white dawn (Black Tiger Series Book 3)

by Sara Baysinger

  “I’m patient,” he says. “But don’t push it, Aurora. Don’t be like Titus.”

  My heart picks up its pace. “It’s just one party, James.”

  “Just one party. Schedule a few more to keep their spirits up. But while they’re focusing on the parties, you focus on freeing Ky.”

  I swallow. “Of course.”

  He releases me. I quickly open the door before he can grab me again, but in the broad daylight, surrounded by Defenders, he’s back to his reserved self, and I’m beginning to wonder if I truly have a comrade in Mcallister, or if he poses as much of a threat as Rain.

  CHAPTER TEN

  RAIN

  Another dream. Or a memory. It’s been hard to tell lately. I’m standing in Father’s office. Forest is beside me, his head bowed, blond locks falling into his eyes. The golden child. He’s about twelve. I’m ten. And by the look on Father’s face, we’re in deep shoddy trouble.

  “Why did you do it?” Father’s grave voice pierces the silence. Though calm and collected, it still makes me flinch.

  “She was…hungry, Father,” Forest says, keeping his eyes on Father’s desk.

  “Nobody in Ky is hungry.”

  I look at Father. “She told us she was.”

  Father’s eyes snap to mine. “Then she was lying. Obviously. When you gave her the food, she tackled you both and took all your hard-earned Coins, including anything else you had that might have been worth anything.”

  I shrug. “It’s not like we needed it. We have plenty of food here. She had none.”

  Father walks up and strikes me across the cheek. Hot tears burn my eyes, but I clench my teeth until my jaw aches and it seems to help my tears forget they’re there.

  “Chief Aden prides himself in providing for his people,” Father says, his voice even. “Everyone has food. No one is hungry. That woman entered the cupola illegally only to find naïve children like you and take your Coins so she could buy something luxurious for herself.”

  “Her clothes were rags,” I mumble.

  Forest looks at me and mouths the word “stop.” I narrow my eyes at him. Didn’t Forest see her clothes? How threadbare they were? Didn’t he see the scrapes on her arms, the bruises on her neck, as if she’d been attacked? Does he not remember?

  Father clears his throat. “You boys have so much to learn. She dressed as a beggar only to get your attention. No doubt, she’s provided with the same luxuries we are. Perhaps not a mansion, but certainly a good portion of food and new clothes every year. She dressed in rags to fool you two, and now she’s paying for it.”

  “How?” The question tumbles out of my ten-year-old mouth.

  “By the tigers,” Father says with a nod.

  “But—she can’t, Father!” I run up to him, grabbing his arm, which is something Forest and I never do. Father’s eyes flash with anger. He grabs my wrist in a painful grip and glares at me.

  “You think she’s innocent?” His voice is steadily rising. “After she robbed you of your hard-earned Coins of Good Service, after she attacked you, you still think she deserves to live?”

  “Yes,” I say.

  Father looks at Forest. “And you, son? Where do you stand?”

  Forest lifts his eyes to Father. His blue eyes are shining with a sheen of tears, but he says, “I stand with the law.”

  Father dismisses him with a curt nod. Forest walks out. The door closes. Father grabs my upper arm and swings me toward his desk.

  “Take off your shirt,” he orders.

  My heart pounds with the certainty of what’s to come, but I obey. Then I plant my palms on the desk surface, hunch over, and feel the familiar sting of the cord across my back.

  * * *

  Morning brings with it the usual Frankfort sunshine slanting through my window. The scars on my back tingle, and I briefly wonder if their tingling made the nightmare occur, or if the nightmare is what made them tingle. But I flick the thought from my head.

  Another day locked in this room. Holy rot, I’m not sure I can endure another week here. I’ve always had my days and most of my nights packed full as a way to avoid being under the same roof as Father. I had places to go, important people to lure information from. Every day in Frankfort was scheduled from sunup until past midnight, and I relished it. I thrived on the rush. I craved action. And now, locked in this room with nothing to do, no one to talk to…it’s pure torture.

  I have got to get out of here.

  I press a button and a Defender steps in, his face void of emotion. Aurora clearly still hasn’t distributed the antitoxin.

  Not surprised.

  “Bring Jonah Walker,” I command. The Defender nods and leaves the room. While he’s gone, I rehearse what to say to old Jones. I don’t want to make any promises I can’t keep, like not killing the chief. However, I can hold myself back from causing her any harm as long as she’s proving her worth by flipping Ky on its head.

  Mcallister already brought me up to speed on everything yesterday. How Aurora plans on throwing a few parties to appease the Patricians. He surprisingly thinks there’s some good in her. I don’t know what he sees. A pair of pretty eyes that have more power over his emotions than his best friend, maybe? He’s been working as a Defender directly under the cruel Titus, so maybe Aurora’s not-as-cruel-as-Titus character is deceiving him. Just because she’s not as heartless as Titus doesn’t mean she’s good. But at least his belief in her is getting him inside information, which he continues to pass on to me for the sake of the Resurgence.

  In case everything goes to hell.

  A knock at the door and Jonah steps in. “Do you have an answer for me?”

  I grin. “I’ll work with you.”

  A look of relief flits across his features. “There’s my comrade. I was wondering when you’d come around. So you’re willing to follow Aurora.”

  “I’m going to be perfectly clear. I hate Aurora Whitcomb. It’s because of her and Titus that Forest and Ember died. It’s because of her my mother practically abandoned me.” I heave out a sigh and shove my hands into my pockets. “But, as long as Aurora is doing work approved by the Resurgence, such as distributing the antitoxin, distribution food equally among the citizens, getting rid of Career Day. Y’know, all the things that make this government shoddy? Then I’ll follow her. But one sign that she’s not willing to pull that weight.” I shrug. “I’ll kill her.”

  Jonah’s eyes darken, all humor vanishing from them. “You lay one finger on my niece, and I will kill you.”

  “Whoa.” I lift my hands in defense. “I thought we were on the same team, but here you are, willing to shoot me in a split second to save a niece you’ve known for—what—a little over a month?” I snort. “Tragic.”

  “I’m not kidding, Rain. Aurora is on our side, and if you’re too thick-headed to see that, then maybe I should leave you locked up in this room. Or better yet, locked up in the basement of the prison.”

  “Look. I said I’d work with you and her. Okay? No need to get all defensive. Spouting threats. Holy Crawford.”

  He stares at me. Nods. “I’ll let Chief Aurora know you’re willing to help.”

  I snort, then mumble, “Chief Aurora.”

  “She is the chief, Rain. Accept it.”

  “Fine. Whatever. Can you just make sure she knows I need a shower? ASAP. And some new clothes. I’m beginning to smell like the inside of a dead skunk.”

  Jonah smirks and opens the door. “You’ve always smelled like that.”

  I grin and shout after him. “Only when I lived in those dank caverns with you Neanderthals!”

  He closes the door behind him, and I begin pacing. It’s been a good week since I had a shower. A good month since I had a hot one. I might be a bit more eager for the hot shower that’s sure to come than for my freedom. Good thing I’m getting both, assuming Vixen holds up her end of the deal.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  AURORA

&
nbsp; Screams pierce the darkness. My screams. Sweat beads on my forehead, and pain consumes my body and mind. And it’s pain, pain, pain until there is no pain—there’s the gentle crying of a newborn.

  “A boy,” Krin says, beaming.

  The midwife lays an infant on my chest. My infant. My baby. My one companion.

  I cradle his head against my chest, run my finger along his small ear, allow his hand to curl around my finger. “Welcome to the world, little one.”

  I hold him there. And I don’t think I’ll ever let him go. I kiss his forehead, allowing my lips to linger on his soft skin. “God, I love you.”

  “He’s got your eyes,” Krin says.

  I smile. “How can you tell so soon?”

  “It’s obvious. His eyes are gentle. He bears kindness in his soul.”

  The door opens. Titus steps in. His hair is disheveled, his green eyes bright as he steps toward me. He nods at Krin in dismissal, and I resist the urge to demand that she stay. My initial reaction is to retreat, to hide this infant—my baby—to protect him from his father. But doing so will only piss Titus off, and Titus is unpredictable when he’s angry.

  So I force a shaky smile as he reaches over and takes the infant.

  “A boy,” he says, smiling a strange smile. “A future king.”

  I cringe. Titus has always referred to himself as a king around me, instead of a chief.

  “We’ll name him Gideon.”

  A strange name, I don’t say. “Okay.”

  Gideon begins rooting, then proceeds to cry when he finds nothing.

  “He needs to nurse,” I say, stifling the urgent motherly instinct to demand Titus give me my son back. But Titus ignores me. He just stares at Gideon, not comforting him, but holding him and looking at him like he’s gold, like he’s a treasure chest, like he’s power.

  Gideon’s fusses turn into full-blown squalls.

  “Titus…I need to feed him.”

  A strange smile comes across Titus’s features as he stares at Gideon. “A boy.” He laughs. “I knew it was a boy.”

  Gideon is screaming now, and I’m fighting every last impulse to reach out and grab my child from Titus's arms. But my body is still in pain. And doing such a thing will only ensure that I wouldn’t get Gideon back. It’s Titus's way of teaching me a lesson. It’s his sick way of keeping ultimate control.

  “Titus,” I say, keeping my voice level and void of emotion. “Gideon needs to eat.”

  Titus blinks. He looks at me and grins, then hands me my wailing infant. I begin nursing and the crying ceases. I fight my own tears.

  Titus frowns. “He needs you.”

  “Of course he does. I’m his mother.”

  “But, for how long?” Titus lifts his eyes from our nursing infant to me. “I mean, how long does he have to do that?”

  I don’t know. “Until he can eat real food. So, awhile.”

  Titus frowns. Nods. Walks out of the room.

  It wasn’t until much, much later that I realized Titus's disappointment at Gideon’s need to nurse. I had no idea Titus wanted to take Gideon away, hide him away, from even me.

  * * *

  I walk down the hall, towel in hand, shoving the memory out of my mind. My one comfort against those nightmares is that Gideon is alive. And I will get him back.

  Right now, I have to focus on appeasing the Resurgence, the politicians, the Patricians, and Ky. According to Walker, Rain agreed to work with us. Walker was so thrilled, his happiness rubbed off on me. The future is suddenly looking brighter. Almost…possible. When the Resurgence sees what we’re doing, they’ll show their faces. I won’t have to worry about their threats anymore, and hopefully I’ll have the Indy Tribe’s support, since we won’t have Nashville around to help us get back on our feet.

  I open Rain’s door just in time to see him pull on a shirt. I guess I should have at least knocked and given him a sense of privacy. Common curtesy, Aurora. Something I’m still learning after years of solitude.

  He quickly pulls his shirt around his waist, but not before I catch a glimpse of the cross tattoo on his torso. I lift my eyes to his. His brows arch ever so slightly that he almost looks pleased to see me. Hope inflates my chest like fresh air. Maybe Rain isn’t as bad as I thought. Maybe those days locked by himself gave him time to realize that I’m not evil and that we really can work together.

  But then he scowls and says, “You have to be the one to escort me from this room?”

  Or maybe not. Well, this isn’t going to end well.

  I throw a towel at him. “Walker said you’d work with us.”

  He grabs the towel just before it hits his face. “I said I would work with him. Not you.”

  “Come along, prisoner.” I step out of the room. “It’s high time for you to shower.”

  “Where are your female guard dogs?” He trots up beside me. “Taking the day off?”

  “I didn’t think I needed them. But I’m beginning to question my decision.”

  “Too late to be questioning.”

  I cast a sidelong glance at him, not wanting him to see my fear, but terribly afraid he might kill me here. Now. Without hesitation or remorse. It would be a wise move, to begin eliminating the Whitcomb blood once and for all. And Rain is about as Resurgencie as one gets. After he tried to kill me in his room and I overpowered him, I wouldn’t put it past him to try again—and not falter this time. Holy Crawford. What on earth was I thinking leaving my guards behind?

  I clear my throat and look ahead. “I didn’t bring my guards along because I wanted you to trust me.”

  He whips his head around to me. “Trust you? Are you out of your shoddy mind? The only reason I won’t kill you now is because Jonah said he’d kill me. And being killed by a father figure is quite possibly the worst way to die. So, congratulations on brainwashing yet another innocent, Princess. Knocking ‘em down one by one.”

  “You’re next.” I smile at my little joke, but he stops and turns fully to face me, his eyes like smoke, melted steel, metal daggers that won’t miss their mark, and he grabs my shirt and shoves me hard against the wall.

  “Don’t ever joke about that,” he says through gritted teeth. “I will never, ever be brainwashed by you.”

  My heart is in my throat. His grip is tight, the pressure with which he pins me against the wall impossible to fight.

  “Your life might be spared by Jonah.” His breath tickles my nose. “But it’s only a matter of time before he sees how completely worthless you are. And the moment he figures it out, I will be the one to hunt you down. And I will kill you.”

  I stare at him and don’t blink, don’t blink, don’t blink until I do, but thank God no tear slips out because I’ve been in this position before, with Father, and I know how to hide my fear.

  “Is that clear?” he asks, shoving me again for a little effect.

  Swallow. Narrow eyes. “Crystal.”

  He releases me. “Now tell me where the shoddy inferno the shower is before I kill you right now.”

  He runs trembling hands through his shaggy auburn hair. I step past him, lightly shoving him just to make a point, and continue down the hall promising myself that if I break—when I break—it will not be in front of Rain.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  AURORA

  I take Rain into a guest room, lead him into a large bathroom, slide open the curtain, and cross my arms. “Hop in.”

  His eyes widen a fraction. “Leave.”

  “You want your shower, I want my answers. I don’t have a lot of time, so this is how it’s going to go. If you’d like to forego your shower, I’ll gladly question you in the lobby.”

  A muscle jerks in his jaw. “Nothing like a hot shower with a witch in attendance.”

  With his eyes locked on mine, he begins undressing. I lean against the wall. And watch. I would give him some sense of privacy by turning around, but after his multiple threats, I think I’ll just watc
h him squirm.

  He tosses his shirt on the floor, then begins unbuckling his pants, eyes still on mine. It’s a proverbial stare down.

  Pants off.

  Boxers off.

  He steps into the shower, and I catch a glimpse of layers of scars on top of scars mapped across his back. I gasp.

  “What happened to your back?” I blurt out.

  He freezes for a split second, then shoves the curtain closed, blocking my view.

  “Just stick to the shoddy script.”

  I blink and look down. Pull out my PalmChip. “I-I need you to tell me about the Indy Tribe.”

  “Why? So you can burn them to the ground the way Titus burned the orchard down?”

  I grit my teeth. “So I can ask for help.”

  He slides the curtain open just enough for me to see his face, water dripping down his forehead and into his dark lashes. “Not gonna happen. See, the Indy Tribe is sort of against the whole government function thing you have going on.”

  “Which I’m trying to change.”

  “Change it. And they might be willing to be allies.”

  “I can’t change it without a support system.”

  He snorts and shoves the curtain closed again. “Why the shoddy rot do you need a support system? Titus has been running this country without one for years. Why can’t you?”

  I feel the same barb I always feel around Titus's politicians. I’m not as good as Titus. I’ll never be as good a leader as Titus.

  “Titus has not been running this country without a support system,” I say. “As of the past twenty or so years, Nashville has been our support. But they’re not going to help anymore. They really liked Titus, and Titus is locked away. They’re not too thrilled about that.”