Morgan’s eyes fell back, not to Emily’s, but mine.
Daring me.
He gave us two more seconds, and then snapped again. The report sounded, and even I almost started as it ripped through the shoulder of a man not three feet from us. Four seconds this time, and then the pistol swung to face Seth.
That broke her. An instant before Morgan’s finger fell against his palm, Emily stepped from behind me.
“No!” Brianna yelled.
My heart dropped. Morgan smiled, his gaze slowly moving to where Brianna stood, separate from the others. She’d been the only one safe. The only one he wouldn’t risk shooting.
He needed her.
“She’s immune to your sway,” Brianna said. “We both are.”
Emily’s hand shifted to her back, but I stilled it. This was no time to stab Morgan, not when he’d turned the whole of his army against us. At least she still had a chance. She, and Brianna, could live.
Brianna’s shoulders straightened, and her eyes roamed Morgan’s men. “You can’t make us bend to your will,” she said. “You’ve proven that.”
Morgan slipped a hand casually into the pocket of his slacks, as if her speech was no more than entertainment.
“If you kill another,” she said, “I will not go with you. Ever.” She stepped forward. “What you had in my mother will be lost to you. Again.”
At her final threat, he took pause.
Brianna gave him a moment to fully appreciate her words. And then, “I will submit to you, to save the others.” She took a deep, steadying breath, willing this last-ditch effort to work, making this one sacrifice that would take everything from her. “It’s the only way, Morgan. Reverse the sway, and I will go with you freely.”
The muscles on Emily’s arm tensed completely, but I held her in my grip. If Morgan accepted this, it would give them all a chance. He wouldn’t hurt Brianna. Not until he knew.
I squeezed, hoping to somehow convey the idea that this could buy us time. We could rescue her. Before he tried the union, she could escape.
Morgan’s head tilted to the side, considering her offer.
Brianna took another step forward. “I can give it all to you,” she said. “Everything my mother did.”
After a moment, he laughed, a kind of joyous, disbelieving chuckle, and then raised his hands. “Deal.” He smiled. “But my brother comes with us.”
Emily’s hand fell from her blade, and her head jerked to stare at me. She knew, without a doubt, that I would go. I had to, to save her. To save Brianna.
It was the only way.
And I would not show Morgan my weakness for her again.
“Release them,” Brianna said as I walked forward.
Morgan shook his head absently at her demand, but glanced briefly at the men surrounding them. When his gaze returned to Brianna, he held out a hand.
She didn’t move. “All of them.”
A guilty smile lifted the corner of his mouth, and he tipped his head in a nod before turning back to his men. I wondered how Brianna knew, if this was part of her gift, or if she was bluffing.
Morgan concentrated harder this time, even laying hands on several of the men.
When he finally turned back to her, Brianna met us at the center of the room, where I stayed a few paces back from my brother.
He indicated the men should go, but then stopped, holding up the first finger of his left hand. “One more thing.”
The flash of metal caught my eye a split second before the realization of what he was about to do kicked in. To anyone else, it might have seemed he was merely returning Emily’s blade, but to me, it was a certainty. Morgan had never dealt with knives enough to know how to properly wield one, and the looseness in his grip told me in the last few hours, he’d learned. Not well enough to be a marksman, but enough to kill Emily, even at this distance, and he’d done so specifically for this. To return the injury she’d given him. I was acting without thought, flying through the air to tackle him and break the wrist that held her blade.
Brianna gasped as we landed at her feet, Council and Division men shuffling in the confusion of an instant’s events. They stared on at Morgan’s bloody nose, his torn shirt, the knife that now lay beside us as my hands wrapped tightly around his throat. I didn’t know what was happening behind me. I didn’t see Emily’s response. All I knew was that this monster that had once been my brother was not going to heal out of this. He would not take another breath.
But something had happened. Something in Emily’s gaze or something in the strength of my reaction, or some unknown trigger caused Morgan to come out of the immediacy of the fight, to understand my response. It was as if I could see it click. Deep within his eyes, he knew.
His face was purpling, but his eyes stared past me, and when they returned, it was no question he saw the bond. He knew what the Division had planned. He knew there was another way. And he could see it wasn’t Brianna, but Emily. The girl immune to his sway. The girl he’d tried to kill.
The struggle went out of his limbs, but not because he was giving up. He went slack, because he was using all of his focus on something else. His hands rested on my forearms as the rage swept through him. If he couldn’t win, no one would.
When the idea came into my head, I could do nothing to stop it. Because it was my thought now. My objective. I was powerless as my grip on Morgan let go to find and grasp the knife beside us. Time stilled, but it did nothing to save me. I couldn’t scream. I couldn’t warn her. My movements were swift, too practiced, too fast, and in a fraction of a second, and I was standing in front of Brianna. No one realized she was in danger. No one knew to stop me. My left arm braced her shoulder and my right swung true. I could do nothing else.
I could do nothing else.
Brianna stared into my eyes as her blood ran down my arms, rushing warm and wet through my hands, over the hilt of the blade I had stabbed beneath her chest.
“It was the only way,” she breathed.
Chapter Twenty-eight
Recompense
Somewhere behind me there was a scream. Brianna’s legs gave, and I caught her, speechless as I wrapped my arms around her. Brendan was suddenly there, taking her free of my grasp, and Emily, gods, Emily.
Emily was screaming.
“Get her to a hospital! For Christ’s sake, help her!” She frantically searched the room for someone to respond, and then Brianna’s hand slipped over hers and their gazes locked. “She can’t heal,” Emily whimpered. “She’s not like you. She needs a doctor.”
Brendan was shouting orders, and Division men were rushing to her aid. They had a surgeon on staff. They would help her.
A wheezing croak came from the floor beside me, and I looked down to see Morgan’s laugh. Nothing remained in me then but black rage. I was on him, pummeling him with blow after blow. I knew a hundred ways to kill a man, but this, this wasn’t going to be an easy death. I was senseless, beating and bashing without thought or reason until I was empty. A shell. And I became aware of a hand on my shoulder.
Morgan was unconscious, blood bubbling from his nose in small, weak puffs. But that was not what stopped me. It was the blood on Brendan. It was Brianna’s blood.
It was a reminder. She had said my brother must live. To keep the rest of us safe, Morgan could not die.
I lifted a shaky hand to my chest, wiping the dampness as I surveyed the room. Emily was gone. Morgan’s men were struck dumb, staring fixedly at the unmoving body beneath me. They had to know. Once Morgan had released them, they had to understand they’d been under his power.
“Go home,” Brendan said weakly. “Go home and we will work this out tomorrow. Aern,” he murmured as he wrapped a hand around my bicep to pull me to standing, “come on, you’re injured.”
I glanced down, surprised to find the knife wound in my side. I’d not even felt it.
Brendan’s gaze fell to Seth and Eric, and he gestured with a jerk of his head for them to tend to the others.
“Yes, sir,” he said. I thought he seemed somehow taller, but I was leaning heavily on Brendan now.
“Then get to it,” Brendan said. “We’ve got a secure room on the lower level. It looks like he’s out, but make sure no one touches him.”
Wesley nodded. “Absolutely.”
He rushed toward Morgan, calling orders to several other men for assistance, and I glanced at Brendan.
He shrugged. “Beats me. I’m just doing as I was told.”
I coughed, and it tasted of copper.
“Right,” Brendan said, “let’s get you some rest.”
When I woke, Emily was at my bedside, hand wrapped loosely in mine. I blinked, and then jerked to sitting as the memories came back to me.
“Whoa,” Emily murmured, moving to still me before I made it to my feet. “It’s okay.”
“Brianna—”
“She’s fine.” She pressed me back to sit on the edge of the bed before her. “She’s resting. The doctor was able to stitch her up.”
My shoulders fell. “Oh, Emily, I’m so sorry—”
She put her fingers to my lips and saw the sick horror in my eyes. I had stabbed her sister.
She brushed her hand over my forehead, leaning forward to leave a slow kiss in its wake. “There’s nothing to forgive, Aern.”
A nauseated groan came out as my forehead dropped onto her side and she pulled me to her, rubbing a hand over my hair until my arms wrapped around her. It wasn’t until she shifted that I realized we weren’t alone.
I drew back from her to question why there were men outside my door.
“Brendan wanted to speak with you as soon as you woke,” she explained.
My brows drew together, and she stared at me like I was missing something obvious.
“To see what you wanted to do about the men.”
“The men?”
She glanced at the door, then back to me. “Your men.” Council.
I closed my eyes.
A full minute passed.
Emily whispered, “Aern?”
“Just. Just give me a minute,” I said through a wince.
I heard the smile in her voice. “Well, don’t take too long, it’s nearly morning.”
I opened one eye. “Tuesday?”
She looked confused for a moment. Nodded without much conviction. “Yeah, I think so.”
I blew out a deep breath before standing. “Tell Brendan I will be down shortly,” I said to the men waiting outside.
Emily began to step back from me, but I enfolded her tightly in my arms. “Tuesday?”
She waited.
“I have something for you.” I kissed her, slow and deliberate, and when I finally pulled away, she blinked dazedly.
“Do I get this every Tuesday?” she asked.
I smiled. She’d forgotten her birthday. I would tell her later. After we’d seen Brianna. After the men were dealt with. After I knew everyone who’d been lost.
She saw the nausea rise up again, and tugged on my hand. “Come on, let’s get some breakfast and take care of the men.”
I walked with her through the halls, but drew to a stop as we approached a large picture window. The sun was coming up, spreading over the trees in waves of crimson and orange.
“It can wait a few minutes,” I said, glancing at Emily as the light colored her cheeks.
She smiled, and we stood together as morning dawned.
We were linked. We had created the union, fulfilled the prophecy. Brianna was safe, and she would restore our heritage. Morgan was no longer a threat. There would be no war, because the Seven Lines were in my control.
We were going to live.
My chest eased where I’d not realized it had been bound, and I took a deep breath.
Emily looked up at me, her green eyes finally clear of the ceaseless worry over her sister, the prophecy, finally looking ahead to something else. Something unknown.
“What now?” she asked.
I sighed. “I guess we rule the world.”
She glared at me and I gave her my best crooked smile as I pulled her tighter to my side.
DESCENANTS SERIES
BOOK TWO
SHIFTING FATE
Prologue
Brianna
It was my birthday. I was eighteen years old, lying in a hospital bed at the Division, waiting to find out who had died. This was the life of a prophet.
This was my life.
“Brianna,” Brendan said the moment he came through the door. I was so relieved to hear something other than the steady beep, beep, beep of the monitors, I actually smiled.
It was the wrong thing to do.
Brendan took my hand as he sat on the stool beside my bed. It was too awkward to pull away, and too uncomfortable to let it pass. I tried to sit up, but he protested. Instead, he rose to adjust the head of the bed a few inches higher. When he settled back onto the stool, my hands were resting in my lap. He took one anyway.
“Brianna,” he repeated, and he was so utterly relieved that I felt a pang of guilt at wanting to deny him. I liked Brendan, I did.
I swallowed hard, forcing the thought away. “Who was hurt? Is there anyone I can help?”
Brendan shook his head. “No. No more of that. You need to recover, Brianna.”
“I’m fine.” I stared him down. “They said I was fine.”
He smiled. “They aren’t lying to you.” His eyes fell to my side, where the white cotton blankets covered the hours-old wound. “The cut was clean, and somehow, Aern managed to miss anything important.”
His eyes came back to mine. The blades had been my request. I had chosen them specially, and Brendan had gone out of his way to bring them in time. For my sister. The chosen.
I did pull away then, because I could not share the prophecy. It was all too fresh.
Brendan leaned back, his hands falling to the legs of his black slacks. I finally got a good look at him then; his button-up shirt was rolled at the sleeves, wrinkled and smudged. He was not himself yet. He’d had no sleep.
“How many were lost?” I whispered.
He took a deep breath. “Too many. Far too many.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I wish I could have done better.”
His jaw clenched. “Don’t. Don’t take this on yourself, Brianna. Everyone knows it was my order. I made the call.”
I closed my eyes. “I’m sorry.”
Suddenly, the sound of a throat clearing came from the doorway. I opened my eyes to see my sister, fingers laced tightly into Aern’s.
“Emily,” I said, grateful to see her well. Safe.
Brendan stood, drumming the tips of his fingers against his leg, and gestured toward the others. “I’ll let you …”
As he passed them on his way out, Emily wagged her eyebrows at me. But I had to look away, because I hadn’t told her about the man in my visions. The man who wasn’t Brendan.
And then guilt struck again, because it was one more secret I was keeping from her.
“How are you?” she asked as they reached my bedside.
“Fine,” I answered, smiling until my gaze trailed to Aern. He stood beside her, face so distorted with remorse, shame, and absolute regret that I couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. When he opened his mouth to speak, I raised a hand to stop him. “No, Aern. Don’t even say it.”
He uttered the first syllable and I said, “Stop.”
Emily’s lip twitched and her eyes fell to their hands, both white-knuckled with his grip on her.
“Brianna,” he growled, “Please let me—”
I cut him off. “No. I won’t let you apologize for something that wasn’t your fault.”
We all knew how the sway worked, and there was no question he’d done everything he could to subvert Morgan’s order, to save me by not going for the kill. By missing every
vital organ.
But that didn’t stop the torture of guilt. I stared straight into his beautiful, grief-stricken eyes. It hadn’t just been me. Aern had lost so many of his men. His friends. His family.
An apology of my own almost came out, but I held it back, pushing it into the pit of my stomach where all of the other guilt lay so heavily. Instead, I said, “It was the only way.”
Chapter One
Wounds
On the eve of my eighteenth birthday, I’d been stabbed. I had known it was coming, but there could be no other path, and I’d had to accept it. Such was my life.
So I couldn’t say I was surprised weeks later when the man with the gun appeared in my bedroom.
“Don’t make a sound,” he warned, his voice low, emotionless.
I held up my hands slowly, showing him I meant no harm.
He flicked the barrel of the pistol once, indicating I move toward the dresser. I stepped sideways, never taking my eyes off him. I’d not foreseen this, and I couldn’t help but be annoyed. A little heads-up would have been nice.
I tried to remember what lay on top of my dresser. A decorative bowl, a notepad, a paperback novel my sister had given me during my recovery. Nothing that would help me now.
“Turn around,” the man whispered. I swallowed hard against the lump in my throat. The gun had a silencer. He would be one of Morgan’s men. If I made one wrong move, he’d wound me. Shoot me in the thigh or the shoulder; prevent me from trying to escape.
“I understand you think you have to do this,” I started in as quiet of a tone as I could manage.
He took three swift steps toward me, the barrel of the pistol moving down to aim at my leg.
“No,” I whispered, cringing back as my hands remained palms out.
His eyes narrowed on me and I nodded, slowly turning toward the wall. There has to be a way, I thought. Some way to convince him Morgan’s directions were wrong, that they no longer mattered.
The barrel pressed into my shoulder blade, and the metal seemed unnaturally cold, hard, and round.
Descendants Series Page 16
