Unborn

by Natusch, Amber Lynn

  Every muscle in Casey’s body tensed.

  “I’d go easy on the insults, Oz,” Drew warned. “If you piss him off enough, I’ll let him loose, and when the brawl breaks out I won’t have any intention of intervening.” Oz scoffed haughtily at Drew’s threat. “You still haven’t answered my question yet, Oz. Why is it that we need you?”

  “If you want to find them, then I’m your best asset in that endeavor. The dead may call to Casey, but they scream for me,” Oz purred; the air of violence circulating around him delighted him. “I couldn’t escape their call if I traveled to the farthest ends of the earth. It’s a part of who I am—imprinted on my soul.”

  “You have no soul,” Casey observed, his words not a slur of character but a statement of fact.

  “My soul is very much intact, Casey,” Oz growled. “The fact that I choose to ignore it is hardly an issue of importance at the moment. Only Dark Ones are without the ability to feel the presence of the Stealers, and I am hardly that.” When there was no response from the others, his arrogance took over, and he began taunting Casey even further. “I’m also rather skilled at eliminating them, in case you didn’t notice.”

  “At ease, Casey,” Drew ordered, that strange crackle in the air as he said it. Grudgingly, Casey lowered his weapon, sheathing it in his chest strap. “It seems we may need him after all, presuming that he can be trusted to do what needs to be done, when it needs to be done.” Drew stared Oz down, seeking a sign that his conditions were understood, but received nothing in return. “I’m thrilled to know that you have some semblance of a soul, Oz, but I’m curious as to how you came to realize the Stealers were back. That detail seems a bit fuzzy still, and I’d like to clarify it because, as you well know, the return of an evil force like that is something you should have most certainly shared with us—immediately. And I’m not sure thÙm ating tat’s what you did, unless your contention is that you only found out about them this evening . . .”

  Oz’s gaze fell on me for the first time since I’d entered the living room. His stare was cold and hardened—everything I’d known him to be. There was no shred of the angel who had fought beside me.

  “I had my suspicions at the club last night . . . especially when she stripped down and nearly swan-dived off the balcony,” he said, his eyes returning to Drew. “But it had been a long time since I’d felt the presence of a Stealer. And, with all the other evil dwelling in that place, I couldn’t be sure. I just knew something was wrong.” He paused for a moment, returning his gaze to me. His eyes softened, if only for a second. “Then later that night Khara came to me. That’s when I knew that what I had felt that night was a Stealer. That is why she acted so strangely.”

  “She came to you? How is that confirmation of anything?” Drew pressed, his frustration mounting. “I don’t understand how those two things coincide, but I sure as hell better in a hurry.”

  Drew’s indirect threat had no effect on Oz.

  “For whatever reason, their darkness calls to her—influences her,” Oz struggled to explain. “I saw it that night in the club. I saw it tonight when we fought the Stealers in the street outside the house. And I saw it last night when she came for me, needing flesh in a way that she surely never has before. That alone would have been all the proof I needed. The night she exposed herself, the Stealer’s effect had been lasting and strong—his thrall all-consuming.” Again he paused, a brief look of sadness marring his standard haughty expression. “She inherently sought out any form of darkness she could find to satiate it.”

  “Meaning?” Drew asked, sounding less irritated and far more angry.

  Oz gritted his teeth violently.

  “Meaning she tried to get me to fuck her brains out.”

  Drew faltered for a moment, blindsided by the crude phrasing of Oz’s response.

  “And did you manage not to stick your dick in her before that realization?” Casey asked, his hand reaching for the hilt of his dagger. His words were a test. Had Oz failed it, blood would have been shed.

  “Of course,” he scoffed, his trademark arrogance tainting his reply. “She’s not exactly my type, in case you hadn’t noticed. I prefer mine a little less uptight and a tad more compliant.” A wide, satisfied smile spread across his face—a show for those who looked on. Oddly, as he stared the others down, his eyes strategically never settled on mine.

  “Then you get to live,” Casey said, taking his hand away from his weapon of choice.

  “Which is really for the best, given that you didn’t have any knowledge of his presence that night in the club. Like it or not, Casey, you need me.”

  Drew ignored the posturing that was starting again to address me directly.

  “Did this happen as he claims?” Drew asked, looking far more composed than he had when Oz first informed him of my near indiscretion the previous night.

  “It did. I cannot explain what occurred, or why it did. My body demanded things that my mind would never have sanctioned, had it been in control. I believe it was the darkness. It seems that I have few defenses against my attraction to it.”

  “I will see what I can find,” Pierson declared. “There must be a way to shield you from it, if only temporarily.”

  “Good idea, Pierson,” Drew concurred. “Now, can we get back to the part where you explain precisely how you knew they were after her, Oz?”

  “I thought that’s what I just did,” he replied, annoyance polluting his tone. “Do you think it was a coincidence that there was a Stealer at the Tenth Circle? I’m pretty certain that your reputation is widespread enough for any and all the supernatural beings in this city to know that you frequent it. Why would something that is not permitted to exist put itself in the line of fire just to play a little grab ass and drink?” He stared Drew down, willing him to see the wisdom that was plain in his words. “He knew. It’s the only explanation that makes sense in retrospect.”

  Drew’s eyes assessed Oz carefully while he mulled over the explanation he had been given. He appeared loath to admit that Oz had an exceedingly valid point.

  “Fine,” he conceded, looking to the rest of us. “In the meantime, I’m going to hash out a plan of attack for the morning. I’ve already called Sean; he is coming tomorrow. And we are all going to do whatever it takes to get as much of this situation sorted out as possible before he arrives, because I for one do not wish to expose yet another area of our failure to him.”

  “Is that all?” Oz asked, heading for the stairs. “Because if we’re finished here for the night I’ll be retiring, if that’s acceptable.” His words were mocking, knowing that Drew could do little to stop him, even if he had still required his presence.

  “Are there more?” I called after him, the words escaping me before they had registered fully in my mind. Oz halted, looking back over his shoulder at me with an impassive expression.

  “When it comes to evil, new girl, there will always be more.”

  With that, he disappeared into the darkness of the hallway above, not to be heard from again that evening. When I turned my attention back to my brothers, I was met with a mix of emotions. Kierson was still riddled with worry. Pierson was pensive. Casey was brooding. And Drew looked weary, exhausted from what had happened and what was yet to come. I did not envy his position. Knowing that the situation had gotten further out of hand meant one thing for him: explaining to Sean upon his arrival why things were spiraling downward yet again.

  “Khara,” Drew said softly as he approached me, coming to a stop with his hand upon my shoulder. The other reached up to the gauze on my neck, brushing it lightly with his fingertip. “You need to rest and heal. We have a mess on our hands, as you well know, but most of it can keep until tomorrow. Pierson will be up until he fortifies the wards, and, in the meantime, we will all take shifts to be sure that you are well guarded.”

  I nodded once in response, turning to leave without any further production. Drew had made his point abundantly clear, though it was unnecessary. I was alread
y aware of what we were facing. It had nearly taken my soul that night.

  When I opened the door to the basement, I found myself hesitating slightly. Somehow, our interaction felt unfinished, and, though I was unclear on exactly how to proceed, I needed a better sense of closure after all that had happened that evening.

  “Thank you,” I said firmly, still facing the direction of my retreat. “For everything.”

  Before any of them had a chance to respond, I closed the door behind me, sealing myself off from the residual emotions still swirling throughout the first floor. I immediately descended the stairs and crawled into bed, burying myself deep under the covers. So muchovebun had happened that night, more than I could gain perspective on by filtering it through my past experiences.

  The sense of freedom I had only just acquired was threatened by the very beings that could enslave my soul, and Oz, the one who had proved to be the bane of my existence from the moment I arrived in Detroit, was the principal entity needed to prevent that from occurring. I could not make sense of the dichotomy and struggled against the pressure that mounted in my head as a result of it.

  Knowing that Oz’s presence had somehow aided in abating the cold of the emptiness did nothing to help.

  My mind had always been a tangle of absolutes, amassed over a lifetime of trial by fire. Every turn that evening took had unraveled another of my truths, until all I was left with was a series of unknowns. The discomfort I felt tormented me as I lay awake, wanting nothing more than to be able to see things as they were—as they had always been.

  I did not like change.

  In a weak attempt to derail my mind, I replayed the events of the evening leading up to my near demise. It only served to make me feel like a fool. In all my dealings with evil, I’d thought myself capable,

  if not masterful, at the fine game of evade and conquer. I had argued that my survival skills were a defensive tool in and of themselves, but that night had illuminated gaping holes in my belief. I proved to be not only vulnerable to the darkness but easily seduced by it as well. I had practically fallen into its arms willingly, ready to waltz off into oblivion with a smile on my face—my blood ran cold at the thought. In one evening, I had managed to disgrace myself, my lineage, and my father, all while being saved by the one individual I was loath to admit I needed.

  Oz’s displeasure at my stupidity had been plain in his initial reaction. He resented my weakness nearly as much as I did. The anger that coursed through me helped to clear my head, giving me something more tangible to focus on. Anger was a far more useful and palatable emotion than shame or embarrassment. I wrapped myself up in that anger and tried to sleep. The next day I would have to deal with my shortcomings. That night, I wanted to dream of anything but.

  21

  I knew my brothers would be up early to further prepare for Sean’s arrival and the war against the Stealers. In the clarity of the morning, my shame had returned, replacing my anger of the previous night. My ineptitude still thoroughly disgusted me.

  I remained in my room until I heard my brothers depart. Their inevitably piteous expressions were unwelcome and unwarranted, and I wished to avoid them entirely. Their sympathy would do nothing to allay my feelings.

  I even ignored Kierson when he called to inform me that Oz would remain behind for my safety, causing him to come down to check on me, worried that something had happened. I pretended that I was too asleep to answer. My irritation with myself had only grown as the night progressed, and by morning it had reached a fever pitch.

  When I was certain they had departed, I crept up the stairs silently and passed through the door, quickly making my way into the kitchen. My plan had been to collect enough provisions so that I could stay in my room alone all day and avoid those who were so willing to fight my battle for me once they returned. I loathed the idea that they needed to. My brothers were warriors. I, however, clearly was not.

  I rummaged through the pantry for anything palatable, coming up with only a few items. When I closed the cabinet door, prepared to retreat to the bovebu fiasement, I found Oz standing steadfastly behind it. I startled momentarily, cursing myself internally for confirming what I had already decided.

  Definitely not a warrior.

  “Does almost getting your soul sucked out of you make you hungry?” he asked, leaning against the wall casually, though there was nothing casual about his gaze. His eyes burned with an unmistakable intensity. Anger filled them.

  “Must you skulk around while I make my breakfast? Do you have no other useful employment?” I asked, turning my back on him abruptly. I did not want to meet his gaze.

  “I seemed pretty busy last night when I was saving your ass. Is keeping you alive and intact not useful enough employment for you?”

  “That,” I said to the sink before me, “is an entirely subjective question.”

  “Is it now?” he asked, moving about behind me. His footsteps fell lightly as he crossed to the opposite side of the kitchen, blocking the exit. “Explain the subjectivity.”

  “It depends heavily on whether or not having me as I am is viewed as beneficial or not.”

  “And what is your answer?” he asked, advancing two steps toward me. From the sound they made, they were slow and calculated. Knowing a face-off between us was imminent, I forced myself to turn and address him directly.

  “Given the circumstances, I would say no,” I replied, looking past him to assess my most viable exit. Standing before him, his formidable form looming only feet away from me, made my nerve endings prickle most uncomfortably. I wanted little more than to escape the feeling. “Unless my brothers are in need of mindless bait, which is all I have proven to be thus far, I really provide little service—or value—to them. Whatever skills I was to acquire when born into the PC have not fallen my way. All I seem capable of is attracting those that they seek to destroy. That may be of use to them, but it is not a service that will stand the test of time. You yourself said it—that I could not survive the evil indefinitely.”

  “Did you not fight beside me last night?”

  “Yes,” I replied flatly. “However, I think that was only facilitated by the words you spoke to me before we attacked. Had you not said them, I believe I would have delivered myself to them willingly.”

  “Those words,” he said, his voice so low I could scarcely hear him, “are the words spoken by our kind in preparation for battle. That tradition is older than time itself. You seem to forget that you are more than just the daughter of Ares. You are also your mother’s daughter, and she was one of the greatest warriors I have ever seen.”

  “But I am not like her,” I countered, frustration coursing through me. “I am an Unborn—vulnerable, weak, and without purpose.”

  His jaw flexed furiously in his effort to keep his mouth closed. He opened it only slightly once, then snapped it shut, grinding his teeth while he calmed himself. Once he regained his normal air of ambivalence, he spoke.

  “Since you are so convinced that you are useless to yourself and your brothers, what would you have me do differently next time, just in case the situation should present itself again?” He crossed his arms tightly over his chest, sidestepping a pace to prop his shoulder against the wall. He was a master of illusions—his calm façade still concealing the storm that inexplicably brewed beneath it. I awaited his eruption without angst.

  “The most logical response would be to let the Stealer finish. If I cannot survive on my own in this y o hisworld, then I do not wish to suffer it,” I replied, coming to stand defiantly in front of him. “I am my own being now, with the ability to exercise my will for the first time in my existence. I can choose to live or die on my own terms, regrettable though they may prove to be. If I can see the logic in this course of action, then surely you can oblige it.”

  A sudden breeze rustled my hair as I was whipped toward and firmly affixed to the wall behind me. Oz’s grasp was fierce, and when he finally released it his arms straddled my head, pressing so hea
vily into the decaying wall that I could hear it giving way beneath the pressure. He leaned in close, his breathing shallow and quick. Pinning murderous eyes on me, he analyzed my expression just as intently as I did his.

  “I oblige nobody but myself.” His words tickled my ear when he whispered them directly into it. My nerve endings lit up yet again. “And, even if I were willing to forgo that truth, there is no wisdom to be seen in your course of action.”

  He then pulled away only enough to return his raging gaze to me, his eyes slowly raking over my body, examining my state further. His proximity was disagreeable, and I longed to escape to my room and away from his interrogation. My pulse raced uncontrollably in my flustered state, and the tiny curl at the corner of his mouth illustrated his amusement with it.

  “Am I frightening you?” he asked, his voice dangerously playful.

  “Do you wish to?” I countered.

  “Do you wish me to?”

  “I wish for you to leave me be.”

  “Are you certain of that?” he asked, his eyes landing heavily on my chest. “I don’t think you’re certain of that.” His face advanced slowly to mine until his nose was only a hair’s breadth away from my own. “I also don’t think you’re so certain about your choices. Your bravado, though admirable, is gravely misdirected. The death you would face, should you choose not to become the evil that attacked you, would be slow, grueling, and excruciating. And there would be nothing your brothers, or even I, could do for you.”

  “And why does this concern you so?” I asked, my voice low and breathy. “I am nothing to you.”

  “That,” he said, pressing his body against mine, “is entirely subjective.”

  I pressed my palm to his chest, forcing him away from me just enough to gain some breathing room. We stared at each other in silence as a tension built slowly between us. Completely enthralled by our standoff, neither of us heard my brothers when they returned to the Victorian.