The Emperor
Page 51
"Enough." These words weren't shouted or yelled. They were spoke, like a person who’d seen too much war and too much fighting to sit through an ounce more.
Sliding from her chair Bris stood in front of Echo, close enough she could have touched her flowery lilac dress, but she refrained. Instead she sat stock still, knowing her fear was rolling off in waves.
Sydney, the bitch, had been right. They'd used her, for what she didn't know, but Echo wasn't their family. She was their toy and now they were done with her. "What do you want with me?" She asked again, looking only at Briss, not daring to look at the twisted smiles of the rest of them. She dared not show an ounce more of weakness.
Her reward for a stiff upper lip, Bris didn't look at her with pity, or sadness, or even anger, or rage. She was unattached, uncommitted and distant. She didn't know Echo, care for her, or even try to displace her unease. She wasn’t family and Echo was angered she hadn’t seen it before.
"What we want, is of little precious commodity to you.” Bris spoke, nothing but the crackle of the fire in the background. “We could take it by force, or with ease, but you can be assured we will have it by any means necessary."
"Be it death by sex," Sam said,
"Be it by starvation," Gala continued.
"Be it by envious brawl," Twilight spoke to his empty champagne glass.
"By anger." Mara cracked her knuckles,
"By lack of empathy," Nic tipped his head at her,
"By your lack of finances," Archer tapped his cane lightly on the floor,
"Or be it by your sinful, arrogant pride." Bris finished off. "We will have you soul, Echo Headly, and we shall consume it."
EPILOGUE
The airport hums with life and you sit comfortably in your seat. You’re early to the gate, organised as normal and have plenty of nibbles tucked in your bag for the flight. You gag at the smell of fast food that wafts from the youth sat beside you.
Long gone are the days of family cook meals and large roast dinners; everyone is in too much of a hurry nowadays. You sneer at the large family that plods by; the boy with his nose buried in his electronic light box as his t-shirt rose over his protruding belly. Why everyone needs to be connected all the time you’ll never understand.
Watching more people come and go, you help yourself to one of your toffee chews, enjoying the sweet syrup that runs down your throat. You see a young boy watching you from the chair to your right, his eyes glued to the pocket where you pulled your sweet from. The snotty kid probably thinks you’ll share; all the sweet old ladies share. Well, not likely.
“Just sit down.” You hear from in front of you. Snapping your head back, you watch as two men sit opposite you and look at them across the Gate Area. They are nicely dress, in suit shirts and pressed pants. One is in mint green, the other a lilac and they both look smart and respectable.
Sat side by side, they crossed their legs and allowed their feet too lock together, like holding each other’s hand. But with their feet. You snort. Some newage act of endearment no doubt. It was such a shame they soiled themselves by fucking each other; the Lord would never forgive them. Of course, then you notice what one of them is carrying in his arms.
“Oh, you better not be on my flight sonny-jim.” You spit under your breath. A soft blue blanket is wrapped around a small fleshy bundle. You can see wisps of blonde hair sprouting from the top of a bald head as it jerks with restless movements. Who brings a new-born on to a busy aeroplane? You huff in annoyance.
“Make him stop fussing.” One of the men snaps under his breath.
“I can’t help it. He’s restless. He didn’t sleep in the car ride here.” The other replies. They both have strong Swedish accent’s, but you’d expect nothing less in the Northern reaches of Europe. Coming out here for your hip replacement was your neighbour’s idea. It was so much cheaper and better quality, so you’d been told. Shifting, you feel your new hip pinch in pain.
The baby stirs and chubby arms start to wave in the air. The strangled gasps for air is the only warning before the blue bundle starts to wail. “Shut him up, he’s drawing attention.” The lilac man hiss’s while his partner just growls.
He bounce’s the boy in his arms unwrapping him from his blanket. “You’re ok kiddo. Just stop crying. There’s no need to cry.” The mint green man tries while his partner looks around them worried. Well, you think, at least they are aware of the other passengers. Children should be seen, not heard. “Shhhh.” He continues to coo desperately.
“Passengers for the fourteen hundred flight from Stockholm to London, we will now begin boarding.” A polite English voice spoke over the loudspeaker before switching to another language.
Gathering your things, you get up and almost groan out loud as you see the gay couple also stand. The baby settled with the movement, which you were thankful for, but uttered a curse as the men barge past you. They hurry to the Gate with no mind for anyone else and you wonder for just a moment what they could be in a rush for, before waving the thought off. You don’t care. Quite frankly everyone will arrive in London at the same time, so getting on the plane first will make no difference.
As you join the queue, your carpet bag securely tucked under your arm away from any nimble fingers eyeing your toffee sweets, you gaze at the lone television screen. It has the news on, everything in Swedish, so you pay it little mind, but watched nonetheless at a couple. Stood in front of the camera crying, clutching what looks like a small cuddly toy, they have striking bright blonde hair and very pale skin, and you thought you were pale, being British. They are begging the audience and hugging each other while a stern police officer stood next to them. The volume is off and you can't read the headline, but there's something about the pain in their eyes... the sorrow and sense of loss...
“Excuse me miss?” A soft voice says, drawing you away from the screen. “Your boarding card please.” Her accent was thick and broken, not at all English. Another thing you miss of home. With some thanks and a smile, you make the long walk down the tunnel to your plane. Your mind is already drifting far away from the crying couple, the rude passengers ahead of you and the small bundle of blue that look so uncomfortable. You wonder if the plane will have any real English Breakfast tea, and hope for their sake, they do.
Here Ends Book Two
of The Deadly Desires Series