Fated (2 page)

The Mark glowed, visible only to Death himself. It was a lovely thing to behold.

The young man gasped and staggered back, his eyes round and his weapon already rising to shoot again—because Moros hadn’t bothered to conceal his true form as he stepped from the Veil. His claws curled from the tips of his fingers, his teeth were long and jagged, and his eyes were crimson. A monster.

One moment, the man’s heart beat hard and urgent and whole, and the next, it faltered, blood gushing through ragged holes. He collapsed to the dusty road, wheezing and pawing at the five puncture wounds in his chest.

Moros squatted next to him and casually wiped his claws on the man’s shirt. “Where do you think you’re headed next?” he crooned.

The man’s mouth opened and closed, but he had already uttered his last words.

Moros leaned close. “I’ll end the suspense. Please give my cordial regards to the Keeper of Hell.” His own pulse thrummed as he watched the light fade from the man’s brown eyes. As soon as it was gone, he willed himself back into the Veil.

Given the number of unauthorized Markings in the past weeks, he should’ve stayed to greet the Ferry called to shuttle his victim’s soul, but he had neither the patience nor tolerance. It had felt good to sink his claws into that man’s chest, and he ached to do it again, just to feel the release. One fearful, hateful look from some sanctimonious Ferry would bring out the worst in him and increase the tension between him and the Ferry clan. It was best to leave.

Moros appeared in his penthouse high above Boston, and the first thing he saw as he turned to the wall of windows was the soaring tower of Psychopomps Inc. He placed his hand on the glass and focused on his reflection, civilized once again. In this realm, he looked so human, his eyes gray, a smile like any other. His heart thumped, a pretend drumbeat but one that felt a part of him. He ran his fingertips across the back of his other hand, marveling at the deceptive fragility of his skin.

But he was not human. He could never be one of them, and most of the time, he had no interest anyway. Sometimes, though . . .

The loneliness sat there, a pit in his stomach. His mother was, for all intents and purposes, dead to him. The Fates had lost their faith and trust in him, wondering if he had allowed his Kere to rebel, if his weakness and inattentiveness had brought about this threat. His Kere owed their very existence to him, but the majority hadn’t returned the favor with true loyalty. Most were motivated by gold or the suffering of others. And then there were the Ferrys, mired in their own politics, probably eager to negotiate their own deal, hoping the Keeper of Hell would take care of him for good.

There was no one to protect him, no one who cared if he disappeared or not.

Why was he still fighting?

Because I have a right to exist.

Because I bow to no one.

He leaned his forehead against the window.
And because, foolishly, I still hope for things I will never have.

His eyes refocused on the Psychopomps tower, a lighted beacon in the sour, humid fog of the embattled city. Aislin Ferry was in there, he was certain. He imagined her standing in her office, her long platinum hair pulled atop her head, her suit perfectly tailored to her lithe body, her pale-blue eyes always assessing, weighing and measuring a man in the space of seconds. She was one of the few Ferrys who had never looked at him with fear. Suspicion, most certainly. Exasperation, definitely, which he found highly entertaining. And in their last meeting, there had been a moment when her icy gaze had melted, and he had felt her eyes on him like a touch. But the softness had disappeared before he could be sure it had been there at all, and in its place was her usual haughty stare. She was so determined to prove herself as Charon, to protect her empire, to lead the Ferrys through this crisis.

And he had left her with a decision to make.

Would they face the Keepers united, or would they lay traps for each other and wait to hear the snap? Would they go after the enemies of fate together, or would Moros fight them alone? Worse—would Aislin join her brother Rylan and help Eris bring him down?

And what would she do with the knowledge that there was a weapon that could kill him? Telling her of his quest might earn her trust—he was well aware that his habitual secrecy made her question his motives. But trusting her might be as dangerous as the Blade of Life itself.

“Which will it be, my dear?” he asked softly, staring at a lighted room in the distant tower. “Allies or enemies?”

He stepped back from the windows, the corner of his mouth curling in a slow smile.

It was time to hear the Charon’s answer.

CHAPTER TWO

A
islin pressed her fingertips to her temples and took a deep breath, trying to slow the pounding of her heart. She felt like she was about to detonate, but, right now, she needed her composure more than she ever had.

She lowered her hands and raised her head. The conference room of her executive suite still bore Rylan’s tastes, with blues and greens and way too much gold, which she found appallingly garish. She hadn’t had time to redecorate, though. She’d been too busy defending her decisions to the board. This was the second meeting they’d called in twenty-four hours, and the fatigue was a seed of pain just behind her eyes threatening to spread. “As I have told you before, I am not completely sure who transformed Rylan, only that he now appears to be a Ker. He’s not on our side.”

There was silence at the long table, and the ten stony stares made her wish for a shield. She stood up a little straighter. “I am being transparent, as you have requested—Rylan appeared to me and told me that he is part of a group attempting to ‘awaken Chaos’ and vanquish Moros, and I—”

Hugh Ferry groaned, rubbing his hand over the receding silver hair high on his forehead. “‘Awaken chaos?’ What does that actually mean? With all due respect, it sounds like a distraction.”

“I am trying to determine exactly what it means.” She was still in the dark because Jason Moros was infuriatingly fond of keeping secrets—and hadn’t been answering her calls since Rylan confronted them in her office a few days ago. “But if it is anything like it sounds, the Servants of Fate—those of us who care about destiny and order and complying with the ancient treaty—should pay attention.”

“We are paying attention,” said Ciara Ferry, a second cousin with fiery-red hair shot through with streaks of silver. “But maybe to things you wish we wouldn’t.”

Aislin bit back yet another angry reply and told herself,
Stay. Calm.
“You may attend to whichever of my leadership decisions you like. I have informed you of each one. The Lord of the Kere and I will go before the Keepers of the Afterlife in three days, and I will confirm that the Ferrys have never violated the treaty.”

“And will you confirm that Moros has?” asked Hugh. “Or are you afraid of him?”

She gripped the table to keep from clenching her fists. “Afraid of him? His negotiating position is weaker than it has ever been.” She paused, remembering Jason Moros as he had been the last time she saw him, his mouth hard as he told her war was imminent and demanded that she choose a side. He certainly hadn’t looked weak. For an instant, she’d seen the warrior inside him, and part of her quaked at the thought. Not with fear, exactly, but . . . She cleared her throat. “I do not believe the Lord of the Kere has violated the treaty. It’s not in his interest to do so, and he always acts according to his own interests.”

Hugh smirked as the others grumbled. “And yet one of his Kere kidnapped Rylan. Another attacked Declan and caused him dire physical injury—”

“Declan is fully recovered, and that Ker was not in control of himself at the time. Now he is.” In fact, Eli seemed as determined to stop Eris—and anyone helping her—as Moros was.

“But the fact remains that Moros has lost control of his monsters,” said Brian Ferry, Hugh’s son, who shared his father’s brown eyes and prominent jaw. “We’ve had more unauthorized Markings and killings in the past few weeks than we’ve had in the last millennium.”

“Moros has also joined in protecting Galena Margolis,” said Aislin. “He dedicated two of his most experienced guards to the task.”

A poisonous smile spread across Hugh’s face. “If my information is correct, at least one of them also lost ‘control of himself,’ as you so tactfully put it.”

Aislin’s cheeks burned. “Nader, the Ker of which you speak, is also solidly back on our side, and Moros has informed me that there is no danger of him repeating his attack on Dr. Margolis.” She’d seen Nader’s soul herself, a slithering golden wraith with crimson streaks, tucked into a small silver case that Moros carried with him at all times.

“You believe you can trust anything the Lord of the Kere says, it seems,” Ciara said.

Aislin let out a long, slow breath. “Jason Moros has worked collaboratively with all the Charons before me. By my father’s report, he operated in good faith—”

“Forgive me, Aislin, but you are not your father,” said Hugh, leaning back in his chair and steepling his fingers beneath his jutting chin. “What makes you think Moros isn’t taking advantage of your inexperience?”

The question plucked at a thread of insecurity inside her. She wasn’t sure what Moros thought of her, only that he’d known her since she was a child. The darkest part of her feared that he still thought of her as one. “He can try,” she said in a low voice. “But if he’s smart, and all of us know that he is, he will work with us to—”

“To what?” Brian blurted out. “We’ve spent millions to protect one person who threatens our long-term profits. We’ve tried to cooperate with the Boston authorities, who are putting the screws to us because of the damage caused by Dr. Margolis’s enemies, only to have our efforts subverted by Declan. And we have to sit by and deal with all this because you allowed that woman to become a Ferry, and now we’re stuck with her.”

All of the board members were nodding now, even Aunt Rosaleen, who had always supported Aislin. “I was told today that you have requisitioned the entire fifteenth floor for use as Dr. Margolis’s lab,” Rosaleen said, the lines around her mouth deepened by disapproval. “Which is why I requested we meet again to discuss it.”

“The lab is being funded by Declan personally,” Aislin said.

Rosaleen shrugged the clarification away. “I was in favor of protecting the woman, Aislin, but now we’re actively helping her achieve her goal to cut the death rate, dramatically, as soon as she possibly can.”

Aislin met her aunt’s gaze. “If that is what is fated, who are we to undermine her work?”

“If that is what is fated, shouldn’t it happen without our help?” asked Hugh, looking around at his fellow board members for support. “Why are we investing in research that will negatively affect our earnings?”

Aislin rolled her eyes. “Please. If the death rate due to contagious disease drops, won’t the birth rate rise? Eventually, all those people will die, and we will reap our profits then.”

“But if it happens a hundred years from now, what are we expected to do in the meantime? We don’t live forever,” said Ennis, his white hair tufting about his ears. “And who’s to say she’ll stop when she finishes her work on this vaccine? Who’s to say she won’t find other ways of prolonging life, maybe indefinitely?”

“Again, if it’s fated, who are we to interfere?” Aislin asked, her voice rising. “Since when are we responsible for increasing profits at the expense of our sacred mission? I am the CEO of this company, but I am first and foremost the Charon, pledged to uphold the treaty with the Keepers above all else. If there is a threat to our revenue stream, we will find other ways of offsetting that, through development of additional businesses—possibly including the manufacturing of this vaccine.” She swallowed, wishing her mouth wasn’t so dry. “Forgive me, but you all seem overly focused on factors outside of our control.”

Hugh’s dark eyes flared. “And forgive me, but you seem overly focused on everything but our profit margins, on which we depend to support our entire race! Tell me this, Aislin—if Rylan is determined to bring Moros down, and Moros currently represents the biggest threat to our ongoing existence, who’s to say we
shouldn’t
discuss aligning with your brother?”

Aislin’s mouth dropped open. “You’re talking about a man who plotted to assassinate his own father!”

“But perhaps the enemy of our enemy is our friend.” Hugh’s voice dripped condescension. “Though I suppose it all depends on what your priorities are.”

“The ongoing strength and well-being of the Ferrys is my only priority,” Aislin shouted, her temper breaking free for a moment before she stepped back and bowed her head. “I am the Charon,” she said quietly, willing her voice into steadiness.

“Maybe that’s the problem,” Hugh retorted.

“Hear, hear,” said Brian. “Now more than ever, we need strong leadership, and your branch of the family seems to have lost its way, cousin.”

“So now I am to be blamed for my brother’s crimes?”

“Haven’t you committed enough of your own?” Hugh snarled. “The city is in an uproar. In this past week alone, Declan has defied you and made a fool out of us all by helping Dr. Margolis escape from prison.”

“For a crime she did not commit,” Aislin reminded him. “One for which she was framed. And the true culprit has since been arrested.”

“We couldn’t have allowed the legal process to run its course?” Rosaleen asked, leaning forward in her chair. “I always thought you respected the rule of law, Aislin.”

“I respect principles over rules.” Aislin was still ashamed for not supporting Declan from the beginning. If she had, he wouldn’t have been forced to take action on his own to save Galena from bitter and dangerous injustice. Aislin should have honored the strength of his commitment and been brave enough to stand behind him. Instead, she’d bowed to her fear of losing control. “Sometimes principles dictate that rules be broken.”

“And sometimes principles dictate the need for new leadership,” said Hugh, rising from his chair. “I, for one, have lost confidence in this Charon’s ability to manage the empire. She has neither the will nor the know-how to guide us through this crisis. I cannot in good conscience continue as a member of this board if she remains at the helm. Our summit with the Keepers looms, and nothing could carry higher stakes. If Moros is able to convince them that we are unnecessary or incompetent, they could withdraw all our privileges entirely, leaving us as regular mortals—with a host of Kere that would be happy to avenge years of imagined slights.” Hugh’s arms rose from his sides as his voice carried through the conference room. “We need authority and strength from our leader at a time like this.” He gestured at Aislin. “And right now we have a Charon who can’t even control her own little brother.”

“I vote to remove Aislin Ferry from the position, and I nominate Hugh Ferry to replace her,” said Brian, his smile triumphant.

“Seconded,” said Ciara, “And I—” She gasped, staring over Aislin’s shoulder.

Aislin whirled around, having felt the heat at her back. Terror surged inside her as she pictured Rylan, his eyes glowing red. But the eyes she found herself staring into weren’t her brother’s. “Jason,” she whispered, too startled to find her full voice—or her formality.

The Lord of the Kere smirked at the assembled Ferrys. “Pardon me for interrupting.”

“Oh, I’m thinking we’re almost done,” said Hugh, his nostrils flaring. “But perhaps you’d like to wait outside while we conclude our business.”

Moros, dressed in an elegant black suit, his ebony hair slicked back and a small gold hoop glinting in his left ear, tilted his head. “And perhaps I wouldn’t. I couldn’t help but overhear a bit of your conversation.” He glanced at Aislin before returning his focus to Hugh. “I think there are things you should know.”

“I think we know all we need to,” said Ciara, her eyes narrowed.

“Or just all you want to,” replied Moros. “As it turns out, my dear Ferrys, my family is just as dysfunctional as yours.” His tone was amused. His control made Aislin envious. “At least one of my sisters is working to bring about the end of the Servants of Fate. She is hoping, I think, that the Keepers will do it for her, but failing that, she will cause the return of Chaos himself. Please trust me when I say that this is an outcome you should try to avoid at all costs.”

“And what is the cost?” Ennis said, banging his gnarled fist on the table. “You allowing your creatures to abuse and threaten us? You conspiring to remove us from power altogether?”

Moros took a step forward, so that he was standing right next to Aislin. She could feel the heat from his body against her cool skin, raising the tiny hairs along her arms. “I will do whatever is necessary to protect destiny and fate. It is the reason I exist.” He stared Ennis down. “And if I sense the Ferrys are not my allies in this mission, you may rely on me to bring you low.”

Ennis’s eyes widened at the threat, and his wrinkled face turned a mottled purple. He jabbed a thick finger at Moros. “You see?” he said, his voice shrill. “I knew he wasn’t on our side!”

“That’s not what he said,” Aislin replied, annoyed at Moros for stirring the pot.

“Thank you,” Moros said smoothly. “I said I serve fate, which automatically aligns me with those who do the same. Based on my understanding of you esteemed people, there is currently only one Ferry I trust as a fit partner during this crisis, and she is standing right next to me.”

Aislin blinked, then carefully controlled her expression as Moros continued.

“If the board decides to remove her from her position and impose new leadership, it will destabilize our alliance. I am sorry to say that the Keepers would not be pleased to hear of it.” He laid his gloved palms on the table, and every single board member flinched. “I strongly suggest you postpone this ill-conceived action. Think of the future.” His lips curled into a devastating half smile.

“I-I move that we meet again in twenty-four hours,” said Rosaleen, her face pale.

“Seconded,” muttered Ennis, leaving clammy handprints on the table as he pushed his chair back.

Hugh’s high forehead shone beneath the overhead lights, an expanse of blotchy pink interrupted only by a deep widow’s peak. “I suggest you all take the time to truly consider what you’re committing to,” he said, his voice trembling with rage. “The Lord of the Kere is clearly as good as his minions when it comes to intimidation.”

“A convenient mischaracterization,” said Moros. “But call it what you will. Again, I do apologize for interrupting your meeting.”

As the other board members rose from their seats and rushed from the room, murmuring angrily among themselves, Aislin gritted her teeth. “Can I see you in my office, please?” she asked stiffly.

Then, without a backward glance, she turned and stalked toward her private elevator. She focused on walking steadily, on keeping her head high, even though her eyes stung with tears of humiliation. She jabbed the elevator button and stepped inside when the door opened, not waiting for Moros to follow.