CHAPTER ONE

Sziveria, June 7th, 832 P.C.E. (Post-Cataclysm Event)

Old Helston locality

Chaos erupted in the wake of a bullet piercing a target secured to a giant oak tree. Birds squawked, taking flight in a mass exodus of feathers and trembling leaves. The satisfaction of another perfect shot failed to ease the fiery pain in Katria Nachemir’s side from the rifle’s recoil. A side effect of not being healed enough to practice.

The exercise provided a much-needed distraction, but the ache brought a reminder of the devastation she attempted to escape. Tears burned her eyes, and with a quick breath, she pushed on, loading two more bullets into the bolt action chamber.

           Shooting at a target wouldn’t change anything. Her mother and sister were still dead, buried in what would now become a family cemetery. A bullet wound would forever mar her body. Escaping was nothing more than a mental game now. Anytime she looked down at herself, the nightmare would be made real again.

The gunman who stole their lives remained elusive, the reason for the fatal attack unknown.  Focusing her pain on something productive was all Katria could think to do. Sitting in the too-quiet house with her despairing father wasn’t an option anymore. At some point, perhaps hours after the massacre, he’d forgotten he had one daughter left alive. Katria couldn’t take being ignored any longer.

The target became the manifestation of her pain, and the bullet a means to end it. Taking a long, slow inhale, she wrapped her hands around the gun. Her fingertips formed a connection with the rifle. All the working mechanisms became a map in her mind, while the wind blowing across her skin became an adversary. Without effort on her part, the calculations flowed through her.

Before she could pull the trigger again, a twig snapped behind her. She swung around and took aim on the stranger before he moved another step. His hands flew into air. Strong morning light cast his face in sharp relief, drawing attention to a firm jaw, high cheekbones, a patrician nose and a mouth that didn’t look to smile often.

           “I’m just here to talk,” he stated in a deep, soothing voice, his foot lifted midstride. “My name is Ryan Voklane, I work with the First Intelligence Office.”

           Katria didn’t lower the weapon or allow her surprise to show. The FIO Guardian was a long way from home. “Are you here about my mother and sister?”

           He slowly removed a tan ivy cap he’d been wearing, revealing neatly combed pale blond hair. He lowered his foot and sank into a non-threatening, relaxed stance. “No, local enforcement is handling that, I believe.”

           Anger flared. Somehow, Katria managed to keep her temper in check. “And getting nowhere. It wasn’t a local murder.”

           “I’m sure you’re aware of your father’s past. They may never find who killed them,” he said gently.

Fresh tears burned, and she looked away from the pity in his silvery blue eyes. “Then what do you want to talk about?”

“You.”

That brought her attention back. “Me?”

“Yes. Do you mind lowering your gun?”

Katria looked him over. Though broad-shouldered and fit, his neatly pressed black pants and jacket, well-tailored gray vest and red silk scarf spoke of days spent in an office. There were no telltale bulges of a hidden gun or knife, at least from his front. If he opted to pull something from his back, she’d be quicker. She decided he likely wasn’t much of a threat and lowered her gun. “You’re from Haven City?”

“Correct.”

“Am I in trouble?”

“No, I’m here to offer you job. A position on one of our elite guardian teams.”

Katria kept her surprise internal. “A position? As what?”

“Sharpshooter.”

She glanced down at the worn rifle in her hands. “There’s nothing special about my shot.”

“On the contrary, Miss Nachemir. You may be the best shooter in Sziveria. Perhaps even the world. You’re a Gen-Heir.”

Katria kept her expression carefully neutral. Inside, she panicked. She couldn’t have been more stunned if he’d slapped her. Yes, she was her father’s genetic heir, or Gen-Heir as society preferred to call those who inherited more than looks and health. Her unique capability to connect on a cellular level with a gun, and the knowing by touch alone, of how all its variables— distance, wind, humidity, air temperature and density—affected a shot. With only a rifle, scope and target, her mind calculated and adjusted in a split second. Despite Aleksandrov Nachemir’s best efforts, someone had learned the assassin’s daughter shared his talent.

 “How could you possibly know that?” she asked. “I’ve never competed, never done anything outside this property with my father.”

“We have our ways.”

She frowned. “Of course you do.”

“I know this is a delicate time for you, but if you work with us, I promise I’ll put the full resources of the Sziverian National Investigative Division into the death of your mother and sister. We’ll find who killed them, bring them to justice.” He took a tentative step forward, his cap clutched in his hands. “Your country needs the skills you have to offer, and you’ll be working with the best.”

A tightness formed in her chest. Justice. A month ago, the word hadn’t had much meaning. Now it meant everything. But at what cost? She looked down the length of field to the target on the thick tree trunk. “I’ll be doing what someone did to us… won’t I?”

“No, no, you’ll never take an innocent life. Our Queen Elect has no desire for personal vendettas. She’s interested in national security only. When you’re called to work, you can be assured the person will be a bad person. Someone like the man who came after your family. Justice for another family, for your country.”

The words were careful in their assurance. Pretty in their seduction to compel her agreement. Katria looked him over again. The handsome planes of his face remained unthreatening, open, almost warm. She wanted to say yes. “My father will never agree.”

“You’re eighteen, and if I’m correct, uncontracted for marriage?”

“Yes, correct.”

The Guardian took another brazen step closer. “You wouldn’t have to tell him.”

Lie to her father? The idea made acid curl in her stomach, and yet the suggestion had merit. If he didn’t know, he couldn’t stop her, and the murders of their family would be examined by the greatest investigative force in the country. “Will I get any sort of training?”

“Training, along with so much more.”

“And if I don’t like the idea in the end?”

“You can walk away. However,” he added, frowning, “you must understand I can’t promise the investigation if you don’t keep up your end.”

She nodded. “I understand.”

“Good.”

In the course of their conversation, he’d managed to inch forward enough to reach out and grab her. Katria froze. His hand disappeared into his jacket pocket. Now he stood too close for her to use her rifle without falling back onto the ground if he posed a danger after all. A flash of white caught on his emerging fingers. He handed her a card.

“Be at this address in one week.”

September 3rd, 832

First Intelligence Office

Haven City

Sean Blackbain’s booted feet echoed down the long empty corridor. The dancing flames in glass lamps every few feet barely penetrated the heavy darkness of the third floor below ground level. The musk of dank walls and no sunlight thickened the air. A dense folder weighed down his left hand. He studied the name hastily scrawled across the edge.

Katerina Nachesa.

He’d never heard of the woman, who was purported to be the best shot in the world. No reputation or experience backed up the claim made by the FIO. Yet he was supposed to take her under his wing, turn her into a valuable team member. Why did he get the feeling he was being set up for something?

He glanced at the markings on the doors he walked past. Almost to the one he needed. A few feet farther, he arrived.

The door opened with ease. Three people sat inside. A lamp on the table and a low-burning fire cast the room in heavy shadow.

Ryan Voklane straddled a chair in his usual unprofessional style, his arms braced across the back. The woman’s back was to him, her long black hair reflecting the meager golden light. An old man slid sheets of paper to her across the table faster than she could gather them. Shadows danced off the deep wrinkles of his face and over his gnarled hands.

Ryan glanced up and caught Sean’s eye. The faint movement caused the woman to turn around in awareness of his presence.

Impressive.

No emotion shone in her vivid blue eyes, not even curiosity as her gaze met his. In fact, as he stood and opened himself to read the emotions floating through the room, he couldn’t make out any feelings from her. Like the tranquil, undisturbed surface of water, she was a void. Sean remained calm despite the phenomenon that made him want to ask a million questions. Would she still be an emotional abyss if he touched her?

He flexed the fingers on his free hand with the thought of her skin under his, and the need to encounter any emotion now. His Gen-Heir Sympathetic Empath senses, known as a Sympath, helped him pick up the bored annoyance of the old records keeper, and… well, how interesting, Ryan’s carefully concealed anxiety. What did the liaison to the Arch Guardian of Sean’s Intel team have to be nervous about?

The soft, warm light danced across the woman’s ivory skin. Softly rounded cheeks, high-arched black brows, a full mouth and straight nose… he could spend hours staring at her and learning all the beautiful curves of her face. She was also young. Too young. Sean quickly looked away from her and back to Ryan.

“Can I speak with you for a moment?” he asked, motioning to the hall.

The chair feet scraped across the floor as Ryan stood. They stepped into the corridor, and Sean waited until the door closed completely before speaking.

“She’s a child.” He tried to control his frustration.

“She’s of age, a legal adult for almost a year now. She’ll be nineteen in a month.”

“Voklane, what are you doing? She’s not old enough, and you know it. She has zero experience and limited field training.”

“She’s perfect. She’s completely moldable and eager to learn. Did you read her training record?”

Sean glanced down at the file he held. “I looked it over.”

“And?”

“And I admit she has potential. Bring her to me in a year or two.”

The normally calm demeanor Ryan portrayed shifted into hard angles and stiffened muscles. A preternatural silver glow shone across his pale blue gaze. Sean resisted the urge to step back. “We don’t have a year or two. We need her now. No one else has the capabilities she has. Your team will be the greatest asset this country has, and the greatest threat to our enemies. Your Guardian team wasn’t created to be second best to anyone. You’ll take the woman, or I’ll find someone else to lead your team.”

Sean clenched his jaw. They both knew he needed to leave not only Haven City, but the whole of Sziveria. The team assignment was his long-trip ticket. He couldn’t afford to mess this up. Still, there were too many concerns to ignore. Especially one. “A woman, specifically one so young, can’t travel alone with three men. No story in the world we give will work.”

“We already figured out how to handle that. You won’t travel as a cohesive team— at least it won’t appear that way. That’s for the best as well. She’ll travel mainly with you since you’re her superior and team leader. Other times she may be with Merrick as a niece, or Dandridge as a sister. Their coloring is close enough to pull that one off.”

Sean was almost afraid to ask, but he had to. “And with me?”

He gave a little smile Sean didn’t trust. “Probably your ward, or whatever we need her to be.” Ryan clapped him on the shoulder in a reassuring manner that made Sean want to punch him. “I’ll be sure it’s noted in each assignment.”

“I’m sure you will.”

“Oh come on, Blackbain. She’s a beautiful woman. Things could be worse, really.”

Sean slapped the folder against his thigh. “I’ll take your word for it.”

“Let’s sign paperwork, shall we?” Ryan held the door open for him.

With a sinking sensation in his stomach, Sean reentered the room. The woman’s gaze followed him to the table. The warm light from the fire and candle accentuated the delicate planes of her face. With her sleek midnight hair and startling blue eyes, he wasn’t sure how they were supposed to travel unnoticed anywhere. He suddenly found himself thankful she wasn’t standing. He didn’t want to know if an equally attractive body was attached to her pretty face. Besides, he preferred women closer to his twenty-six years.

Sean flipped the chair around and took the seat closest to her, throwing the folder on the table. “Sean Blackbain. I’m your—”

“Team leader. They told me,” she said softly, accepting yet another paper.

Sean barely caught the stack the old man slid to him. He shot an impatient glance in the man’s direction. “And this is?”

“Your contract.”

“I already signed my contract, years ago.”

“New team, new contracts and promised obligations.”

“I see.”

Ryan came to stand behind Sean. “You know how it is. Merrick and Dandridge signed theirs yesterday.”

“Right.” Sean flipped through the pages, trying to make sense of the lines of text.

“I hate to make this quick, but the MagnaRail leaving for Port Scarborough departs in thirty minutes, and you both need to be on it. Henry, the pens please, and show them where to sign.”

Sean’s gaze snapped up to the old man, who offered him a pen. This was happening too fast. He was supposed to have time to explain the job to this woman, go over her contract and what was to be expected of her…and what would happen if she failed. He needed to make sure she had the proper gear, the newest rifle model, and that she understood how communication worked on his team.

She’d pushed the edges of the initial few pages away, revealing the lines for her first signature, which she was poised to sign. Sean placed his hand over hers. Like threads pulling between them, the first inclination of emotion filtered through the skin-on-skin contact. Nervousness. Uncertainty. A hint of… fear. Though buried, his Gen-Heir Sympath senses drew the feelings forward. Her full lips parted, and she met his stare.

He leaned in close enough to smell the soft floral notes of her soap and see the pure, glacial-blue color her irises. He whispered so only she could hear, “Are you sure you want to do this?”

Katria’s heart pounded so loudly in her ears she knew the man sitting next to her had to be able to hear. And then he touched her, his large hand covering hers… and expected to her to form some sort of coherent thought. His amber eyes searched hers. She’d never seen eyes like his before. They seemed to glow with an inner fire.

“You have your entire life ahead of you,” he said softly.

He was so close, his mouth—with a too-sensual, bow-shaped upper lip and full bottom lip—inches from her face. Katria’s throat went dry. The uneven light accented the stubble covering his strong jaw and brought out the lighter streaks in the dark blond hair hanging around his face. Not a fashionable cut like Ryan’s, but more rugged, his long hair falling past his shirt collar in the back. A thick piece shifted across his brow, half covering his eye, and she had the sudden urge to brush it from his forehead. She quickly looked away. This man was essentially her boss. She couldn’t be thinking about anything more than the orders he would give her.

Orders.

The thought brought her back to reality.

“I’m sure I want to do this,” she whispered. Then with more conviction, “I’m sure, yes.”

His hand slid away from hers and she was startled by the sudden cold left behind. “Very well. Continue, please.”

The old man leaned forward and with a quickness only decades in the job could provide and flipped directly to the pages they needed to sign. Katria took a deep breath with each applied signature, knowing without a doubt she signed her life away. But if it meant finding who’d destroyed her family, it’d be worth it. She’d do anything she had to now.

Ryan had assured her the case had already been handed over to operatives in both the First Intelligence and the Sziverian National Investigative Division. She just had to keep her part of the deal, and the investigation would continue. If she helped them, they’d help her.

She chanced a quick glance back at Sean. Before he’d walked in the door, attraction had been something other people experienced. No other man had ever been able to make her notice much. This man proved different. Over six-feet tall, built like he knew how to use his body as a weapon, and an appearance any sane woman wouldn’t reject, had Katria noticing more than she cared to. More than she should.

He was her boss. Nothing more.

They signed the last document. A sense of finality swept over Katria. She stared at the stack of pages and swallowed against the panic. A heavy hand landed on her shoulder and she looked up.

His eyes, filled with a compassion she didn’t understand, stared down at her. When had he stood? “Come on, time to go.”

Closing her eyes, she filled her lungs with a soothing inward breath and then let it out. This was the last time she would allow herself to feel distress at her decision. The choice was made. Whatever happened from this day forward was the life she’d chosen. She opened her eyes and stood to follow him.

“Well, Katerina, let’s see what they’re having us do first.”

“Katria,” she corrected.

“What?”                                                              

“My name is Katria.”

He cast her a quiet, searching look. “I see. How about I just call you Kat?”

A little ache formed in her heart, along with guilt she couldn’t afford. “My dad calls me that… called me that, I mean. So yes, okay.”

“Kat it is.”

Ryan clapped in exuberance. “All right, Intel Guardian Team Blackbain, let’s get this production on the rails, shall we?”