Unborn

by Natusch, Amber Lynn

  It was true.

  I was my mother’s daughter.

  With no time to dwell on that reality, I made my way down the spiral stairs quickly, calling for the others.

  “Oz! Drew! Casey! Are you here? Kierson? Pierson?”

  My calls were met with silence.

  I ran through Oz’s room, then descended the stairs to the second floor, painting the tattered walls red in my wake with my bloodied wings. All the while, I kept shouting for my brothers. By the time I started down the final flight of stairs to the first floor, I heard a familiar voice.

  “We are here, Khara.” It was Drew. A weigs De Iht lifted instantly from my chest. With my final steps into the living room, the scene that awaited me there unfolded. I took in the faces that stared at me, undoubtedly assessing the implications of what I had only recently morphed into. I felt an awkward smile take over my face in response.

  “It cannot be as bad as you think,” I told them, rushing toward the five of them standing side by side in front of the couch. Then I stopped abruptly.

  Five. Only five.

  My eyes made their way down the line taking each of them in. Sean was there, having returned from the alley in haste. Casey. Drew. A very bloody Kierson, and Pierson.

  Before I could ask where Oz was, my eyes fell on a pair of limp and deathly pale feet dangling over the arm of the sofa just beyond Pierson’s rigid stance.

  “Oh, no,” I whispered, running toward them. The brothers yielded their positions, allowing me full view of what I was not certain I wanted to behold. There, on the sofa, lay a broken and barely alive Oz. The power he had emanated earlier that night was gone. What was left was only a remnant of the greatness he had possessed. He was fading, and painfully at that, just as he said he would. However, in contradiction to his word, it did not look like it would take long. He did not have much time. Death was something I was well schooled in; I recognized it easily.

  “Oz?” I called, kneeling beside him while my heart seized in my chest. I reached to touch his face, but found my hand intercepted on its course.

  “You mustn’t touch him,” Sean said sternly. “He has been compromised.”

  “Compromised how?” I asked, coming to stand in a challenging posture before him. “What has happened to him?”

  Sean sighed heavily.

  “Deimos. He is to blame for this,” he started, stealing a glance at Oz, who lay silent and suffering on the couch beside us. “From what Kierson saw, Deimos held Oz hostage, allowing the Stealers to do their worst.” His expression turned even more grim. “And that they did.”

  His eyes remained black and cold while he relayed his message, not allowing even the slightest emotion to bleed through. He truly was every bit my equal.

  “I tried to get to him to help, Khara,” Kierson said softly. “I really did . . . I just couldn’t get to him fast enough. By the time I did, Deimos had scattered, and Oz was . . .”

  “As he is now,” Pierson finished the sentence for his twin, who could not. “I foresaw it. I knew what was to happen to him . . .”

  “So he will die?” I asked, looking down at his weak and vulnerable state. Oz vulnerable was a sight I never thought I would see.

  I did not wish to ever see it again.

  “His choices are death or darkness, just as they would have been for you,” Pierson gently reminded me, remorse bleeding into his tone. “And I do not think even Oz would choose the latter.”

  “I’m so sorry, Khara,” Kierson said weakly. “I didn’t want this for him . . . or you. I had a debt to repay, and I came up short. I failed you both.”

  I nodded at him tightly before returning my gaze to Oz.

  “What can we do? There must be something. Surely you do not mean to let him lie here and suffer until he fades?” I asked incredulously. I could feel emotions storming within me, rising slowly. There were more of them—and of a greater intensity—than Iy&#l he fade had ever felt in my lifetime, and they threatened to escape.

  “I have nothing to offer,” Pierson said softly.

  “And I see no other course to take,” Sean replied, his midnight orbs allowing a green as light as mine to bleed through. “For what it is worth, I am sorry this has happened. He was a warrior worthy of a far more dignified death than this.”

  “But . . . there was talk of your healing abilities? Did you not save your mate?”

  “That was different, Khara.”

  “Different in what way? That he is not my mate, or that he is not worth saving as she was?”

  “I have already tried . . .” His voice trailed off, leaving the words “and failed” unsaid. He truly believed nothing else could be done.

  “But if those powers came from our mother, then perhaps I, too, possess them?” I speculated, hearing the desperation creep into my tone.

  “It took me centuries to hone those skills, Khara, and there is no guarantee that you have them at all.”

  “Does that mean I should not try? Would you not even afford me that chance?” He said nothing in response, his now-green eyes firmly fixed on mine. I leaned in close to him, my anger fueling my actions. “Could I keep you from trying to save the one you love if it were her that lay dying?”

  With every word that passed my lips, a rage grew. My life had been spent obeying the rules of others. My actions, my learning, my surroundings—all were dictated to me, and I had accepted. But I would accept no longer. Oz had taught me about freedom, and I owed it to him to exercise it, if for no other reason than to try and save him.

  “You and I are not the same, Khara,” Sean said, a heavy sorrow in his voice. “I feel that may be both a blessing and a curse.”

  The emotion behind his words soon permeated me. In that fraction of a second, an awareness leapt forth. I thought of the emptiness, the cold—the vacuous, emotionless being that I had grown to be. I had long thought it was just an adaptation to my surroundings, but what if it was not? What if I had always been that way for a reason? A purpose. Maybe there was a reason why I remained frozen in the land of the damned, and it had nothing to do with the light inside me. What if it was the emptiness—the constant call of the evil surrounding me?

  There were none like me in existence, leaving no opportunity for a comparison to be made, but it was clear that I had stolen something from the Stealer who had sought my soul in the alley. I had killed him easily, without thought or effort. It was as if that emptiness in me wanted to take those souls from him—to unburden him—and in doing so, I felt that void fill up inside me.

  If I was truly able to extract complete souls as the Stealers had, could I not also be selective in what pieces I stole, just as the Breathers were? And, if so, could I not take from Oz that evil which had caused his fate? Could I not undo what had so grievously been done? His fate was sealed if I could not, and that fact made blood rush through me, filling my face in a hot flush. The barrage of foreign emotions I fought to contain defeated me, leaving me abraded and raw. With no other outlet for them, my temper flared.

  “If you do not let me try and save him, Sean, you will know no forgiveness from me,” I said resoundingly. “I cannot comprehend all that I am feeling right now, but I know that I cannot let him die like this—not with me sitting idly by. I will fix this . . . my mind refuses to accept anything less.”

  Not awaiting Sean’s reply or permission, I leaned over Oz’s limp form.

  It had been the connection between Oz and me that had helped to fill the void the Stealer had originally left the night I was attacked, potentially allowing me to survive something that I might not otherwise have. With growing conviction, I placed my lips atop his, holding his face firmly in my hands.

  “This may burn a little,” I whispered, hoping that he could still hear me—that he could still be reached. Then, with a tenderness I had never previously been capable of, I kissed him, coaxing whatever darkness I could find to the surface.

  But he would not let it go.

  Instead, I felt the overwhelming
darkness that I had drained out of the Stealer flowing from me into him. I closed my eyes, feeling a sweet release at first until my mind became fully aware of what he was doing.

  Oz had made his choice.

  “No!” I cried, pulling away from him, but it was too late. I knew because the emptiness of my existence had returned.

  I looked on as his eyes shot open. They had once held a cruel warmth to them, but I watched helplessly as that morphed into an empty shade of evil that I could not quite put into words. They were blacker than black—devoid of life. Empty.

  And they were firmly fixed on me.

  He rose from the couch, uncurling his body to stand for all of us to behold. The setting sun provided the perfect backdrop to his frighteningly beautiful form. And, as the rays broke through the windows behind him, he spread his wings. They were black as the ravens of hell. He was what I had been told to fear most and what I thought I had become.

  A Dark One.

  “I’m afraid I can’t stay,” he purred, staring down the boys who surrounded me. “Looks like I’m running with a new crowd now.” His wings fluttered slightly while he grinned in a way that made my heart sink. The fallen one had fallen further still. “Thanks for getting these back for me. They’re not quite the shade I’m used to, but they’ll do for now.” His eyes bored a hole through my heart as he looked right through me. “Freedom sometimes requires sacrifice, new girl. It seems you know all too well about that now.”

  Without another word, he ran and crashed through the wall of glass behind him at an incredible speed, taking flight the second he could. I watched as he darkened the horizon in the distance, his giant wings blocking out the orange sky. Had I known that what I was would have led to his transformation, I never would have interfered. Dead or Dark, he was lost either way—and I much preferred the thought of him dead to the alternative.

  “You could not have known,” Drew offered in placation, precariously winding his arm around my shoulders. He seemed uncomfortable with how to negotiate my cumbersome appendages. He seemed uncomfortable in general, really. His words were meant to console me, but there was something unspoken in them—a knowledge. An empathy. An understanding of something I had yet to grasp.

  “Your wings,” Pierson started, moving toward me. “They are gray, not black as they were when you arrived. They’ve changed.”

  “They were gray when they emerged. They only changed after I killed the Stealer. I stole from him what he had stolen from so many,” I explained. “I think that is what I just unknowingly fed to Oz.”

  “But—”

  “I am tired,” I declared, pulling away from Drew’s consoling embrace and Pierson’s impending interrogation.intBut̵ “I would like to be alone.” With eyes downcast, I made my way to the basement door. I could not hold my brothers’ gazes.

  “Khara,” Kierson said tentatively. “Don’t worry. It’ll be okay.”

  “Will it?” I asked as emotions I had never felt before attacked my insides from every angle. “I am not certain you are right, Kierson.”

  “We must discuss what happened to you,” Sean called after me. “And your wings.” His tone was softer than usual, but it held an unyielding edge to it. He would want answers to that which he could not understand—that which I had become.

  “Tomorrow . . . please,” I pleaded softly, the doorknob to solitude grasped tightly in my hand.

  With only a momentary pause, he conceded to my request.

  “Tomorrow.”

  Turning the knob, I opened the door to my subterranean refuge, seeking the comfort and familiarity the shadows and cold offered. I heard my brothers upstairs speaking while I climbed into my bed, awkwardly tucking my wings behind me. Concern for my welfare seemed their highest priority. There was much conjecture as to what happened on that rooftop before Oz threw me to my potential death and then nearly met his own as a result. Only he knew what had been said and done before Kierson arrived, and my suspicion was that he would not feel especially forthcoming anymore.

  If only the Dark Ones answered to Father like so many others did.

  There were things I wanted to know—things that involved our time on the rooftop, but not what happened after I was thrown from it. The before was far more interesting in my estimation.

  After much time, I heard my brothers retire, one by one. There was apparently no reason to patrol the city. The Stealers had been eradicated, from what I could surmise. Whatever other beings existed in the city could be left alone for one evening. The thought of my brothers getting to truly rest for once made me smile.

  My emotions were offering me a crash course in all things unfamiliar and uncomfortable. Though they had increased slightly at the introduction to my brothers, the bond between us somehow unlocking them, that evening pushed them to another level of intensity altogether. Strangely, the bizarreness of it made me laugh. Laughter, smiling, happiness. Those were not things of my previous world—my previous life. But my birth had created a gateway to things I could have never expected. The questions left in its wake ambled through my mind as I drifted off to sleep. How much darkness did I have left? Was I a vessel for it? Could I both remove it from and inject it into others? And, most importantly, could I unmake that which had been made?

  That would be the only way to truly save Oz.

  Retrieving the answers I needed threatened to be the very definition of impossible. I knew of only one individual rumored to possess the knowledge that I sought, or the ability to procure it, and the task of reaching her would prove virtually insurmountable. I felt defeated by the irony of my situation. The Underworld was where I would find her.

  And I could not go there on my own.

  24

  I could feel his presence.

  The emptiness cried for me to go to him.

  Deep in the night, when the air lay low and silent, I heard him call to me. I leapt from my bed, trying to silently climb the wooden stairs that led up from the basement, which did theiintBwhen tr best to sabotage my effort with every step. When I emerged from my underground sanctuary, I found the window restored in the living room and a very dark angel standing just on the other side. Pressing his forehead against it, he drummed his fingers lightly upon the glass while he whispered my name over and over again. His call, though soft, screamed so loudly in my mind that I clamped my head in my hands in an effort to protect it.

  “Khara . . .” he continued, his eerie song drawing me to him. “Khaaaaraaaaa . . .”

  Step by cautious step, I made my way to join him, pressing my body against the thin, fragile barrier that kept us apart.

  “I will have you,” he chanted softly, moving against the glass as though it were me he was touching. “You will know no other . . . only me.”

  He was the answer to the problem I faced. I stared at him, keeping my emotions that rose within me far from my expression. He was my ticket into the Underworld. All I needed was his compliance to get me there.

  “You will have nothing,” I said, my voice low and seductive, “unless you give me what I want.”

  “You would make demands of me?” he replied in mock indignation. Then he laughed, causing every hair on my body to stand at attention—some out of fear, others out of lust. “I can take what I want. You know this.” His tone was cautionary, reminding me of that which I needed no reminder of. The Dark Ones did as they wished, whenever it pleased them. They answered to nobody—or nobody that I was aware of. Their behavior embodied everything that Oz had become after he fell, only amplified.

  “I need to get into the Underworld. You will take me,” I said, my expression as indifferent as the day we had met. “When I get what I have gone there for, you can have what you so clearly want.”

  I felt the window bow ever so slightly under his weight as he ground himself against it to be closer to me.

  “I will do this,” he said abruptly. “And you will do as you promise. Be ready; I will come for you shortly. There is something I must do first.” He peeled hi
mself from the clear divider and stepped backward so that I could see the evil majesty he held. “And Khara?” My nerve endings delighted in the sound of my name on his tongue—just as they had before his transformation. “Do not tell the others. I would hate for our first trip

  together to be cut short—Sean can be so meddlesome.”

  “They will not know.”

  “Excellent,” he breathed, his words like sweet poison. “I’ll see you soon.”

  He disappeared into the night sky in seconds, leaving me alone and conflicted in the living room. I knew my brothers would worry at my disappearance, and I did not wish for that. It was, therefore, imperative that I find a way to get word to them without affording them time to interfere with my ill-conceived plan.

  As I made my way back to the basement to prepare a few things for the journey, I saw a notepad lying on the console table. I picked it and the pen lying next to it up and made my way downstairs. I sat on the edge of my bed, worrying the pen over and over in my hand. I knew not what to write, but I owed them an explanation. Knowing that time was of the essence, I settled for a short message that highlighted the gist of what I was about to do. However, I left out the pertinent information regarding the how and why of my journey. The brothers were keen enough to put that bit together on their own.

  I hoped I would be far away when that time came.

  EPILOGUE

  Expectations prove dangerous.

  I had never had any before that moment, but it was plain to see why they cause so much turmoil. A nervous hum coursed through my body while I stood at the gates of the Underworld, my terror-inspiring escort beside me. True to his word, Oz had returned to the Victorian, prepared to steal me away from my brothers. A small pang of guilt tugged at my heart when he led me away, but I knew I had to go.