Bound by Prophecy (Descendants Series) (17 page)

Had I not been face down in dirt and leaves writhing in agony, I might have appreciated the fact that my plan had actually worked. Because I’d told Emily I was going to go down when the first warning shots fired, she didn’t look back. She thought I had played my part, and she was upholding her end of the bargain. She was running for safety.

Another report sounded in her general direction and I coughed blood and leaf bits into the dirt as I struggled to lift my head.

“Down!” a voice yelled from behind me. “Stay down!”

A heavy boot smashed into my side once, twice. “Turn him,” someone ordered, “keep your eyes on his hands.”

Another boot kicked against my hip, rolling me to land on my back, though an arm was trapped beneath me. I could only feel the pressure now, the cool air rushing over my skin, the warm wetness of the leaves below me. With immense effort, I managed to twist my chin to see the direction she should have been. I held my breath, closed one eye, concentrated hard on bringing her into focus.

There was shouting, the rush of boots on underbrush. I closed both eyes. Took a deep breath.

“Don’t move!” the voice beside me yelled again. There was some fumbling around my ankles. And then the vague notion I’d been shot in the side. And there was darkness. I had to focus. She had to make it. I had to see her make it.

I opened my eyes and found Emily. My chest tightened. The white Henley, her honeyed hair. The last flash of the bottom of her sneakers as she crashed through the thick green branches to refuge. Her nearest pursuer was too far, they’d never find her, they’d never have her. I felt my mouth pull back into a smile as I slipped into the darkness of oblivion.

I wasn’t sure how long I’d slept, but it hadn’t been long enough.

“Again,” a harsh voice yelled as icy water was thrown into my face.

A tearing, awful pain shot through my side as my body reacted to the shock, but my mind hadn’t caught up with what was happening. I couldn’t see where I was, didn’t know anything but that it was too bright, too loud, too
real
.

“Clean up his face, I don’t want it to look like a butcher’s shop here.”

I attempted to lift my head, but it only bobbed before my chin fell back against my chest. A towel was pressed to my cheek, roughly brushing away what blood the water hadn’t. It smelled of bleach and disinfectant, the too-clean scent of hospital linen. But this wasn’t a clinic.

“Could be the poison, sir,” a different voice offered, this one closer than the first.

“Don’t be a fool,” the first voice said. “Give him one hour of sleep and he’ll be healing every single wound you’ve handed him.”

My brain made the connection then, put a face to the voice.

But before my eyes would open, he was closer, drawing out the words as he spoke in my ear. “He’s an Archer. He has the power of the blood.”

Morgan
.

His hand fisted into my hair as he jerked my head up to face him. “Wake, brother. We’ve got plans for you.”

I spat blindly in his direction.

“Open your eyes,” he said in a tone so lethal it silenced the rest of the room.

Surprisingly, I did open them this time, though the chamber swam heavily. Morgan yanked my head again and my gaze finally settled on him.

“There, was that so difficult?”

He looked different somehow, the hard lines of his face sharper, the angry set of his jaw tighter. I studied his face, but all trace of boyishness was gone. There didn’t seem to be any chance of his trademark mood swings. All that was left was this even, deadly temper.

He withdrew his hand, wiping the dampness from my hair onto a small white towel. “I’m sure you’re worried,” he said, “but the Council surgeon has checked you out. The bullet wounds in your side and arm are clean, though the one that clipped your chest does appear to have nicked a bone.” He clicked his tongue. “We all know that one will take a while to heal.”

He tossed the towel aside and stepped away from where I hung, his words fading in the background as I could suddenly see the room where I was being held.

“Sacrilege,” I croaked out, but my voice was weaker than Morgan cared to take notice of.

“So you won’t bleed out or anything, but I’m not quite ready to let you heal.” The soles of his loafers were soundless on the gray tile floor of the archive. Somewhere behind me was the prophecy, encased in steel and glass. He indicated a tall man in his early twenties leaning arms-crossed against one of the low desks. “William here will be in charge of keeping you awake until the meeting.”

He was baiting me, I realized. He needed to brag, to have some sort of audience for his scheme. I resisted the urge to struggle against the restraints at my wrists. They were bound over my head, and I was tied again at the waist and ankles.

He lowered his tone. “My sources tell me rumors are spreading about my new gift,” he said. “A shame, really. I’d so wanted it to be a surprise.”

My stomach turned.

“It’s ironic, don’t you think,” he continued, “that the girl was under my nose the entire time.” His pacing had stopped, and he leaned forward as a small smile crept onto his face. “We thought it was her mother, you see. Had her captive some time ago.” He shrugged, leaned back to slide his hands casually into the slanted pockets of his slacks. “She possessed all the signs—her line, her eyes, her blood, and her power.” His smile grew. “Oh, the power.”

His right foot turned out as if he meant to resume pacing, but he couldn’t take his eyes off my face, too eager for some recognition in my expression.

“She was no mere prophet,” he said. “She had a gift. Something like no other.” Morgan swallowed, glanced around the room. It was so unlike him. “Do you know what she could do?” he asked.

I couldn’t respond, only stare at this cold, hard man who was once my brother.

“I didn’t understand at first,” he whispered. “I didn’t, Aern. How could I?” For the first time since I’d seen him again, his eyes lit with something akin to pleasure. “But it was there. The moment I put her under sway, it was there.” He shook his head. “She couldn’t stop it. Gods but she tried.”

His lip twitched. “It’s incredible, Aern. You can’t comprehend what it feels like.” His hands came free of their pockets as he moved closer. “Somehow, some way, she was able to”—he searched for the right word—“connect these missing pieces from our past. She gave us back what we lost, brother. She gave us back the power.”

The pain in my side was becoming more prevalent. It was as if I were being torn apart without him so much as tightening the ropes. My body knew what I needed to recover, and the urge to sleep was overwhelming. It took all of my focus just to process his speech. “What are you saying?” I asked wearily.

He sighed, disappointed with my lack of enthusiasm. “I’m saying it’s all changed,” he said. “I’m saying the prophet has given us something we could have never dreamt of.” His words were not simply an explanation. Morgan had spent the whole of his life certain of the outcome, and this, whatever he was trying to tell me, had given him more than that expectation. Had given him something else, something better.

He leaned forward again. “Her gift is to unbind those powers that lie dormant in our magic, to connect our minds to those abilities we thought we had lost. It’s not just the sway, Aern. We could have it all back. Everything.”

Everything. The dominion our ancestors held over all.
The abilities
.

I stared at him, openly shaken, and he smiled again.

“There,” he said, “you’ve finally got it. She released those gifts to me. It’s taken some time to master, I’ll admit, but she strengthened my sway. And all the while I thought she was the chosen. But she wasn’t.” He took a deep, regretful breath. “I would have kept her, Aern. I would have gotten more, but I didn’t think. Because of the prophecy, I was certain our paths were set.”

“You killed her,” I accused. My voice was still quiet and raw, but it conveyed the disgust well enough.

He shook his head disapprovingly. “You’re not listening. She couldn’t stop herself from doing as I commanded under sway, she wasn’t strong enough to fight it. But she worked out the single thing that would prevent us from using her.” He shifted. “That was a hard time for me, Aern. I was highly disappointed in the turn it had taken. But I can see now. I’d thought she only meant to keep the prophecy from playing out. I thought I’d lost my rightful destiny. But I hadn’t. Because she didn’t kill herself merely to prevent me from becoming the One, she did it to save her daughter. She did it to protect the chosen, so that I would never find her.

“It might have worked,” he continued, “if I had been a weaker man. I had thought the chosen was gone, the prophecy taken from me, but I didn’t quit. I had this new power”—he preened—“and a plan to find more. We would search for the others of her bloodline, find any that might carry the trait. She might have changed the game, but we were still the strongest players. I only wanted an extra edge, but we found far more than we bargained for.

“And then to discover my brother had stolen her. My own blood, stealing my birthright to keep me from power.” His tone dropped dangerously low. “I should have known you’d take her to those dogs. You turned on your own kind. You are no better than a Samuels.” His jaw flexed, but he held himself under control. “I don’t know what you thought you’d do, how you’d manage to keep her from me, but your maneuvers were only a waste of time and energy. All you’ve done is to help me, Aern. Your betrayal gave us the chance to weed out the sheep. Council is stronger now. All of it, finally, at last,
mine
.”

He laughed, and the sound made me flinch. “And in a matter of days, the girl will be as well.”

“She’s gone,” I rasped. “Nothing you can do will get her back.”

Morgan leered at me before turning to walk from the room. “That’s where you’re wrong.”

Chapter Twenty-two

Trapped

I had plenty of time to think about what Morgan had said, because every attempt I made at falling asleep, William created some new form of torture to wake me. Presently, he’d slapped me, quite hard, and was standing in waiting to be certain it had taken.

“Okay,” I said, forcing my eyes open. “I’ve got it.”

His gaze narrowed on me.

I pursed my lips. “Listen, how about you let my arms down for a while—”

“Silence,” he said tersely.

“Why? Morgan doesn’t trust you to—”

My words cut off as he slapped me again, though I was clearly awake.
Clearly
.

“Boy, he’s sure got you—”

William backhanded me. This time my only response was to turn my head as I spat blood.

I would have to think of something else. I was tied near the center of the room, in plain view of not only William, but three other battle-trained men. I could only assume the cameras hidden among the library shelves were still operational, which meant several more guards watched my every move from the safety of Council’s private security office. Between me and that office were untold sentries, key-coded locks, and alarms. They had placed me in the archive for a reason. It was the most secure room on the property.

I racked my brain for a way to disable the cameras, the four men, those blasted ties cutting off circulation to my hands, or any portion of said list, but my mind was too addled from lack of sleep. I wondered vaguely if Logan had realized I was missing, if he’d waited at the drop point, or if someone from the Division had found him. But I couldn’t even be certain what day it was. Judging from the severity of my wounds, I might have only slept hours before Morgan had woken me. Or it might have been days.

I could remember the pain, a bullet tearing through my side, one cutting my chest and striking bone, another in my leg… and Emily. The flash of sneaker as she disappeared into the trees. I hoped she wasn’t still sealed within the chamber. I hoped someone had gotten her out. Not Morgan, surely. He would have said. He would have been proud.

And then his words were swimming through my mind again, and I couldn’t fathom their full potential for harm. Brianna’s mother had not merely been a prophet. She’d had the power to release our kind’s abilities. And they had known. Brianna first, but Emily, the realization only coming as she’d spoken the words in my room, that their mother had been taken before Morgan had gotten this sway. This new power. Her sickness, her panic made sense now. But as she’d doubled over, I’d spotted her mark, and everything had changed.

And that was our one saving grace. No one knew but the three of us. No matter what happened, Morgan would not fulfill the prophecy. Even if he captured Brianna, if he tricked the Division into giving her up, if he used his sway against them, he would still have the wrong girl.

Emily was the chosen.

“You’re going to die, traitor-boy,” a voice hissed from beside me, “and your dragon blood can’t do a thing to stop it.”

I stared straight ahead, but I could see the man in question. He leaned back in his chair, thumb playing patiently over the hammer of his pistol where it lay on his leg. The barrel casually pointed in my direction, but there was no threat of him using it. It would be Morgan’s doing, not one of these men.