Fated (12 page)

Aislin stared at her, hatred pulsing behind her eyes. But Eris only smiled. She looked so young, so innocent—it was difficult to believe the woman was thousands of years old, made of conflict and feuds and bitter rancor. “It’s a bit gaudy for my tastes,” Aislin said coldly.

The corner of Eris’s mouth twitched. “Trevor, tell her she’s rude.”

“That was rude, Aislin,” he said woodenly. He’d stationed himself at the opposite side of the tent, and he wasn’t looking at her—he was looking past her. Staring hard, in fact. But when Eris turned to him, his gaze immediately flicked away from the spot to land on his mistress. “How was that?” he asked.

“I could use more enthusiasm next time,” Eris said blandly.

Apate materialized inside the tent and looked Aislin up and down. “Oh my,” he said, eyeing the bottom of her torn sweater. “What have you been up to?”

When no one answered, Eris turned to Trevor. “Well?”

His nostrils flared. “She was going to kill herself. I stopped her.”

Apate gave Aislin a hurt look. “Aislin, that would have made me very sad.”

“Liar,” Aislin whispered, glancing over his shoulder to see what Trevor had been staring at—a stack of small wooden boxes, resting on a footstool. Trevor’s soul had to be in one of them.

Apate grinned. “Are we ready to get started again? I’ve got some good stuff lined up, but I could use Nemesis’s help. When is she going to be back?”

Eris shrugged. “She got a call from that geezer she’s been fucking—Hugh Ferry. He’s about to be named the Charon, just like we planned. She went to ensure that he’s ready for the summit, but she should be back soon.”

Aislin put her hand to her stomach—was she not the Charon anymore? She hadn’t felt a thing. Had she been stripped of her status as a Ferry, too? Was she mortal now?

Apate pressed his face into her hair, pulling her from her thoughts. “Are you ready, my dear?” he asked softly, his voice morphing into a painful imitation of Moros’s.

She tried to take a step back, but his arm snaked around her waist, and he pulled her against him. And when Aislin looked up, she was gazing into a different face, one with olive skin and a dark-stubbled jaw, his black hair swept back, his gray eyes glinting with shards of ruby. They were in a ballroom, a massive chandelier glittering above their heads, couples waltzing in slow circles around them. “Let’s have one last dance,” he said, his mouth against her ear, sending chills rippling along her skin.

It’s a lie,
Aislin told herself.
This isn’t real.
She focused so hard on the thought that it felt like her head might explode. But when his lips touched hers, it shattered her resistance. The kiss was soft and seductive, making Aislin’s legs weak.

When he pulled back, they were surrounded by Kere. Eli was there, and Nader and Tamasin. Hai and Parinda, two centuries-old beings she’d met only once or twice, as well as Luke and a crowd of Kere who frequented Boston. Their eyes glowed as they grinned at her, as their fangs lengthened even as she watched and their claws curled at the ends of their fingers. Moros spun her around and pinned her arms behind her back. Again, she realized she was naked, her breasts and belly exposed.

It had been a trap. “But the treaty,” she said in a broken voice. “You’re violating the treaty.”

“But you’re not a Ferry anymore, my dear,” he said, his hot breath tickling her neck. “And that means you’re fair game, just like your father was.”

A horrible realization sliced through her heart. “But you said—”

“I know I said I had nothing to do with his death, but I
lied
.”

Lies. Lies
. . . Her thoughts caught for a moment, like fabric snagged on a nail.

“I helped Rylan do it,” he continued, dragging her mind back under his authority as his hard body pressed against her back. “Because your father was a nuisance. Just like you.”

His grip on her wrists was so tight she was sure her bones were about to shatter. “Have at her,” he told his Kere. “But don’t touch her face. That’s mine to ruin.”

He tilted her head up, his claws digging into her cheek. His breathtaking smile was the last thing she saw before her world turned red with agony.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

M
oros’s fingers closed around his sister’s throat, and he jerked her deep into the Veil. She snarled and struggled, her fingernails digging into his arms. But he was stronger than she was. He was made to dominate. She might be Vengeance, but he was Death. And no one was immune.

“Come now,” he murmured as he straddled her, using both hands to pin her to the soft ground. “Tell me where she is, and we can be done with this.”

Nemesis tried to spit in his face but didn’t have enough air. He leaned down. “Help me take my revenge on Eris, and I’ll forgive you anything.”

Something stirred behind her gray eyes, ancient and hungry. The possibility of vengeance was a drug to her. He loosened his grip on her throat to allow her to speak. “You’ll let me live?”

“If you side with me.” He stroked her curls back from her face. “You’re my sister. I’ve never forgotten that.”

She gave him a wary look as he swung his leg off her and allowed her to sit up. He captured her wrist and held on to prevent her from disappearing, but she’d stopped struggling. He’d whetted her appetite, and now she only needed a target. She was what she had been made to be, just as he was. Neither of them could resist their natures. “Is that all you want?” she said. “To get vengeance?”

No. I want Aislin, more than I’ve ever wanted anything.
“Can you blame me?”

She bit her plump pink lip. “But we’ve been working on this plan for so long. And we’re winning.”

He couldn’t argue with that. “Do you want it to end so soon, though? Where’s the fun in that? Revenge is a dish best served cold, hmm?”

“It took us five hundred years to regain our physical forms, and another hundred to become strong enough to challenge you,” she said in a flat voice. “Pretty damn cold.”

“Indeed. But worth dying for?” He leaned forward, baring his fangs. “Tell me where she is right now, or I’ll make it happen.”

Nemesis’s eyes narrowed, and her mouth quirked into a calculating smile. “And which
she
are we talking about, brother?”

He went still. “Eris, of course.”

“And not Aislin Ferry? Because she craves your touch. Did you know that?” She giggled. “She was so desperate for your affection that she made a total fool of herself. Apate had marvelous fun with her.”

The fury was like a tidal wave, rising so high he couldn’t see past it. Apate was a snake, a smooth-talking deceiver who could take on any form, who could draw the truth out of people while filling their head with lies. Moros drew in a tight breath, trying to control the searing ache inside. Aislin had truly wanted him, and it had made her vulnerable. The tragedy of it was overwhelming—he would have preferred that she’d hated him, that she’d wanted him dead, because it would have kept her safe. “Take me to her now,” Moros said with a growl, every word deep and guttural.

Nemesis squirmed in his grasp, but there was no way she could escape. Moros forced his way into her thoughts, sifting through stomach-churning images of her in Hugh’s embrace, visions of Moros himself dead with the Blade of Life through his chest and then of Aislin, her arms spread wide, her back arched and her head thrown back, held tightly by both Apate and Eris. She was in a vast stone cavern, stalactites descending like blades from its roof, darkness beaten back by hundreds of torches positioned around its rough walls and all along the paths across its rocky floor.

Moros imposed his will, twisting around his sister’s defiance and crushing it to dust, driving her to pull him all the way to the border between the gray world and this domain tucked away inside it. They arrived just at the edge, where Moros could see into the cave through the elastic barrier that marked the edge of the Veil. Nemesis lay at his feet, panting, her mind thoroughly pillaged. He looked down at her through the prism of his crimson rage, and all he could think was that she would enjoy seeing his thoughts right now.

He knelt next to her and took her hand. “Consider this my final gift to you.” And he showed her his contorted face as he leaned over her, his craving for her blood and pain, his need to see her suffer for what she had done. She screamed once before he clapped a hand over her mouth. The images poured from his brain into hers, shattering her will, her desires, leaving her with nothing but his revenge. Her skin split and smoked as she thrashed, trying to escape the inexorable grip of death.

But there was no escape, not even for her. She fell apart, flesh and bone collapsing, burning. She was a pile of ash by the time Moros got to his feet, and his need for pain hadn’t abated. “I suppose you’ll live on in me,” he said softly. “And I’ll let the Keepers decide what to do with your divinity.” She would appear before them now, he knew. He was willing to bet that very shortly she’d be at the mercy of the Keeper of Hell.

He placed his hands against the barrier between the Veil and his siblings’ domain, peering inside. There was a tent on his far right, a frivolous confection made of colorful silk. Lanterns blazed within, casting shadows against its billowy walls. He couldn’t see anyone else in the rest of the cavern, so he silently stepped through the squishy wall, appearing in the chilly space. He had to hurry; they would sense him soon, but—

He staggered as his awareness of Aislin returned. She was inside the tent. Relief roared through him—she was alive. But, like acid on his skin, he could also sense Eris and Apate with her. A faint cry echoed through the cave, a sound full of suffering and fear. He was charging along the path toward the tent when a gasp from inside it brought him to a halt.

“He’s here,” snapped Apate.

Moros ripped the tent flap aside an instant later, in time to see his brother disappear, leaving Aislin, who had been in his arms, stumbling backward. Eris had her by the wrist, and Trevor stood against the back wall, a looming presence. “Apate, you fucking coward!” shouted Eris, her cheeks suffusing with pink.

Moros froze as Eris steadied Aislin. Her long blonde hair was tangled, and there were tearstains on her pale face. Her eyes were wide but unfocused, her pupils so dilated that only a thin ring of pale blue could be seen around the edges.

“Let her go,” Moros said quietly.

“Come any closer and I’ll end her,” Eris replied. “What have you done with Nemesis?”

“I’ll be happy to show you,” Moros snarled.

“You won’t.” She arched an eyebrow. “Because I know something you don’t.” She stroked Aislin’s hair, and Aislin blinked frantically, like she was trying to come back to herself. “You might serve fate, but, brother, it doesn’t serve you. She’s proof of that.”

Uncertainty prickled inside him. “What?”

Eris grinned. “Never mind.” She leaned in and spoke in Aislin’s ear. “He’s right here, sweetie. Don’t you have a few things to say to him?”

Aislin grimaced and shook her head, but then their eyes met. For a moment, they stared at one another, and Moros willed her to understand, to fight whatever venom Eris had projected into her mind.

Aislin’s stance widened, and she peeled herself from Eris’s side, seemingly determined to stand on her own. “You bastard,” she whispered, glaring at him. “I trusted you. And look what you’ve done!” Her voice cracked as she gestured down her body. She seemed unhurt—physically, at least—but obviously that wasn’t what she was seeing.

She gave him a look drenched in hatred. “I believed every word you said. About my father, about your intentions with the Keepers . . . but you lied about all of it, didn’t you? You were always serving yourself at the expense of everyone I love.”

Eris shushed her, though her keen eyes were on Moros the whole time. Trevor shifted behind him, and Moros hoped he wouldn’t attack—he couldn’t afford the distraction.

“Aislin,” Moros said gently. “Think about where you are. Think about who you are.” He didn’t know what else to say to bring her back, if that was even possible. She was strong, but she’d been in their clutches for hours, and each one must have felt like a decade.

“I know who I am—or who I was. But thanks to you, I’m nothing now.” Her lovely face radiated agony as she looked down at herself once again. “I’m a bloody corpse. I’m a Shade. I’m dust. Because you betrayed me.” Her expression crumpled. “Because I trusted you. Because I thought you were worthy of it.”

“I thought I was worthy of it, too,” he admitted. More than anything right now, he needed to pull away, to be cold and detached and merciless, but her pain held him where he was. “But I failed you.”

Again, her eyes snapped to his, and for the briefest moment, he saw something there, a sharp flash of awareness and cunning. But then she looked away. “You didn’t just fail me. You destroyed me.”

Eris let go of Aislin, watching her carefully, and grinned when the bitter hatred in Aislin’s voice remained as she said, “I am ashamed to have fallen for your lies. The day you writhe in chains at the mercy of the Keeper of Hell will be the day I’m free.”

Eris took a step back, delight making her glow. “See? She knows your true nature. How you use people, then abandon and betray them. And it didn’t take her even half as long as it took me.” Eris reached behind her, where a wooden table sat, and opened its long drawer.

Moros tensed as she drew out a blade, softly glowing with life. He’d suspected she’d been the one to steal it, but in his desperation to get to Aislin, he’d overlooked the danger.

Aislin stepped between them. “Have you come to finish the job?” she said to him in a hard voice. “Is that why you followed me here?”

Moros inched to the side, keeping his eye on Eris and the Blade of Life. “Aislin,” he said evenly, “this isn’t your fight.”

Her eyes blazed with defiance. “The hell it isn’t,” she snapped.

And then she turned and dove under Eris’s arm, colliding with a stack of small wooden boxes atop a footstool. They clattered to the ground, a few of them popping open and spilling their contents—
souls
. Eris shrieked and drew the Blade back to stab her, but Moros lunged for his sister, forcing her to dodge out of the way.

“Trevor, stop her!” Eris barked at the Ker, slashing the Blade through the air and forcing Moros back.

Aislin was busy gathering the souls to her chest as Trevor stalked forward. The Ker looked like he was trying to hold himself back while Aislin grabbed for the wriggling, colorful strips of human essence. “None of those are mine,” Trevor said.

“Kill her!” Eris screamed as Aislin dropped the souls to the floor.

Moros dodged another strike from his sister, barely avoiding the bite of the sword, while Aislin ripped open the lid of the smallest box. Just as Trevor crouched, preparing to leap on her, she reached inside and came up with a pale-green wraith with threads of brilliant blue. At the sight of it, Trevor let out a wrenching sound of longing, but it was nearly drowned out by Eris’s squeal of rage. Ignoring Moros, she charged Aislin. Moros threw himself between them just as the Blade descended. Pain seared itself along his upper arm, but he ignored it, reaching out to grab Aislin, who now had Trevor’s soul clasped against her chest.

“Trevor!” Moros shouted, and in an instant, the Ker was at his side. He kicked Eris away, and she hit the ground.

Her eyes flashed red as she spat blood on the pillows beneath her and scooped up a few of the lost, writhing souls from the ground. “At least I’ve still got Rylan,” she said in a deadly voice.

And then she disappeared, taking the Blade with her.

Moros pulled Aislin to her feet, gently taking Trevor’s soul from her. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the container he carried, no bigger than a cigar case. He slipped Trevor’s soul inside and turned to the Ker. “Mine again.”

“Yours again,” Trevor said, his expression inscrutable until he looked down at Aislin. “But also hers. Aislin, thank you.”

“I told you I would help you,” she whispered wearily. Her eyes were closed, and her forehead lolled against Moros’s neck. He could almost feel the fight still going on inside her.

Trevor turned to Moros. “Your arm . . .”

Moros glanced at his left arm. The slice of the sword had torn his sleeve and cut through his flesh, leaving a deep gash. “I’ll be fine.” At least, he thought he would be. He’d never been wounded before.

“Will you destroy me now?” Trevor asked.

Moros shook his head. If he’d had the time, he would have explained how glad he was to have Trevor back. But Aislin was sagging in his arms, any strength she’d summoned in the last few minutes rapidly fading. “Go to Declan Ferry,” he told Trevor. “Tell him what’s happened, and that Aislin is with me. I’ll update him as soon as I can.”

Trevor gave Aislin a concerned look. “Moros, I couldn’t stop them. What they did to her, well, it was bad, man.”

Moros closed his eyes and wrapped his arms tight around her, ignoring the fiery pain of his wound. “I understand. Go now. I need to get her back to Boston.”

Trevor nodded sadly and disappeared. With dread coursing through his veins, Moros tilted Aislin’s chin up so he could see her face. “You are the bravest person I’ve ever known,” he murmured.

“Jason?” she whispered, blinking up at him. “You-you—” Tears filled her eyes.

His hand closed around the back of her neck, leaning her head against his shoulder. “Shhh. I won’t hurt you.”

“You
did
hurt me,” she said in a choked voice.

He didn’t want to imagine what Apate’s version of him had done to her, but it made bile rise in his throat. “None of it was real, darling.” He willed himself back to Boston with Aislin, straight to his penthouse, where he would be able to take care of her human needs.

He held her steady as she lifted her head and looked around. When she saw the silhouette of the Psychopomps tower through his windows, she sighed, as if the sight of it gave her strength. “Are we really here?”

“We’re really here,” he said, fighting his sadness at the uncertain quaver in her voice. “Do you want to lie down?”

She looked down at herself again, but this time, she squinted like she was trying to discern the lie from the truth. “I’d like to take a shower.”

He took her hand and led her to the bathroom, but when they reached the door, he couldn’t let her go. She looked too unsteady on her feet to take care of herself. “When was the last time you slept, or ate?”