Not all, but enough.

The problems in the PsyNet had made the situation even more challenging. She couldn’t risk further destabilizing the psychic fabric on which the entire Psy race relied for survival—without the biofeedback provided by the PsyNet, even she would die in a matter of minutes.

It was a fundamental of psychic biology.

She had to back off on anything that threatened the psychic network—at least until she had a solution in place that would mean the survival of a large percentage of Psy. Genocide wasn’t good for business, wasn’t good for power.

The odd massacre could help maintain control, but she saw no value in ruling over a decimated world. She wanted to rule a powerful, operational world. Only then would it mean anything. Ultimate control had been the endgame all along, the others in the Consortium pawns to get her to the throne.

The Architect leaned back in her chair and looked out the window of the retreat where she came to think and plan, but she saw nothing of the idyllic landscape beyond, her gaze turned inward. It was time for a new plan, a new strategy. Those who survived and thrived didn’t cling to failures; they cut off those failures like diseased limbs.

First, she took stock of her resources.

She still had a number of strong pieces in play, people in positions of power hidden in pockets no one expected. It was a gift she had, pinpointing those who could be twisted and turned and used.

As for active Consortium operations, she’d permit a critical few to play out, see what they yielded. Most, however, she’d mothball—along with many of those running the ops. Not all her surviving pawns would be happy with the Consortium’s change in direction, but that could be handled.

A dull throb pulsed in her left temple as she returned her attention to her desk and the datapad on which she’d been making notes. She ignored the throb; it was a minor irritation and she had work to do if she was going to salvage her brainchild. The first thing was to reconsider her goals.

Did she still want to rule?

Yes.

Being a powerful civilian was not her natural state.

Who did she want to rule?

Now, that, she thought, leaning back in her chair again, was an interesting question. Dominion over one race was far different from dominion over all three. The latter had never been achieved in the history of the world.

It was a goal worthy enough for the Architect. She had been stuck in old ways of thinking before, had only gone for the small, shiny goal. But all great leaders and visionaries had to grow into their path. The Consortium idea had been a worthy stepping-stone to prepare her for what was to come: she would gain control of the world . . . then she would reshape it to be her greatest legacy.

No one would ever forget her name.

Chapter 3

Tracker successfully deactivated.

(Personal note: You make the decisions, Aden, but are you sure about this? The patient’s psychological profile gives me cause for concern.)

—Dr. Edgard Bashir to Aden Kai (March 2083)

THE ARROW HADN’T stopped watching Selenka since they last spoke.

It should’ve been irritating, but turned out she didn’t object to the scrutiny. The man made both woman and wolf ravenous. Especially as he continued to watch her that way after she’d shown him her claws—he either felt no fear or was a lunatic with zero self-preservation skills.

Because Selenka would gut him if it came down to it.

A desire to eat him up like the rabbit she called him didn’t mean he was safe from retaliation should he prove to be a snake in the nest. Though, yes, she would be disappointed. It had been a long time since she’d reacted so viscerally to a male. Like most changelings, she wasn’t shy about intimate skin privileges—such contact was a part of life, and in her case, necessary to control her wolf’s aggressive instincts.

Alpha wolves weren’t exactly shy, retiring types.

Her wolf snorted at the idea of it.

For the past six months, however, that wolf had turned away from even close friends who’d offered to assuage her need. It didn’t want just the physical, and neither did the human side of her. Inside her was a need that was an ache.

“Ah, cucciola, such a hole you have inside you. It will swallow you up if you are not careful.”

Words spoken by a fairground fortune-teller when she’d been a teenager.

The angry girl she’d been had laughed it off, but the woman she’d become often wondered if the “human” fortune-teller, draped in her scarves and skirts, had been an F-Psy who’d escaped the watchful eyes of the PsyNet. Because Madame Zostra with her heavy Italian accent and flamboyant sparkling rings had been right.

Selenka wanted more. What her grandparents had. What she saw between her lieutenants Alia and Artem. Gods protect her, she even envied Valentin. The bear had found a mate of whom any alpha would be proud.

This primal attraction she felt for the Arrow was a far more raw thing—but it had wakened the slumbering need in her with a vengeance, reminding her that she wasn’t only an alpha wolf.

She was an alpha wolf who liked men.

Hot, sweaty skin privileges with this deadly stranger sounded perfect.

Especially if he continued to give her that baffled look when she called him zaichik.

Her lips quirked, but it wasn’t amusement or primal sexual attraction at the top of her mind. It was the seasoned consideration of a woman who’d been the leader of her pack since her twenty-fifth birthday. Why would he tell her he was a threat? A clever ploy to set up a double cross? It made little sense when he’d already begun to win her trust by saving her life.

Setting that question aside for later, she walked over to join Valentin, Silver, and Aden Kai. Together, the four of them were the security committee for this cursed event, though Aden often delegated to two of his senior Arrows—Cristabel Rodriguez and Axl Rye.

The impetus for the delegation was the same reason Kaleb Krychek had stayed away from anything to do with the symposium aside from offering the Es this hall. “My priority is the PsyNet,” he’d told Selenka and Valentin when the three of them met to discuss the proposed gathering. “I have to control any major ruptures before they turn into breaks.”

Thanks to information shared with the signatories of the Trinity Accord, Selenka knew that, except for a small number of defectors, all Psy needed the PsyNet to survive. It had to do with some type of psychic feedback. But the massive network was failing. Two weeks earlier, twenty-five people in a rural region of Laos had dropped dead where they stood when the Net failed in their area with such suddenness that even Kaleb couldn’t repair it in time.

Now Selenka saw faint lines of tiredness on Aden’s face, knew the disintegration was accelerating. The leader of the Arrows was also Kaleb’s partner in sealing up the breaches in the PsyNet. “How are things in the Net?” she asked this man who was the quietest alpha in the room, but no less deadly for it.

Aden just shook his head in response.

Ivy Jane Zen reached them a second later. The sun-brushed cream of her skin taut over the bones of her face and her pupils dilated against the copper of her irises, the president of the Empathic Collective said, “We’ve identified the assailants as members of the Collective. Neither’s particularly active in the group, but each appeared stable.”

The shorter, curvier woman thrust a hand through her hair, disordering the soft black curls. “My designation is not meant to be violent.” A shaken tone. “I don’t understand this.”

“That is not quite correct,” Silver replied in that crisp, businesslike way of hers, her cool blonde hair a sheet of light down her back, not a strand out of place—and her confidence in her own power an unassailable truth.

Selenka had always liked Silver, back from when the other woman had been Kaleb’s aide. How the extremely sane and pragmatic telepath who had efficiency down to a science was mated to a bear, Selenka would never understand. She’d drunk five vodka shots in a row when she’d heard the news.

“According to my information,” Silver continued, “empaths can be violent in self-defense and in defense of those for whom they care.”

Selenka scowled. “Who would either E think they were protecting here?” Folding her arms, she fought not to look over her shoulder and pin the pale-eyed Arrow with her gaze. Because from the way her nape prickled, he was definitely still staring at her. If the man wasn’t careful, her wolf would start to take his attention as a threat.

Her sheathed claws pricked at her fingertips, her wolf sliding against her inner skin.

Paradoxically, that same wild heart found his refusal to back down attractive as all hell. This was not a man who’d flinch when faced with the primal reality of her. She would not see fear in his eyes if she let go. Dark embers glowing hotter in her stomach, she added, “That gas bomb would’ve killed everyone in the hall—assuming it’s lethal?”

“Still being tested,” Valentin rumbled, his bear in his voice even if his eyes had stayed human. “Aden’s people are probably going to be the fastest at getting back a result, but I’ve sent a sample to my own team, too.”

The damn bear might be one of the most aggravating people in Selenka’s existence, the sure source of the rogue gray hair she’d found the other day, but he understood certain things. One of those was that Selenka wasn’t yet at a level of comfort with Aden Kai that would permit her to take his report at face value; yes, the Arrow had created the Trinity Accord, but he remained a stranger to her. A stranger from a psychic race that had done her pack a lot of damage over the years.

Excruciating as it was to admit, she trusted Valentin on matters like this. One thing you could say about bears: they didn’t do manipulation or subtle game playing. It was all out in the open, and once they agreed to any kind of alliance, they’d be loyal to it unless the other side broke their faith.

Selenka could work with people like that. Even if they drove her insane.

Because wolves didn’t break promises, either. Selenka didn’t break promises.

“I don’t have any answers.” Ivy Jane shook her head, the vivid orange of her fine wool sweater a pop of sunshine in the cloud that hung over the hall but her voice holding confused pain. “The symposium is a good thing for Es. It’s the first time we’ve been able to meet as a large group. The sessions and talks are about sharing knowledge, discussing breakthroughs, and making friendships beyond our local groups.”