The Sleeper and the Silverblood
The Push and Pull

When she finished, Storm leaned back, his brow furrowed in thought. “This is troubling,” he said finally. “If Baylen has this kind of information, it might mean someone is still leaking intel.”

“That crossed my mind too.”

Storm frowned. “Either way, I don’t think you should meet him alone anymore.”

“I don’t exactly have control over his movements,” she said mildly.

“No, but if you seek him out, I’d rather go with you. He can deal with a plus one if he wants to talk to you.”

She snorted. “Anything else you’d like to tell me I can or can’t do?”

“I don’t mean it like that.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I just…want you to be safe.”

Butterflies somersaulted in her belly. “You know,” she said after a beat, “hands-on fieldwork isn’t required of handlers.”

Storm’s expression darkened. “I don’t care what’s required. I care about your safety. I’d rather be around to heal you if, god forbid, you were injured. And if that means breaking some rules, so be it.”

The way he regarded her—that timbre in his tone—made her heart race.

“Okay,” she murmured, her eyes locking with his. “Thank you.”

For a moment, they watched each other, the air thick with tension.

“I’ll do it,” he murmured.

Kitara blinked and sat back. “Do…what?”

“Go to Myragos. I’ll put in the request.”

“You will?”

He nodded. “It’s not dangerous for me to go, like you going to Ostragarn. Just…inconvenient.”

She chuckled. “Glad to know danger trumps inconvenience.”

“I’ll talk to Alasdair and make sure my leaving won’t set off any alarms. My dad probably won’t expect me to go back to Valëtyria on my own.”

“Thank you,” Kitara said, meaning it. “Those files…whatever they’re hiding, it might change everything. Talk to Devika about what she’s been unable to get. She’ll give you more information about what to look for.”

“I will.” Storm checked the time and winced. “In a few hours. I should go if I want to beat the shift change.”

Hiding her stab of unexpected disappointment, Kitara rose to walk him to the door. “Yeah, last thing we need is you getting caught. You think you feel imprisoned now…”

He snorted as he fell in step beside her. “The resulting fallout would probably ruin the rest of my life.”

Kitara grinned at him. “Let’s not test the theory then.”

As she reached for the deadbolts, Storm touched a tentative hand to her arm. “Considering what Baylen told you…maybe you should stay in while I go to Myragos.”

She offered him a half-smile. “Despite your objections, this is my job, Storm. I can’t just sit at home and twiddle my thumbs.”

“Do you have a go-bag, at least?”

Kitara hesitated. “Uh…no. But that’s a good idea. I’ll put one together.”

He blinked, then put a hand to his chest. “I might die of shock. Did the veteran Sleeper just take advice from her rookie handler?”

She rolled her eyes. “It just means you’re finally learning something.”

He chuckled, but the sound was strained.

“I’ll be careful,” Kitara reassured him. “They don’t expect us to martyr ourselves…most of the time.”

“Don’t martyr yourself anytime,” he stressed with a note of panic. “Please.” Then, with forced humor, he added, “I need you around to make sure I don’t do anything too stupid. Like accidentally stumble into Ostragarn or take on a pack of Netherlings by myself.”

Kitara couldn’t help laughing at his absurdity. “That’s a relief. For a minute, you almost sounded like you cared.”

Storm’s grip on her arm tightened. She looked up into his eyes, and her pulse stuttered at the expression on his face.

“I do care, Kit.”

The emotion in his quicksilver gaze electrified her more than the power he wielded ever could.

“I believe you,” she whispered, realizing what that meant to her even as she continued. “So do I.”

Storm lifted a hand and brushed her cheek with his fingertips, a question in his eyes.

Her heart pounded in her chest, reverberating in her ears. Could Storm hear it too? Sudden vulnerability overwhelmed her. His aura beckoned, willing her to draw nearer. To bask in its warmth and replace solace in him. The intensity in his expression sent tingles thrumming down Kitara’s spine.

Storm touched his forehead to hers. A hair’s-breadth separated them, a moment of indecision. Then he pulled away, leaving her bereft.

Uncertainty and something like regret momentarily eclipsed the warmth in his gaze. “Be safe,” he whispered. Then he disappeared into the night.

Kitara stood frozen as confusion and longing and exhilaration and fear warred for dominance. Releasing a shuddering breath, she locked the door and sank onto her couch. Fire and need raged through her veins.

She had intended to keep him at arms’ length when he became her handler. Then he continued to return to the dark strip, to reveal more of himself to her than he probably intended. The silver warmth of his aura offered a refuge in a cold desert of shadow…and despite herself, despite everything, she yearned toward it. Toward him.

Handlers were meant to be partners, lifelines.

This…this felt like something else.

But the closer they grew, the nearer Storm also drew to uncovering Kitara’s bloodline in its entirety. With every word spoken, every touch shared, that secret slowly but surely would unravel, threatening to tear them apart in an instant.

“…every Sleeper they can train is a necessity.”

“Unless they’re revealed to be a traitor or a threat. Then they’re a liability…”

“…The best thing Valëtyria ever did was execute them for their treachery…”

What would Storm do if he discovered the truth?

Storm returned to the AIDO in a distracted haze, only half-concentrating on reentering the near-invisible shield surrounding the facility. If Declan knew he’d crossed the barrier undiscovered all these nights, he’d probably force his unit to fly drills until they dropped out of the sky.

But the stories Kitara had told him, about her family, about Phoenix…

She had waited until he came to her to ask, rather than setting the record straight early.

“…Would you have believed me…?”

Storm knew the answer—of course not. Even now, cognitive dissonance thrummed through him at what he knew of the silverblooded pioneer’s reputation contrasted against the ugly truths Kitara shared about him.

He believed her. He couldn’t not.

Did this…thing between them, the connection their auras shared, make him desperate to trust her? Because of the feelings she inspired in him when he was with her? Why he might risk everything—his career, his family, hell, maybe even Valëtyria and Myragos—to help her?

Then she asked about his mom…

Storm scrubbed a hand down his face as he paused just outside the AIDO perimeter.

No one asked about his mom anymore.

“I think she would really like you.”

If he knew nothing else, he knew that. His mother was a force of nature, an untamable flame, unyielding and wild. The electricity in Storm’s palms, the lightning in his veins…it stemmed from her.

Yet Ilythia Avensäel chose Cornelius Zhir’la, the unflappable angel, cool as ice compared to her fire.

Could Kitara be the calm to Storm’s current?

He had wasted so much time determined to despise her—a pretense, a form of denial. They could have faced this together from the beginning. How could he possibly disregard the way he felt when he was with her?

When she’d first walked into the Commander’s office, that strange, almost familiar feeling of her aura. When he instinctively yearned toward her and hated himself—and her—for it.

When he’d realized she came to his aid after the demon pack attacked him and Declan, the warring emotions of indignation and begrudging respect.

When he threatened to electrocute her and she calmly stood her ground despite his rage, never missing a beat.

When she mindspoke to him for the first time, and the world righted itself, when he’d never known it was wrong at all.

When he nearly stole a kiss at her door.

At the memory, a spark flared within him, and he knew he couldn’t stay away from her. That steadiness in her called to him, soothed the disquiet in his soul.

His hesitation when she asked him to travel to Myragos hadn’t stemmed from distaste at the idea of visiting the citadel, but rather how quickly he nearly said “yes” without thinking.

That’s what caused the trouble in the first place, wasn’t it? Acting without thinking. Hasty decision-making. And yet…

Storm trusted his father—had trusted him blindly for decades: he never knew a reason not to. Even when his mother’s injury ripped their family apart and the High Councilor’s demeanor changed from cool to callous, dividing father and son. Overprotective, controlling, manipulative…

So what else might his father have lied about?

In hindsight, Storm should have wondered how he reentered the highly-fortified, underground AIDO facility so easily, especially more than once. At the very least, he should have felt concern over the possibility of others doing the same.

Both would occur to him later, of course, and he’d chastise himself for his naivety.

Nevertheless, Storm palmed the scanner outside his suite, lost deep in thought as he let himself in.

When he finally raised his head, he nearly came out of his skin.

Alasdair stood in his living room.