s a courtesy, nothing more. But it is unusual for them to request two-way visuals for communication.” He gestured for Tyree to sit beside him, and then beckoned the see-vu screen toward them. The sheet of clear meta-glass hovered in front of them. “Begin.”

Color flooded the glass and coalesced. It was the female Tier-vane, her gaze apologetic as she stared out of the screen. “Are you well, Master D’joren?”

“Much better, thank you. And you, Tier-vehk Lusinn? I understand you were the victim of an enhancer overdose.”

“I am fully recovered, thank you. It seems the assassins had hoped to deal a double blow. We were both fortunate I think.”

“Agreed.”

“I wanted to offer my apologies again that such a terrible thing happened to you here, but this time in person. Rest assured we will do all in our power to help find the culprits.”

“Thank you, but the fault wasn’t yours. As you say, we
both
had a very fortunate escape. I’ve no doubt our combined efforts will track down the perpetrators very shortly.”

“I would hope so. Fortunately, the treaty will soon be signed, and then perhaps we can return to the pleasures of our normal lives. I bid you a swift recovery, Master D’joren.”

“And to you, Tier-vehk Lusinn.”

Zander broke the contact but his eyes remained fixed on the screen as he drew a long finger over the scars on his cheek. Tyree recognized that gesture.

“What do you think?”

He tapped a finger to his lips before speaking in a musing tone. “I think the Tier-vane organized that attack.”

“But why? They were the ones pushing for this charade of a treaty. Why go through all this when they could just say it’s all off?”

“Their government wants peace, but the military have often opposed it. Perhaps there is some significant civil unrest back home? Their society is as closed to us as that of your people.” He smiled to show he was teasing her about the secluded Inc-Su. “But I think it’s more to their benefit that it’s seen to be an external force, or even something of human contrivance.”

“That would be sneaky.”

“That would be politics.” He shifted on the bed and frowned. “Do you know the common punishment for betrayal or failure among the Tier-vane?”

“No.”

“I’ve heard that public castration is popular.” His dark gaze captured hers. “Tier-vane fear little, which is why their military are so renowned for their unstoppable aggression. Death means nothing to them. But public humiliation such as that?”

Tyree shuddered. “Worse than Dissipation.”

“I would agree.” He continued to brush his cheek.

“Zander?” she ventured at last.

“Hmmm?”

“Just after the attack, before you passed out...”

He turned to give her his full attention as she struggled. “Yes?”

“I thought...it seemed like you had something to say. Something important?”

The dark eyebrows quirked. “Did I say anything? I have to say the details are a little blurry now.”

Tyree stared at him. That was Zander, ever the diplomat. Smooth, unruffled, and probably lying through his teeth with an elegance she could admire—if it hadn’t been carving her heart out of her chest right at that moment.

“Nothing,” she muttered. “It was probably nothing at all.”

His gaze lingered but his expression darkened. He lowered his hands to steeple his fingers, the tips pressed together. “Tyree, I should tell you that an Inc-Su transport is waiting on the edge of Neutrality. Apparently the council wishes you to return as soon as the treaty is complete.”

Cold slithered into her gut, wound tight bands around her chest that refused to let her draw breath. Was he so desperate to get rid of her? Or had the council really come to claim their own so emphatically?

“You want me to leave?”

Zander frowned. “That was always the arrangement. The council only agreed to loan you to us for the length of the treaty. I thought...we knew that it would come.”

Yes, they had. And right from the start Tyree had never intended to replace her dead sibling in anything except the business side of the relationship. But then, she had never expected to feel so much for this human she hardly knew.

“Of course,” she said quickly. “I just thought they’d wait for me to return to Terris, not come to fetch me. Perhaps they’ve got another mission for me.”

“Perhaps. I didn’t know they would come here, but it’s not surprising. They made your value to them very clear from the start.”

And do I have no value to you, Zander D’joren?

Her heart whimpered, but her mouth couldn’t voice the words. She’d shed tears over him after the attack, certain of his death. No one, no man, had ever made her cry. Made her heart ache. Made her body sing with longing the way he had. Made her hunger for something beyond sex, beyond auric energy. And yet he was happy to let her go.

I hate you, Zander.

But it was just another lie.

***

Callista had allowed Zander to leave medical shortly afterward, insisting he rest in his quarters. He’d demanded that Tyree do the same, but it was impossible. How could she sleep with everything that had happened, and the final climax so close?

She had to be sure. After all, wasn’t part of her mission to ensure Zander’s protection? A little middle-of-the-night patrol seemed in order.

She rotated her shoulders to ease the tension and stretched her neck. Her thigh length Su-hair shift clung to her skin—jet black fabric on charcoal-colored flesh. With a whisper of sound, she Misted out and passed through every wall, unshielded. Their section of
Centralis
was quiet, the members of their entourage sleeping—except for her and Pevanne. No unexpected visitors were found, and the walls beyond were shielded. But she didn’t relax. Being at Zander’s side was the only real way to keep him safe.

Except from me.

She returned swiftly to their quarters and hesitated outside the bedroom door. Of course she’d insisted he take the bed, and he’d raised no protest. That alone had made her edgy. He clearly felt he needed it.

Darkness filled the room. She sensed Callista asleep in the next room, and a vague awareness of the two Paladins outside the door. They didn’t register as human, but the energy they gave off was comparable to that given off by living things.

She heard a moan. Alarm hammered into her chest.

Mothers and Fathers, have I failed again?

She darted toward the bed. It was empty.

A whimper came from the far side. Tyree Misted over, to land crouched before a huddle on the floor. “Zander?”

His startled gaze met hers. “Tyree?”

“Mute lights,” she ordered. Zander sat hunched into the gap between his bed and the corner of his room. The sheen of sweat on his skin had turned his toned muscles into a sculpture of warm shining bronze. His breathing came in ragged gasps, as though he’d run the length of the
Seclusion.

“What’s wrong?” Had he been attacked? Poisoned? Was his injury more serious than Callista had thought?

“Tyree.” He shuddered. “I...nothing...I’m fine.”

“Fine?” She’d taken down her shield, but even holding it back she could feel waves of panic pouring from him. Pain and fear. Shame at being found. “What happened?”

“Just...a nightmare. That’s all. I have them. Even psyche couldn’t fix that.”

A nightmare? She shivered, sympathy easing out her own panic. “Can I do anything?”

His gaze grabbed hers as if he wanted to pull her tightly against himself, but after a moment he shook his head. “It will pass.”

He pushed to his feet and she mirrored him. The knife wound showed as a red line under his ribs, the gleam of synthaskin still glistening around it. The urge to run her hands over it, over him, scars and all, burned through her, but she clamped down on it. He’d made it clear that wasn’t wanted.

“What are you doing here, Tyree?”

The question stung. “Part of my job. Checking all is well.”

“A sensible precaution.” The façade was back as he gathered himself, whatever terrors the nightmare had inspired dissipating. “I’m sorry to have troubled you.”

She shrugged, hoping to appear nonchalant. “No trouble.” She turned to leave, but his hand darted out to snag hers.

“Thank you.”

She nodded her acceptance. “You should get back to bed. Tomorrow’s the big day.”

“Yes.” His hand nonetheless remained around her fingers and she was loath for him to let go. “And then it will be goodbye.”