They call it Haven.
VASIC WOKE THE instant Ivy did. Snuggled up warm against him, she stretched sleepily and rubbed her face against his chest. He caressed his fingers over her hip in turn, luxuriating in the pleasure of waking with his empath.
“Good morning,” she murmured in a husky voice.
It was a caress over his body. Turning on his side, he stroked his hand into her hair as she lay drowsy eyed below him. “Good morning.”
A lazy, affectionate smile that caught at his heart and refused to let go. “I flaked, huh?”
“You needed rest,” Vasic answered. And then he kissed her.
Ivy responded with the lush generosity that had already made him an addict. Sliding her arms around his neck and bending one leg at the knee to cradle him between her thighs, she surrendered her mouth to his desires. And he took, devoured. He hadn’t understood how starved he was of touch until he met Ivy. Now, she was the only one who could ease the piercing ache of his need.
Licking his tongue against hers in the way he’d discovered she liked, he closed his hand over the plump mound of her breast.
She jerked.
He halted but didn’t remove his hand. “No?” It gave him excruciating sexual pleasure to touch that part of her, but he’d do nothing that caused Ivy hurt.
“Yes.”
Tugging him down with a grip in his hair on the heels of that breathy whisper, she initiated another kiss. It was deeper, hotter, wilder than the previous one, Vasic’s hand squeezing and petting Ivy’s breast as they kissed and her body rocked against his own—which was probably why they ended up first in the desert, then in a remote part of the Rockies. He grit his jaw, clenched his teeth, and got them back home.
“I need to talk to Judd,” he said, forcing his hands off her. “He has to have figured out a solution by now.”
Ivy’s chest rose and fell in a ragged rhythm. “Yes.” Clenching her hands on the sheets, she said, “I don’t want to stop again.”
Neither did Vasic. His penis was so hard it was a rod of iron, the damp heat between Ivy’s thighs tempting him even through the layers of their clothing. He wanted to touch her there skin to skin, wanted to taste, wanted to take. Shoving off her before he teleported them somewhere inhospitable, he sat on the edge of the bed with his back to her. Seeing her all sleep mussed and well kissed wasn’t exactly conducive to control.
Rustling sounds behind him. “The infection . . . how bad are things?” A quiet, worried question.
“Bad, but it’s been calm for the past three hours.” He ran both hands through his hair, knowing that even if the world had been going to hell right that second, he’d still have done what he was about to do. If he didn’t, Ivy would be left alone in the dark, and that was unacceptable.
Angling his body, he reached out to take her hand. “We have an appointment after breakfast.”
Ivy’s fingers curled over his. “Who are we going to see?”
“A man named Samuel Rain.”
ALMOST out of her skin with hope, Ivy waited while Vasic teleported to the location for which he’d been given visual coordinates. He’d refused to take her with him until he’d verified it was safe; the man had a protective streak a mile and a half wide. “I like that about him,” she whispered to Rabbit, who was sulking in his basket because he’d realized they were going somewhere and leaving him behind again.
Even a treat hadn’t appeased him.
Ivy knelt to rub his belly. “I promise we’ll go for a walk after. And Vasic’s going to drop you off at Central Command with Aden, so you won’t be alone.” She’d just stood back up when Vasic reappeared.
“Rabbit,” he said, and the dog scrambled to them. Vasic touched his hand to Ivy’s lower back. “I think your pet will be welcome at our destination.”
“Our pet.” Ivy smiled, aware of Rabbit standing motionless beside Vasic. Their smart little dog had learned about ’porting and didn’t so much as move a muscle until they were standing on the velvet green of a manicured lawn devoid of any hint of snow.
That lawn lay behind a sprawling and graceful home painted a rich, creamy white. It held hints of plantation-style architecture but had entire walls formed of glass—natural light would flood the interior on sunny days such as today. With its wide doors open to the lawn, the green space appeared an extension of the home.
Outdoor furniture dotted the grass, the seating arrangements comfortable, but the lawn was clearly only one part of the grounds. Several paths disappeared behind hedges and natural-appearing clusters of trees; they broke up the gently undulating landscape so it was impossible to tell how extensive the grounds actually were. Ivy had the feeling any guess she made would be a gross underestimation. She couldn’t hear the sound of a single vehicle, much less see any other indication of civilization nearby.
The temperature and foliage didn’t tell her much about the location, except that it was in the same hemisphere as New York, but more temperate. While the area was free of snow, she did still need the coat she’d put on over jeans and her white cowl-neck sweater—though that would no doubt change as the sun rose higher in the sky.
Despite the cold, people sat quietly in the seating areas, some in groups, several alone. All were dressed in ordinary civilian clothes. A few were reading, others stared out into space, one rocked back and forth . . . but no one was actually isolated. Men and women she assumed were caretakers moved quietly from person to person, group to group, never intruding, but always there should one of the patients have a need.
Ivy also noted the touches—on the shoulder, on the arm. “Anchoring,” she said aloud. “The touches are to remind the patients of the here and now.”
“Probable,” Vasic answered, “given that the majority are apt to be F-Psy.”
Foreseers, Ivy remembered, were at high risk of falling forever into the visions created by their extraordinary gift.
One of the caretakers came toward Ivy and Vasic. She wore a simple gray pantsuit paired with a pale yellow shirt, her golden brown hair in a single tidy braid, and her skin a warm caramel shade. There was a sense of calm responsibility to her that made Ivy believe the woman was in charge of the entire complex.
“I’m Clara Alvarez,” she said on reaching them. “I manage Haven. Anthony told me to expect you.”
Vasic’s fingers brushed Ivy’s hip. “I’m Vasic, and this is Ivy.” A nod toward where their dog was sniffing at Clara’s shoes. “And that is Rabbit.”
The woman leaned down to pet Rabbit with hands gloved in thin black. Ivy had seen gloves like that before. Frowning, she tried to remember where. The gloves . . .
She must be a former J-Psy, Vasic replied.
Of course. Ivy had caught glimpses of Justice Psy while she’d lived in Washington with her parents. She didn’t know why Js wore the gloves, but she assumed it had something to do with deteriorating mental shields. Clara, however, didn’t appear stressed in any way, a tranquility to her that was soothing against Ivy’s senses.
“If you’ll follow me,” she said now, and stood to lead them down a pathway to the left. “Samuel prefers to sit in the rose garden, even with the plants not much more than sticks at this time of year.”
As they walked, she said, “I’ll introduce you, then leave. Whether he chooses to speak or not is up to him—he’s been largely silent since waking from the coma.” Stopping beside a weathered pine table on which sat a small red toolbox, she looked at Vasic. “This is the personal and somewhat idiosyncratically stocked toolbox we recovered from Samuel’s home. He hasn’t touched it though we leave it in his quarters, but you should store the image so you can retrieve it, just in case.”
“I have a lock.”
“Don’t push him,” Clara continued once they began to walk again. “It may be that he no longer has the capability or the knowledge you need.” She stopped, held their gazes with warm brown eyes that were deadly serious. “He was a brilliant, gifted man, you understand. If he’s lost that and is aware of the loss, he may simply choose not to face that part of his life. It is his right.”