Nat stepped between them. “Go near him again and you’ll regret it forever.”
“As if.” Avo laughed, wagging his finger, clearly savoring the moment.
Nat waited for him to strike her, but he did not. Instead, he turned to the group. “I told you back then that Wesson would only lead you to your deaths. And look. I’m a freezin’ prophet. Any last words?”
“None for you, icehole,” Shakes replied with his usual glibness. “Although a last meal would have been welcome.”
“Now you’re talking. Avo would make a lovely steak, don’t you think? With a side of béarnaise,” added Roark.
“Accompanied by a glass of Upper Pangaea’s finest,” said Brendon. “I always find that goes well with filet of icehole.”
“Filet of heat bag,” corrected Roark. “Chewier.”
“Right!” Brendon laughed.
“SHUT UP,” Avo snapped, moving his gun from one insolent smallman to the next, irritated by their camaraderie—and that Wes’s crew was acting as if they were at a dinner party rather than an execution.
He whistled for two of his soldiers to join him on the deck.
There was an uneasy silence from Wes’s team as Avo’s men came forward, rifles slung across their shoulders, and ugly, blood-crusted knives tucked into their belts.
“I see you recognize my new recruits,” Avo drawled. “From what I heard things didn’t end too well between you all. Pity, but then revenge is a powerful motivator. It can make us do things we might normally find . . . what is the word? Abhorrent? I never made it to upper school, so someone tell me.”
The Slaine brothers, Daran and Zedric, exchanged nasty smiles. “Abhorrent sounds about right,” said Daran, the older and more dangerous one. The two of them had been part of Wes’s crew until Daran attacked Nat when he discovered she was marked. In retaliation, Nat’s drakon had thrown him into the black ocean and the crew had left him for dead. The next evening his brother, Zedric, stole away with Farouk and most of their supplies.
From the look on their faces now, Nat could tell these were not bygones.
Avo patted his two new pets on the back, slinging an arm over each brother. He might as well have been holding robo-dogs on leashes. Snarling creatures designed for the kill.
“I’ll let my boys take it from here to do their worst,” Avo said, with another smirk. “I’ve got a date with the Lady Algeana.” He scanned the skies. “Though if the witch thinks she’s going to escape with that monster, she’s barking mad.”
For the first time since losing Wes, Nat felt something. A surge of anger. That this loser could speak like that of her drakon. She was incredulous and furious.
Then she felt something else. Opportunity. She drew herself up. “What’s it to you? What do you want with the creature?” Nat asked. She tried to say it casually, but it was no use.
Avo only laughed. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” He motioned to the dead heads mounted on his tank’s wheel casing, as if to remind her what lay in store.
As Nat stared at the skulls, she found she wasn’t scared. It was too late for that. She had lost her heart twice in one day. Maybe she couldn’t save Wes, but she wasn’t going to let anything happen to her drakon.
And Avo is going to help me, whether he knows it or not.
Avo ordered his platoon to turn back to the city. “Radio the drones; we’re going hunting.”
Nat ignored his threat, her mind racing from what he’d told her. Avo was after her drakon, and Nat knew where Eliza had taken it. To the Gray Tower, to destroy it and the treasure it held—the spell that would fix their crumbling world.
Eliza meant to set the tower afire, to spread her darkness and her terror and her hate. So she could break and twist the world into something that matched her own broken and twisted experience.
But if Avo and his army were after Eliza and the drakon, it would slow her down, keep her from accomplishing her terrible mission.
The enemy of my enemy is my friend, Nat thought wryly, finding irony in the situation. Avo was helping their cause even as he promoted his own.
Good, thought Nat. Do that. Chase her down. Keep Eliza from the tower. Keep her from destroying what little hope they had left.
Just don’t touch my drakon.
Before he died, Faix had left her with the two tokens, a small gray key and a golden charm. Nat remembered the words he had left her, too, as clearly as if he had spoken to her at this very moment.
Find the Archimedes Palimpsest. Recast the binding spell. Light the flame. Make the world anew. Faix believed in her, she thought, her eyes shining. She couldn’t let him down, couldn’t let his death mean nothing.
Not his death, and not Wes’s.
But how can I fix the world, thought Nat, when I can’t even bring one lousy heart back to life?
The skulls on the tank shook as it rumbled to life in front of her as Avo walked toward it.
The Slaine brothers sprung into action. “Get the chains on her. On both of them,” ordered Daran, meaning Nat and Liannan. “What the freeze are you waiting for?”
Nat heard the sound of iron chains jangling as Liannan was restrained. Her own would be next. Iron to dampen the magic they held. Iron to keep them weak and bound.
Think, Nat. Do something. Make it matter.
Two choices lay before her—she could muster up the strength to fight, to make a stand and rally her crew to her side, or she could try to bring Wes back one more time.
It was one or the other. She didn’t have enough power to do both. Fight them or heal him. She only had one chip to play, one last card to draw.
And there was only ever one choice for Nat.
COME BACK TO ME, she willed, as she placed both hands on Wes’s chest and sent the last of her fire into his soul. The white spark left her fingers just as the iron collar was clamped around her neck.
Come on, Wes. Wake up. Come on. Make your way back to me. You know the way. We’ve done it before and we can do it again.
4
A FIRE WAS BURNING INSIDE HIM.
No, no, please—
A spark lit him up from the inside, warm and forgiving.
Let me be—
A life force—Nat’s life force.
That’s her name—
Nat.
He remembered now.
And with that, he knew everything about her, all at once. The girl he had met in New Vegas at a blackjack table. The girl he had transported across the black ocean and into the Blue. The girl who rode the drakon. The girl he loved.
She loves me and she needs me.
Every ounce of Nat’s strength and her love rushed into him, banishing the cold and the dark for good.
I cannot leave her like this. His heart thumped loudly in his chest, each beat stronger than the last. I will not.
And then suddenly, miraculously, his body obeyed.
Wes didn’t know how or why—but he could feel the change coming. Weightlessness became weight. Breathlessness became breath. A thousand cold hands suddenly let go of him, pushing him back up to the surface of the immense darkness. Wes felt the air suck into his chest, and the fire spark back into his heart. He twitched a single finger. It tapped against the deck like a moth.
Good. I can move.
It was all Wes could do not to try to sit up immediately, but when he felt Nat move away, instinct told him to hold, to wait. She’s in danger. His neck prickled with adrenaline. Surrounded. He could feel the tension all around her.
His senses told him they weren’t out of the clear and he didn’t have all his strength back yet. Feeling came back to his body slowly, working out from the center of his chest, out toward his toes, his fingertips.
His hearing sharpened. He recognized the heavy footsteps of his former comrade, accompanied by the smell of hair dye and two-credit sn
owshine, the kind of alcohol that got you drunk way too fast.
Avo Hubik. What icy luck.
Wes and Avo had fought on the same side of the war once, had been brothers in arms. Comrades. Soldiers. Heroes. They even had the same scar above their right eyebrow.
Then Avo had changed.
He began to take the jobs Wes had rejected. He trolled the black waters, doing the RSA’s dirty work. He took slaves to the flesh markets and to the White Temple. He’d been rewarded with his own military command, of course, and all the perks that came with it. Somewhere along the way, he’d lost the person he used to be. The soldier had turned slaver.
Meanwhile, Wes had survived on the margins of New Vegas, working his way down until he was hustling low-paying cons, playing coyote to those who wanted out of its borders. While Avo collected heat credits and kept his belly full of real meat and mead, Wes ate glop and swilled Nutri.
After Wes had left Nat at the Blue, he’d been forcibly redrafted into the service. It had been the most miserable time of his life and he quickly abandoned his post when he and Nat had found each other again. Unlike Avo, Wes didn’t have a tank or a command or a perk to his name, and that was fine with him.
More than fine. Wes twitched the fingers on his left hand into a fist. Better.
There was the loud clink of chains, which meant they had collared Nat. Liannan, too, most likely. RSA policy was to kill or subdue any marked or magic user first. He’d have to work fast. Wes strained to hear what else was going on—Avo was leaving—a stroke of luck. No. He’d called on more of his boys. Wes recognized the bickering voices but couldn’t believe it at first.
Godfreezeit—the Slaine brothers. Godfreezing freezeit—back from the dead and with chips on their shoulders the size of Santonio. Fate’s freezing fist—
It was all Wes’s fault; he should never have taken them on his team. He’d done his best to train them, to try to mold them into good soldiers, men who followed orders and did the right thing. He’d tried to show them a way out of bitterness and hatred. But the brothers had never listened to him, never endeavored to be more than thugs.
Without his influence, they had been left to fend for themselves, to let their darker nature fester and take over what little humanity they had left. From the sound of it, Avo had turned them into monsters.
“Didn’t think you would see us again, did you?” Daran was saying to Wes’s crew.
Wes opened his eyes slightly.
Hello, Daran. Can’t say it’s a pleasure to see you again.
The impatient, angry boy they had traveled the toxic seas with had been transformed during his time in Avo’s unit. Daran was no longer reckless and impulsive, but cruel and calculating, like his new commander. Wes could read it in the yellowing crisscrossing scars across his left cheek, his two missing fingers and his dead stare. He had nothing left to live for and nothing to fear.
Just another frozen, living dead.
Daran lazily spun his knives. “Let’s see, where should we start? Maybe with these two? As an appetizer?” He laughed, an ugly bray, as he pointed to Brendon and Roark.
Wes glanced another familiar face.
Zedric. The brother.
The look in his eye was equally inhumane.
“Good one, bro,” Zedric nodded, cleaning his bloodied knife on his pant leg. “Shall we?” he asked, setting his knife underneath Brendon’s trembling chin.
“Nah, hold on.”
Zedric twisted around angrily. “What?”
“Just cool it with the blade,” Daran said. The brothers were only a year apart, but Daran had always treated his younger brother like a kid. “I’ve got something else in mind.”
“Come on, man,” Zedric asked. “Let’s do ’em and be done with it.”
Daran shook his head. “I said cool it.”
Zedric shrugged. “Whatever.”
Wes suspected that underneath the bravado, Zedric was nervous and scared. He should be, Wes thought; Zedric had seen Nat toss Daran across the deck without lifting a finger, had witnessed Liannan’s power on the black ocean. There were images of Nat riding the drakon all over the nets.
They should all be scared of Nat.
She stood with her back to him now. He wished he could see her face, but he was glad he couldn’t—one look at her and he would have been unable to keep himself still, not for even a moment longer.
Zedric reluctantly withdrew his knife, but not without cutting a thin red line on Brendon’s neck, just because.
Brendon didn’t squirm, didn’t cry. Wes was proud of him.
“We need to do this slow—take our time, have some fun with it. Know what I’m saying?” Daran told his brother, his lips curving into a sick semblance of a grin.
“Wes should have let you drown,” said Shakes, looking like he wanted to draw a blade of his own. “Guess you caught that life preserver he tossed you, huh? Bobbed in the black ocean until you were picked up by an RSA patrol, is that it? Yeah, maybe next time he won’t be so merciful.”
Daran turned red. “SHUT UP!” And even though he’d told his brother to put away his knife, he pressed his own dagger against Shakes’s cheek, drawing blood. It dripped in a line down to his jaw. “Is that what you call mercy? You guys left me for dead!”
“Well, not exactly,” replied Shakes calmly, as the blood trickled down off his face. “If I recall things correctly, we didn’t exactly leave you. We had no wind and no motor. We had no way to rescue you. And, if I’m correct, it was you who got yourself thrown overboard in the first place. You fired on Liannan and angered the drakon. Not too smart, but then you never were, were you?”
“I SAID SHUT UP!” Daran yelled, and hit Shakes on the head with the butt of his rifle, knocking him out cold.
Liannan’s eyes welled with tears, but they didn’t fall.
Farouk was less restrained and addressed the younger brother. “What do you think’s the matter, Zed?” he asked. “Daran afraid of the truth?”
“Can’t believe you went back to this sorry excuse for a crew, man,” said Zedric, shaking his head. “Told you to stay with us. Now look where you ended up.”
“I’d rather die a man than live a slave,” said Farouk. “That’s all you are. Avo’s slaves.”
“Oh, you’re gonna die all right,” muttered Daran, as Zedric raised his club.
“And I’ll show you a man,” Zedric growled, swinging as hard as he could.
But nimble Farouk ducked from the blow, and when Zedric missed again, Farouk laughed until Daran came to help, catching Farouk right in the face with a hard punch.
Farouk fell to the deck. Wes winced. Two down and two chained. Only Brendon and Roark left. He’d have to count on them for backup.
Wes kept still, waiting for the right moment to strike. Whatever he planned to do, he’d have to do it fast—once the element of surprise was gone, he’d be at a disadvantage. He slowly clenched his fists, one after the other now, testing his reflexes.
“Forget the midgets,” he heard Daran say. “I want her.”
Her.
He meant Nat.
Of course.
Wes kept his eyes closed and gritted his teeth. It took all of his willpower not to rise and hit him in the face. Daran had it in for Nat from the beginning. Wes had always known that he’d been obsessed with her for being marked, being different.
But that wasn’t all. Daran also hated her for being beautiful and not returning his own attraction. Wes knew the type, the thugs in New Vegas who catcalled girls only to slash their faces when the girls didn’t respond to their advances. Those who would destroy what they could not have.
Daran never had a chance with Nat, whether Wes was around or not, and knowing that only made him hate her even more.
“Time to stop playing around,” Daran said. “Finish what we started back there on the w
ater.”
Wes raised his eyelids a little more to see what was happening, his heart beating painfully in his chest.
Daran now had Nat in a close embrace, his mouth against her ear.
Wes bristled.
“I heard the marked are good luck,” Daran whispered. “Maybe I’ll cut out your eyes and string them on a necklace.” His hand cupped her chin, and turned her to face him. “What do you think? Or make a belt out of your hide? Carve a buckle from your bones?”
Nat remained silent as stone, gazing at him with contempt.
“But before I do, I think . . . I think I’d like a taste of what Wesson had,” he leered.
Wes felt his strength returning as his fury grew.
Don’t even think it.
“We’ll share,” said Zedric eagerly. “Both of them,” he said, seeming to find courage in his brother’s perversion. “Come,” he said, pulling Liannan up by the hair and laughing. “Or should we make the little ones watch?”
I’ll kill you both, with my own hands. Wes kept still, his eyes trained on the knife tucked inside Daran’s waistband. Closer, closer, he thought. Come closer.
“Make them all watch,” said Daran, his long pink tongue tracing a line from Nat’s neck to her collarbone. “If only your boyfriend wasn’t dead so he could see this,” he said.
“He’s not dead,” Nat said bravely. “And when he wakes up you’ll wish you were.”
“Yeah, right.” Daran laughed. With a swiftness powered by lust, he pushed Nat down to the deck, forcing her flat on her back, right next to Wes. He could hear her uneven breath as she tried not to panic.
Hold on, Nat, Wes thought. Hold on. I’m here. Let him come closer. Just a little closer.
Daran grinned down at Nat and motioned to Wes. “I’m going to enjoy making you mine next to his dead body.”
“As if,” Nat sneered, unafraid. She was baiting him, knowing Daran was easier to fight when he lost his temper. Wes knew it, too, but that didn’t make it any easier to watch.
Daran kicked her in the stomach.
You’ll pay for that, thought Wes.
Golden Page 3
