Descendants Series

by Melissa Wright

That they were alive.

  Boots slapping concrete echoed past my door, Morgan’s men running, fighting. They would have a plan, wouldn’t they? Some way to remove me from the property? My eyes found the material hanging from the wall opposite me, where GQ had indicated a camera. “I’m here,” I whispered to anyone but them. “Here.”

  Something slammed against the metal door, sending a jolt through me. I pulled at the ties on my wrists, fresh blood welling to run over the dry, caked mess they’d left of my skin. The clang of bullet striking steel reverberated through the room, and a shadow fell over the thin crack of light beneath the door. A body slumped against it. One of Morgan’s? One of ours?

  An unnatural shriek tore through the building, some metal structure falling against pipe or wall. I cringed, drawing my shoulders up short, unable to even cover my ears. Dust fell from the brick above me, sprinkling onto the floor and reminding me of the last attack. Explosions couldn’t follow, not while I was locked here, strapped to a block wall. Light flickered, the man blocking my door having vanished, and narrow strips of black as boots moved in front of it. I held my breath, praying it wasn’t Morgan, wasn’t one of his men. Suddenly, the door was flung open, light spreading across the floor quicker than a heartbeat to reveal my savior.

  A gasp of air escaped my lungs, leaving me breathless, unable to even speak his name. I’d thought he was gone, I’d thought it was too late. Every part of me wanted to go to him, to grab hold of this reality with all of my might, but I was bound, tied to the wall and unable to do anything except stare.

  “Brianna,” he said, already to me, his hands crushing the sides of my face, moving down my arms as he verified I was unharmed. My chest heaved in a silent sob of relief, finally able to capture a breath. It was him. It was Logan.

  He reached down to his leg where he knelt beside me, grabbing a tool that would cut me free without taking his eyes off mine. And then he stopped. His voice was deadly. “Where is he?”

  Morgan. Morgan wasn’t here. Panicked, I said, “Emily. He’s going for her, Logan. He knows.”

  Logan leaned forward, working to free my hands, but I wanted him to understand, to realize what was happening. “Logan,” I said again, “Morgan figured it out, he knows what she can do.”

  My hands came free, the sudden release causing me to sag forward. My arms were numb, asleep, and I dragged them forward as Logan released my waist. He was in front of me, rubbing life back into my arms, purposefully not looking at the wounds crossing my wrists, when he said, “I know.”

  My mouth fell open, ready to argue that he couldn’t possibly have understood, and his expression was so relieved, so tortured, that I wavered. “Where is she?” I asked.

  “I’m not sure,” he answered. “They were looking for you, we all were.” He straightened. “We need to go, Brianna. Can you stand?”

  I nodded, not entirely positive I could given the pins and needles running through my arms, but my legs had been free. Surely they could get me to safety. “Where are we?” I whispered, listening for the sounds of fighting outside, though they seemed to have faded.

  He took my arm, helping me to my feet, and said, “About an hour south of Stanton.”

  It wasn’t what I expected. My brows drew together. “How did you know where to find me?”

  “I didn’t,” he answered, a trace of fatigue showing on his face. “That’s what took so long. We’ve been to every property listed on the Council registers.”

  It was an apology, and it tore through me.

  “Logan,” I started.

  “We have to go,” he reminded me, cutting off any chance of argument when he called to his team outside the door.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The Key

  Our escape was a blur. Logan’s team had rushed us from the building so quickly, so expertly, that I hadn’t even had time to process it. They’d found Aern—reached him via cellphone where he’d been fighting with a small band of Morgan’s men—and he and Emily were unharmed, heading for the Council buildings to meet us. Logan had me wrapped in a blanket, pulled tight against him as we rode in the back of a large SUV. Neither of us cared that two of his men were in the seats ahead of us.

  He squeezed my fingers in his, stroking the back of my hand with a thumb, his other arm around me. My palm was filthy, covered in dirt and rust-colored blood, but I wasn’t about to take it out of his hand. Raw, red lines marked my wrists, skin torn in bloody bands through the tattoos that marked me chosen. Unable to look at it, my gaze trailed over Logan’s strong hands, smudged and dirty in their own right. And then I realized it was his own blood.

  “Logan,” I breathed, sitting up to face him, “you’re hurt.”

  He shook his head, trying to pull me back to him, but I saw his face then—the scratches, the thin line of a cut running into the collar of his shirt. My stomach turned at the sight of it, but not because it was life-threatening. Because all this time, all the hours we’d spent together, I’d not protected him. My eyes found the scar at his temple, the faint line disappearing into his hair I’d noticed days ago, and I winced, brushing a finger over the wound with the barest of touches.

  He saw the pain in my face and took my hand in his. “Brianna, I’m fine.”

  “No,” I whispered. “Logan, I’m so sorry.”

  I laid eyes on the wound on his neck and he knew my intention. He placed his palm against my cheek, turning my gaze to face him. “I’m fine, Brianna. Save your strength.”

  My chest squeezed at his words, his touch. It was as if I’d forgotten to help him, to let him heal faster the way I’d done with the others. I knew why. I’d been afraid to truly be with him, to connect with him. Because he’d been the one in the vision. My one.

  He pulled me back down to hold me, and I allowed it, but I wouldn’t save my strength for something else. I wouldn’t risk him again. I laid my palm against his, searching for the connections to repair Logan’s power. It was the one thing I could give him.

  Because of what I was.

  If he noticed the tingle or the warmth in his palm, he didn’t mention it, but the change had definitely taken effect, because by the time we reached the Council buildings, both of us were completely asleep.

  “Brianna,” Emily yelled from the open door of the SUV. I jolted and Logan tensed beneath me. Emily held a hand to her chest. “What is it with you people?”

  A half-laugh escaped as I moved for her, hating that we’d scared her by looking so motionless, but deliriously happy to see her safe. I stumbled out of the vehicle, Emily, Logan, and two guards all reaching to steady me, and wrapped her in a hug. It was more than being glad we were okay. It was the letter.

  Emily had read it, too; I could see it in her eyes, feel it in her grip. She had known that other language and Logan would have given her the only clue, the pages I’d left in his room when I went missing.

  I pulled back, staring into her eyes, willing her to be okay, and she said, “Well, it’s good to finally know.”

  I smiled. She hated being made to find the good in every situation. “Yes, there’s that,” I said.

  Logan took my elbow. “Let’s get you inside.”

  They escorted me to a room, where food and water, a clean wardrobe, and anything they could think of that I’d possibly need waited for me. However, there was one thing missing. I turned to Emily. “Is Aern hurt?”

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. “He’ll be fine, Brianna. He’s just sleeping.”

  “Was it bad?” I asked, knowing there was only one reason he’d be asleep in the middle of the morning.

  She bit her lip. “It wasn’t good, exactly. But”—she glanced at Logan, back to me—“he’s healing really fast, Bri.”

  I didn’t say anything. That was how it worked, wasn’t it. Just like Morgan, the powers he’d received from our mother. She’d only made the connections, they’d had to be used, strengthened. The last time he’d shown up to attack, he’d turned Division men without as much as a gl
ance.

  But it didn’t matter anymore. Because we knew what Emily could do. She had the power to break those bonds. She could shut down their gifts.

  All I had to do was figure out how. To find a way, let her use it.

  “And what happened at Southmont?” I asked. “Who else was hurt?”

  “There was a lot of damage to the lower levels,” Logan said. “The first blast was dulled by the reinforced walls they installed a year ago. Fortunately, it served as a warning and got most of us moving before the next run of explosions.”

  Logan had apparently been protected by one of those walls, and had returned to his room in time for the second blast, the one that had thrown me into a wall, to find six of Morgan’s men waiting for him. He’d been lucky to get out before that wing collapsed.

  “And the fire,” Emily added.

  “Yes,” Logan said, his gaze sliding away briefly. “The final detonation ignited the estate. But most of the Division men escaped with their lives.”

  “Wesley?” I asked.

  “He’s fine,” Emily promised. “He’d tried to stop Morgan, but he’s recovering well from the fight. Eric and Seth got both he and Brendan out in time.”

  Brendan. They’d not repeated Morgan’s story, not mentioned that he was the person responsible for Morgan’s escape, but I could tell by the way Logan’s fist tightened against his leg that they knew.

  Emily stood, handing me the folded paper of our mother’s letter, and said, “Logan saved it. And there’s something else, Brianna.” I glanced up at her. “The other prophet, the one of the Seven Lines, she was a plant.”

  A shadow.

  I stared at her, the gravity of her words sinking in, and knew that she, that Aern and Logan, understood as well as I did what it meant. There were no prophets within the Seven Lines. She’d been a shade, a shadow. One of us.

  And they’d been hiding shadows amongst the Seven for as long as the prophecy existed.

  When I came out of the shower, Logan was still there, watching my door. While Emily was in the room, he’d splashed his face, changed his shirt, but he hadn’t moved in the half hour since she’d gone.

  “Logan,” I said, crossing to sit on the small sofa beside him, “you need rest. You need a shower.”

  He reached for my hand, turning it so that his finger rested over the base of my tattoo, just below the line of damage left by the ties, and said. “No.”

  I tilted my head to see his face, his dark amber eyes, and his square jaw. “No?”

  His gaze met mine, unflinching, and he said, “I’m not leaving you, Brianna. Not again.”

  My heart clenched as the moment changed. They weren’t just words, they were a confession, a promise. And not from my protector. From Logan.

  His hand slid to my waist, pulling me onto his lap, and his words returned to my mind full force. Is it now? I hadn’t recognized it, distracted as I was, but the scene fell into place. This was my Logan, this was the vision. His thumb skimmed over the skin of my waist, but when it passed near my scar, it didn’t bring that unease it had before. This time, the response was purely physical. I shivered, whispering his name.

  He stared into my eyes, and I wanted him to kiss me.

  Is it now? He had asked so many times, my gaze fell to his lips, waiting. I had his answer, but he didn’t ask. When he finally decided, wanted it the way that I wanted it, he simply took my mouth with his, pressing me against him as my heart raced. And it wasn’t what I’d seen, wasn’t what I’d expected. Every sensation I was missing in the vision was magnified in the soft warmth of his lips, the way his hands felt against the bare skin of my waist. This was not the kiss that had been repeated since I was a girl. That vision could not encompass the fluttering ache in my chest, his scent, the very taste of him as his lips moved softly over mine.

  Slowly, I drew away, staring into his eyes, and Logan wiped a tear from my cheek with the pad of his thumb. I understood something then, something that I’d not allowed myself much time to focus on, because the visions only showed me pivotal moments. This vision, this kiss, was a moment that would decide me forever.

  I was his.

  I slid a hand to his chest, just to touch him, and felt a vague pang of disappointment that we’d not created a physical bond, not in the way that Emily and Aern had. I wondered if Logan felt that way, too, as I remembered his words, the questions he’d had about their connection. I leaned forward, brushing my lips to his once more, and the words aligned in my mind. The heir to the dragon’s name will rule with their union.

  “Aern,” I breathed, and Logan’s eyes snapped open at the sound of another man’s name between us.

  The confusion on his face was so adorable, my utter relief at finally having the key such a reprieve, that I barked out a laugh.

  Clearly Logan didn’t think it was funny.

  “Aern,” I said. “It’s the bond, Logan. That’s the reason I can’t find the connection in Emily. Because it’s not there.” I leaned back, shaking my head. “It’s there, but … just not where I was looking for it. It’s in her bond, her link with Aern.”

  Logan looked torn, unsure what to make of this abrupt change in direction, how to deal with it.

  “That’s why we don’t have it,” I whispered, fingers curling into his shirt, “because I’m Emily’s opposite, Logan. I can repair the connections, she destroys them.”

  He straightened, keeping me settled on his lap, and said, “You’ve got it.”

  “Yes,” I said, leaning forward to kiss him again. “Yes, Logan. I think that’s it.”

  I jumped to my feet. “Come on, let’s go find Emily.” He stood, hand still in mine, starting for the door. “Wait,” I said, jerking him to a stop.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  I glanced down at my bare feet in the carpet. “Shoes first. I’m not going anywhere without shoes.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Threads

  We found Emily with Aern in their room. They’d kept the suites Aern had used before he’d left Council, a modest set of rooms done up in earth tones with a window facing the south lawn. Aern had just woken, and he stood behind Emily, hands on the back of her chair, not a sign of injury visible anywhere.

  “So, what,” she asked, “I’m just supposed to find Morgan and zap his power away?”

  “I don’t know,” I answered truthfully. “I only know what will happen if you don’t.”

  Aern leaned forward. “And how exactly do we know if it’s successful?”

  “I hadn’t gotten that far,” I said. “I guess we’ll have to try it on one of your men.” I shook my head. “It’s the only thing I’ve got, Aern, and it feels right.”

  Emily shrugged a shoulder. “Okay, then I guess we should get started.” She held her hands out to me, palms up.

  “I don’t think that will work,” I explained. “I think I need you to touch Aern.” Her hands drew back; she glanced at the table, then me. “I’m not going to do anything to the bond, Emily. I just need to see it, to understand how our connections work, and I think it will be easier if you’re in contact with him.”

  Aern pulled out the chair beside her, sitting across from me at the table, and took Emily’s hand. She slid her free hand over to mine. “This is very séance-y.”

  “Well,” I said, “if this works, the whole thing’s about to get a lot freakier than this.” I closed my eyes, taking a long, deep breath as I searched out the connections that were so different than the ones I’d found in the others. I’d felt them in Emily before, but I’d believed them to be unique ties to Aern, nothing more than her bond, the prophesied union. But I felt that push, and I knew they were more. They were a representation of our power. It wasn’t some mystical force that tied Emily to Aern. It was that she’d decided, that she’d chosen to link herself with him, and he’d accepted it. It was like the pulse, but stronger, more solid. Unbroken.

  It was her power. And if I could free it, she’d be able to tear a man down just as
easily.

  Aern cleared his throat. “Should I feel that?”

  Emily’s hand twitched, but she didn’t pull away. “What?”

  My eyes stayed closed, testing the strands, comparing the threads to my own.

  “That,” Aern said.

  “I don’t feel anything,” Emily countered. “Brianna, why don’t I feel anything?”

  “Because you,” I said evenly, “aren’t of the Seven.” I opened my eyes. “And you’re not simply human. You’re a shade.”

  Her gaze flicked to Aern, and I could tell she was checking the bond.

  “I didn’t do anything,” I told her. “I couldn’t if I wanted to.”

  Her eyes narrowed on me. “And why would you want to?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t, Emily. I’m just saying.” I wet my lips, glancing at Logan instead of remembering the vision, remembering Aern and the fire. “Your bond protects him, I think. Makes it so another shade couldn’t reach his power unless you allowed it.”

  “Another shade?” Aern asked. “Brianna—”

  I held up a hand. “In theory, I mean. All of this is a guess. I’m sorry, it’s not like I have a manual or anything. This is all new to me.”

  Logan placed a hand on my shoulder, prepared to say something, but my body convulsed as a vision slammed into me.

  Morgan, standing in front of a group of men, hand outstretched as he turned them with his sway. The dark-haired GQ stood beside him, his mouth twisted at the corner in a knowing smirk. I had the strangest feeling he knew I could see him.

  “No,” Emily screamed, “this isn’t like her. She doesn’t just fall down and convulse, Aern. You’ve seen her. We have to wake her up. Now.”

  I’d apparently missed a line or two of their argument. I tried to move my hand, to let her know I was okay, but it wouldn’t cooperate. I couldn’t quite break free.

  “Brianna,” Logan said from my other side. “Brianna, you need to come back to us. Can you feel my hand?”

  I did then, feel his touch in my hand, but I couldn’t make out what had happened. “I’m all right,” I mumbled. “I just need to sleep.”