“Nothing.” The black male ran a hand over the smoothness of his scalp, the angles and lines of his features such that he’d be considered handsome by all three races.

The dangerous predator that lived under the aesthetically pleasing appearance was apparent only in the low growl that accompanied his words as he added, “The cameras at the entrance used by the jetcycle were disabled remotely minutes before the shooting.”

“An inside job?” Selenka’s tone had gone beyond growls and into frigid control.

“Not necessarily—could’ve been done by the shooter themselves.” Ivo’s skin tightened over his cheekbones. “It’s older tech that we’ve been replacing as the cameras die. Didn’t seem to be any urgency when we have regular patrols in those areas.”

“Guilt will make you useless to Selenka in this situation,” Ethan said without thought. “The better question is where were those patrols and why didn’t they stop the intrusion into your territory?”

The affected wolf glared at Ethan, while Selenka said, “Ethan’s right. We decided as a group that the cameras weren’t a priority upgrade. Where were the patrols?”

“Diverted.” Alia’s soft voice caught at Ethan, made him wonder about her all over again. “Someone called in an emergency—child missing one sector over. Everyone moved, but it was a false alert.”

“I’m trying to trace the source of the alert.” Ivo indicated a small tablet he’d been holding at his side. “It came through our own systems, which is why it was trusted.”

“Hacked?” Selenka asked. “Or do we have a traitor?” The last word was unsheathed claws, that of a wolf who would offer no mercy, not for this crime.

“I can’t confirm yet, but it’s likely to be the latter.” Ivo worked his tablet. “We’re pretty much hackproof on that level—systems are rock solid after all those years of trying to keep out Psy spies.” The last words were muttered, his attention on his tablet.

“Ethan,” Selenka said, “any word on the satellite image search?”

“I just got a response—techs can’t find anything, even using less-than-legal tactics. It appears all parties are sticking to your agreement not to surveil each other’s territory.”

A curt nod, her muscles remaining rigid. “It was a long shot anyway.”

Dinara threw a glance Ethan’s way. “Your grandfather met him yet?” No antagonism in the question, even a hint of amusement below the grief.

“We’re not discussing my grandfather,” Selenka muttered, but Dinara’s words seemed to release a little of the tension in the room.

A few others smirked, and Gregori glanced at Margo. The look they exchanged was intimate . . . but not romantic. Ethan was suddenly sure the two were siblings. A sign of Scarab madness or another indication he was picking up emotional information via the mating bond? Because he was equally certain that Alia and Artem were romantically involved. Deeply so. Once more, his attention went to Alia.

Her responding smile was gentle, her eyes soft.

“Govno.”

The muttered expletive had everyone looking back at Ivo. Mouth set in a flat line, he said, “Alert was sent, using the pack ID code belonging to Elder Bykov.”

Snarls filled the room. “The elder spends his days sunning his bones and hasn’t used a comm for a decade or more,” Artem told Ethan, a starburst of amber around his pupils that hadn’t previously existed.

“Are the codes confidential?”

It was Kostya who answered. “The senior members of the pack have secure IDs, but we don’t throw our general IDs around, either.” He shook his head, causing the slightly overlong strands of his hair to slide against each other. “Wouldn’t have been hard to get the elder’s ID, though. He’d probably give it to you if asked, then forget all about it.”

“He’s a hundred and thirty-two and says he has too many memories to worry about remembering frip-fraps,” Alia said with an affectionate shake of her head.

“Talk to him anyway, Alia,” Selenka said. “He’s the least grumpy with you.”

“That’s because she pets and coddles him as if he’s a pup.” Artem’s grumble was so patently false that Ethan wondered why he’d said anything at all.

Alia ran her fingernails down Artem’s nape. “Tyoma, why do you lie so? I saw you bring the elder his favorite snack just hours ago, then sit down and massage his aching paw.”

A ripple of laughter around the room as Artem pretended to bite a smiling Alia, but the spark of joy faded almost before it had come to life. Face falling, Alia leaned her head against Artem’s shoulder. “I can’t believe we’ll never again hear Emanuel’s laughter.”

“Or wait for the punch line to one of his bad jokes,” Kostya said roughly. “I’m going to miss him grinning while I groan at him to stop.”

“Is that all we have?” Selenka asked, her own grief so closely held that it was a clawing wolf inside Ethan. “No other leads?” When her lieutenants remained silent, she muttered words low and dark under her breath. “We work on the theory that we have a traitor. Look at everyone who might be involved with a critical eye.”

After getting their agreement, she rubbed a hand over her face, her head bowed for a moment before she lifted it. “I’ve spoken to Emanuel’s parents about his funeral arrangements.”

The weight returned to the room. Ethan felt the crushing power of it on his shoulders, could barely breathe past it. His brain was clearly having difficulty processing the emotional overflow from his mate. Unwilling to let her down, however, he patched up the fractures in his shields and held.

“They want it to be tonight, as soon as Oleg’s finished his examination of the body.” Selenka’s wolf glowed in her eyes. “He told his parents once that he planned to be buried under the stars, in that field where he used to go to read his science fiction novels.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Gregori said, the words gritty. “You know the entire pack will want to come?”

“His parents are more than okay with that. They just want a little time alone with him first. I’ll organize that with Oleg.” She exhaled on a shudder. “Tonight is for Emanuel. His parents want a celebration of his life and he deserves every moment of it. After that, we go hunting.” Rage was a conflagration in that last word, the fury of an alpha who would not stop until she’d brought down her prey.

The Architect

We are united in our goals. Only with an adherence to a policy of cooperation and loyalty can we succeed.

—The Architect of the Consortium to its upper-echelon membership (2082)

THE ARCHITECT MADE contact with one of her senior operatives via an anonymizing comm device that hid both her face and her trail. That was how the Consortium had been set up, with various layers of anonymity. She, of course, knew the name, location, and relevant details of every single member.

She was the Architect and this was her creation.

“Explain the operation,” she said, while staring out the large glass window of her office. “You say you have an Arrow on the leash?” That could prove problematic in the extreme—the Arrow squad was adept at playing black ops games, and Operative Cray could’ve inadvertently created a massive hole in the Consortium’s defenses.

As she intended to utilize the useful elements of the Consortium as the foundation for her new power, she did not want it destroyed. “How do you control him?”

“He is mentally unstable,” Cray replied. “He was also abused by those in charge of the squad and has no loyalty to them.”

Idiot. If the Arrow had been abused, it would’ve been under Ming LeBon’s regime. Aden Kai was too young to have done anything to another adult Arrow. “You still haven’t explained your plan.” Any operations involving major parties were meant to be run by her before being put into action—and each and every Arrow counted as a major party.

“The intention was for the Arrow to gain the trust of an alpha, so he could then begin to influence her in our favor,” Cray said. “I gave him the initial in by having him save her life. Also, I have another operative in play who I intend to use to solidify his status with her.”

The Architect rubbed at her temple as her vision blurred for a split second, and made a mental note to get herself scanned by medics for any emergent health problems. “Tell me about the other operative.”

After listening to Cray’s explanation, she considered the value of this op. Having a compromised pack could come in useful in the long term, and Cray’s plan didn’t threaten to destabilize the PsyNet. It was all focused on a single pack in Russia—but that pack was one of the two biggest in that region.

Having Selenka Durev as an unwitting accomplice to the Architect’s stealthy rise to power could be useful. Especially if she could be nudged to restart hostilities with the bears. As history had shown, when two dominant packs were focused on each other, they didn’t pay attention to what was happening with the rest of the world.

The changelings’ animal and clannish nature was both their greatest strength and their greatest weakness.

“Continue,” she said at last. “Eliminate all contact the instant you can no longer control the Arrow.” Better to leave an operation half-complete than to open a portal into the Consortium’s inner core.

Though, should Cray’s gambit work, it would prove a useful template for how to manipulate changeling alphas. In that case, she’d reward him with power. Should the operation fail, however, she would sacrifice him without a qualm.

To gain the throne of the world required a mind without mercy.

The Architect had been training for this all her life.

Chapter 17

Changelings mourn our dead as we live our lives. Openly, with love, and in the wild.

—“An Essay on Death and Life” by Keelie Schaeffer, PhD, Journal of Psychology (2067)