Anew: Book Three: Entwined (29 page)

He nods. “Be careful.”

She smiles faintly. “You do the
same.”

When she, too, is gone, Edward and
I return to his office. He looks preoccupied, even concerned. I suspect that
his thoughts remain with Violeta but he wastes no time asking the question
that’s uppermost in my mind.

 “What are you going to tell
Amelia?”

I hesitate but not for long. After
all she and I have been through, and all we’ve learned about each other,
there’s only one answer that I can give.

“The truth.”

Amelia

M
y arms are stretched above me, bound to the headboard
of the bed. My legs are spread wide, my ankles secured in kind. I cannot move.
Exposed, helpless, I stare down the length of my body.

Ian raises his head from between my
thighs and meets my gaze. His cheeks are flushed, his mouth wet with my juices.
But his eyes…his eyes are red? How is that possible? I’ve seen the fire within
him but not like this. He seems a being from the netherworld, enthralling yet
frightening on some deep, primal level that I don’t want to face.

“Don’t come,” he says. “I forbid
it.”

His tongue flicks across my swollen
clit and down along my soaked pussy. I moan, pulling against the bonds that
hold me.

“You can’t come.” His voice reaches
me through waves of pleasure so intense as to be painful. “Not unless I let
you. You have no will of your own.”

With a shock, I realize that I’ve been
here before. At the palazzo, when he challenged me to find the truth about who I
was, to claim my own self. That time we both discovered that I possess free
will in abundance. But now--

“You only exist for my pleasure,”
he says. “You aren’t real.”

His fingers slide inside me,
finding the spot where I am so exquisitely sensitive. Desperate need cascades
through me.

“I can hold you here forever,” he
says. “Right on the edge. Suspended.”

“No, please!” My voice is jagged, clawed
from my throat. What am I begging him for? Not merely release, although I am
frantic for that. Something more…

“You’ll do anything I want.” His
voice is taunting. “Be anything I want. You’re a receptacle, nothing more.”

Something is wrong. Ian would never
say this. Never believe it…would he?

“You let me fuck your mouth, your
cunt, your ass,” he says. “You loved all of it. You’re the perfect little fuck
toy, that’s all.”

“
No
!”

My heart is pounding. I’m going to
be sick. I have to get away. But I can’t. I’m trapped. Terrified, I look beyond
the shadows around the bed, seeking any means of escape.

People are watching. Several dozen
men and women in white coats, all attentive, serious. Beyond them, machines are
blinking.

“No!!!”

“Christ, Amelia!”

Strong arms close around me. I’m
cradled against a powerful chest. A voice croons softly, “It’s all right,
sweetheart. You’re safe. I won’t let anything hurt you.”

Ian. The real one, not the being of
my nightmare. Ian, whom I love. Who loves me.

My breath shudders. I struggle to
blink back tears and fail. They fall onto his skin. I fear that they will
scorch him.

He sits up and says, “Light.” At
once, the lamp beside the bed comes on.

We are in my room, the same one I
will occupy for only a few more weeks. The date has been set. Before the month
of June is out, I will become Ian’s wife.

But first… today is our engagement
party. In an instant, a know the source of tension that triggered the nightmare
I’ve just endured. One source, at least.

“What’s wrong?” he asks gently.

I shake my head. To tell him will
be to taint him with my memories and my fears. He’s had enough of that already.

“Just a bad dream,” I say.

“What about?”

How hurt he would be to know that
my subconscious mind can conjure him in such a way. How could he ever
understand when I don’t myself?

“I don’t remember.”

He doesn’t believe me. I can see
that in his eyes--familiar, warm, amber eyes. I can feel it in the stiffness of
his body.

For a moment, I think he’s going to
insist that I tell him. Inwardly, I flail around for words, any words, to
placate him.

But before I can utter them, he
says, “All right.”

I look up at him in surprise.
“Really?”

“I’m not happy about you having
nightmares,” he says. “But given everything you’ve been through, I suppose
they’re inevitable.” His mouth curves in a smile. “At least I can give you
something else to think about.”

And he does, very well and
thoroughly through the hushed hour before the first hint of dawn shows in the
sky. The birds are just beginning to stir in the trees beyond the balcony doors
when he lifts me onto him, his cock impaling me. Riding him, my hands braced on
his broad shoulders, I gaze down into his beloved face taut with passion and am
swept by the full piercing love that I have for this man. I will do anything
for him, dare anything.

Even the insidious fear about my
own nature that lingers within me, still making itself known in the darkest
stirrings of my mind. I have to wonder what I will have to do to ever fully
exorcise it.

Ian slips away as the house is
beginning to stir, after a long, lingering kiss and with a boyish smile. “See
you at the party,” he says. “You won’t have any trouble recognizing me. I’ll be
the love struck guy staring at you adoringly.”

I laugh, holding the robe I’ve put
on closed around myself and giving him a little wave as he drops down off the
balcony. In a way, I’ll miss our illicit trysts once we’re married. Although,
now that I think of it, we will be honeymooning at the palazzo and there is a
balcony outside the golden bedroom.

My body tightens as I remember what
else is there, what I have yet to tell Ian about, the Cabinet of Secret
Delights. I wonder if I’ll get up the courage to mention it and, if I do, how
he will react.

The morning passes in a blur of
activity. Heidi arrives with a list of decisions that she assures me must be
made today. I labor over it willingly, glad of any distraction from my building
nervousness about the party.

In the three days since Ian and my
engagement was announced, we have become the focus of all eyes and the topic on
every tongue. Everywhere I have gone--with him, my grand-mother, or Marianne
and Helene--I’ve heard the whispers and felt the assessing, titillated looks.

“A cousin, they said, when she
arrived in town. But no one had ever heard of her…”

“Susannah had an accident when she
was a child. They had to remake her face. And yet, if you look closely, there
are striking similarities--”

“Why would Ian Slade suddenly care
about clones? And why did he withdraw to his estate in the country so
unexpectedly a few weeks ago?”

“There were always rumors, my dear.
Susannah’s parents made no secret that they would do anything to keep her
alive. Anything at all.”

“Who is Amelia McClellan really--?”

“Could she be--?”

“And we’re supposed to simply
accept her? How astonishing!”

Through it all, I’ve kept my head
up and a smile on my lips. But the knots that have taken up permanent residence
in my stomach mock my efforts to appear unaffected.

Again and again, I tell myself that
the reasons for exposing myself to all this are valid. The city is in the grip
of issues that go far beyond my own sensitivities. Ian and I have a chance to
make a real difference for the good. We can’t shirk it. And yet, with each
passing hour, the urge to flee grows stronger.

“Amelia.” My grand-mother
interrupts the dark turn of my thoughts. Adele is standing in the open doorway
of the library where I’ve sequestered myself. Her brows draw together as she
looks at me.

“Whatever the Verplanck has asked
you to do, it can wait,” Adele says. Softly, she adds, “It’s time for you to
dress.”

I stand with an effort and go with
her. My legs feel leaden, indeed my whole body does. When I catch a glimpse of
myself in a mirror, I’m startled by how pale I am. This will not do. If nothing
else, my own pride demands better.

While I hid in the library, the
house has been invaded. Legions of caterers rush between their trucks, the
kitchen, and the ballroom where the party will take place. Florists are
arriving with dozens of arrangements. A stringed quartet is tuning up.
Meanwhile, the household staff is everywhere, making sure that every tiny
detail is perfect.

I can hardly do less.

The dressers descend on me, two
women and a man who in all fairness are geniuses at creating the perfect
make-up and hair style. They have the sense not to try to tame my wild curls
overly much, instead leaving them down but artfully arranged.

Zosimo has created a dress for the
occasion that is certain to make the tongues wag even harder. Instead of the
demure pastel a budding bride is expected to wear, I chose a raw silk the same
deep tawny shade as Ian’s eyes. The knee-length style for afternoon is
deceptively simple. But once I have it on, I realize how well it complements
me. Thanks to a discreet slit up one side, I can move comfortably. Otherwise,
the dress looks as though it has been poured onto me.

I straighten my shoulders. Let them
stare. Let them gossip. Let them think what they will. Ian is going to love the
way I look and that’s all I care about.

Buoyed by a much-needed boost of
confidence, I glance at the time and realize that the first guests must be
arriving. For that matter, Ian should already be here. I need to be downstairs.

I open the bedroom door just as my
brother is about to knock. Edward takes a moment to study me. “You look
lovely.”

As much as I appreciate the
compliment, I don’t mistake the note of concern in his voice. At once, I
stiffen. “Is something wrong? Ian--?”

 “Ian’s fine. He’s just going to be
a bit late.”

Late to our engagement party? When
he above all knows the scrutiny we face? He would never leave me to confront
that alone, not even briefly.

Not unless he had no choice.

“What’s happened?” I ask.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ian

 “Let me get this straight,” I say.
“You think that Davos is hiding out in the ruins of a lunatic asylum on an
island in the East River where no one except MPS personnel have been allowed to
go for decades?”

Violeta Vargas nods. She and Jacob
are in the Operations Center at Pinnacle House, having arrived there to tell me
what they’ve learned. Edward called to say they were coming and to urge me to
hear them out with an open mind.

“Roosevelt Island was sealed off
after the dirty bomb attack in 2026,” Violeta says. “As you may recall from
history class, the real target was Times Square but the bomb went off
prematurely. The resulting radiation contaminated a good chunk of the island.
Everyone living there had to be evacuated.”

“I do remember learning that but
the radiation was short-lived, wasn’t it?” I say. “It was gone within a decade
or so.”

 “That’s what they claim,” Jacob
says. “But by then Manhattan was being closed off to all but approved
residents. They saw the island as a useful buffer between them and the worker
communities on the other side of the river. The decision to locate the bulk of
MPS training facilities to the island settled the matter.”

“Your people don’t go there at all?”
I ask him.

He shakes his head. “The place has
a real bad rep. Besides the MPS fuckers, there’s stories about mutant
animals--two-headed dogs, coyotes bigger than wolves, that kind of thing. We
steer clear. Or at least we did until we started trying to figure out where
Davos could be.”

“Tell me again why you think he’s
there,” I say.

“After we spoke with you,” Violeta
says, “I asked my people to look for anything that might reveal where Davos
could be hiding. An hour ago, a worker in municipal utilities contacted me. The
entire northern end of Roosevelt Island has been dark since the dirty bomb
attack. But now, despite that, there are indications of a power source present
in that location. It’s probably a thorium reactor, small and discreet enough to
normally go undetected but powerful enough to maintain a good-sized facility.”

“While Miss Vargas here was taking
the high road,” Jacob chimes in, “I had my own people do some sniffing around. They
tell me there are signs of activity at the old lunatic asylum. New barriers
across the remains of the tunnels in that area, for instance. And indications
that some fairly large equipment was brought in that way. Someone’s definitely
there.”

Someone, not necessarily Davos.
There could be any number of explanations. An illegal drugs factory, although
putting it so close to one of the most protected enclaves on the planet, where
Cruces himself is frequently in residence, would amount to suicide. An
off-the-books MPS operation but it’s hard to know what they could be up to that
they’d be shy about making known. In the world we live in, anything could be
there.

“What do you want to do?” Hollis
asks quietly. Until now, he and Gab have just been listening. Neither has
challenged anything that Violeta or Jacob said. I suspect he knows what my
answer will be.

But damn it, I’m supposed to be on
my way to the engagement party. I
was
on my way until Edward called. The
idea of Amelia having to go through that without me…