Fated (9 page)

“No . . . this felt . . . different.” Darker. Denser. Utterly blinding and all-encompassing.

“Are you saying she’s going to die?” Cacia asked in a small voice.

He nodded. “I cannot say exactly when, but it will be soon.”

Cacia stood up straighter. “How did she react?” The shadow of her own memories darkened her eyes. “Was she okay after you touched her?”

More okay than I was, it seemed.
“She was unharmed,” Moros said.

“But now you know she won’t betray you, right?”

“I did not see whether she would betray me or not.” He turned away from them, his thoughts of her far too private to share. “But I think I do trust her,” he finally said, trying to gather enough logic to offer an explanation more intelligent than how devastatingly perfect it felt to have her near, how wrong it felt not to be able to sense her now. “She understands that the threat of Chaos would affect the Ferrys along with every other being on the planet. She wouldn’t bow to Rylan’s coercion.” He looked over his shoulder at her sister and brother and spoke the terrible truth. “And that means she is in grave danger right now.” They could hurt her in so many different ways. The sharp urgency of it flayed him.

“Would Ry—or whoever controls him—turn her into a Ker?” Declan asked.

“They could do anything.” The idea of Aislin’s precious soul in the hateful hands of one of his siblings kindled a rage inside Moros like nothing he’d ever felt. “I have to find her.”

Eli frowned. “How, if you can’t sense her?”

Moros grinned, though in his present state, it probably looked more like he was baring his teeth. “I know someone who might be able to help . . . if I apply the right kind of pressure.”

As his vision sparked crimson, the Lord of the Kere willed himself straight into the Psychopomps boardroom.

CHAPTER TEN

T
he faces crowded her, sneering. Their eyes raked over her like knives, cutting into her marrow. Declan. Rylan. Hugh. Rosaleen. Each of them had taken a turn.

Now it was her father’s.

He looked up from his desk as she stalked into his office. “My darling. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

She was so angry she could barely get the words out. “You canceled my gold exchange initiative without even consulting me.” She
’d
been in the position of vice president of foreign exchange for only two months, and this was her first major move to control the markets. “I’m not breaking any laws!”

He gave her a small sad smile that she suddenly wanted to slap off his face. “Not technically,” he said gently. “But though China and the US would have profited, it would have bankrupted several smaller countries.”

Her fists clenched. “Those countries shouldn’t even be trading!”

“But they do, and the last thing they can afford would be for you to flood the market. It would collapse their currencies. Think of the suffering that would cause.”

“Who cares about places like Senegal and Hungary, for God’s sake?” Her entire body was quaking. “I’ll have to explain this to my team.” She
’d
promised them so much profit that each of them could
buy
Senegal or Hungary if they wanted to, and she
’d
reveled in the way they
’d
looked at her, with admiration and awe. She had felt invincible. Loved. And now
. . .

Her father stood up, his blue eyes meeting hers. His black hair was flecked with gray, but he was still vital, still sure he knew everything. “Then you
’d
better explain it to them. And perhaps you
’d
like to spend some time thinking about the difference between what is expedient and what is right, hmm? People who like you only for what you can give them are rarely steadfast friends, and not often worth what you sacrifice to keep them.”

Humiliation was a noose around her neck. “They’ll hate me!” She
’d
worked her whole department to the bone for the last two months preparing this strategy, and now everything had come crashing down. Because of her father.

He smiled, and she was certain he was thinking of how her employees would turn on her, whisper behind her back, sullenly defy her, fail to defend her when Rylan dipped his smarmy fingers into her business. She
’d
thought she could match her brother. She
’d
wanted to beat him. This embarrassment would delight him. As it delighted her father. What a wretched, hateful man. She wanted to scratch his eyes out, to throw him off a balcony, to—

She fell to the ground, gasping as nausea tangled her guts. Eris and Nemesis smiled down at her. “That was beautiful, Aislin. You’re doing so well.”

Aislin pressed her cheek against the cold rock and shut her eyes tightly.
That wasn’t how it went. He wasn’t hateful. He wanted me to become something better, something he could be proud of—

“Oh, no,” said Eris, clucking her tongue. “We can’t have that.” She reached down and wrapped her fingers around the back of Aislin’s neck, and Aislin was sucked down into the flood of memory once again. All of them were laughing at her. None of them understood how hard she had worked to get to her position. None of them liked her. Their resentment was so bitter that she retched, her body desperate to empty itself of the poison. But nothing would come—nothing but more memories.

Cacia stepped out of the elevator, her mouth set with defiance. Cavan glanced at her, then turned back to Aislin. They
’d
been in the middle of discussing how to reassure the Mother, the leader of the Lucinae, that order would remain despite Patrick Ferry’s untimely death. Cavan arched an eyebrow. “I assume this was your two o’clock?”

Heat spread from Aislin’s neck to her cheeks. Defied by her own baby sister. “I expected you half an hour ago,” she snapped as Cacia approached her conference table.

Cacia stopped in her tracks. “Did you expect me to get here by magic?”

Aislin glared at her. Declan had informed her that Cacia had used her Scope for unofficial purposes, an act that had put her very life in danger. What if she
’d
been attacked by a Shade and left for dead? Cacia was so selfish that she had no idea what it would do to her family if she got hurt.

“I expected you to take my summons seriously,” Aislin said in a cool voice, determined to project control in front of her most important ambassador. The last thing she needed was more gossip about her.

Cacia rolled her eyes. “Look, I’m here,” she said tartly. “Did you want to complain about what Father left you in his will or something?”

The insult burned all the way down her spine and straight into her blood. She
’d
worked for her father for years. She
’d
done everything he
’d
asked. And yet, when it came down to picking a trusted executor for his will, he
’d
chosen Cacia—who had rejected Psychopomps and a position Aislin had created just for her, in her own department. Aislin had been hopeful that she and her sister would be closer once the young woman came to work at the company, and she
’d
entertained fond thoughts of them spending more time together. But no—Cacia had spit on the job and everything that came with it, including Aislin, in favor of riding around in an ambulance all day.

And even after that, their father had chosen Cacia. Her little sister loved to rub salt in the open wound, the vast grief that was eating Aislin up. Cacia wanted to hurt her. She wanted to make sure Aislin suffered. She wanted to humiliate her in front of her ambassador. She had planned this whole thing to make Aislin look bad.

Aislin raised her head and imagined slamming Cacia’s face onto the desk, then pulling the chain of her Scope tight and strangling her with it, watching her sister’s face turn pink then red then purple then blue, willing her to die in pain knowing how much Aislin hated her—

Aislin arched back, her hands twisting in her hair, her toes pointed and curling as the violent images faded for a moment. Every part of her was alight with caustic hatred. For her father, for Cacia, for . . .

It’s not real. Cacia never wanted to hurt you. She was trying to do the right thing.

Her vision focused slightly as Nemesis stroked Aislin’s hair back from her sweaty forehead. “Your little sister is such a bitch,” she whispered. “Haven’t you ever wished a Shade would tear her head off?”

“Yes.”
No! No. She’s my sister, always.

“She’s still fighting it,” said a male voice. The stocky, bald young man leaned over her, gazing at her with the same gray eyes as Moros’s, so cold when they wanted to be. “Let me have a go.” He dropped to his knees, bracing himself with his palms on either side of her head. “How well do you know my brother, princess?” he asked, his voice gentle.

Aislin stared into his eyes, looking for shards of crimson. “I . . . have watched him for years,” she said in a broken voice. This man was Apate, the personification of lies—so how was he able to draw the truth out of her? “I’ve been fascinated by him for as long as I can remember.”

Apate nodded, like she’d done a good job. His approval felt like a beacon inside her chest, glowing and warm. When he smiled, it was pure seduction. She wanted to tell him everything; she knew he would understand and sympathize. “You’ve imagined yourself with him, haven’t you, Aislin?”

“Seriously?” said Nemesis.
“Ew.”

Apate cut his sister a nasty look. “Shut the hell up and let me work.” He turned back to Aislin, his handsome face pleasant once again. He had blond stubble on his chin, and a strong jaw, just like Moros’s. She stared up at him, breathless and entranced, her head buzzing with a mishmash of the past and the present. Apate laid his palm on her hip and slid it up slowly until it reached her waist. She squirmed to escape him, but he shushed her like one might a child. “Don’t fight. Think of Moros. You’ve envisioned his hands on you. Just . . . like . . . this.” His fingers burrowed under her sweater to find her skin.

Moros gazed down at her, his wavy black hair hanging over his forehead. His gray eyes traced her face, down the column of her throat, to her breasts. She was naked before him, bare and vulnerable. His warm hand was at her waist, and she was desperate for it to move between her legs, where she needed it most. She held her breath as she watched him look her over. Did he like what he saw? Did he care about her at all? Did he have any idea how much she craved him, each flash of his eyes, every hint of the awesome power he wielded?

He leaned down, so slowly it made her throb with need. “Here I am, darling.” His voice was a caress. “Tell me what you want. Tell me
everything
.”

“I want you inside me,” she whispered, her hands rising to touch his face. It felt so good, to finally admit this to him. “I want to feel you.” She spread her legs and tried to pull him down, but he was so strong that she couldn’t budge him. “Please,” she begged. “I’ve waited for so long.”

The beauty of his lazy smile made her want to cry. “You are nothing to me, did you know that?” he crooned.

She blinked up at him. “What?”

“You’re a plaything. A ridiculous, vapid distraction.” He sighed. “Barely a distraction, at that. You’re actually quite boring.”

Aislin’s eyes stung with tears. “Then why . . . ?” He had kissed her. It had looked like he was fighting to keep himself from doing more. She could have sworn she’d read desperation in his eyes when he’d noticed her bloodstained sweater. She’d been sure he cared, at least a little.

“Why have I pretended to want you?” He sat back and tilted his head, the charade over, and Aislin crossed her legs and covered her chest with her arms, her body coursing with sudden chills. “Because it kept you from working against my interests, and when we appear before the Keepers, it will be easy to convince them that you’re useless.” He leaned down and brushed his lips over her forehead, and when she tried to turn away, he pinned her shoulders to the rock. “Because you are.”

She struggled then, all the hurt and rage and rejection splintering, embedding needle-sharp shards in her heart. He’d fooled her, just as she’d feared all along. Of course he hadn’t wanted her. Of course it had been a game. He was a god, for goodness’ sake. She was powerless.

I am far from powerless.

A laugh snapped her back into reality. “Oh, I went too far there.” Apate was smiling as he tugged Aislin’s shirt down and looked up at his sisters. “This only works if she’s bought in to the lie, at least a little bit. She pushed back on that one.”

Aislin thrashed, desperate to cover herself. She was naked and—no, wait. She was wearing a sweater and slacks. She was in a cave. Moros wasn’t here.
That wasn’t real. It’s not real it’s not real it’s not real
. . .

“Ugh. So annoying. Let’s give her a double shot, then,” said Eris, her gray eyes lit with eagerness. She knelt by her brother, her dress fanned around her knees.

Apate caught Aislin’s wrist as she jerked her arm up to slap at his sister, his broad fingers folding over her sleeve. With his other hand, he slowly lifted the edge of her sweater again, revealing a swath of her stomach. Aislin tried to twist away from him, tears starting in her eyes. “Don’t touch me,” she said between gasping breaths.

“But you were begging for it a moment ago,” he said. “Didn’t you want me inside you? We all heard you quite clearly.” Nemesis and Eris giggled as his brow furrowed in an expression of mock hurt. “Wait, were you thinking I was someone else?”

She shut her eyes tightly, telling herself to stay anchored to reality. But then Eris laid her palm on Aislin’s cheek as Apate stroked the skin just above the waist of her slacks. The cave disappeared.

She fell to her knees in a grand throne room, barely catching herself before her forehead collided with marble. A chuckle brought her head up. Moros stood next to her, dressed in a suit that was obviously custom-made for his chiseled frame. Diamond cuff links sparkled against his crisp white shirt, and his hair was neatly slicked back, revealing the aristocratic sweep of his brow, the square set of his jaw. He looked down at her, his eyes glowing red. “You’re late, my dear. We were just discussing the childish pettiness of Ferry politics, something you know more about than anyone.”

Aislin slowly turned her head toward the dais several yards in front of them, upon which sat two thrones. One was so heavily cloaked in shadow that she couldn’t see its occupant, and the other so bathed in light that the result was the same.

Their voices, however, were unmistakable. “This is the Charon? She’s a little young,” said a female voice, sparkling and brilliant as cut glass. It was coming from the beam of light enveloping the throne on the left.

“Pathetic,” said a deep male voice emanating from the throne on the right. “Is this the best they can do?”

“She’s typical of her kind,” said Moros. “Did you expect something more from them? They are only human, after all.” He looked straight at the beam of blinding light and offered a smile full of intrigue and promise.

“This is a waste of time,” said the rumbling male voice. “I hate to say it, Moros, but you were right.”

Moros bowed. “I’m glad you understand now. The Ferrys were never necessary.”

“Proceed,” said the deep voice, sounding bored. “I have no objection.”

“I won’t interfere,” said the bright female voice.

“But we
are
necessary,” Aislin said, her voice suddenly thin and raspy, as if a hand were wrapped around her throat. “We-we—”