Edge of Dawn (36 page)

“I can’t talk anymore,” she murmured, already backing away from the open door and Nathan’s concerned expression. “I have to go. I thought there would be more time. I have to see Kellan before he goes in front of the Council.”

Nathan gave a slow shake of his head. “There won’t be time for you to see him before he’s brought to the hearing. The Council is assembling to meet him there within the hour.”

“No.” She swallowed, her throat gone dry. “No, this can’t be happening. We need more time . . .”

Words began to fail her, fear swamping her. She edged farther into the bedroom, holding Nathan’s apologetic, regretful gaze. She closed the door on him and sagged against it, her forehead pressed to the cool wood panel.

She had to see Kellan. And there was no way in hell she’d let him stand before that Council assembly without her there to help defend him. To fight for his freedom, with blood and blades, if it came down to that.

Tossing her dagger onto the bed, Mira headed into the bathroom and turned on the shower. She undressed and stood before the mirror, staring into the face of the woman she’d become.

Blood-bonded, in love.

Never so terrified in all her life.

She knew the reflection would be cruel, even before she removed her purple lenses and lifted her gaze to confront the gift of her Sight.

The vision appeared in no time at all. The same terrible outcome, playing before her eyes.

Kellan, dead on the floor in front of her.

She, weeping in grief-stricken anguish over his lifeless body.

Mira stared, horrified and heartsick, until the steam of the shower filled the room, breathing a thick fog across the awful vision she couldn’t seem to escape.

Kellan knew, when the phalanx of heavily armed JUSTIS officers—four Breed and two human—came to retrieve him from his cell just before noon that day, that he couldn’t be heading into anything good.

But the full impact of that suspicion didn’t hit him until they led him into a cavernous, private hearing chamber at the GNC’s headquarters building. There he found himself staring at a panel of all sixteen Council members, seated on a dais behind a broad U-shape judicial bench. At the center of the assembly was Lucan Thorne, looking grave in his role as chairman.

Most of the Order’s elder members were present as well, the warriors and their mates seated on rows of benches below the dais.

But the thing that really put a jangle of alarm in Kellan’s veins was the sight of Mira standing directly in front of the Council. Outfitted in black fatigues and combat boots, her long blond hair woven into a tight braid that snaked down her back, she was dressed for the hearing as though she’d come prepared for war.

What the hell was she doing?

Kellan nearly shouted it to her, but then she pivoted around to face him as his guards shoved him forward into the room. Her cheeks were flushed, eyes rimmed with red as she looked his way.

Her eyes . . .
ah, Christ.
Her eyes looked straight at him, no longer milky and unfocused, but bright behind the violet contact lenses and fixed squarely on him.

She’d been healed.

She could see.

He’d been afraid to trust the bond that told him earlier that day she was whole again, but now he felt a surge of elation—of bone-deep relief—to see for himself that either Tess or Rafe had been able to do for Mira what he’d been unable to with his blood.

Now he wanted to run to her and sweep her into his arms. He would have, if he didn’t suspect his sudden break would invite the JUSTIS officers walking him into the hearing room to open fire on him and possibly Mira in the process.

The guards guided him forward, a pair of Breed males on each side of him, the two humans at his back. Kellan didn’t miss the grim faces of the Order and their Breedmates nor the disapproving glowers of the majority of men and women seated on the dais. He was there to be judged—here and now—his guilt perhaps already determined, if the pall of heavy silence in the room was any indication.

And there was Mira, facing the Council on her own.

Even without the foreknowledge her vision had given him, Kellan understood Mira’s presence in the hearing room. She’d come to plead her case before the judges. For him.

His beautiful, stubborn Mira.

His steadfast mate, standing with him even though he knew he’d broken her heart by turning himself in.

Pride and humility tangled inside him. He hadn’t wanted her to be a part of this. And yet he knew there would have been no keeping her away.

As she looked at him now, her face collapsed in distress. She pivoted back around to Lucan and the Council members. “No, wait! Please, hear me out. Kellan is no killer. He was trying to save lives—to prevent a dangerous technology from being released. That’s why he took Jeremy Ackmeyer. I’m not trying to excuse what he did, I only ask that you consider why he did it.”

At the far end of the dais, an elderly human with sunken eyes and an unhealthy pallor cleared his throat. “The Council has heard your argument. All factors will be evenly weighed as the Council makes its determination in this matter.”

“Director Benson,” Mira implored, turning to face the old man directly. “I realize that this hearing is personal for you too. Jeremy was your nephew. He was a good man, an innocent man. I am truly sorry for your family’s loss. I want you to know that Kellan tried to save him. After he realized the truth, Kellan did everything he could to find Jeremy. He tried to correct his mistakes, but it was too late—”

“Enough!” The old man’s outburst shot through the assembly like gunfire. His heavy-lidded eyes were sluggish as he looked around the chamber, his gray head drooping between his slumped shoulders. “I’ve heard . . . quite enough. Please, let’s have done with this.”

A look from Lucan brought Nikolai out of the audience to collect Mira. She struggled at first, throwing a worried gaze in Kellan’s direction as Niko led her back to her seat.

Kellan felt her distress echo through his veins as the armed guards directed his approach to the dais. They brought him to a halt before the Council, and Lucan’s sober eyes settled on him.

“Kellan Archer,” he announced to all those gathered. “Because of the unique circumstances of your case as a former member of the Order, the Council has agreed to a private hearing of the charges against you and a determination of your sentence by majority vote today. We have reviewed the crimes you stand accused of and have heard statements delivered on your behalf. These are serious crimes, calling for serious punishment. Guilt on any one of the charges carries a penalty of death.”

“I understand,” Kellan replied, taking in the solemn faces of the men and women who would decide his fate. He saw little mercy in any of them.

Then again, he’d expected none.

He listened as, one by one, the charges against him were read, then he gave his response to each of them. He hardly registered the words. All of his thoughts—all of his senses—were trained on the only person in the room who mattered to him.

Mira stared from her seat beside Niko and Renata, her eyes swimming with tears, fingers pressed to her lips. It killed him that she had to know this fear, this dread. This damned feeling of helplessness as they waited for the Council to begin delivering its verdict.

And then that moment arrived, and Kellan steeled himself to face the end of a path he’d been trying to avoid for the past eight years of his life.

Lucan soberly addressed the Council, instructing them to state their individual votes one at a time, calling for either incarceration for life or a sentence of death. “As chairman, my vote customarily would be heard last,” he said. “However, as a condition of this private hearing—because it concerns a former warrior under my command as leader of the Order—the Council has required me to recuse myself from today’s proceedings. I will not vote on sentencing, and the Council’s decision will be final.”

Kellan nodded his acknowledgment, then stood at attention as the voting began. There was little deliberation. Each Council member announced his vote, arriving at a surprisingly split tally across the GNC’s human and Breed members.

Seven votes, representing both races, cast for his incarceration.

Eight others called for death.

One vote remaining.

The hearing would either end in a tie or a firm decision for Kellan’s eventual execution.

It all came down to the councilman slumped at the end of the dais, Jeremy Ackmeyer’s uncle. Kellan peered at Benson, sensing something more than simple grief or vengeance in the old man’s troubled gaze. He’d been drinking, Kellan suspected now, noting the boneless sag of his shoulders, the glassy redness of his eyes.

“Director Benson,” Lucan prompted, sending a glance over at him. “Are you prepared to state your decision?”

The old man grunted, lifted his head to glare in Kellan’s direction. When he spoke, the word was blunt, final. “Death.”

Kellan heard Mira’s sharply inhaled breath. He felt her stricken reaction course through him, jolting his pulse like an electric shock as her worry shot into him through their blood bond.

“No.” Her voice in the seated assembly behind him sounded broken, choked with tears. “No! He didn’t kill your nephew, Director Benson. He had nothing to do with the fire at Jeremy’s lab or his death. You have to believe that! Do the right thing here. You have to show him mercy—”

“Mira, don’t.” Kellan pivoted to look as she flew out of her seat and started to rush forward in his defense. Alongside him, the four Breed guards went tense. He felt their alarm roll off them, noted they were all readying to draw their weapons.

“No!” Mira cried. “Lucan, don’t let this happen, please!”

Kellan saw Lucan’s grim look. Understood that the Order’s leader had already done all he could. There was nothing more that could be said or done to spare Kellan.

“No,” Mira sobbed, dropping her face into her palms.

Her anguish twisted his heart in a stranglehold. He hated that he was putting her through this, just as he’d dreaded all the years he’d stayed away, hoping to avoid this very moment.

At the far end of the chamber, Benson was shaking his head, muttering under his breath. “It’s all gone too far,” he slurred, his head hung low, face drooping as he spoke. “Too far now. I finally see that, when it’s too late to make things right.”

Kellan listened, curiosity prickling to attention as Benson rambled, morose and cryptic. There was remorse in the old man’s voice, that much was unmistakable. And there was something else, something that made Kellan’s blood pound in his temples.

“Too late for Jeremy,” Benson murmured, thoroughly swept up in his own private misery. “Such a brilliant life, cut short. He was a pure soul, that boy, incorruptible. A true light-bringer who could’ve changed the world.”

Light-bringer.

An unusual phrase. The very one Ackmeyer had used to describe his unreleased UV technology project.

Holy hell.

Benson
was the one who stole the prototype. The realization sank in like talons in Kellan’s gut. His blood froze, then immediately spiked volcanic with rage.

“Morningstar,” he growled, all of his fury locked on the old man at the end of the Council assembly. Benson’s drink-glazed eyes flew wide with guilt and terror. “You son of a bitch. It was you.”

On a furious roar, Kellan lunged.

He felt the sudden rush of moving bodies behind him as he sprang airborne for the end of the dais. He heard Mira’s scream. Heard the rapid explosions of gunfire going off in his wake.

He felt the sudden hail of pain, an unending volley of rounds, ripping into his torso and limbs as he came down on top of Benson and took the corrupt councilman to the floor.

Mira’s voice was a heartrending shriek of anguish. “Kellan!”

He knew she felt the echo of his body’s injuries and rage. Her terror merged with his own emotions, but he was too far gone to rein himself in. He gripped Benson around the throat. “Tell me who you gave the tech to, you goddamned bastard. Tell me!”

The human wouldn’t talk. He clamped his molars together, drunken eyes fearful, though more for an unseen threat than for the vampire currently choking the life out of him. Kellan’s heart thundered in his ears, so loud and labored, it was all he could hear as his blood pumped out of him, pouring from the countless holes perforating his body and limbs. The damage was total; the blood wouldn’t stop.

He was dying.

The thought came at him, swift and certain, cutting through the chaos erupting all around him as time raced by in speeding instants.

He shouldn’t have been surprised, given everything Mira’s vision had predicted. But damn it, the shock of what he was feeling went through him like poison.

“Who killed him? You sold out your own flesh and blood—tell me who you did it for, Benson.” With a snarl, he struggled to keep his hands wrapped around the human’s neck as his strength began to seep out of him. He had to know, couldn’t die like this without giving the Order something to go on after he was gone. If the human refused to choke out the answers Kellan demanded, then he would drag the truth from his mind.

Kellan read regret in the old man. Remorse for what he’d done, bringing about the murder of his nephew and soon the deaths of countless others. So many deaths to come, all under the guise of peace.

Kellan’s grip started to slacken. He couldn’t hold on. Not even when Benson scrabbled out of his reach and was swept away by GNC and JUSTIS guards. He rolled onto his back and found himself staring up at the hazy shadows of Lucan and the rest of the Order. He tried to speak but only coughed, sputtering blood as pain lanced through every inch of his body.

More than one warrior breathed a low curse as they looked down on him.

“Someone go after Benson,” Lucan growled. “Goddamn it. Bring that son of a bitch in for questioning. Now.”

“Kellan.” Mira’s voice was shattered with tears and anguish. She pushed through the warriors and dropped to her knees beside him. She grabbed his hand, clasped it against her breast as a sob racked her. “Oh, Kellan. No!”