There should have been e.., p.1
There Should Have Been Eight, page 1
TITLES BY NALINI SINGH
Psy-Changeling Series
Slave to Sensation
Visions of Heat
Caressed by Ice
Mine to Possess
Hostage to Pleasure
Branded by Fire
Blaze of Memory
Bonds of Justice
Play of Passion
Kiss of Snow
Tangle of Need
Heart of Obsidian
Shield of Winter
Shards of Hope
Allegiance of Honor
Psy-Changeling Trinity Series
Silver Silence
Ocean Light
Wolf Rain
Alpha Night
Last Guard
Storm Echo
Resonance Surge
Guild Hunter Series
Angels’ Blood
Archangel’s Kiss
Archangel’s Consort
Archangel’s Blade
Archangel’s Storm
Archangel’s Legion
Archangel’s Shadows
Archangel’s Enigma
Archangel’s Heart
Archangel’s Viper
Archangel’s Prophecy
Archangel’s War
Archangel’s Sun
Archangel’s Light
Archangel’s Resurrection
Thrillers
A Madness of Sunshine
Quiet in Her Bones
There Should Have Been Eight
BERKLEY
An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC
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Copyright © 2023 by Nalini Singh
Penguin Random House supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin Random House to continue to publish books for every reader.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Singh, Nalini, 1977– author.
Title: There should have been eight / Nalini Singh.
Description: First edition. | New York: Berkley, 2023.
Identifiers: LCCN 2023016611 (print) | LCCN 2023016612 (ebook) | ISBN 9780593549766 (hardcover) | ISBN 9780593549773 (ebook)
Subjects: LCGFT: Thrillers (Fiction) | Novels.
Classification: LCC PR9639.4.S566 T54 2023 (print) | LCC PR9639.4.S566 (ebook) | DDC 823/.92—dc23/eng/20230414
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2023016611
LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2023016612
Cover design by Rita Frangie Batour
Cover image by Nic Skerten / Arcangel
Book design by Katy Riegel, adapted for ebook by Kelly Brennan
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Contents
Cover
Titles by Nalini Singh
Title Page
Copyright
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
About the Author
_145398170_
1
. . . around the cache of disturbing images found in the personal laptop of Judge Landis Beale. The judge has refused to speak to the media after his initial statement denying all knowledge of the images and declaring that his system had been hacked.
However, sources close to the investigation state that there is no evidence of hacking, and that it appears the judge has been collecting the images for close to a year.
Major media organizations continue to file appeals against the gag order that prohibits any description of the images.
—MORNING NEWS BULLETIN
2
But I’m afraid of the dark.
That was all I could think when the doctor looked at me, kind and gentle, and told me that I was going to go blind. A slow, steady road to relentless darkness. There were other words. Things like “best-case scenario” and “limited vision,” along with “cutting-edge developments” and “chance to optimize your habits,” but it had just been buzz, a swarm of disoriented bees in my head.
It’s been a year since that day. I now knew far too much about the genetic time bomb inside me, and my night vision was gone. But I could still see in the light, so I brought the camera up to my eye as the wind whipped my hair back from the open window, and I snapped a shot of one of the myriad waterfalls that cascaded down the fern-covered rocks of this final stretch of the West Coast.
We’d turn soon, going inland and upward as we made our way to the remote alpine area that housed Darcie’s family estate. I’d never had reason to visit that specific part of the country, but I’d heard that it was breathtaking, a photographer’s paradise. Still, that unknown landscape could never compete with my love for the black sands, rainforests, and jagged cliffs of this coast.
“We’re flying south for three days to walk one of the trails, then road-tripping up to the estate,” my best friend, Vansi, had said. “You should come! Kaea’s already on board and I’m going to ask Aaron and Grace, too.”
My love for this region was part of why I’d tried so hard to fly home early, join the road trip. But only a small part. When Darcie’s invitation had come and I’d realized everyone had said yes to the idea of a reunion, the key had turned, unlocking the bitter box of questions I’d kept stifled for nine long years.
All of us. Together again.
While I could still see, still judge their expressions.
It was time.
No more avoiding the one subject none of us could bear to talk about.
No more false cheer anytime we reminisced about the past.
No more pretending that Bea wasn’t dead.
My chest compressed in on itself, my eyes staring unblinkingly at the landscape beyond the window.
In the end, I’d only made this final stretch of the road trip. I’d needed to see my family, imprint their visages on my brain. Because the disease that had slumbered in my cells all my life was now well and truly awake. It was rare, the doctors had told me, and while they had data from other cases, there were no guarantees when it came to the timeline of progression.
I was a walking case study on its unpredictability: I’d been asymptomatic until I hit twenty-eight years of age. Such late onset was as rare as the disease itself. Most with the same diagnosis only got to keep their sight until their teens, or early twenties at best. I’d made it to almost thirty.
A gift.
More than a quarter century spent in blissful ignorance.
No awareness that there would come a day when my world would go blurry . . . then blink out, leaving me with nothing but ghostly afterimages of the life I’d once lived.
The diagnosis had turned me into a hoarder of memories.
After five days with my parents, brother, and grandparents in the frenetic energy of metropolitan Auckland, I’d made my way to Fox Glacier last night. The cabin I’d booked at the last minute had been low on the amenities front and chilly to boot, but was nestled inside primeval native bushland.
Giant tree ferns had shaded my back door, beyond them a landscape curling wit
I’d taken more photographs, hoarded more memories—but I’d been ready to go when my friends drove in at ten that morning. The mist had faded by then, the sky ablaze with cool spring sunshine.
Hugs, cries of joy, grins exchanged.
It had all felt so painfully familiar, their voices and faces writ on my very bones. I’d never forget the fine details of any of their expressions, no matter how fast the curtain fell. We’d been part of each other’s lives at a pivotal moment, that breath between childhood and adulthood, when the whole world was full of possibility and our minds fearless.
But of course, it wasn’t the same.
We’d learned fear. And lived a grief so serrated that the scars ached to this day.
“Do you think we’ll ever be how we were again?” Vansi had asked me the night when part of me had gone permanently numb. The whites of her eyes had been red, her voice a rasp, and her skin such an ashen shade of brown that, for a second, I’d thought I was speaking to a mirage, a stealthy shadow of my friend.
I’d stroked the wavy mass of her hair with a gentle hand, hugged her close . . . and held my silence. Because we’d both known the answer to her question. There’d been no need to give voice to the agony of it.
Bea was dead.
Her body erased out of existence.
There was no coming back from that.
3
An hour and a half until we reached the estate where Darcie and Ash waited for us. A shorter time until we left the state highway that hugged the jagged rocks and wild green of this coast with its massive white-capped waves and deadly undertows. Even the plants were eerie at times, so ancient that they appeared alien growths transported from another planet.
Click. Click. Click.
The big SUV hummed alone through the alien wilderness, no other cars on this silent stretch devoid of human settlement, but the sun shone bright, the colors of the landscape vivid. A pop of red berries I barely caught as we rolled by, a shot of golden green leaves against the sooty black trunk of a tree fern, a capture of Vansi’s laughing face as reflected in the side mirror.
“You’ll have a thousand shots just from the road, Lunes.” Kaea bumped my shoulder. “Control yourself.” All big shoulders and wicked dark eyes set against glowing brown skin, I’d thought him the most beautiful boy I’d ever seen the first day of high school, when we’d ended up in the same form room.
I’d soon learned that he was also a player. The boy around whom trailed a line of slack-eyed groupies and—once he hit his late-teenage years—whose bedroom had a revolving door that spun so fast it was a health hazard.
Back when I’d shared a flat with him, Vansi, and Aaron during our university days, I’d met so many young women in the kitchen on weekend mornings that I’d given up even exchanging names with them. Poor things always thought they’d be back, but Kaea had an endless smorgasbord from which to pick—and no desire for a steady girlfriend.
“Relationships are too much work,” he’d told me once. “I’m here to graduate in the top one percent of my class, get headhunted by a major corporate law firm, and make my way to partner in under ten years. I don’t have time to be the doting boyfriend.”
Arrogant ass, I thought with an inward grin. Because while he might not do relationships, he was an amazing friend. A friend who’d shipped me a giant order of my favorite local supermarket chocolates after I admitted to being homesick after moving to London—even though, according to him, my love for the cheap chocolates was a “screaming chemical-laced affront to good taste.”
Lifting the camera, I snapped a photo of his grinning face.
When I looked at the tiny image on the screen, he was as beautiful and as charismatic as ever, some part of him still the boy on whom I’d had a crush. Thank God that hadn’t lasted; he’d have obliterated my heart. “So, no third Mrs. Ngata yet?” I asked, after snapping another shot, this time of the couple in the front seats of the big black SUV that was our ride.
Another rugged vehicle—this one a dark green, per the recent photo in our group chat—hugged the road some three hours north of us.
Driving down as we drove up, our destination the same.
Like me, Aaron and his new fiancée, Grace, hadn’t been able to join the hiking detour the others had organized. We’d link up at the estate. I hadn’t yet met Grace, as Aaron’s romance with her had taken place while I was out of the country, but Kaea and the others had reported that she was a sweetheart.
“What about his family?” I’d asked Kaea privately. “Any pushback there?” I knew that they’d expected Aaron to end up with someone from the African diaspora.
“I saw a photo he put up of her heading to church with his family. Huge smiles on everyone’s faces, and his grandmother was holding Grace’s hand. Fact Grace shares their faith will have been a major point in her favor. And she’s just like Aaron, you know? Generous and warm, just the kind of person they’d want for him.”
Trust Aaron to find a woman with a nature as gentle and kind as his own. Back when we’d flatted together, Aaron had always been the one most likely to organize a pick-me-up if one of us was struggling, or to make dinner for us all. He’d even packed me lunch one semester after he realized I was exhausted from study and work, and as a result was barely eating.
I’d been overjoyed when he called me with news of his engagement.
Not only for the love, but for finding his place in life. Back at the huge high school where we’d come together as a group, where the diverse student body was a matter of school pride, Aaron had still managed to stick out. His parents had been refugees from war-torn Sudan, Aaron one of the first generation born on New Zealand soil. The eldest son, the eldest cousin, the first child born a Kiwi.
He’d carried the weight of his entire family’s expectations on his thin shoulders.
“They survived refugee camps and the loss of most of the members of our family to relocate to a place so cold that my haboba’s kneecaps creak from it,” he’d said in a speech for our senior English class. “The least I can do is make them proud.”
I’d never understood whether he was being serious or ironic when he said things like that, whether the words were his or a repetition of those spoken to him by his family, especially his treasured grandmother with the knees that couldn’t bear the cold. For all his sweetness, Aaron was in no way an open book.
Quite different from blunt and almost-too-honest Kaea.
“Situation is in progress,” Kaea said today. “Wife number three. My soulmate, this time. I know it.”
Phoenix snorted from the driver’s seat, his voice overriding a radio report about a scandal to do with a high court judge. “Didn’t you use that line in your first wedding speech?”
“No.” Vansi turned to grin at Kaea. “He said they were destined to be, two hearts in sync.”
“Destined for divorce court,” Phoenix added dryly as the newscaster began to speculate about the spring weather.
Unabashed, Kaea threw out his arms. “Hey, hate the game, not the player.” At twenty-nine, with two divorces behind him, he had the confidence of a handsome and intelligent man who knew women would never be a challenge for him. It was a kind of curse, I’d always thought, the ease with which he could charm lovers. He valued none of them because there were always more waiting in the wings.
“Wait, hear that?” Phoenix turned up the radio.
“. . . polar blast. Farmers are concerned about the effect of the late cold snap on the lambing season.”
“Only in New Zealand,” Vansi said with a roll of the eyes that I heard more than saw. “Sheep news on prime time.”
“Wouldn’t worry about the weather,” Kaea added. “Remember last year they were going on about a polar blast and it ended up a day of cold rain?”
Phoenix nodded. “Yeah, you’re right. We’ll be safe at the estate regardless. If the place has survived close to a hundred and fifty years in the mountains, it’s not going to buckle under a bit of rain.” Reaching forward, he switched off the radio. “Signal’s starting to crackle anyway. Did Darcie ever answer my question about cell reception at the estate? I forgot to check.”
“Yeah—apparently it’s usually only available in a single high part of the estate’s main house, though she says she gets the odd bar out by the bridge sometimes.” Kaea shrugged. “Be a proper break, right?”
