by Lizzy Ford
“Is it really necessary?” she asked.
“It is.”
She felt Damian’s gaze on her as they walked away. She wanted to warn him about Claire …
Later. After this latest ordeal.
She stood beside Dustin on one side of the entrance while Damian and Claire assumed the other. Claire was all over him, in his space, rubbing her breasts against him. Sofia watched, astonished at the blatant display, and almost didn’t prep herself for her first encounter.
The first man was in his prime, and his eyes crinkled in a genuine smile when he clasped hands with Dustin. They exchanged a greeting in a foreign language that sounded like Russian before he held out his hand to her. His eyes went to the symbol at her neck, and one eyebrow shot up. His name … Sasha.
She saw killing in his future, but only in defense of his family.
There were ten men and two women she greeted before she felt the first flash of cold. The man before her was middle-aged and handsome, but she saw his dealings with Czerno’s men. He sold out Damian’s men - his own men - for money. Antoine.
The second traitor came soon after, a man whose past stunned her. She held his hand longer than she should. The man looked no older than Damian and was indeed from the same era.
He and Claire sold out Damian’s brother to Czerno. Isac.
If Damian knew the woman trying to crawl back into his bed had helped murder his brother, her husband …
She couldn’t see him over the crowd. Her throat tightened in unshed tears of sorrow and anger.
Damian’s world was brutal. Her world was brutal.
“Be strong, kiri,” Dustin said without looking at her.
She swallowed hard and held out her hand to another woman in red. The last man in line was the final traitor, a man who’d helped Jilien torture his wife then claimed Czerno’s men had done it. Haydaen.
She all but snatched her hand away, overwhelmed at the images in her head. Dustin escorted the man into the mansion, and Pierre wrapped an arm around her as she sagged.
Pierre unloading his shotgun on the man in executioner’s garb from Czerno’s. It was dark, cold, and the shots hit the man with lopsided shoulders, dropping him dead to the ground. An explosion blazed in the distance. A woman was screaming, another man shouting.
She pushed herself away and leaned against a wall.
“So much death,” she whispered.
Dustin returned for her. She wiped tears from her eyes.
“I’m sorry, kiri,” he said with rare warmth. “Remember, we want them to fear you. Don’t let them see you cry.”
She steeled herself and nodded. She didn’t want to disappoint him or Damian and couldn’t help but dread the conversation to come. She tried to think of how she could soften the pain she’d bring him.
Dustin escorted her into the boisterous banquet room, and her spirits fell farther. She was seated at the end of the table opposite Damian while Claire claimed the spot to his left. The seat of honor was given to Sasha. Dustin sat beside her. From what little she knew about etiquette, she was occupying the seat of the lady of the house. A few of the guests cast curious looks her way, and everyone who looked at her seemed more interested in the plain charm at her chest than meeting her gaze.
Caterers served up food she’d kill to eat. Sofia watched the plates swap out before her as those around her gorged themselves on gourmet dishes she’d only seen on TV. As each course came and went, she felt another piece of her die.
What’s done can’t be undone.
She stared at the embroidered tablecloth, tormented by the scent of food she couldn’t eat and the visions of death and betrayal that left an acrid taste in her mouth. No one spoke to her. She wasn’t human. She wasn’t one of them. A freak among freaks. Would she spend eternity like this, doomed to knowing only the dark secrets of those around her? If Dustin’s words were true, she’d never be welcomed into the home of any of Damian’s people, not if they feared the sight of her! Once she told Damian about the woman whose hand rested intimately on his arm, who he smiled at with genuine affection …
If not for the dead man in her head, she’d be alone.
She fled the banquet hall for the library. Pierre trailed, balancing a plate of food. She stood before the window, feeling very much like a prisoner in her new world. She wondered if the dead man in her head, Darian, felt this way when he cried. She heard Dustin order Pierre out before he approached her.
“Sofia, I need to ask you something, and I need you to tell me the truth.”
She hugged herself, waiting.
“Claire.”
His unfinished question lingered in the silence between them.
“Yes,” she whispered.
He tensed. She looked up at him, sensing both his anger and his regret. His blue eyes were colder than the sky on a winter morning in Virginia. She resisted the urge to move away from him, chilled by the visions of his work as Damian’s executioner.
“I thought so,” he said at last. His look softened. “You have to tell him, sweetheart.”
“It’ll kill him.”
“He must know. You don’t carry this burden alone.”
She nodded, throat tight. With a squeeze of her arm, he left her.
“Sofi,” Damian’s voice jarred her from her thoughts.
She wiped her eyes before turning to face whatever music Damian brought with him. He was accompanied by Dustin and two other men, one she knew as Sasha, a man who’d struck her with his devotedness to his family, and Levi, a man who’d been present in many of his pre-Schism memories.
Damian’s gaze swept over her. He was the lord and master again, his form and commanding presence filling up the room. His display of checked power disturbed her.
“Sasha, Levi, this is ikira Sofia.”
“An honor, ikira,” Sasha said with a bow.
“We’ve waited many years for you, ikira,” Levi said.
“Sasha and Levi are two of my most trusted advisors. Sasha manages the operations for Dusty out of Miami and Levi for Jule in Europe,” Damian explained.
“We’ve been through much together,” Levi added. “I owe D my life.”
“I’m honored to meet you both,” she said.
“Shall we review what you’ve learned?” Damian asked.
His tone was genuinely questioning, and she felt grateful that he was giving her the choice to opt out. She met Dustin’s gaze, sensing he felt the same pain she did.
“I’m ready,” she said with more confidence than she felt.
They sat around the low table still scattered with pictures. Pierre remained at the door. She sifted through the pictures, aware of the intent attention the others paid her. She found Antoine and drew his picture out. She swallowed hard, uncomfortable with playing the role of judge and jury.
“Antoine,” she said. “He’s a spy for Czerno. Czerno pays him well for the locations of the safe houses in Europe and the names and locations of the Guardians.”
“That we knew,” Sasha said with a firm nod.
“Haydaen,” she said, drawing out another. “His wife’s death was by his own hand. He felt you suspected him and devised a plot with Czerno to torture … “
Her voice caught at the images replaying through her mind. Damian reached across the table and touched her face, dismissing them.
“… to torture and blame her death on Jilian. He sold out his family for money and land in Italy.”
No one spoke. She reached Isac’s picture and stopped, looking up at Damian.
“Damian … “
“Whatever it is, it’s ok,” he said.
She struggled to control her emotions.
“Isac. He killed your brother.”
She didn’t think anyone heard her choked words. Silence followed. When she was brave enough, she looked up at Damian. He had leaned back in his seat, his face a frozen mask. She met Dustin’s penetrating gaze.
“And Claire.”
“Claire what?” Damian g
rowled in a voice that bordered on inhuman.
“She and Isac.”
She couldn’t bring herself to say what they’d done. The words were too painful, and by the predatory stillness of the man across from her, she was terrified of what he’d do if she said it again. He rose, as if on autopilot, turned, and faced the window.
“I know you’re jealous, but this is disgusting,” he said in a low voice so sharp she jumped.
“I’d never do that to you,” she said, unable to stop the tears she’d been holding back since the start of the evening. “She’s sleeping with Czerno and feeding him the names of the new Guardians. She and Isac killed your brother. They plotted together during the hunting trip you and your brother took the day before he died. Claire lured him away from his Guardians to the warm springs by the - ”
“Enough!”
He faced her, eyes whirling madly. His accusation and fury were plain on his flushed face.
“Why do you think she came here? She wants to find a way to kill you, too!” she forced herself to continue.
“You jealous little bi - “
Before she knew what she did, she’d closed the distance between them and slapped him hard. Fury bubbled within her, breaking free.
“Tonight, I’ve given you the last shred of me that was human!” she shouted. “I just signed their death warrants, and you think I’d stoop so low as to point the gun at someone because I’m jealous? You think I’d sell my soul because of something so stupid? I’m doing this for you! This is what I am! But you know what, Damian? Fuck you. Fuck you!”
Hurt, she fled into the cold night air, stopping only when she reached the center of the gardens. Pierre trotted after her. She dropped to her knees and sobbed, unable to control her pain and fear.
Damian started after her, furious. Dusty caught his arm and motioned for those in the library to leave.
“You’re a dick. You know how hard it was for her to tell you that?”
Damian glared at him, his restraint on his powers rippling. Long buried rage was bubbling upward, along with the tiny instinct he’d squashed thousands of years ago.
“I can’t believe –“
“I believe her, Damian,” Dusty said in a calm voice. “Claire’s been on the European front for a hundred years. She just rotated to the southwest on orders that neither you nor Jule nor I issued, and the Tucson sites have fallen like flies. Because of her natural ability, she’s been intimately involved in screening new recruits. It’d be easy for her to flag the newbies for Czerno’s men.”
Dusty’s words floored him, and Damian couldn’t help but feel hurt that his BFF hadn’t told him of his suspicions sooner. He paced, mind racing with memories he could no longer suppress, thoughts of his brother, of Claire, of Darian’s death. Sofia’s words freed them from deep within his mind, and Dusty’s hammering the fact made it impossible for him to silence them as he wanted to.
I don’t know if I trust my wife, brother.
Maybe Darian hadn’t been talking about infidelity but about something else. The memories came faster. Darian was chopped into so many pieces that there’d been no body to bury. Not providing his brother a proper burial – the burial of a king! – had sickened him. Almost as bad, how many others had died from the treachery of a single Guardian? How many Guardians had he lost this year alone?! How many humans were dead because he lacked the strength to face his instincts?
He roared and slammed his hands on the desk at the far end of the library, unable to stop the images racing through his mind. Claire was all that remained of his brother, and he’d loved her out of respect for a man whose death he’d never been able to accept. Memories of how much Darian loved Claire, of his own nights in her bed, overwhelmed him. That she’d used him, killed Darian …
“Damian.”
Dusty’s soft voice brought him out of his mind, and he realized he was kneeling on the floor with his head bowed.
“Brother,” Dusty whispered.
He knew Dusty was right, knew Sofia was right, knew he’d known since just after Darian’s death that there was something not right about Claire but was too desperate to hold onto the last piece of his brother to face the truth. He was reliving the pain of Darian’s death, sickened by his own cowardice. Darian had even tried to warn him, and he’d never wanted to see what was in front of him.
Forgive me, brother.
“I know, Dusty,” he admitted in a thick voice. “I think I’ve always known.”
“No, brother, you couldn’t have known how twisted she was. No one could.”
“Even someone who reads minds?” he demanded with a bitter laugh.
“Did you ever read hers?”
“No. It was Darian’s rule - if you trust someone, don’t do it. She is … was the last of my family.”
If he had, how many thousands of lives would have been saved? How good was a Defender of Humanity who purposely looked away from something that led to so many deaths?
“Darian’s death is not your fault,” Dusty said in a hushed tone.
Damian closed his eyes. Dusty knelt beside him, resting a hand on his shoulder and squeezing.
“Trust me,” he whispered. “We’re in this together.”
The words were familiar, the same words he’d spoken to Dusty thousands of years ago, when he’d discovered the youth who was not yet a man on a slave trader’s block, bloodied and weeping for the family he’d just lost.
He met Dusty’s pale blue eyes and saw his pain reflected in Dusty’s tight face.
“These oracles are dangerous,” Dusty said with a faint smile. “I forgot that part about them.”
“Darian’s finally dead to me,” Damian said hoarsely. “Tonight, I lose him forever.”
“You’ve still got me and Jule,” Dusty reminded him. “And a terrified little oracle who’s sobbing her eyes out right now.”
“I fucked that up.”
“She’s resilient to make it this far. She’ll be ok,” Dusty said. “As for the traitors, I’m offering up my skill set, if you need it.”
“You can have the others. I’ll deal with Claire.”
“Are you sure?”
“I should have done this long ago, brother. No one else will die because of me.”
Dusty’s phone dinged, and he retrieved it.
“Jule’s asking if you’re ok.”
“Tell him we identified his Europe issue.”
Damian picked himself up, grateful for Dusty’s presence.
“Have the four rounded up,” he ordered. “Let them sweat for a day, then do whatever you want with the three.”
“Interrogation? Execution?”
“Both.”
Dusty nodded and strode out. He’d not had to work too hard for confessions in the past thousand years, not after word of his cold, methodological skills leaked to the Guardians. Dusty was a one-man Internal Affairs department. The Guardians knew that betrayal would be confronted by Dusty, and even those loyal to Damian feared him appearing unexpectedly at their door.
Damian knew him well enough to know all the tales weren’t true. His reputation alone was enough to make most men weep when confronted. But this time, he suspected Dusty would live up to his legend.
As for Claire … pain spiraled through him. He waited in the library until he’d composed himself and left for his suite. He couldn’t stem the memories flooding his mind and felt the wound of Darian’s death reopen wider than it had originally been.
Pierre was in front of Sofia’s door. He stopped, guilty yet too raw to confront her. Pierre glanced up from his video game at his hesitation.
“She sleeps, ikir,” he supplied. “’Tis the best time to deal with her.”
Damian snorted. Pierre’s lip was completely insubordinate, and it was obvious he’d never worked for Dusty. Dusty was a stickler for formality from his men, while Jule’s hemisphere was far more relaxed. Damian didn’t care; Sofia liked Pierre, and he had a feeling Pierre’s blunt dose of reality was soothing to
her in a world where nothing else made sense.
He entered her room, emitting enough of his power to hide him from her senses. Her curtains were open, as they had been every night since she transformed. Her face was streaked with tears, her eyes puffy even in sleep. Her sleep was troubled. He sensed the visions in her head, not surprised to see his own black memories playing on the screens on the back of her eyelids along with a dark nightmare of a man in a corner crying. He wondered if the man was his soul, weeping for his brother.
He sat down heavily in the corner, watching her. He was ashamed of his last words to her. She’d struggled with Claire, wanting to spare him the pain he’d unleashed on her. Her eyes had been shadowed since he met her, her own struggle with her new world taking a visible toll on her. The videos running through her head were dark and disturbing, had been since she entered his world. They drove her away from him and the true purpose of his Guardians. She was alone and segregated, partially because she was new, and partially because an oracle’s soul-reading job was brutal enough that most oracles - including his mother - killed themselves soon after their full powers manifested within them.
He wanted her to see what he saw, the good his Guardians did for humanity, the courageous, selfless hearts of his men, the difference they made in fighting evil. It was a war his family had been fighting for millennia, one that wouldn’t end even with his death. He ached to show her how much she meant to him, to open her closed vision of him and his world and show her the beauty that made him fight as he did.
She saw nothing but death and the darkness in every soul she ran across.
Yet she tried to learn her new role with a selflessness that struck him now as incredible. Everything she did, she did for him, even if she feared him. Jule had always said he inspired men to follow him, though he saw nothing different in what he did than what his deputies did. He’d been as gentle with her as he’d known how, and still she suffered under the weight of the visions. For the first time in his life, he felt helpless to help the small form of the woman before him.
He rubbed his face, mind going to Dusty. Despite his reserve, he could tell Dusty liked her. He suspected it was because the same mettle lining Dusty’s backbone lined hers. They had similar cool reserve, unlike Damian and Jule, and had both survived ordeals that would cripple anyone else. He understood why she’d looked at Dusty before telling him about Claire. She’d found courage in a kindred soul.