It wasn’t an emotion with which he was familiar. He was an alpha bear, had been born that way, confidence flowing through his veins. Even when Silver had been in the operating theatre, he’d been grimly hopeful, not afraid. He’d flat-out refused to feel fear.

But this Silver, she was different in ways he’d never expected. She blazed as bright, her intelligence cutting, but she wasn’t the woman who’d kissed him, who’d been so patient with Dima’s tendency to cling to her, who’d admitted she loved her brother and that she’d lay down her life for her grandmother.

Neither was she the woman he’d courted and teased at the start. That woman had been ice, but he’d felt the warmth of the fire beneath, his bear drawn to the heat. This Silver was endless ice, no hint of the fire. Even when she’d reacted to his challenge with the waffles, he hadn’t been able to feel her.

It was a staggering blow.

Part of him—a huge part of him—had been convinced the strange dormant mating bond between them would speak through the massive changes in her brain. Not once had he allowed himself to so much as consider that he’d have to let her go after their ten promised dates.

He swallowed the tearing hurt that wanted to grab him by the throat, permitting himself to feel only a fierce pride and relief. Everything he’d said to her was true: for her life, he’d accept any pain. In the years and decades to come, she would change the world, and she’d do it without being crippled by an unwanted ability that had caused her so much pain it had driven his tough Starlight to cry.

For that outcome, man and bear both would accept a lifetime of the most intense loneliness if that was what awaited at the end of this road.

“Am I allowed to suggest one of the nine remaining dates?”

“As long as it’s not staring at matching organizers while drinking tasteless concoctions.” In truth, he’d do exactly that if she asked; both parts of him just wanted to be close to her. Some of the dates he planned would be for the bear, so it could sit next to her, drink her in. Later. Not yet. The bear was still too hurt to act rationally in her presence.

Silver didn’t reply for two long minutes. “My apologies,” she said afterward.

“Telepathic call?”

“A developing situation in Bahrain. A landslide that may have done major damage.” She checked something on her organizer. “Ripples are also beginning to develop from the attack on Bowen Knight.”

Anger boiled in his blood once again at the fact a good man had been taken down by a mudak who couldn’t even look him in the eye. Bears did not have any time for those who murdered from a distance. “I’ll get you to your office.” Moscow traffic wasn’t bad, with the majority of commuters choosing to use the sleek skytrains that crisscrossed the air high above the streets—it was the drivers who were insane.

Like the man who’d just stopped his vehicle in the middle of the street to exchange insults with a pedestrian. Creative insults, too. Someone’s mother was apparently a goat. No, a goat who ate shit.

Normally, Valentin would’ve found it funny. Not today.

Getting out of his vehicle, he went to lean one arm on the roof of the insult-spewing driver’s car. “My mate needs to get to work, and you’re in the way,” he said in a very reasonable tone of voice.

The bearded driver gulped. “Alpha Nikolaev.” It came out a squeak. “I’ll move.”

“Spasibo.”

Silver shot him a thankful glance once he got back in the vehicle and they continued on their way. “I’ll be liaising with my team about the situation in Bahrain for most of the journey.”

Saving hundreds, possibly thousands of lives in the process. Being Silver Fucking Mercant. His mate, and the most incredible woman he’d ever known.

Bringing the vehicle to a stop by her office, the area in front a strip of green planted with evergreens that spoke of the city’s changeling influence, he went to open her door. She swiveled around and stepped out. “Spasibo.” A pause. “The date I intended to suggest? It was to go out for ice cream.” Eyes of clear silver held his. “It seems only right.”

His bear rubbed against his skin, wanting out, wanting to wrap itself around her. “We’ll save that for last.”

Silver nodded. “I have to go—it looks like there’s been a second slip in a more remote region.” With that, she was striding into her office in those ridiculous heels she wore as if they were boots—so stable on them that he wanted to pounce on her just to see if she’d wobble.

He didn’t think she would, not his mate.

The Unknown Architect

THE ARCHITECT OF the Consortium looked at the reports feeding out through the media. Bowen Knight had been shot. Some of the articles said he’d died at the scene. Others, that he was critically wounded. No official confirmation either way from the Human Alliance. A grainy video taken by a tourist was the only available visual.

It showed a knot of people around what must be Knight’s body. His sister, Lily, was the most recognizable, her hands on her brother’s chest and her wet hair hanging around her face as she either did CPR or tried to stem bleeding. Reports said Knight had been shot in the back, however, so that’d be the exit wound. Unless, of course, the latest report out of Venice was true and the bullet had been designed to fragment inside him, causing catastrophic damage.

Chances of survival in the latter scenario: close to zero.

Knight’s violent death hadn’t been in the Architect’s plans. Yes, Knight had to die, but it was meant to be a stealthy elimination that could be put down to an accident or natural causes. The Consortium wasn’t a radical organization out for notoriety. It was a shadow organization designed to secure maximum gains for those in the group. Had the Architect’s plans gone as intended, no one would even be aware of their existence.

However, that was done. What was important now was keeping as low a profile as possible while they brought the rest of their plans to fruition.

Did one of us order the recent high-profile hit?

The Architect sent out the message via the anonymized chat room they currently used to communicate. It was clunky and old-fashioned, but it was also close to impossible to hack.

Each of the members would’ve received a phone alert of the Architect’s posting.

No confirmations.

That didn’t mean it hadn’t been masterminded by one of the group. The Architect had made an excellent decision in bringing together the world’s most ruthless and power-hungry people, people who cared nothing for morality or peace when those things didn’t serve their bottom line, but there was an inherent weakness in any such group: these individuals could not be trusted. They were also fully capable of taking an action that went against the better interests of the group if such an action would help them on a personal level.

The Architect was particularly interested in the possible motives of one member of the Consortium. He’d been approached to join the group not simply because of his position of power, but also because of his vocal dislike of racial integration on any level. He wanted Psy, humans, and changelings in their separate worlds.

It was only during Silence, he’d said, that humans had come to any kind of power.

However, the outspoken male was by no means the only possible suspect. Others believed Bowen Knight was dangerous and should be removed from the playing board. He’d proven too effective at uniting the human race into an ever-bigger financial juggernaut.