His brother chuckled, proving Walker’s line of thought. “Brenna,” he said, “made me sit through a show about finding the perfect wedding dress. Not only that, she insisted I have opinions about the gowns.”

The image was an incongruous one, but then, this Judd was not the same Judd who had worked with cold-blooded calculation beside Walker to ensure their defection did not fail, ready to stop hearts, slit throats, seize hostages, whatever it took. His own life had been a negligible consideration to Judd, his eyes dead, devoid of hope.

Why would such a show interest Brenna? Walker asked, and it was a surreal conversation to be having with his assassin of a brother…and yet it felt strangely good. As if they were normal men with normal lives and loves. Changelings don’t tend to choose traditional wedding gowns for their mating or bonding ceremonies. Brenna’s, he recalled, had been an ice-blue silk sheath shot with silver that fascinated Marlee.

Judd’s response was a shrug. Brenna said I should just accept it and consider myself duty bound by our mating to keep her company. A quick grin. Every week.

A slow curl of anticipation in his gut, Walker wondered what Lara would demand from him. He wanted to create such memories with her, add them one after the other until the darkness of the past was buried under the brilliance of the present. And did you?

What?

Have opinions?

Yes. Apparently I have no taste.

As Judd grinned again, Walker felt something deep inside him close its watchful eyes at last. Judd might be a deadly blade, but he’d been Walker’s younger brother first, his to protect. Except Walker hadn’t been strong enough, old enough to keep Judd from being taken away, from being hurt until he was almost broken, the innocent boy Walker had once known buried under the angry loneliness of believing he’d been forsaken by his entire family.

Seeing his brother happy, centered, was a gift. “What did you want to discuss?”

“I’ve told you of my contacts with other Arrows,” Judd said into the night-dark silence, “but do you personally remember Aden?”

Chapter 3

WALKER’S MIND RACED back over two decades to present him with an image of a small boy with slanted eyes of liquid brown and hair of silky black cut close to his skull in an effort to keep it tamed.

He’d appeared fragile, his bones sticking out against his skin, but that boy, he’d had a will akin to a Lauren and a mind that echoed Walker’s own—a telepath dismissed as a power because his ability was so subtle, so very fine-tuned. Like Walker, Aden had been miscategorized, his power level far, far more dangerous than indicated by his official classification.

Eyes widening a fraction as Aden realized Walker knew the truth. “Will you tell?” A child’s voice, but an ancient’s gaze.