Descendants Series

by Melissa Wright

  “Wrists,” he breathed, and I closed my eyes as I slid my hands behind my back. An instant later, they were zip-tied, the plastic strap cutting painfully into my arms. “Move,” he said, the barrel pressing harder into my shoulder to turn me before he pushed me forward.

  The window. He was taking me to the window. Did he have more men outside? Had he killed the Division’s guards?

  My eyes flicked to the bedside table, my cell phone lying out of reach. What did I have in my pockets? A note from Emily. She and Aern would be gone for a few hours …

  There was nothing I could do.

  Suddenly, a red pinpoint light reflected off the glass of the window. It was coming from the small white box above my door. The alarm system. I faltered, almost falling to my knees in relief. They knew he was here. Something had tripped the alarm. Just one more minute, two at the most, and they would find me. They had to find me.

  “Go,” he said, shoving the pistol against my back.

  I reached forward, fumbling purposefully with the lock, and when metal bit harder into my skin, I slid the window open. The wind took my breath away, and I had to steady myself before carefully raising a foot over the sill. I’d worn flats. Slip-on shoes that would not help me run, that would not be good for climbing. Luckily, I had jeans on. They might protect me some from scuffs if I stumbled. But not if he throws me out of the window. Panic surged at the thought and I tried to force it back. He wouldn’t do that. He’d need me alive. Morgan would have told him to bring me alive.

  Decorative railings covered the wall six feet below me, trellises shrouded in ivy and blooms. He couldn’t expect me to jump. Not from the second story. I turned to look at him, one leg over the ledge, one dangling above carpet.

  He was snapping a carabiner to his vest. My stomach dropped. Those weren’t holster straps crossing his chest; they were a harness. He was going to grab me and rappel the two stories down. We would be there in seconds. My eyes jumped to his. It was only a few yards to the trees. He had planned carefully. He would make it.

  He had found a way to take me.

  The sound of the door crashing open was like an explosion in the silence of my room, and my heart quit for the long instant it took Brendan to rush through. His gaze barely brushed mine before settling wholly on his target, the man at my back.

  The man spun and Brendan slammed into him, throwing them both hard against the wall beside me. I scrambled to climb back in, but the man’s arm jerked free, swinging the barrel of the gun too close to my perch. I ducked, grasping the ledge with my tied hands, leaning forward onto my leg to keep from falling out the other side. I pressed my right foot to the siding to lever myself as the men struggled beside me, and my shoe slipped, falling noiselessly to the ground below. I couldn’t look, but I could imagine it landing, imagine it cleaner than a landing of my own.

  I pushed against the inside wall, finally anchored well enough to find purchase, and the muffled crunch of breaking bone caused me to turn in time to see the man crash down onto the window and me. There was nowhere to go, not enough time to move, and my breath caught as I prepared to fall to my death. But Brendan’s hands were suddenly on my arm and leg, too tight as he fought to pull me up past the prone form between us. My eyes found his, silently pleading he not let go, but I could see the strain the fight had caused.

  And then his hand, slick with blood, began to slide slowly off my arm.

  I opened my mouth to scream, but he moved quick, leaning forward and grabbing a handful of shirt to jerk me headlong through the window. My legs dragged over the man on the floor—one bare-footed, both trembling with shock—and Brendan pulled me to him, wrapping his arms around me before realizing I was tied.

  Chest heaving, he fumbled anxiously in the pockets of his slacks, grimacing as his gaze fell to the body by the window. My attacker. I heard the muted sound of boots hitting floor down the hallway, and realized Brendan was behind me, using the man’s Bowie knife to cut my hands free. He tossed the weapon aside and rubbed my wrists. I wanted to turn to him, fall into his embrace, and cry … but I didn’t.

  I couldn’t.

  I closed my eyes tight against the vision, the man fate had chosen for me. Because that man wasn’t here.

  “Brianna,” my sister gasped from beside me. I opened my eyes to find the room full of men; Division soldiers and the man who had stabbed me.

  “I’m fine,” I promised Emily, but my shaking voice betrayed me. She pulled me to her, squeezing tight as she stared over my back. When she drew away, her gaze met Aern’s.

  “It’s fine,” I said again, hating the look that passed between them. “You couldn’t have known. No one could have known.”

  Emily’s gaze returned to mine, and I implored her to side with me, to not let him take the blame for one more thing that had gone wrong. She sighed.

  “I suppose not,” she murmured, knowing that Aern would understand the implication. I was the prophet, after all.

  He stepped forward, regret obvious in his features, but he didn’t say he was sorry. Not after I’d threatened him for it the weeks before. “It is our job to know,” Aern said. “And we should have seen this coming.”

  Brendan was suddenly beside us, the skin of his cheek and neck red and bruising. “I’ll stand watch over Brianna.”

  I swallowed hard, unable to look at any of them.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Aern said. “She’ll need a fulltime guard. You have too many responsibilities.”

  Brendan stared at him, but he didn’t have much room to argue. He was still running the men of the Division, still managing a dozen houses and multiple businesses. Things would fall back together, all under Aern’s command, but only after this threat was handled.

  I glanced down at my hands, puffy and raw, and saw the blood smeared on my torn shirt. “It’s my fault. I should have seen this.” My eyes met Aern’s. “I didn’t make Morgan remove the sway from everyone. He only did it to the men that were there.”

  Aern winced at the reminder of that night, the night he had stabbed me, and I wanted to grab him and shake him. He’d done everything he could to subvert Morgan’s order, and though he couldn’t have stopped the action, he had managed to not hit anything important. “It’s not your fault,” I said again. “None of it was your fault.”

  He reached up to squeeze my arm. “It won’t happen again, Brianna. I swear to you, you will be safe.”

  Chapter Two

  Watched

  Eventually, Emily escorted me to a new set of rooms where I took a long, too-hot shower. As I stood in front of the mirror combing my hair, I could hear their muted voices from the next room.

  “I tried to keep from hurting him,” Brendan was explaining, “but he wouldn’t stop. And Brianna,” he paused, and I could imagine him shaking his head, glancing toward the window, “I couldn’t let her fall.”

  They might have been able to force Morgan to turn him, to release his sway and let the man regain his own will, but no one was sure he would come out of this. Healing could only do so much, and Morgan wasn’t willing to do anything from the position he was currently in.

  I stayed there for a long while, staring at the dark marble countertop, the tiles inlaid with gold, until all of the voices quieted. When I finally came out, Brendan was waiting for me in the bedroom.

  “I’m sorry about this,” he said, indicating the windowless walls around us. “As soon as the security updates are finished, we’ll be moving you to Council.” I could see the idea bothered him more than it should, and the rest of his explanation seemed to be more to convince himself than me. “It’s the best place for you. To keep you safe.”

  I nodded.

  “I had them bring up some lunch. It’s in the sitting room.”

  My stomach turned. “Thanks. I’m not really hungry.”

  He didn’t shift; he hadn’t taken his eyes off me at all. “If you’d like to sleep for a—”

  “No,” I interrupted. “No, I’m not tired.” I was
exhausted—my muscles ached, and my hands still shook—but I didn’t want to be alone.

  He held out a hand. “Sit with me then?”

  I walked past him toward the sitting room, and his hand fell to the small of my back. I could have sat in the reading chair, but I didn’t. Instead, I took the center of a small sofa where Brendan could settle beside me. His arm came around me, and I curled my legs up, letting him tuck my back against his side.

  I shouldn’t have. I knew that. But Brendan cared about me, and it felt good to have someone there.

  I stared at the wall across from us, a beautiful Wyeth painting centered over a narrow table. It was probably an original. And yet, I couldn’t bring myself to appreciate it. They had been attacking Council ever since Morgan was taken. We had thought it was in retaliation. We had thought they meant to rescue Morgan. But we were wrong ... because they were after me.

  I closed my eyes, trying to force a vision to come. It didn’t work that way, but I wanted so badly to finally have this over with, to save my sister and myself. To save everyone. I just needed a clue. One small indicator of how, of what I was searching for in Emily, of what to do.

  Brendan’s hand slid down my arm, and I became suddenly aware I’d sunk into him. My elbow rested on his leg, my back against his chest. His cheek brushed my hair, and I went rigid.

  “Brianna,” he started, and I was on my feet, nowhere to go but the table across from us.

  I could almost feel his presence behind me. I picked up a vase, examining the etched glass. Nice, Brianna, run over to look at glass.

  “Brianna,” he said again, and the hurt in his tone was clear. I had to say something. Do something.

  I turned to face him. “I’m sorry.” He was too close. I sat the vase back on the table, stepped one foot behind me. Two would have been too much. Two would have injured him more. I looked into his eyes, so dark they were nearly black, and said, “I like you, Brendan. I do.” Before I could finish, before I could add, “But …” his phone rang.

  He answered it. In the middle of our conversation.

  After a brief exchange, he slid the cell phone back into his pocket. His gaze found me. “I’m sorry, Brianna, but I have to take care of something.” He glanced at his watch. “I hate to leave you alone, but Aern will be here shortly. There are two men at the door, and the alarms are always on.” He reached up to touch my shoulder. “We will talk soon.”

  And then he smiled, clearly only taking the “I like you” from our conversation, before walking out the door.

  I stared at it for several minutes, open as it was, before finally falling onto the couch and throwing an arm over my eyes.

  I had bigger problems, I knew, so I started populating a list in my head for when Aern arrived. I would do everything I could to resolve our issue. I had a lot of work to do before I could figure out where to start.

  “Brianna,” Aern said from somewhere beyond my feet.

  I dropped the arm from my eyes, surprised to see him standing near the end of the couch. His face was tight, which I assumed was displeasure at Brendan leaving me alone.

  I opened my mouth to speak, but my gaze fell on the other man in the room.

  “This is Logan,” Aern explained. “He’s going to be staying with you until …” Somewhere in the back of my mind, Aern’s words were slowly filtering through, but I couldn’t register their meaning. I couldn’t even manage to form a thought. I couldn’t do anything except stare at the chiseled features of the man six feet away from me.

  My chest tightened past the point of breathing, but my heart pounded against it nonetheless. It was him. I stared at the sandy blond hair, sun-kissed complexion, and deep whiskey eyes. I had seen them a hundred times; I would know them anywhere. It was him. Not in a vision, but here, in my room, in flesh and blood. Him.

  “Brianna,” Aern said, and I tore my focus away from its target to look at him.

  Concern was plain on his face, and I returned to myself.

  “Did you hear me?” he asked.

  I shook my head, took a breath. Oh God, was my mouth still hanging open? I cleared my throat. “Sorry. What?”

  His gaze narrowed, but he kept talking. “This is Logan. He’s going to stay with you.”

  Logan. Logan. I finally had a name. My eyes were back on his now, I should be saying something.

  Suddenly, Aern’s words sank in and I was standing. “He’s going to be watching me?”

  “If that’s all right with you,” Aern explained. He glanced at the man, Logan, and shrugged his shoulder when he saw the one raised brow. Aern looked back at me. “He’s the only one I trust, Brianna.”

  I nodded. “Yeah, no, it’s fine.” Fine? They were staring at me. I wanted to start all over. More than anything, I wanted another try. Or to hyperventilate. That would work, too.

  “Have you been eating?” Aern asked.

  The question threw me. And then my gaze betrayed me, flicking quickly toward the covered dishes on the side table.

  Aern sighed. “Brianna, you can’t do this.”

  I opened my mouth to protest, but it didn’t matter that I wasn’t doing it on purpose.

  He pointed at a chair and said, “Sit.” I did as he asked, trying my best not to gawk at the other man in the room. Logan. A short, breathless laugh escaped and Aern stopped what he was doing to glance at me. I smiled, hoping it didn’t appear as manic as it felt, and he returned to setting the table with my lunch, shaking his head at my erratic behavior.

  I watched them as they swept the room, discussing the existing and possible security measures. Aern’s arms were crossed, his gaze frequently coming back to meet mine, but I couldn’t look away.

  I picked at the sandwich—prosciutto, oil, and cheese, now lukewarm—but I could barely taste it. Logan was roughly Aern’s height, but stouter. Or maybe he only seemed so in his dark, military style cargo pants and black T-shirt. There was a nylon belt crossing his waist, and it struck me where I’d seen a similar outfit. I struggled against the bite I’d taken, throat suddenly thick.

  I’d forgotten about my attacker. I’d forgotten why this man was here.

  To protect me.

  I stared at him anew. He might have been the man from my visions, but he was a stranger. I knew nothing about him, and he … well, he would be even less acquainted with me.

  The two men gripped each other’s forearms, and my stomach clenched. There was some unspoken message there, some entreaty, some promise, and then it was gone, their connection broken as they turned back to the room.

  Logan stepped into the hall to speak with the guards, and Aern sat in the chair opposite me. “Are you well, Brianna?”

  “Yes,” I said automatically. He watched me for a moment to be certain I wouldn’t change my answer.

  “All right, then.” He stood, placing a hand on my shoulder and looking down at me. “You know how to reach me.”

  I smiled. “I have your number.”

  The corner of his mouth turned up and he patted my back on his way past. When he reached the door, he called over his shoulder, “Get some rest, Brianna.”

  I turned, smiling, and caught Logan coming back into the room.

  The intimacy of the smile meant for Aern suddenly felt awkward now, aimed at the familiar stranger, and it faltered, leaving an uncomfortable pause between me and this man who would be my babysitter. This Logan.

  I cleared my throat, pointed toward the bedroom. “I’m going to lie down.”

  He nodded, but said nothing until I’d crossed the room and my hand touched the brass lever.

  “Brianna.”

  He spoke to my back, but the sound of my name sounded different somehow; weightier, sweeter, more right, in his voice. I didn’t turn around.

  “I’d rather you left the door open, if that’s all right with you.”

  My fingers slipped off the lever and I glanced back, only briefly, as I walked into the darkness of my room.

  Chapter Three

  Conceal
ed

  I hadn’t slept at all. I had tried; counted sheep, backwards in Russian, muffled footsteps in the hall. Even my teeth. But all I could do was think of Logan. Of the prophecy. Of the man who’d nearly carted me out the window.

  Logan hadn’t slept either, I decided, because though I’d never heard him, I’d seen his shadow pass the open door throughout the night. I’d seen him stop, staring at my still form, and I’d held my breath.

  When I’d finally given up on rest, it was before dawn. I walked barefoot across the carpet into the sitting room—opulent in deep shades of blue and creamy white—and saw Logan standing in front of the sofa, arms crossed as he studied the painting. He didn’t turn as I approached, and my eyes traced every line of his form, lingering on strong arms, broad shoulders, and other bits here and there. I stopped beside him, gaze trained on the painting, though I could see, almost imperceptibly, the corner of his mouth twitch.

  After a moment, he glanced at me. “What do you think?”

  My head tilted sideways as I considered the painting. “I like it,” I said. “Very much.”

  He smiled then, only slightly, and I got the feeling he’d found my answer amusing. I couldn’t understand why.

  “So,” he said, “breakfast?”

  “Oh,” I glanced down at my cotton sleep pants, “I should get dressed.”

  Logan touched my arm as I moved to go, and I stared up at him, immobilized. “I’ll have them send something up.”

  My heart was thundering in my chest, but I managed to nod. His hand fell away and I turned back to the painting, disturbed at how unprepared I was for his touch. Pull yourself together, Brianna.

  He crossed the room to call downstairs, and the movement caught my eye in the reflection of a small, mirrored frame on the tabletop below the artwork. A sharp intake of breath, and then I was wincing as I moved a few paces sideways to stand where he’d been positioned when I walked in. I stared into the mirror to find Logan, ten feet behind me, smiling. Right about where I’d checked out his assets.