by Sarah Fine
Hugh’s face was purple. “The board witnessed you kidnapping me. If I don’t return, everyone will know you did something.”
“You still seem to believe I’m concerned about what they think,” Moros said, vanishing and then appearing behind Hugh, halting his backward progress. “And that I care about the treaty right now.”
Because he didn’t, he realized. Aislin was the only thing that mattered, even if the Keepers slaughtered him for this. He grabbed Hugh by the shoulders and hoisted him up, forcing the man to look him in the eye. “Where is she?” he asked, then he touched Hugh’s cheek and closed his eyes.
Flashes of Hugh’s future sprang forward, but Moros suppressed them. He didn’t want the man to panic and become uncooperative. With merciless control, Moros sifted through Hugh’s intentions and wants, his past actions and motives, the company he kept and the things he’d done. He saw Nemesis, her head thrown back as Hugh did his best to pleasure her. He saw Aislin, her gaze cold and detached, leaving Hugh with a simmering rage and a desire for vengeance that Nemesis had fed with delight.
And he saw Rylan Ferry handing Hugh the Scope. Hugh wasn’t as innocent as he claimed.
Moros dug deeper into the man’s brain, searching for any clue as to where Aislin had been taken. Nemesis would know, but she had appeared to Hugh only in Boston—in his apartment and his office, in some of the finer restaurants in the city, too. She’d been manipulating him for some time, filling him with the desire to punish Aislin for her arrogance, her unwillingness to listen to Hugh’s suggestions and advice. But through all that, Nemesis had never shared who she really was, had never taken Hugh out of the realm of the real world. She’d driven him to seek vengeance and get rid of Aislin, but he had no idea he was doing these things because of Nemesis’s deadly touch.
Moros latched on to a vision of his sister’s face. “Who is she to you?” he demanded as Hugh whimpered.
“Who?” Hugh asked in a strangled voice.
Moros brought the image of his sister’s face to the fore—her gray eyes, her poisonous grin—making sure Hugh could see it, too.
“That’s . . . that’s Nina,” Hugh said. “She’s my . . .” He cleared his throat. “Why are you interested in her?”
Moros had no patience for explanations. “I’m going to find her and destroy her.”
“Wh-what?” Hugh stammered. “B-but she’s just a human!”
Nothing could be further from the truth. “I think she’s been a bad influence on you.”
Hugh’s veins stood out stark on his temples. “She’s been supportive of me!” he said in a shrill voice. “She loves me!”
Moros didn’t know whether to feel pity or disdain. “I’m sure she does. But I’ll have to take her for myself, I’m afraid.”
The man’s eyes were practically bugging out of his head now. “She’d never want you! You’re a monster!”
“So they tell me.” Moros’s eyes glowed crimson as a new strategy came to him all at once. He let Hugh go. The Ferry’s neck was still bleeding, but the wounds weren’t too deep. A few minutes in the real world and he would be good as new. “I think it’s time we get back.”
Hugh gaped at him. “You’re letting me go?”
“Yes,” Moros promised. “I’m letting you go. I have other people to deal with.”
“Like Nina?” he squeaked. “Is she fated to die?”
“That’s not the worst thing I can do. Death is preferable to certain kinds of pain.” He couldn’t help but bare his fangs, especially as he considered what Aislin might be going through at that very moment. “Perhaps I just want to have a little fun.”
Moros willed them out of the Veil, transporting them back to Hugh’s apartment. He’d never been there, but he’d seen it all from Hugh’s perspective, making it easy to appear within the space. He stepped back. “I’m glad we got to talk. And I’m sorry about your mistress.” He rubbed his hands together in mock eagerness. “I hope you weren’t that attached to her.”
Hugh’s mouth opened and closed with shock, and Moros fought a smile. Maybe this trick would work. “If it’s any consolation,” he continued, “I’ll let you keep the Charon’s Scope. Perhaps I was too hasty in judging you. Have a lovely afternoon.”
He willed himself into the Veil. And waited.
Hugh, a mere apparition from Moros’s vantage point in the gray between-realm, poked at the wounds in his neck, which were rapidly healing. Moros stepped behind a wall as Hugh opened the Charon’s Scope. He felt the warmth of that portal to the real world and waited until it closed again, then looked around the corner to see Hugh, apparently satisfied that Moros was gone, pocket the Scope. Then the man pulled out his phone and made a call, hopefully the one Moros needed him to make.
Every second felt like an hour. A year. A century. All filled with fears of how he would find Aislin, whether he’d ever feel her pale-blue gaze on him again.
But then he sensed it, like a static shock on his skin, a sour tang in the back of his throat. He smiled despite the discomfort and willed himself into the real world. He arrived in the private lobby outside Hugh’s apartment—just as Nemesis appeared.
“Hello,” he said quietly.
Her eyes wide, she staggered back against Hugh’s door. “Moros.”
“Nemesis. It’s been so long. You’re a vision.” He smiled at his younger sister. And then he pounced.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Aislin’s fingers wouldn’t work properly. Her hands were shaking both from weakness and the chill of the cavern, but she finally managed to tear a strip from the bottom of her sweater. It was long enough to do the job. She sat on the cold stone platform and stared at it, smeared with blood and dirt, seemingly harmless.
She’d spent her whole life surrounded by death, serving fate, but somehow, she’d never spent much time thinking about her own demise. She’d always thought it would be centuries into the future. She’d never imagined it would come so soon, so strangely and abruptly. Twenty-four hours ago, she wouldn’t have believed she’d be sitting in some secret pocket in the Veil, planning her suicide.
She took a moment to think about what she’d miss. The satisfaction of knowing she’d taken care of business, the luxury of a rare evening spent in bed with a glass of excellent wine and a well-written novel, the few fragile moments of closeness she’d shared with her siblings. And Moros. Missing him was different, though, more like a gash than an ache, and it wasn’t about the past at all.
Until today she’d never believed they could touch each other. She’d never thought they would be anything other than business partners, and she’d accepted that despite the throb of fascination and excitement she always felt when they were in the same room together. She’d had many lovers in the past, but none had ever touched her heart. They were always too intimidated by or resentful of her power for her to truly open herself to them. But now, with Moros’s touch, with his taste, he’d managed to create a home for himself inside of her. He’d carved out vast amounts of empty space . . . and the hope that she could fill them with new experiences and thrilling moments, all still to come.
She would experience none of those moments, though. And she shouldn’t even allow herself to think of them. He had told her she had no future. It had been the only reason he could touch her in the first place. The same thing that had created the hope had dashed it to bits.
Maybe he had been toying with her all along. How very like him.
Stop. She pressed her fingertips to her temples, still trying to sort out the real from the imagined. She wouldn’t last under another assault from Strife, Vengeance, and Lies. She wasn’t that strong. Her gaze dropped to the strip of cloth in her hands. This was her only escape.
She shuddered with the thought of losing herself, maybe becoming a Shade, but would that be so different from what was happening now? Yes. Now, she could be used by the enemies of fate to destroy the one person strong enough to stop them. Suicide was the better choice. The only choice.
She wrapped the s
trip around her throat, determination giving her strength.
“I can’t let you do that,” came a deep, familiar voice. She pivoted to see Trevor sitting on a rock behind her, his muscular arms folded over his chest, his smooth brown skin lush against the gray stone. Declan had brought the Ker to a few Psychopomps events, and Aislin had always found him polite, if a bit rough around the edges—a perfect best friend for her brother. But now he just looked . . . tired. There were circles beneath his dark-brown eyes and a slump to his posture as he got up and came toward her. She stared up at him as he gently unwrapped the cloth from around her neck with his large warm hands.
“Trevor,” she said quietly. “How long have you been sitting there?”
“Awhile,” he admitted. “You were pretty absorbed in your own thoughts.”
She gave him a weak smile. “Are you my enemy now?”
He tossed the hard-won strip of fabric off the edge of the platform, and it spiraled through the air, landing out of easy reach. “Depends on whose side you’re on.”
“What if I don’t want to be on a side?”
“Killing yourself isn’t the same thing as not choosing a side.”
He settled himself on the platform beside her, his warmth reaching her an instant later. She fought the urge to lean toward it just to chase some of the chill from her bones. “But I’m fated to die.”
His eyebrows rose. “How do you know that?”
“Moros.” It hurt to say his name.
Trevor’s jaw tightened at the sound of it. “How do you know he wasn’t messing with you?”
Because it looked like it had hurt him. “What good would it do to toy with me like that? He wanted me on his side.” No one else was, after all. Everyone had abandoned him.
He deserves it. He was trying to use you.
Aislin shuddered, and Trevor placed his hot hand on her back. “I know it’s hard to tell what’s real from what’s not,” he said quietly.
She looked up at him. “They did it to you, too?”
“Just Eris. But she got me good enough to do a lot of damage.”
Aislin thought back. Trevor had been responsible for the slaughter of Galena Margolis’s lab assistants and research subjects. He’d also been the one to kidnap Rylan, right out of Psychopomps headquarters. “Declan knew you were being controlled.”
Trevor’s hand slipped from her back, and he bowed his head. “I was too weak to stop it, and now look at me.”
“Do they have your soul?” she whispered.
He gave her a sidelong glance. “I’m not allowed to say who has it.”
“But you have to obey whoever does.”
Trevor nodded. “And that means I can’t allow you to hurt yourself.”
Aislin looked toward the large tent on the opposite side of the cavern. “They knew I might try to commit suicide.”
He bumped her shoulder with his. “You were fighting pretty hard. They know they haven’t won you over yet, so they’ll work harder next time.”
Aislin tried to push down a swell of nausea, needing to rid herself of the memory of Moros slamming her against stone, his hand around her throat, telling her she was useless, that he’d only been pretending to care. “It feels like a memory,” she said in a choked voice. “But it never happened.”
Trevor sighed. “You won’t know the difference soon.”
Tears stung her eyes. She had always prided herself on her control, and having it stolen from her like this was almost more than she could bear. “Why are you being kind to me?”
“They didn’t tell me I had to be cruel.”
“And they told you not to allow me to hurt myself.” Her thoughts whirred. “But did they tell you that you couldn’t hurt me?” She turned to him, new hope taking root. “If you were to . . . I don’t know . . . strangle me, could you do that? I could will myself to die and . . .”
But he was already shaking his head. “I can’t. Even if I was willing to do that to you, I couldn’t. They were very thorough. When they come back, you have to be alive—or I won’t be.”
She sagged, hopelessness and dread weighing so heavily she could barely hold herself up. “Do you have to keep me here?”
“Yes.”
“Can you take a message to someone for me?”
“No.”
“But you can talk to me. You can sit next to me.”
A faint smile appeared on his face. “What’s six inches long, has a head—and is something I like to blow from time to time?”
Aislin stared at him.
“Money. See? I can tell dirty jokes, too, but I don’t think that’ll help you much.”
A weary chuckle escaped her. “Money. Very amusing.”
Trevor snorted. “Dec thought it was funny.”
“Of course he did.” Her chest ached suddenly, missing her brother. “I hope he’s not too upset,” she whispered, and then her face crumpled as she realized a bigger fear—that he wouldn’t be upset at all. She could barely blame him, after what she’d done.
Trevor caught her and held her up as she began to collapse onto the platform. “Dec doesn’t give up easy,” he said. “It’s one of the best and worst things about him.”
“He didn’t give up on you. We all thought you had gone willingly, that you’d fooled Declan and infiltrated Psychopomps on purpose, but he insisted your confession was sincere, that someone took control of you again once you were inside.”
“He was right,” Trevor said in a hollow voice.
“He still hopes he’ll get you back.”
“I don’t think so,” Trevor muttered.
“But you seem to be yourself. You don’t seem—”
“Evil?” His eyes glowed red. “How about now?”
“I’m afraid I’ve grown a bit fond of red eyes of late,” she admitted.
He looked surprised for a moment but apparently decided to let her comment slide. “Are you going to keep fighting them?”
She nodded. “Now that you’ve given me no other choice.” Her brow furrowed. “Why haven’t they made me a Ker? They apparently have the ability—that’s what they did to Rylan.”
“They might,” he said. “Not all of them can do it, though.”
“Which of them can?”
He shook his head.
“Got it. You’re not allowed to tell me. Can you tell me which of them can’t do it?”
He chuckled, deep and rumbling. “They’re not stupid.”
She shrugged. “Well, you can’t blame me for trying.”
Trevor grinned, his white teeth gleaming. “You’re all right, Aislin. You know that?”
Despite everything, she found herself smiling back. “Thank you. Tell Declan and Cacia that, if you see them again?”
Trevor’s grin dimmed with sadness. “They know it already, Aislin. Dec does, at least.”
She winced. “I’ve made so many mistakes with both of them.” Her throat tightened mercilessly. “I wish they knew how much I love them. I wish I’d been able to tell them.”
“Maybe they know, Aislin. Both of them tend to cut through the bullshit.”
She covered her face, thinking of her brawling, salty-mouthed siblings, of their good hearts and unwavering sense of right and wrong. “I hope they don’t think I abandoned them.”
“They’re smart enough to figure it out.”
“But what if I, I don’t know, what if I do something terrible?”
Trevor’s dark eyes were hard on her face. “You can join the club.”
“If you could choose, would you go back to Moros?” she asked suddenly.
Trevor sighed. “If I did, he’d probably dust me before I had a chance to explain.”
Moros had promised to do exactly that, actually, but that was before it had become clear Trevor hadn’t gone rogue—he’d been commandeered, used by Moros’s enemies. “I don’t think he would.”
“He was a decent boss,” Trevor said. “Now that my head has cleared, I can see that. And I’ll keep seeing
it until Eris and Nemesis work on me again. But then?” His fingers flared, as if he were letting his understanding of Moros blow away in the wind.
She stared at his fingers, wondering if, with enough torture, her own feelings for Moros would be so fleeting, so easy to lose her grasp on. “We could help each other,” she said in a low voice.
“I told you—I can’t help you escape,” he said, annoyance creeping into his voice.
“But what if I could help you?”
He went still, and she took his silence for interest. It was a dangerous gamble—he could easily be a spy for Eris and her siblings, but what did Aislin have to lose? If she did nothing, she was doomed anyway. “Do you know where your soul is being kept?”
Trevor’s gaze darted to the tent and then back to her in a sheer instant. “Why?”
Aislin forced herself not to look at the tent, but eagerness made her heart beat faster. “I bet they’ve forbidden you from taking it back.”
“Yep.”
“But if I could get a hold of it?”
He blinked at her, looking stunned. “You serious?”
“Did they tell you to stop me from going into that tent?”
He nodded.
“Did they tell you not to carry me into the tent?”
His eyebrows shot up. “But they’ll destroy me if they catch me.”
Aislin paused. “Then I suppose it’s your choice.” And for a man who’d had his soul taken, who hadn’t been truly free for as long as Aislin had been alive, she knew he had to be the one to make it.
Trevor stared at her for a long, breathless moment, his mouth set. Then he stood up abruptly, leaving Aislin sitting on the rock, wondering if she was strong enough to stand. She was bracing her palms on the stone when Trevor reached down and pulled her up, letting her lean against his powerful body. He was strikingly tall—the top of her head only made it to his shoulder—but he leaned closer as they took their first step. “Thank you,” he murmured.
“For what?” The perky voice sent a hard shiver right down Aislin’s spine. Eris had appeared right in front of them, her hands on her waist, her skirt fluttering.
Trevor stiffened. “For giving me a choice.”