Chapter 39

Welcome to the world, Neiza Nguyen Adelaja.

—Message and photo posted to Nguyen Family chat group by Déwei Nguyen on behalf of Hien Nguyen and the late Kanoa Adelaja (18 January 1977)

YAKOV RAN HIS hand down Theo’s back, felt the quivering tension in her as she processed what she’d just learned. And he knew that her childhood had been nothing akin to that of a cub growing up in a healthy and stable clan.

When he nuzzled at her hair, she pressed back against him.

So he wrapped his arm around her and cuddled her close. He half expected a quick and firm repudiation . . . but she stayed tucked against him. And his heart kicked, tenderness flooding every cell of his body—along with the knowledge that Theo had granted him a certain level of skin privileges.

He had every intention of taking full advantage to pet her.

“You want a drink?” His twin’s voice. “I’m making an order. Beer for me, a lemonade for my Arlusha.” He held up his phone, which he’d linked to the Club Moscow system. With the tables all numbered, it was easier for the staff to deliver than to deal with the crush at the bar.

Yakov stroked Theo’s hip with two fingers. “They have nutrient drinks as well, if you’d like that.”

“Thank you, yes.” A slight huskiness to her tone.

Wanting to sit her in his lap and cuddle her, then stroke her all over, he forced himself to behave. “Beer for me, too. And throw in a bunch of the heavier snacks. We only grabbed a bite from a cart for dinner.”

“Yeah, we’re a bit hungry, too.”

Pavel had just sent through the order when a big hand came down on Yakov’s back and a voice boomed, “There you are, you mudak! I should beat you to a pulp for that stunt you pulled.”

THEO froze, her brain—which had been settling into the slumbering heat engendered by Yakov’s petting—immediately switching to attack mode.

Because there were a lot of things a telekinetic who could move small objects a small distance could do to disable an attacker. For example, there was an empty glass on the table next to their own. She could easily push it to the ground, smash it into shards, then stab a shard into someone’s eye.

It would wipe her out, but that person would still be bleeding from a vicious eye wound.

Perhaps these weren’t things another Tk of her Gradient would think about, but those Tks hadn’t been raised by Marshall Hyde. Her grandfather had twisted her in infinite ways; it was second nature for her to think with lethal intent.

The big bulky man with shaggy blond hair and an equally blond beard who’d grabbed Yakov’s shoulder bared his teeth as Yakov turned and said, “You deserved it, you bag of mangy beige fur.”

Theo fixed her psychic power on the glass as the man growled . . . then threw back his head and started laughing, slapping Yakov on the shoulder the whole time. “You’re damn good, for a brown bear.” He spoke Russian with a heavy accent she couldn’t quite place.

Yakov elbowed the man in the gut—but she could see that he’d made sure there was no power behind the hit. “Get the hell out of my space, you oaf. I’m having a night out, in case you can’t tell.”

The big guy looked over, then leaned on the table and beamed at Theo. “Hi, I am Hakon. A polar bear out of Svalbard, Norway—with stunning white fur. Visiting for the season.” Big white teeth against darkly tanned skin.

“I’m Theo,” she said, releasing her mental hold on the glass. “Is this type of interaction normal among bears?”

Yakov tugged her closer to his body, his hand splayed over her hip and part of his body now slightly behind hers.

The contact blew life into the slumbering embers, had her tracing the line of his throat with her eyes as he said, “Only the uncivilized ones. Never trust a beige bear out of Svalbard is all I have to say.” But his eyes were dancing.

And she realized he and the bearded male were friends. Close enough friends that they could read each other through the words spoken aloud. She’d never had friendships like that.

Her only friend her entire life had been Pax.

She felt cold all at once, though the club was warm with the heat of the bodies within. And she understood that it was the cold of being on the outside looking in, as she’d so often done as a child. Walking past restaurants and bakeries where parents stood with their children’s hands in theirs, or where families sat eating. While she walked in a solitary bubble, beside the person who was paid to give her the necessities of life, nothing more.

Then Yakov squeezed her hip and gave her a smile that invited her to laugh and join in. She didn’t know how to laugh, but she didn’t pull away from the touch of his body. Already it had become a thing of comfort . . . of need. The latter was a terrifying realization, but she still didn’t pull away.

One night, whispered the darkness inside her head, just one night.

When another woman joined the group a moment later, they had to shuffle around the table again, and Theo ended tucked up against Yakov’s front on one side, with Arwen’s body pressed into hers on the other. She didn’t truly notice Arwen except for being aware of his presence, but Yakov was a wall of delicious fire that made her breasts ache and her skin crave even more contact.

Body and mind in a state of overwhelm, she had to focus hard to hear what he was saying when he spoke against her ear. His breath was warm, his presence muscled and compact. “You okay? We can always head outside if you need space.”

Theo made her mouth shape words. “I’m fine.” They weren’t quite the truth—her body was having trouble processing all of the input coming at her, but the most visceral of those inputs was the physical contact between her and Yakov.

But rather than jerking away, she wanted to push him to the wall, crawl all over him, pet his human skin as she’d petted his bear’s fur. She just wanted with a ferocity she’d never before experienced, until it was akin to a small madness. Because this was a purloined instant of time, carved out of a life cold and lonely.

The compulsion to glut herself to the brim, like a child given treats only once in their life, it made her despise the idea of limits.

Yet she was still a Marshall, still trained in ways deadly and dangerous.

So she took note of the woman who’d joined them. It would’ve been easy not to look beyond her styled purple hair, full lips, and the voluptuous breasts showcased to sensual effect in a plunging top of glittering gold that looked like liquid. But Theo wasn’t about the surface. What she saw were the sharp eyes that had assessed Theo in a single glance, the fluid muscle on that tall frame, and the way others in the club glanced at her.

Admiration? Yes. Fear? Also a yes.

The stunning Amazon of a woman was a significant threat.

“That’s Stasya,” Yakov murmured to her, one of his hands coming around her waist to lie flat on her stomach with him almost fully behind her.

Theo’s senses hit overload. She felt drunk. And she had no intention of moving.

“You must be Theodora?” The words shouted above the music were a buzz saw cutting through the blur of overload.

Glancing at the woman she’d all but forgotten in her primal response to Yakov, the same woman she’d tagged a significant threat, she tried to resettle her mind, find her feet again. But they kept on sliding out from under her.

Yet she refused to drop the other woman’s gaze—refused to look away first.

“Just Theo,” she said, without shouting—because she knew the changeling across from her would hear her.

“Stasya.” A faint smile curved the other woman’s lips, their eyes yet locked.

Until Pavel groaned and literally put his hand in front of—but not on—Stasya’s eyes to break the silent standoff. “You two can play dominance games on your own time,” he said with a bearish rumble in his voice when Theo blinked and looked over to him. “We’re in party mode.”

Stasya’s glance toward him was deadly. “Good thing I like you.”

Unbowed, Pavel said, “I’m just saving you both from eye strain and headaches.” He pushed up his glasses. “Or next thing you know, I’ll have to introduce you to my optometrist.”

Glancing away from Pavel, Stasya caught Yakov’s eye and spoke just as the music fell into a small lull. “You have a minute? I need to talk to you outside.”

Theo fought down her building anger at the idea of the two of them talking about her—because all logic said it was about her—but Yakov kept his hand where it was, while angling his body to even more effectively hold Theo against him. “I’m off the clock,” he drawled. “Unless it’s urgent clan business?”

Stasya’s eyes gleamed. “Like that, is it?” A hint of amber to her irises before she returned her attention to Theo. But whatever it was she was about to say was interrupted by a member of the waitstaff bringing over a tray of drinks. Behind them came another staff member with the food.

As everyone on that side shifted to allow them room to place the items on the table, Yakov nibbled at the tip of Theo’s ear while moving his hand slightly up her body so that it lay on her rib cage . . . right below the taut mounds of her breasts.