Fated (10 page)

And then she realized someone
did
have her by the throat. Moros slammed her to the ground with merciless force. The cold marble at her back told her she was naked once again, unable to hide. The Lord of the Kere’s face hovered right above hers, twisted into a monstrous grimace. “Oh, now you’re
finally
turning me on,” he said as his grip on her tightened, crushing her airway as she pawed feebly at his sleeves.

He placed his forehead on hers, pressing so hard it felt like her skull was going to cave in. “I told you that you were going to die, Aislin,” he murmured. “But perhaps I should have mentioned that I would be the one to kill you.”

Aislin surfaced all at once, coughing and flailing like a rag doll, shuddering from head to toe. Above her, dim silhouettes hovered, but her vision wouldn’t focus. Where was she? With fumbling fingers, she reached up to touch the Scope of the Charon at her throat, needing its comforting weight . . . and remembered that Rylan had taken it.

“I’ve got to go help make another batch of minions,” Eris was saying. “I’ll be back later. Are you going to work on her some more?”

“She’s had enough for now,” said Apate. “If we scramble her too much, she won’t be able to follow basic instructions.”

“Fine,” Nemesis said in a whiny voice. “But I get first dibs when we come back.”

The silhouettes disappeared, leaving Aislin in the massive cavern, the sound of trickling water somewhere nearby. A low sob escaped her, and she rolled to her side and pulled her knees to her chest, so thankful to be clothed again, to be alone.

Everybody hated her. Everyone wanted her dead. And they would all be glad that she was gone.

Stop it. They’re trying to break you.

Moros was scheming against her. He didn’t care about her. It was an act, one she had fallen for completely because she so badly wanted it to be true, especially now when she had so little time left. He would use her vulnerability to destroy her. He was a monster.

Cold stone rubbed against her cheek, and she was grateful for the rough feel of it. It was real. She was sure of it. As sure as she was that Moros needed to be destroyed.

Think about who they are. Think about what they’re doing.

They were going to use her as the weapon of his destruction.

She smiled, imagining plunging the sword through his stomach, watching his face go slack with shock, all the smugness gone. His gray eyes would shine with pain.

Misgiving swirled through her.
I don’t want to
. . .

His mouth would drop open, but he wouldn’t have any breath to tell her how little she meant to him. Blood would trickle from the corner of his mouth. She would wipe it away with her thumb, then smear it on his pressed white shirt.
Hurts, doesn’t it? Good.

“No,” she said with a moan. “I won’t let you control me.” Her voice echoed in the dimly lit cavern, and for a moment she watched the torchlight dancing on wet stone as an idea licked at the edges of the chaos in her mind.

She was fated to die. That part hadn’t been a lie.

She was the Charon, at least until the board officially awarded her Scope to someone else and Moros approved it. If any Ferry was mortally injured, a mere thought from her was the difference between life and death. She still held their lives in the palm of her hand.

And her own.

She could take herself out of the equation forever. It was better than being controlled and used.

New energy crackled up her arms, allowing her to push herself up and look around. The cavern was huge, and she was on a platform of sorts, a flat expanse of stone near one of the walls. In the distance, across the rocky terrain of the cave floor, there was a sumptuous silk tent, but she knew she didn’t have the strength to get herself there.

So what could she use to get this done? She imagined trying to bash her own head in with one of the loose stones at the edge of the platform, but she wasn’t sure she was powerful enough to strike a deathblow. She looked down at herself. At some point, she’d lost one of her shoes. Her slacks were smeared with dirt. The bottom edge of her bloodstained sweater was torn. Hope quickened her thoughts. If she could tear a strip from it, she could wrap it around her neck and . . .

Her eyes blurred with tears. She didn’t really want to go this way, but she’d heard Apate, Nemesis, and Eris. They were coming back soon, and when they did, they would pack her head full of deception once again, and then use her to hurt people she cared about.

She’d wouldn’t allow them to steal any more from her than they already had. With shaking hands, she reached down and began to tug at the tattered sweater.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

T
en startled faces turned toward Moros as he appeared in the boardroom. The heat poured from his body, warping the air. “Greetings, Ferrys.” He took a mock look around. “I believe you’re missing your Charon.”

Hugh Ferry stood at the opposite end of the table, his lips tight. His silver hair was combed back, revealing his severe widow’s peak, and his chin jutted out in defiance. “This is a scheduled board meeting,” he said. “And we were just discussing the fact that Aislin hasn’t bothered to show up. Apparently she’s abdicated her position.”

“What?”

Hugh reached into his pocket and lifted out the Charon’s Scope.

Moros’s throat constricted. “Where did you get that?” he asked in a low voice.

Hugh’s eyes widened in innocent surprise. “It was delivered to my office a few hours ago, along with her letter of resignation.”

Rosaleen Ferry, who had been a board member for decades, frowned at the sight of the Scope. “You didn’t mention that, Hugh. Why would she do such a thing?”

“I didn’t have a chance to tell you before we were so rudely interrupted,” Hugh explained, holding the ornate platinum disk in his palm. That Scope belonged around Aislin’s neck, and without it, she was fearfully vulnerable. “And as for why she would do it,” Hugh continued, “perhaps she realized she wasn’t up to the job.”

Brian Ferry, the same age as Aislin but full of hubris instead of her tempered wisdom, folded his arms across his chest. “Once again, I nominate Hugh Ferry as Charon. It’s time we had some stability, and Patrick Ferry’s branch of the family has proven unfit for leadership.”

Hugh Ferry’s fingers closed over Aislin’s Scope. Moros stared at the man, feeling a strong desire for blood.

“Seconded,” said Ennis Ferry, giving Moros a nervous glance.

Brian grinned. “All in favor—”

“I object,” Moros said evenly, a dangerous smile pulling at his lips. He tugged off his gloves and pocketed them. “I don’t believe I know you well enough, Hugh.” He willed himself across the room, appearing right next to the would-be Charon. “Let’s go someplace and have a talk.”

He grabbed Hugh’s sleeve and dragged him into the Veil, where they appeared on a high plain somewhere in Wyoming, open space for miles. Spluttering and shivering, Hugh staggered back. “How dare you!”

Moros felt his fangs pressing against his lips, turning his smile grisly. “But I am the Lord of the Kere, Hugh. I must approve every Charon. It is my right.”

“You could have done that in Boston!”

“No, and I won’t do it here, either. Because Aislin didn’t resign, did she? Not of her own free will.”

Hugh took an unsteady step back as Moros moved closer to him. “Of course she did. I received her letter—”

“You’re lying, or you’ve been duped. Which is it?”

Hugh couldn’t meet Moros’s crimson eyes. “I thought for certain it was from her. It bore her electronic signature. You think it was fake?”

“I know it was,” Moros said softly. “She’s missing. Someone took her.” The memory of her shoe, lying abandoned by her desk, was one he’d never forget. “And you haven’t questioned it. You’ve made no effort to find her.”

“But how do you know she didn’t just run away?” asked Hugh.

“Because Aislin Ferry never runs from anything.”

Hugh’s watery eyes narrowed. “How would you know? Or are you just into her looks? Are you really letting that frigid bitch give you a case of blue balls?”

“How utterly disrespectful.” He was only a few feet away from Hugh now, and his calm was slipping away with each second. The man was emanating fear and hatred, but also a scent that Moros hadn’t smelled in ages. The moment it hit his consciousness, his entire body reacted, tensing in readiness for an attack. “Hugh,” he murmured, his ears roaring. “Who have you been spending time with?”

His hand shot out, and his fingers wrapped around Hugh’s throat. The moment their skin met, a face appeared in Moros’s mind, one he hadn’t seen in nearly two thousand years. Her curly blonde hair bounced around her face, and she bit her lip coyly. Hugh’s thoughts were saturated with her venom—images of the Charon’s Scope around his own neck, visions of Aislin lying in the Veil, bleeding and dying as Shade-Kere closed in . . .

Moros could feel the man thrashing in his grip, clawing at his arms, kicking frantically, but none of it reached him. Bile rose in his throat as Nemesis coiled herself around Hugh. Together they watched Aislin being torn apart, her body mortal and fragile, the light in her eyes fading. And Hugh felt nothing but joy at the sight. No remorse, no pain.

Moros’s claws cut into Hugh’s neck, and the man’s scream finally penetrated his consciousness. With the visions still pulsing in his skull, Moros opened his eyes and focused on his victim, this man who dreamed of seeing Aislin suffer. “You certainly have colorful fantasies,” he hissed.

He kicked Hugh’s legs out from under him, and the Ferry collapsed to the ground and slid away, his blood painting the Veil red. “You can’t do this,” Hugh shrieked, clutching at the wounds on either side of his neck. “You’re violating the treaty! We have to appear before the Keepers tomorrow night, and I’ll tell them what you’ve done!”

Moros laughed, sharp as a blade. “You’re foolish to believe that I would ever allow you to stand next to me before the Keepers.”

“I’ll make sure they know you attacked me!”

“How will you do that, Hugh?” He walked slowly after his quarry, who was scrambling back, designer shoes slipping on the soft ground of the Veil. He was still hungering to hear Hugh scream again, but reason reined him in for a moment—the man was the key to finding Aislin. He had to clear away the fog of horror and
think
.

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.