While this is not my area of specialization, my skills appear to transfer over very well to this particular anchor. When I work with patients in a coma, it is to coax them back to consciousness. With Payal, I feel as if I’m teaching her how to walk out of a different kind of darkness.

She is an incredibly intelligent woman and—given her past—could easily have gone off the rails, yet she has risen to her current high-level position through sheer grit and the help of a limited slate of medications, none of which are calibrated correctly for her current psychic and mental state. I will be consulting with a prescribing physician to get those levels corrected—with Payal having a final say on who that physician will be, though I will offer my recommendations.

For now, I’ve given her mental exercises that should begin to bring peace to her mind without the bluntness of her previous shields.

*This is my view. The patient has not yet put a label on what she feels for him.

Chapter 37

I’d like to book it out for the entire day. I’ll make the payment immediately on receipt of your invoice.

—E-mail sent by Canto Mercant

JUST OVER A week after surviving Ena, and seven days after her first meeting with Jaya, Payal was happier than she’d been in her entire life. She’d had nine whole days with Canto, nine days with a man she trusted with all of herself, nine days where she could just be Payal without the masks she wore in the world.

It had been aggravating at times, frustrating often, and wonderful always.

Now she looked at the image Canto had given her and tried to work out where it was that he was asking her to teleport them. But the image, while distinctive enough for a teleport lock, was of a stone wall marred by multiple small pieces of carved-in graffiti. All seemed to be entwined initials.

“Ready?” he asked.

Payal nodded and put her hand on his shoulder. Other than clasped hands, they hadn’t had any intimate contact since the day she’d touched him in the gym, and to feel his muscle and warmth now made her breath catch.

The distance was her fault.

Her reactions were too strong, too manic when it came to him—and it had only gotten worse after that incident in the gym. After a lifetime deprived of pleasure, she wanted to be a glutton, just gorge on Canto. She’d withdrawn because she needed to find a middle path between unrestrained and frenzied sensual gluttony and cold control.

But she thought she might’ve made a mistake in taking that backward step—Canto had been increasingly gruff with her. “Are you angry?” She had to ask, had to know; he was the most important person in her life. She couldn’t bear it if he was angry with her.

He scowled up at her, the galaxies missing. “Only that I can’t help you with whatever’s happening. I want to fight all your battles, take all the battle damage.”

She scowled back at him. “Yet I’m not allowed to help take your pain?” It had been a beautiful surprise to find out that their bond permitted her to share the load.

He growled at her, growled. “Are you ever going to let that go?”

“No.” Because that was her line in the sand; there were a lot of ways in which she would bend for Canto, but not when it led to pain and hurt for him.

A glare was her reward … but he also reached up to take her hand and press a kiss to the back. Things melted inside her. This was something else she’d learned—fighting with Canto didn’t have to mean rejection or hurt. He’d always be there, no matter how much they disagreed. Never had she had that kind of certainty, that kind of a stable place on which to stand.

Bending, she kissed him on one bristled cheek. “I think you’re wonderful, Canto.” It came out solemn, not playful like she’d seen in the human/changeling shows she’d started to watch on the comm screen.

His smile was slow, a brush of dark red on his cheekbones. “Well, okay.” It came out gruff, but then he “kissed” her using their bond, the psychic touch tender.

Her toes curled inside her shoes. Those shoes were soft sneakers and went well with the dark blue jeans and simple white vee-necked knitted top that she’d bought purposefully loose. “Shall we go?”

Canto nodded, his chest clenched and hot with the impact of the words Payal had spoken. So serious and intense. So Payal. He wanted to wrap her up in his arms and cuddle her close, but today he had another priority. He’d spent hours searching for a suitable place that was close enough not to tire her, but also remote enough that they were unlikely to see anyone else.

He didn’t give a flying fuck about being exposed to her family, but it’d distract her from the healing she’d begun to do since she’d had the freedom to stop watching constantly for a knife in the back.

It’d be a long journey, but she’d begun.

The world blinked out, then blinked back into place a heartbeat later.

In front of them was the old stone wall he’d used as a marker. Scratched within it were love hearts with initials, other messages old and new. But that wasn’t what he’d brought her here to see. “Turn around.”

He did it with her, saw the moment she realized.

Her breath caught, her body going motionless. Then she stepped forward, her eyes lifted to the spray of soft blooms even now dropping petals on her in a delicate pink rain. This greenhouse was one of the largest in Russia, and it was planted not with fruits or vegetables, but with flowers.

Including an avenue of cherry blossom trees currently in riotous bloom.

The greenhouse was the brainchild of a human gardener who’d put all his money into it—but was now reaping the rewards, as people came from far and wide to walk in beauty. It sold out every winter, as residents sought out a glimpse of the colors of spring and summer, but—thanks to its range of exotic flora—wasn’t exactly quiet in the warmer months.

Arwen had come here with Pavel; he was the one who’d given Canto the photo of the wall, to add to their files as a teleport reference.

Today, Canto and Payal had it to themselves. He’d arranged it in advance, paid the hefty fee without hesitation. He’d have paid double if asked. Because the wonder on Payal’s face as she walked under the blooms …

“It’s even more lovely than I imagined.” Her voice was a breath, her hands held out to catch the falling petals.

Canto stayed with her as she walked on. She stopped every few steps to pick up a petal or touch a leaf or just stand under a falling shower of pink.