That murderous patience had saved her life and turned her into a menace in the eyes of PsyMed. If not for the squad stepping in to claim her for their own, she'd be a drooling vegetable by now, suitable only for menial tasks.
The child shows tendencies toward criminal psychopathy.
Switching off the shower as the words from the PsyMed report continued to scroll in her mind, that report having become available to her once she was no longer a minor, she shook her head. "I am not a psychopath." Insane in a way that meant she could never lower her guard, but not an individual devoid of conscience or empathy. "I am not a psychopath."
She didn't realize how loudly she'd spoken until Aden's voice came through the door. "No, you're not."
Another breach in her discipline, those words spilling from her lips. "I need fresh clothes." That, too, was a mistake. She'd been so off center that she'd forgotten to prepare. "I can wear the pants again." A few wrinkles were nothing when the fabric was strong and warm.
"I'm leaving a change by the door. Finn came by a few minutes ago with a T-shirt that should be a closer fit--he borrowed it from a pack member who's willing to share more if the size suits."
Picking them up, she got into clean panties and the same bandeau as the night before, then pulled on the cargo pants. Over that, she tugged on the white T-shirt Aden had left. It fit much, much better than the T-shirt in which she'd slept, but only once it was on did she realize it had a sparkly pink pony on the front. She stepped out of the bathroom. "Are they trying to subtly insult me?"
Aden followed her pointing fingers to the pony that pranced over her breasts, a flicker in his eyes she couldn't quite read. "It appears the only person in RainFire with a build close to yours likes color and sparkle," he said. "The secondary option is for you to wear the larger clothes, but I thought you'd prefer a pony over having your movements hampered."
"I'm not so sure. It's very pink." Going to the cubby that held the other clothes, she found that the uniform top and pants she'd worn the night of her abduction had been meticulously repaired, laundered, and returned. Finn, she realized, must've dropped these off with the T-shirt. The scars of the repaired tears in Aden's leather jacket made it appear as if someone--the healer?--had literally torn through the tough material with his claws. A note sticking out of the pocket said whoever had done the repair had wiped off all traces of blood, but hadn't otherwise cleaned it, worried about causing damage.
"That solves it." Grabbing the uniform items, she headed toward the bathroom . . . and hesitated. "Are we attempting to blend in?"
"We can't blend in, but we should do our best not to appear so other that they close their minds against us."
Zaira looked down at the pink pony again. "For the good of the squad." At least she could throw the leather jacket on over it. Because she wasn't going to give that back to Aden. It was hers now. He'd given it to her. If he wanted it back . . . well, he couldn't have it.
Some things of his, she might give back to him if he really wanted them, but not the jacket. It smelled of him and when she wore it, she didn't feel alone. "I'm keeping this," she said to him in case he believed any different.
His lashes, thick and long and curling, came down over his eyes, rose back up again. "You'll have to shorten the arms."
"I'll just fold them." She began to do exactly that. "If I cut them, you won't be able to wear it."
"I thought you were keeping it."
"I'm going to lend it to you sometimes." Then it would smell like him again. "But it's mine."
A slight incline of his head before he walked into the bathroom to refresh himself after their long and deep sleep. The changelings clearly had no problem finding clothing that fit him. When he came out after a quick shower, he was wearing the same pair of faded blue jeans as the previous night, but his T-shirt was plain gray, his feet bare, and his hair slightly damp in front and tumbled.
It was the most casual she had ever seen him.
"You look normal," she said as she finished putting on her boots. "Not like an Arrow."
His eyes met hers, and there it was: the thing that made him an Arrow, the same thing that made her want to own him, keep him.
"Good." Sitting down to pull on his own boots, he said, "We should go to breakfast--but first, why did you feel the need to remind yourself you aren't a psychopath?"
Zaira should've answered him. It was a perfectly reasonable question from the leader of the squad. What she did was open the trapdoor that led to the corridor outside the infirmary and go down. Aden followed seconds later. Heading toward the breakfast area Finn had given Aden instructions on how to find, Zaira considered her own irrational behavior and found no answer.
"This is it," Aden said, nodding to a door on her left.
Opening it, she found herself going up narrow steps that opened out onto a path laid along a sturdy branch. The outside world was blocked out by thin sheets of transparent plas, but there was no heat, the chill extreme. "Strong construction," she said, tapping on the plas to find it was near-glass quality, the rain beyond rolling down the outer surface in crystalline beads. "Glass would be more dangerous if they have children around."
"It's also more durable," Aden pointed out. "And easier to disassemble."
"Of course. They must remove the panels during clear weather." They were leopards, after all, likely prowled freely along the branches of this tree and those of the other forest giants around them.
The dining aerie was located in a smaller tree to their left, though "smaller" was a relative term, given the size of the trees.
Just after they'd made their way inside and hung their jackets on the hooks by the door, a small changeling child ran over to Zaira. It was female, she thought, its curly black hair tousled and standing up every which way, and its body clad in what looked like pajamas with feet. The pajamas were pale yellow fleece with white sheep on them.
Around two years of age, she judged. Possibly two and a half.
The child also appeared to have clawlike scars on the right-hand side of her face, but a second look made Zaira question their origins. It didn't appear as if she'd been mauled; the marks were integrated too flawlessly into her skin and facial features. As if she'd been born with them . . . and then Zaira recalled an image she'd seen of Lucas Hunter.
The DarkRiver alpha bore identical markings. Either the child was somehow related to the alpha or this was a changeling genetic quirk.
"Hi!" the child said, staring up with yellow-brown leopard eyes against skin of a glowing deep brown.
Zaira didn't know how to interact with children but she replied to this one so as not to offend their hosts, many of whom were in the room. "Hello."
The child pointed. "Pony!"
"Yes."
That was when the child raised its arms with a bright smile.
Zaira had no dealings with children. Not even Arrow children. "What am I supposed to do?" she said to Aden.
"Pick her up."
"Like a sack of supplies?"
"A bit more carefully." But he was moving even as he spoke, going down on his haunches to say, "How about me instead?" He opened his arms and the child went right into them.
Absolutely no sense of self-preservation, Zaira judged. "She's taking a risk."
"She doesn't have to worry about risk management--do you know how many eyes are watching us right now?"
Zaira scanned the room without appearing to do so, acutely aware of her lack of telepathic senses. Aden was right--the changelings seemed to be going about their business, talking and eating, but they were keeping a close eye on the situation at the entrance. Zaira knew how fast changelings could move, realized that should either she or Aden appear the least threatening, they'd be under attack from multiple sources in a split second.
Having made that determination, she made sure to keep her distance from the child Aden carried easily in one arm while she babbled in his ear. Since Aden had that arm and hand busy, she put food on his plate while he hel
d it out, then filled her own, the food items available from a community table against the left wall.
"Pony!"
She turned to find the child stretching its arms toward her. "I will never again wear this T-shirt."
Her words made the child giggle and stretch even farther out of Aden's arms, as if she'd launch herself at Zaira.
"Aden."
"For the good of the squad."
"It won't do any good if I drop her on her head." Zaira liked small, delicate things, was very careful with the treasures she collected, but none of them was a living being. She didn't trust herself with living beings. She killed living beings even when she wanted to save them, admire them.
"As I've seen you handle a laser pistol with rock-steady hands, I think you can handle a child."
Zaira wasn't so certain, but, placing her plate on the nearest table, she gathered the child into her arms, copying Aden's hold in order to support the small body. However, she quickly realized she couldn't hold the child in one arm as he'd been doing--her muscle strength wasn't the same as his, and the child was heavier than it looked.
"Hi!" It grinned at her before throwing both arms around her neck and ducking its head against her own, the softness of its hair brushing her neck.
Frozen in place, she stared at Aden. "Now what?"
Chapter 17
A CHANGELING FEMALE appeared in Zaira's line of sight just then, her hair and the shape of her face making it clear she was the child's mother or other close relative. "I'm so sorry," she said with a smile that didn't seem apologetic at all. "She loves ponies. Come on, cublet. Let Zaira eat."
The child--the cub--clung on tighter. "No." A puff of hot air against Zaira's neck. "My friend!"
Lips twitching, the other woman raised an eyebrow. "She can be like a barnacle. You mind?"
"No." Alarming or distressing the child would hardly create goodwill, and right now she and Aden needed RainFire's assistance.
"Be good, Jojo." Leaning in to kiss the child's cheek, the woman stepped back and returned to another table.
"Jojo good," the child said into Zaira's neck. "Zai good?"
Surprised the cub had so quickly picked up on her name from the context of the conversation, Zaira sat down at a table and looked at her new companion with more interest. "Not always," she said with utmost honesty. "I can't always control myself."
Sitting up in her lap, the child stared at her, frown lines marring her forehead above eyes that had shifted to a soft brown. A second later, she clapped. "Cookies!"
As the word seemed apropos of nothing, Zaira downgraded her estimation of Jojo's intelligence until Aden said, "Do you find yourself unable to control yourself around cookies, Jojo?"
A firm nod from the black-haired girl. "Cookies. Nom nom." She made chomping movements with her jaw and mimed putting cookies into her mouth with hands that suddenly had tiny claws at the tips of her fingers.
Zaira looked at Aden. "Are all children this small this intelligent?"
He wasn't the one who answered.
"Kids are full of surprises," Remi said, taking a seat across from them. "Good morning, Jojo."
Beaming, Jojo pushed herself up by bracing one hand on the table and blew kisses at Remi.
The alpha grinned. "This one, though, she's a smarty-pants."
Plopping back down in Zaira's lap, claws retracted, Jojo reached out and took a triangle of toast off Zaira's plate. She made a face after taking a bite. "Pea butter?"
"Gimme." Taking the slice, Remi put some kind of spread on it from a small jar on the table. "There you go, complete with peanut butter."
Happy, Jojo relaxed against Zaira and busied herself eating. The small, warm weight was . . . odd. Picking up an undoctored slice of toast, Zaira was very careful with all her movements so as not to inadvertently harm the child.
"She won't break, you know." Remi's stance was unaggressive, his arm placed easily over the back of the chair next to his. "Jojo's a leopard cub, probably has bones stronger than yours."
"Her spine remains fragile. I could snap it in a second," Zaira said before she remembered she was supposed to be blending in.
The growl that rumbled from Remi's throat had Jojo going still. Zaira did, too, aware of Aden ready for a fight beside her.
"Apologies," she said before the situation could escalate. "I didn't mean I would harm the child. I was just pointing out that you're all being very trusting in allowing me to hold her. You should be more careful." Jojo was tiny, easy to harm, easy to break.
Remi's eyes remained leopard as he stared at her, but the growl was gone from his voice when he said, "You couldn't lay a finger on her before you'd be dead." Absolute conviction. "The fact that you'd warn me about yourself tells me that even if we had trusted you, we'd have been right to do so. Do you kill children, Zaira?"
"No, only adults." Ming LeBon had twice ordered her to retrieve a child he'd wanted to experiment on. Both times, Zaira had seen to the child's safety, well aware Ming needed her covert skills too much to punish her for her actions.
Remi's lips curved, his gaze flicking to Aden. "Is she always this honest?"
"Yes," Aden said from beside her, his shoulder brushing hers.
"Lying wastes energy." Zaira ate another bite of toast. "Also, it's pointless. No one would believe it if I smiled and wore frothy clothes and pretended to be helpless." She was dead certain the alpha hadn't fallen for her weak act in the infirmary so there was no point in carrying on the subterfuge.
Remi chuckled, the sound making Jojo laugh, her face smeared with the spread on her toast. The sound was high, soft, and it was a sound Zaira had never heard from an Arrow child. She didn't know if children with vicious psychic abilities could ever be this carefree, but as she watched Jojo laugh, she began to truly understand Aden's vision for the squad.
*
ADEN didn't monitor Zaira while he conversed with Remi. He knew she wouldn't harm the child. Because Zaira, as she'd said herself, wasn't a psychopath. She was simply wired differently. Put her in charge of a group of children and she probably wouldn't touch them or comfort them without prompting. But she'd make sure they were protected from all harm, even if it meant giving up her own life. Not because they were children, but because they were weaker than her.
Zaira's weakness was weakness.
If she was sent against a target who was vulnerable to the extent that she considered the person unfair prey, she wouldn't move. She might assassinate a pedophilic CEO without an eyeblink, but she'd refuse to touch a teacher who had angered someone in power. Then there was the hacker she'd saved even though the younger woman had been attempting to break into Arrow Central Command, and the outwardly respectable doctor she'd executed.
It had turned out the doctor was killing vulnerable patients after getting them to sign over their estates to him. Unlike in that case, Aden didn't always understand the judgments Zaira made, but he knew that children were simply never on her hit list. Perhaps because she remembered the helpless child she'd once been, the one no one had helped and everyone had hurt.
"How's the head?" Remi asked in a deceptively laid-back tone.
"Problematic," Aden said, since it was clear the alpha had an idea something was seriously wrong.
An incisive look. "Yep, that's the truth." Seeing the question Aden didn't ask, he shrugged those big shoulders. "For all I knew, you'd recovered and were staying here for reasons of your own. Spying maybe. What the hell for, I don't know--we're a dot in the ocean when it comes to changeling pack hierarchy."
Aden had a feeling it wouldn't remain that way. While he'd waited for Zaira to wake yesterday, he'd heard the alpha mention Lucas Hunter to Finn. The DarkRiver alpha was a power and he clearly respected Remi if RainFire had direct contact with him.
"I am spying in a sense," Aden said, deciding to lay these cards on the table. "This is the first time any active Arrow has been inside a changeling pack." Judd lived in one, but his loyalty to SnowDancer stopped him from shari
ng information about the pack with the squad.
"Nothing much to see." Remi smiled thanks at an older packmate who gave him a mug of coffee on her way across the room. "We're a big family."
"A family with rules."
"Of course." Putting down the coffee after taking a long swig, he said, "You Psy, you think you're the only ones with control issues, but we have these." His claws sliced out to dig into the tabletop as if the hard wood was made of butter.
Jojo clapped. "Meow! Meow!"
Shoulders shaking, Remi shook his head. "We don't go 'meow, meow,' Jojo. We go 'grr.'"
"Grr."
Remi retracted his claws to the little girl's laughter. "Those claws are only the start of it. If two Psy fight, you might go mind to mind, but we go claw to tooth, can rip out each other's throats if we're not careful. That's why we need rules."
"No biting," Jojo input into the conversation. "Bad Jojo." A sad face.
Reaching over, Remi tapped her on the nose. "You took your punishment. You going to bite again?"
The little girl shook her head and lifted her arms.
Remi plucked her from Zaira's lap and into his own, using a washed-soft white napkin to clean her face before holding her against his body . . . where she turned into sparkles of light. Aden watched, having never seen the transformation close-up. Beside him, he was aware of Zaira sitting stock-still. And then where the child had been was a very small leopard cub trying to climb up Remi's body.
Laughing, the alpha lifted her up onto his shoulder, where she curled happily, her tail hanging down Remi's chest. "There goes another set of pajamas," he said, but his tone made it clear he wasn't worried about the clothing loss.
"You spoke of punishment," Aden said, seeing in the child's response to the alpha an answer to a problem for which he so far had no solution. "How do you punish a child so she isn't broken or hurt? Especially a child that could do serious damage?"
"Tell me that's not how you train your children." Snarling anger in Remi's words.
"It's how we were trained," Zaira answered. "Now we want to change things, but we must have a framework."