Rapture's Edge

by J. T. Geissinger

  This was no commoner. This wasn’t even a lord, though undoubtedly he was titled, landed aristocracy of the Empire.

  This was a king, through and through.

  Effortlessly, he commanded all their attention and held it as he silently surveyed the scene. Eliana felt the fleeting, electric brush of his gaze as it rested on her, then profound relief when it passed.

  Her father—her mad, evil, genius father—had the same kind of presence. The same kind of easy, elemental power. Eliana briefly wondered if this king was insane, too, but that thought was obliterated by who appeared next.

  The Alpha took a slow step away from the door and held out a hand. A long, white arm appeared from the shadows of the door as if in a stage drama, its wrist and hand bent in a motion of fluid, feminine grace. The pale hand rested in the Alpha’s, and then the woman attached to that gracefully curving arm stepped over the threshold and into the light.

  And all Eliana’s pain and fear simply vanished.

  It was instant and total, the feeling of kinship. Of kindred. It was also colossally stupid, because she knew nothing of this woman or this king or this land, but just looking at her face imbued Eliana with a feeling so warm and relieved and profound it could only be called homecoming.

  Or maybe insanity.

  The woman paused a moment, studying her. Garbed in the plainest gray wool dress, without cosmetics or jewelry or a single ounce of apparent effort, she was easily the most stunning woman Eliana had ever seen. Her face and figure, her skin, the loose, golden hair that cascaded over her shoulders to her waist—everything was perfect and utterly unblemished, like some kind of master artist’s representation of an angel, of ideal, feminine beauty.

  Picasso would have killed to paint your portrait, she thought. Michelangelo would have sold his soul.

  It brought a faint smile to her lips. Seeing it, the Queen looked momentarily bemused. Then, impossibly, her own lips curved, a slight, upward tilt that her formidable husband didn’t miss.

  He looked back and forth between the two of them. Sharply, he directed, “Viscount. Carry on.”

  The warm feeling of homecoming was snuffed out, replaced by a very non-warm feeling of dread.

  The viscount shot the Alpha’s brother a smug, victorious look, but it turned sour when the Queen spoke.

  “Why is she half naked?”

  Everyone froze. Her husband drew in a breath, his lips flattened.

  “And handcuffed?” She turned to the viscount. “Weymouth?”

  Her voice—the unembellished American accent startling in the midst of all this English regalia—was exquisitely neutral.

  The viscount shifted his weight from one foot to another. “She was brought in with handcuffs, Your Majesty, and it would be prudent to keep her in them—”

  “Surely all you men could manage to control one collared woman?”

  There was faint mockery in her voice, and Eliana sensed a lifetime of anger behind it.

  Weymouth’s face turned a mottled shade of red. “She is a traitor—”

  “That remains to be seen.”

  “Of the worst kind—”

  “I didn’t realize there were degrees.”

  Weymouth’s voice rose. “Who is the daughter of a traitor—”

  At that, the Queen’s voice lost all its light neutrality and hardened to a knife-blade coldness that had everyone in the room sitting a little straighter in their seats.

  “As am I. Or had you forgotten?”

  The Queen’s gaze, flinty now, rested on the viscount. He fidgeted under it, lips twitching in outrage, but she kept her frozen gaze on him, a dare or a warning, and apparently he thought better of arguing. He looked at Keshav and gave a quick jerk of his head.

  The handcuffs were unlocked, removed. Eliana’s arms slid forward, and she had to bite back the moan of pain when feeling came flooding back into her numb arms.

  “Thank you, Viscount,” said the Queen, neutral once more. “You’re always so accommodating.”

  If her words or her tone held no offense, the slight curl of her lips belied her opinion of the pompous viscount.

  Weymouth’s nostrils flared, his face went from red to purple, and he looked to be physically biting his tongue. The other men at the table didn’t even dare to look at him, or the Queen. Everyone kept their eyes down or on her, the lone traitor in a chair set across from them.

  And this was absolutely fascinating to Eliana. Even when the Queen’s voice had hardened, she hadn’t raised it, and if she’d had any doubts before how a woman could be allowed to lead they were summarily extinguished.

  This elegant, angelic-looking woman had them all—even her fierce, powerful husband—under complete control.

  Instantly, Eliana knew that whatever decision was made about her fate, whatever punishment would be applied, it would be the Queen’s doing, and no one else’s. She might let them have their clown court, but the ultimate say would be hers.

  In light of that, Eliana addressed her statement directly to her.

  “I know there’s no way for me to prove my innocence, and if I were you I probably wouldn’t believe anything I’m about to say. All I can do is tell you the truth—if you want to hear it—and let you decide for yourself.”

  This little speech was met with arched brows from the Queen, a scoff from the viscount, and a few chuckles from the other men at the table.

  The Alpha, however, did not look amused. He escorted his wife up the dais. “Truth is a highly subjective thing.” His voice was as elegant and masculine as the rest of him, a resonant tenor that, combined with his British accent, she imagined was devastating to all but the most frigid of females.

  Or the ones he was about to condemn to death.

  “You’re wrong,” she said forcefully. This elicited a round of little gasps from the men. “Truth is an absolute, and one of the only things that really matter.”

  Horribly, horribly, because she was going to die and pain was burning through her and the full weight of the realization that she might never see Demetrius again finally sank in, her eyes filled with tears. “And love.” Her voice broke over the word. “That’s the other thing. Lose either one and life becomes meaningless.”

  The Queen, seated now, froze in her elaborate throne. She stared at Eliana long and hard, then quietly said, “I couldn’t agree more.”

  With thinned lips and a long, sideways glance in her direction, the Alpha sat beside her and then turned his gaze back to Eliana. “You expect us to believe you had no knowledge of what happened? That you and your brother were not partners in this?”

  “I don’t expect you to believe anything I say. But the truth is, I knew nothing of it.”

  The viscount added flatly, “None of us will ever believe that.”

  Eliana swallowed around the lump in her throat, big as a fist, and repeated a quote she’d once read, attributed to Gandhi. “Even if you are a minority of one, the truth is still the truth.”

  “Your father,” the viscount went on, his voice acid, “was a mass murderer. Would you have us believe you knew nothing of that, as well?”

  Eliana closed her eyes for a moment. Shame. Shame so hot and rancid and total it was like being submerged in a lake of vomit. Like a full-body tattoo, she would never be free of it.

  “Yes. I—know. Now. I’m sorry.” She opened her eyes and looked at the Queen. “I don’t share his…ideas. I wanted to live with humans, not—”

  “Live with humans?” The Queen jerked forward in her throne, her hands wrapped tightly around its carved arms. Her expression was incredulous. “You believe we can live together with humans, openly?”

  It was evident from her reaction, from the restless shifting and blanched faces of the others, that this was a topic of monumental importance. She knew nothing of their ways, if they interacted with humans in the same way as they had in the Roman colony, some allowed to come and go, some—like her—confined, but judging by what little she’d seen so far, she’d bet they
weren’t exactly revolutionaries, espousing equality and the abolition of segregation.

  Would this be the truth that would get her killed?

  She stared at the Queen and decided she’d rather die from this truth than from all the lies they’d accused her of. At least—here at the very end of things—she could be brave.

  “Yes,” she said simply. “In fact, some of my best friends are human.”

  More gasps from the gathered men, these louder than before. She’d never heard so many gasping ninnies in her entire life, and she wondered if they might suck all the oxygen out of the air and she’d suffocate to death.

  But the Alpha wasn’t gasping. He wasn’t even moving. He was just inspecting her with a pair of glittering, malice-filled eyes. His voice came low, and very dark. “You’ve already been living together with them.”

  It wasn’t a question, it was a statement, vibrating with menace.

  I will not be intimidated. She lifted her chin. “We’re no better than them. And they’re no better than us. There’s no reason we shouldn’t live together.”

  A look passed between the Alpha and his Queen.

  “No more hiding, is that what you propose? No matter the consequences?” The expression on the Queen’s face was indecipherable.

  Gathering her courage like armor, Eliana said quietly, “Hiding is for mice. And we are not mice.” She looked at the viscount. “At least, I’m not.”

  The Alpha’s mouth fell wide open. The Queen gave a small, astonished laugh.

  “This is ridiculous!” the viscount shouted. “Why are we listening to this nonsense? Just this admission is enough to confirm her guilt! My lord,” he entreated the Alpha, “please! Can we not move on?” And he pointed to something Eliana had not noticed before in her pain and her panic, something large and bulky in the corner of the room, partially hidden beneath a drape of black fabric.

  A machine. Some kind of tall, wooden machine—with blades.

  But it wasn’t the Alpha who answered, it was the Queen, and her green eyes burned.

  “Yes. Let’s get this over with.”

  With hard fingers digging into her arm, Keshav yanked Eliana to her feet.

  But she wasn’t taken to the draped machine, as she’d assumed. The Queen ordered, “Bring her to me,” and Eliana was led across the cold floor and up the steps of the dais, then forced to kneel before the Queen’s throne.

  The Queen proffered her hand.

  Eliana stared at it, confused. What did this mean? What was expected?

  “Take it,” the Queen said. “If you are innocent as you claim, take it.”

  She lifted her gaze and stared into her brilliant, searching eyes.

  “Or let them have their way with you,” the Queen murmured with a glance at the viscount, the machine. “You decide.”

  So Eliana did as she was told and slid her hand into the cool, soft hand of the Queen.

  There was a silence, breathless and pregnant. Then she frowned.

  “Jenna?” The Alpha jerked forward, radiating violence, his hand gripped around the carved wooden arm of his throne so hard his fingers turned white.

  “She’s…she’s…” She trailed off, wondering, and the sense of anticipation in the room ratcheted higher. Her lashes lifted, and she met Eliana’s gaze with her own. Astonishment was there, along with uncertainty. “She’s a Shield.”

  “What?”

  “A Gift,” the Queen mused, staring into her eyes. She seemed strangely impressed.

  “What does it mean?”

  “It means I can’t See in unless she lets me. Her mind is impenetrable.”

  The room went utterly still. Wound tight enough to snap, the Alpha looked back and forth between them. “That’s why I was never able to locate them. That’s why it seemed as if they’d disappeared altogether. She was Shielding them.”

  Locate them? Eliana was struck with horror and sudden comprehension. This woman could find them, over vast distances, with just her mind? Panic lit through her like kindling touched with a match. Everyone at Alexi’s—

  Watching her carefully, the Queen said, “I don’t think she even knows she was doing it.”

  “The Blessing,” Eliana blurted. “That’s what I called it. My father—he couldn’t—”

  “Read your mind,” the Queen finished, with distaste. “I’d heard he was quite good at that. Among other things.”

  “But to hide all of them?” said Leander incredulously.

  The Queen nodded. “It’s remarkable.” She cocked her head, lips quirked, and murmured, “Always the females…”

  The mood in the room had grown restless, and Eliana’s panic began to spread. If she couldn’t prove her innocence with words or by allowing the Queen access to her mind, what would become of the Roman colony? Of her kin at Alexi’s?

  Of Demetrius?

  “Tell me how to let you in—how can I do it?” Suddenly desperate, her commitment to not be intimidated vanished, Eliana gripped the Queen’s hand harder, but at that moment her head snapped up and she examined the high, frescoed ceiling above with narrowed eyes.

  Beside her, the Alpha hissed, “What is it?”

  To which the Queen replied, “We have company.” The men around the tables leapt to their feet, as did the Alpha, everyone on instant, crackling high alert.

  “How many?” Leander snarled.

  “Only one.” The Queen dropped her gaze back to Eliana and pulled her hand free. “And he’s moving fast.”

  D didn’t bother to try to disguise himself, to slink in through a chimney or a back door or a crack in a windowpane. He simply flew straight down and landed without ceremony in the center of the circular drive, Shifted to panther, and bounded toward the tall iron-studded doors of the entry to the mansion, spraying gravel in his wake.

  He crashed through the doors, and splinters of wood went flying.

  Once inside, he used his nose to guide him, and he ran, snarling murderously, past room after empty, lavish room, seeing none of it, running on pure instinct, the scent of Eliana’s fear pulling him onward like a hook, like the gravitational force of a collapsing star.

  She was in pain. He felt it, and thought, I will slaughter them all. With a terrifying roar, Demetrius blew through the open doors at the far end of the throne room. As soon as he passed the threshold, every one of the men behind the tables on either side of the thrones with the exception of Leander and the viscount Shifted to panther as well, in a unified burst of power that sent a shock wave like a bomb detonation ripping through the room.

  Her heart stopped. In a flash, Eliana saw what would happen.

  There were over a dozen of them, maybe twenty, and only one of Demetrius.

  It would be a bloodbath.

  Without thinking, she seized the Queen’s hand and screamed, “No!”

  Instant, electrifying connection, like a plug into a socket.

  All the air sucked out of the room, gravity ceased to exist, and she was hurtling through space at a thousand miles per hour, mute, blind, paralyzed. The sense of invasion was acute, as was the nausea that roiled her stomach. Bile rose into her throat.

  And then the memories came, hard and fast and nearly indecipherable from one another, flashes of color and voices and sounds and smells, violently drawn out of her by an invisible force, like starlight sucked into the vast, inescapable vacuum of a black hole. She was being inhaled, she was being emptied, and the worst part was that she was as helpless as a kitten against it.

  As abruptly as it started, it stopped. She was released, gasping and reeling, and fell to the floor.

  Beside her, in a clear, commanding voice, the Queen said, “Stop!”

  And everyone—everything—did.

  Eliana raised her spinning head, too weak to stand, not too blind to see but not quite understanding what she was seeing. In a circle around Demetrius were a dozen or more glossy, muscular animals, hundreds of pounds each, spitting and hissing and bristling, fangs bared, long tails twitching menaci
ngly back and forth. Demetrius himself was silent and unmoving in the center, ears flat against his head, crouched to spring.

  Beyond her terror, Eliana took enormous satisfaction in the fact that he was almost twice as big as the biggest of the rest. Who were huge.

  “Love,” said the Alpha, very neutral, from beside the Queen. “Have you something to say?”

  The Queen took a step forward, another, and another. She moved down the steps of the dais slowly, her gaze on the group of snarling animals, her posture relaxed. She finally stopped just shy of the circle.

  “Demetrius.” Her voice was odd and flat. “I’ve been wanting to meet you.”

  Viscount Weymouth—voice throbbing with fury—said, “Demetrius! This is the one who defied orders, who took it upon himself to kidnap a prisoner who was rightfully ours, who dares to enter your home in such a hostile, threatening manner—” He pointed at Eliana. “He’s just as dangerous as her brother!”

  “Probably more dangerous,” the Queen said, still with that flat tone. “But for very different reasons.”

  “Thank you!” the viscount crowed, vindicated, and then, to the circle of panthers, “Attack!”

  “Stand down!” said the Queen forcefully, her hand held up. There was a moment of confusion, of hesitation, until she said, “He won’t be harmed, at least not yet. Everyone, stand down.”

  “Majesty!”

  “Viscount.” Jenna turned her head and gave Weymouth a look that snapped his jaw shut and sent him sinking back into his seat in lip-trembling, pale-knuckled fear.

  Deadly soft, the Queen said, “Let me repeat myself again so there is no possibility of misunderstanding. I said, stand down.”

  Leander sighed and crossed his arms over his chest.