Occidis: Sophia Moreau, Book 1

by Aisha Tritle

Sophia’s jaw dropped. Was Ilya starting to open up? It was time to take advantage. “What about your family?” she asked.

  Tenderness crept into Ilya’s tone.

  “My mother was a good woman,” he said. “She was Danish. Very beautiful, very smart…the only good one in her family. She grew up with an immense amount of evil in her life, but she was the kindest person I’ve ever met. “

  “Was?”

  “She died when I was fifteen.”

  So Ilya knew what it was like to lose a parent, too. A small lump appeared in Sophia’s throat. “I’m sorry,” she said.

  Ilya nodded. Sophia saw his eyes were watery—maybe from sorrow, maybe from the wind.

  “What about your father?”

  Ilya’s countenance darkened. “My father,” he said, “is a very powerful man in Moscow.”

  “An oligarch?”

  “Something like that.”

  A Russian oligarch for a father? That was intriguing. Ilya clearly disliked him, however, so Sophia stifled her curiosity. He was getting emotional. To see Ilya’s shell starting to crack…it was what she wanted, right? Maybe not; it was getting uncomfortable. Because she was starting to like him again—right after being tempted to bash him over the head. She was being inconsistent, and she couldn’t bear being inconsistent. It was a relief when his voice broke into her thoughts.

  “How did you join Program Occidis?”

  So, maybe he did want to get to know her after all. “I was recruited after my dad died,” said Sophia. “My, uh, mother ended up needing a lot of medical care. The Org paid for everything.”

  Ilya coughed awkwardly. “Seems like everyone had an incentive to join but me,” he said.

  “How did you join?” asked Sophia, her curiosity getting the best of her.

  “I wasn’t turning into the man my father wanted me to be. So he asked Norbert’s help to make me more ruthless.”

  The bitterness in Ilya’s voice intrigued Sophia. He was becoming more interesting by the minute. “How did your father know Norbert?”

  The silence that followed was so long Sophia figured the conversation was over. She turned and looked over the side of the boat. The chateau was in sight; they’d reach it within a few minutes. It was quaint, with stone garden walls, and a multitude of rose bushes out front. It was also isolated, at least half a mile from any other buildings.

  Sophia looked down. The water was so smooth, so peaceful—would life ever be like that? She was tired of running. Even in Occidis, there’d been the constant feeling of having to look behind your back, lest someone stab you.

  “He’s my mother’s brother,” said Ilya, finally.

  Sophia snapped out of her thoughts and stared at him. Whatever she had expected, it wasn’t this. “He’s your uncle?”

  “Yes, he is.”

  It all made sense now. The lack of supervision, free days, money to keep Ilya flush with expensive clothes.

  “You’re…Norbert’s nephew…” the words were leaving Sophia’s mouth without her being aware of their escape. She was freaked out.

  Ilya registered her reaction with no small amount of alarm. He stopped the boat by the dock in front of the chateau. “You know I’m not like him, right?”

  Sophia didn’t reply.

  “Right?”

  There was desperation in Ilya’s tone. “I need you to know that, Sophia.”

  But Sophia had stumbled out of the boat and was on her way up to the chateau. So the middle-aged man she had lived in terror of since the age of nine and the beautiful man she was stuck with were related.

  Ilya jumped out of the boat and ran after her. “Sophia!” he called out.

  “What?”

  “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” she snapped. Then stopped. Why was she so freaked out? Here she was, taking it all out on Ilya when it wasn’t his fault he had an evil megalomaniac for an uncle.

  Ilya caught up with her. They stood in the middle of the grass, staring at each other.

  “Sorry,” said Sophia.

  “No, no, that’s fine.”

  Ilya reached a hand out as if to touch her, but quickly pulled it back. Sophia resumed her trek to the chateau.

  “Are you sure you’re alright?” asked Ilya. His long legs ensured he had no problem keeping up.

  “Yes, I’m fine.”

  “You don’t seem fine…”

  Sophia stopped again. “Why do you care, Ilya?”

  The blond man didn’t wilt under her intense gaze. “I just do,” he said.

  “You didn’t care before.”

  Ilya opened his mouth as if to say something, then shut it.

  “Never mind,” Sophia huffed and walked up to the front of the chateau. She hadn’t really expected him to answer. She knew the front door was locked, but tried the knob anyway.

  “I have the key,” said Ilya, reaching in front of her and unlocking the door.

  Sophia stormed inside and turned on the light. Why had the fact that Norbert was Ilya’s uncle affected her so much? Why did she care? She was probably just tired. Sleep, that was what she needed.

  The inside of the chateau was just as quaint as the outside. It was cold, though. Sophia shivered and went to a fireplace on the far side of the sitting room. She put in some firewood from a stack next to the fireplace.

  She scanned the room; there seemed to be nothing that could be used to start a fire. Suddenly, a box of matches on the mantel caught her eye. She brushed a thin layer of dust off it and pulled a match out.

  No luck. It wouldn’t light.

  Frustrated, she tried another one.

  No luck again.

  “Let me do that,” said Ilya, and gently took the box of matches from her hand. With little effort, he started the fire.

  Sophia sat back and pulled her legs to her chest. A fur rug was spread out in front of the fireplace. If the other rooms were this cold, she might as well fall asleep here.

  “I didn’t think I was going to be in Program Occidis for long,” said Ilya. He sat down merely a few inches away from Sophia. “I didn’t think it was any use to…to get attached to anyone. I thought I’d be sent back home within a few months, but that didn’t happen. Even when it didn’t, I still had this idea in my head that I was somehow going to leave soon.”

  Sophia yawned—not for lack of interest, but complete exhaustion. “So you decided to isolate yourself from the rest of us. That it wasn’t worth the bother to be friends with anyone.”

  “No!” exclaimed Ilya. “Well…yes.”

  Sophia could feel his gaze on her, but she kept her eyes on the fire. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me if you don’t want to,” she said.

  “I want to,” said Ilya, and his voice grew sullen. “If you’re going to hate me, you might as well know what you’re hating.”

  “I don’t hate you,” replied Sophia, then hesitated. “I guess I just don’t understand you.”

  “All the more reason for me to explain myself.”

  “I’m not going to think less of you for having Norbert as your uncle. The way I reacted was stupid. I don’t really know why I was like that. Probably shock, sorry.”

  “That’s okay,” said Ilya. Sophia drew a quick breath in as he laid a hand on her arm; to her surprise, being in such close contact with Ilya didn’t bother her. It was actually nice…

  “I hated my life,” said Ilya. “And I hated myself. There was so much pent-up rage…one day, I just took it all out on Dr. Roth. Screamed at him for almost an hour straight, about how I wanted to leave, how I wanted him and Norbert and everyone else involved with the program to die. I thought I was going to get myself killed at the time—and I didn’t care—but it turned out to be my salvation.”

  Sophia didn’t know what to say. She’d have never guessed there’d been a storm brewing beneath his calm surface.

  They sat quietly for a few minutes. Sophia’s eyelids grew heavier. She pulled her coat tighter and laid down on her stomach.
<
br />   “So do you just want to be friends with me now cause you’re stuck with me?” she asked.

  Ilya laid down on his back next to her. “No,” he said. “I’ve wanted to be friends with you for a while.”

  “I’m calling bullshit on that.” Sophia’s voice was quiet, slightly muffled by the collar of her coat.

  Ilya stared up at the ceiling, searching for the right words to say. “No, it’s true. I guess I was just—” He turned his head to look at the girl next to him. She’d fallen asleep. He grabbed a woolen blanket off the nearby sofa and draped it over her.

  “I guess I was just scared.”

  12

  Sophia brushed her freshly-washed hair out of her face and set her hungry sights on the plate in front of her. It was heaped high with eggs, bacon, and toast with jam. She dug into the food with abandon.

  Ilya sat down across from her. He was holding a steaming mug of coffee. “Glad to see my cooking meets your standards.”

  “This is great,” said Sophia between bites.

  “If you need anything more, just let me know.”

  Sophia took a break from devouring the eggs and looked him over; he was dressed impeccably yet again. Where did he get the clothes? They’d brought one tiny duffel bag each—and the size didn’t seem enough to accommodate the endless stream of designer polos, turtlenecks, and slacks Ilya had worn over the past few days. He was wearing a black turtleneck today. Weren’t turtlenecks supposed to be out of date? He pulled it off well, though. Sophia looked down with discomfort at the plain gray t-shirt and jeans she was wearing.

  “Could I have some coffee?” asked Sophia.

  She’d eaten most of her food by the time Ilya set a mug down next to her. His eyes widened at her nearly empty plate. Sophia chuckled. He probably thought her barbaric.

  “Do you want more?” Ilya’s voice wavered, as if uncertain whether he should feed her more or not.

  “No, I’m good,” said Sophia, and wiped her mouth.

  Ilya reclaimed his seat across from her. “Jonathan said he’d get here around 10 a.m.—so in about ten minutes.”

  “Why does he always call you and not me?” It’d been a point of bother for Sophia. It was true that she and Ilya were currently sharing a phone, but Jonathan always seemed to make a point of talking to Ilya.

  “Well, we’re sharing a phone,” said Ilya. “So really he’s calling us.”

  “Yeah, but he always wants to talk to you, not me. Why is that?”

  Ilya rose from his chair and went to the kitchen. He muttered something under his breath too quiet for Sophia to hear. He had an annoying habit of doing that. Sophia picked up her empty plate and followed him.

  “What’d you say?” she asked.

  Ilya cleared his throat. “I said, ‘Maybe you make him nervous.’”

  Sophia’s eyes narrowed. “Nervous? Why would I make him nervous?”

  If anything, it’d be the other way around. Sophia recalled the last time she saw Jonathan…it was like he became more striking every time. He was brilliant, too. Still, he remained an enigma. She would not be surprised if there were many secrets lurking beneath his cool exterior.

  Ilya had begun aimlessly wandering about the kitchen. His turtleneck seemed to be a bit too hot for him, and he tugged at the neckline.

  Sophia raised an eyebrow. “You okay?”

  “Yes, yes, I’m fine,” he said, pouring himself another cup of coffee.

  A familiar knock sounded on the front door. Sophia rushed in front of Ilya to open it.

  Jonathan’s green eyes coolly took her in. He looked sleek—all black leather and denim. “Hello, Sophia.”

  “Hello.”

  “You’re early,” said a somewhat agitated voice behind Sophia.

  Jonathan stepped in and shut the door. “Only by five minutes.”

  There it was again, the tension. If the two men weren’t united by a shared purpose, Sophia had no doubt they’d be at each other’s throats. For the life of her, she couldn’t figure out why.

  “What’s the plan for today?” she asked.

  “There’s a small private airport near here,” said Jonathan. “Go grab your bags.”

  He always managed to give an unsatisfying answer. Sophia crossed her arms. “Details?”

  Jonathan sat down across from her, a bemused smile on his face. “We’re going to Palo Alto.”

  “To do what?”

  “Remember how I told you I had someone more brilliant than Norbert?”

  “The one who designed the device we gave to Davey?”

  “Yes, that person lives in Palo Alto.”

  “I’m guessing we’re going there to have this person supervise the activation of the device,” said Sophia.

  Jonathan looked pleased. From the corner of her eye, Sophia saw Ilya awkwardly tug at his collar again.

  “Yes,” said Jonathan. “Now grab your bags. I’ll be in the car outside.” He stood up and went to the door. After he left, Ilya turned to Sophia. “Do you trust him?” His voice was low, his gaze intense.

  Sophia was taken aback—and found she couldn’t give him a definite answer. Why was he asking this now? “I don’t really trust anybody,” she shrugged.

  Ilya shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair. There was something bothering him…but they were just about to leave. Sophia headed into the bedroom where they’d left their bags. It’d be much better to deal with whatever was bothering Ilya later.

  “I can grab your bag,” she said, in an effort to shake him off.

  It didn’t work. Ilya followed her.

  “No, I can get them,” he replied.

  Sophia sighed as she slung her duffle bag over her shoulder. She could feel Ilya’s eyes boring into her.

  Suddenly, the window behind them shattered. Ilya tackled her to the ground. Shots were lining the wall above them. A piece of comforter and sheet flew off the bed in front of them.

  “I need to get to my bag,” said Sophia, barely able to breathe from the great weight on top of her. The man was heavy. For once, Sophia regretted that Ilya was basically a slab of pure muscle.

  “Sorry.”

  Ilya rolled off her, and Sophia turned to her side. She unzipped her duffle, pulled out a pistol, and loaded it. Ilya already had a compact pistol in his hand, had he kept it in his waistband? She hadn’t seen it.

  The shots temporarily ceased. Ilya slipped out of the room, and Sophia followed him. But whoever was shooting resumed and managed to graze her shoulder.

  “Crap.”

  There was blood. But not too much.

  Nobody was in the kitchen or dining room, but shots were flying through the bedroom wall and open door. Ilya had taken refuge behind the kitchen island. Alarm crossed his face at the sight of Sophia’s shoulder.

  “Shit, Sophia.”

  “It’s fine,” she said, sliding next to him.

  “The car’s probably been compromised.”

  “I know.”

  Ilya pursed his lips. “It’s probably our best bet though.”

  He was right. Sophia gripped her gun tight. To her surprise, her hands weren’t shaking. “Do you want me to go first?”

  “No,” said Ilya. “I’ll go.” He crawled out of the kitchen and ducked out the front door. But a second later, he was stumbling back into the chateau. He looked as if he’d just been slammed in the face; his pistol was nowhere to be seen.

  A man calmly walked in: tan skin, shaved head, well above six foot, built like a wrestler. Sophia had never seen him before. He wasn’t a handler. Still, he could be one of Norbert’s minions. The Org was vast—he probably worked for them.

  Before Sophia could shoot, Ilya had kicked the man in the chest. The man barely took a step back before swinging a fist at him—which Ilya blocked. But the man was highly trained, and they were soon attacking each other. Furniture was being broken and thrown across the room.

  The shots coming from outside stopped.

  Sophia glanced at the two
men rolling around the room. She wouldn’t be able to shoot the man without the risk of harming Ilya. She stepped outside. There was a good chance of there being, more attackers than just the man and the shooter.

  But the land from the chateau to the river was clear. She didn’t see anybody. Could the shooter still be in the back?

  Somebody was coming around the side. Sophia held up her Walther.

  It was Jonathan. There was a small scratch on his right cheek, but besides that, he looked fine. His pale face was set in grim determination. He strode past Sophia and into the chateau.

  “Wait,” she said. To her knowledge, he was unarmed. She peered around the edge of the doorframe. Blood was gushing out of Ilya’s nose, and he was fighting to stay conscious. His sharp jabs had slowed, and his fists were blindly swinging about.

  The man’s back was to her. Now was her chance. Sophia aimed…

  Jonathan pulled the man into a chokehold. Limbs flailed about.

  Crack.

  The man’s neck was broken.

  Sophia stared at the limp body on the floor, stunned. Ilya crumpled into a heap.

  Jonathan brushed out his leather jacket. “Where are your bags?”

  Sophia pointed to the bedroom. The wall separating it from the sitting room was all but gone. Jonathan went in and picked up the bags.

  “I’ll be back for Ilya,” he said, walking out past Sophia. His cool composure was still intact…what had just happened?

  Sophia rushed to Ilya. He was unconscious.

  “Hey,” she said.

  Considering the bloody state of his face, slapping him was probably not the best way to wake him up.

  There were washcloths in the kitchen. Sophia grabbed one and turned on the kitchen sink faucet. A few drops of water trickled out.

  The pipes must be damaged. Sophia wiped the thin layer of sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand. A water bottle was on the counter nearby. She poured half of it on the washcloth.

  Gently, she cleaned the blood off Ilya’s face. One of his eyes had begun to swell up. His lip was badly cut.

  “How is he?” Jonathan leaned down next to her.

  “He might need stitches,” said Sophia.

  Jonathan’s reply was quick. “He’ll be fine,” he said.