Fated

by Sarah Fine

  Aislin arched back, her hands twisting in her hair, her toes pointed and curling as the violent images faded for a moment. Every part of her was alight with caustic hatred. For her father, for Cacia, for . . .

  It’s not real. Cacia never wanted to hurt you. She was trying to do the right thing.

  Her vision focused slightly as Nemesis stroked Aislin’s hair back from her sweaty forehead. “Your little sister is such a bitch,” she whispered. “Haven’t you ever wished a Shade would tear her head off?”

  “Yes.” No! No. She’s my sister, always.

  “She’s still fighting it,” said a male voice. The stocky, bald young man leaned over her, gazing at her with the same gray eyes as Moros’s, so cold when they wanted to be. “Let me have a go.” He dropped to his knees, bracing himself with his palms on either side of her head. “How well do you know my brother, princess?” he asked, his voice gentle.

  Aislin stared into his eyes, looking for shards of crimson. “I . . . have watched him for years,” she said in a broken voice. This man was Apate, the personification of lies—so how was he able to draw the truth out of her? “I’ve been fascinated by him for as long as I can remember.”

  Apate nodded, like she’d done a good job. His approval felt like a beacon inside her chest, glowing and warm. When he smiled, it was pure seduction. She wanted to tell him everything; she knew he would understand and sympathize. “You’ve imagined yourself with him, haven’t you, Aislin?”

  “Seriously?” said Nemesis. “Ew.”

  Apate cut his sister a nasty look. “Shut the hell up and let me work.” He turned back to Aislin, his handsome face pleasant once again. He had blond stubble on his chin, and a strong jaw, just like Moros’s. She stared up at him, breathless and entranced, her head buzzing with a mishmash of the past and the present. Apate laid his palm on her hip and slid it up slowly until it reached her waist. She squirmed to escape him, but he shushed her like one might a child. “Don’t fight. Think of Moros. You’ve envisioned his hands on you. Just . . . like . . . this.” His fingers burrowed under her sweater to find her skin.

  Moros gazed down at her, his wavy black hair hanging over his forehead. His gray eyes traced her face, down the column of her throat, to her breasts. She was naked before him, bare and vulnerable. His warm hand was at her waist, and she was desperate for it to move between her legs, where she needed it most. She held her breath as she watched him look her over. Did he like what he saw? Did he care about her at all? Did he have any idea how much she craved him, each flash of his eyes, every hint of the awesome power he wielded?

  He leaned down, so slowly it made her throb with need. “Here I am, darling.” His voice was a caress. “Tell me what you want. Tell me everything.”

  “I want you inside me,” she whispered, her hands rising to touch his face. It felt so good, to finally admit this to him. “I want to feel you.” She spread her legs and tried to pull him down, but he was so strong that she couldn’t budge him. “Please,” she begged. “I’ve waited for so long.”

  The beauty of his lazy smile made her want to cry. “You are nothing to me, did you know that?” he crooned.

  She blinked up at him. “What?”

  “You’re a plaything. A ridiculous, vapid distraction.” He sighed. “Barely a distraction, at that. You’re actually quite boring.”

  Aislin’s eyes stung with tears. “Then why . . . ?” He had kissed her. It had looked like he was fighting to keep himself from doing more. She could have sworn she’d read desperation in his eyes when he’d noticed her bloodstained sweater. She’d been sure he cared, at least a little.

  “Why have I pretended to want you?” He sat back and tilted his head, the charade over, and Aislin crossed her legs and covered her chest with her arms, her body coursing with sudden chills. “Because it kept you from working against my interests, and when we appear before the Keepers, it will be easy to convince them that you’re useless.” He leaned down and brushed his lips over her forehead, and when she tried to turn away, he pinned her shoulders to the rock. “Because you are.”

  She struggled then, all the hurt and rage and rejection splintering, embedding needle-sharp shards in her heart. He’d fooled her, just as she’d feared all along. Of course he hadn’t wanted her. Of course it had been a game. He was a god, for goodness’ sake. She was powerless.

  I am far from powerless.

  A laugh snapped her back into reality. “Oh, I went too far there.” Apate was smiling as he tugged Aislin’s shirt down and looked up at his sisters. “This only works if she’s bought in to the lie, at least a little bit. She pushed back on that one.”

  Aislin thrashed, desperate to cover herself. She was naked and—no, wait. She was wearing a sweater and slacks. She was in a cave. Moros wasn’t here. That wasn’t real. It’s not real it’s not real it’s not real . . .

  “Ugh. So annoying. Let’s give her a double shot, then,” said Eris, her gray eyes lit with eagerness. She knelt by her brother, her dress fanned around her knees.

  Apate caught Aislin’s wrist as she jerked her arm up to slap at his sister, his broad fingers folding over her sleeve. With his other hand, he slowly lifted the edge of her sweater again, revealing a swath of her stomach. Aislin tried to twist away from him, tears starting in her eyes. “Don’t touch me,” she said between gasping breaths.

  “But you were begging for it a moment ago,” he said. “Didn’t you want me inside you? We all heard you quite clearly.” Nemesis and Eris giggled as his brow furrowed in an expression of mock hurt. “Wait, were you thinking I was someone else?”

  She shut her eyes tightly, telling herself to stay anchored to reality. But then Eris laid her palm on Aislin’s cheek as Apate stroked the skin just above the waist of her slacks. The cave disappeared.

  She fell to her knees in a grand throne room, barely catching herself before her forehead collided with marble. A chuckle brought her head up. Moros stood next to her, dressed in a suit that was obviously custom-made for his chiseled frame. Diamond cuff links sparkled against his crisp white shirt, and his hair was neatly slicked back, revealing the aristocratic sweep of his brow, the square set of his jaw. He looked down at her, his eyes glowing red. “You’re late, my dear. We were just discussing the childish pettiness of Ferry politics, something you know more about than anyone.”

  Aislin slowly turned her head toward the dais several yards in front of them, upon which sat two thrones. One was so heavily cloaked in shadow that she couldn’t see its occupant, and the other so bathed in light that the result was the same.

  Their voices, however, were unmistakable. “This is the Charon? She’s a little young,” said a female voice, sparkling and brilliant as cut glass. It was coming from the beam of light enveloping the throne on the left.

  “Pathetic,” said a deep male voice emanating from the throne on the right. “Is this the best they can do?”

  “She’s typical of her kind,” said Moros. “Did you expect something more from them? They are only human, after all.” He looked straight at the beam of blinding light and offered a smile full of intrigue and promise.

  “This is a waste of time,” said the rumbling male voice. “I hate to say it, Moros, but you were right.”

  Moros bowed. “I’m glad you understand now. The Ferrys were never necessary.”

  “Proceed,” said the deep voice, sounding bored. “I have no objection.”

  “I won’t interfere,” said the bright female voice.

  “But we are necessary,” Aislin said, her voice suddenly thin and raspy, as if a hand were wrapped around her throat. “We-we—”

  And then she realized someone did have her by the throat. Moros slammed her to the ground with merciless force. The cold marble at her back told her she was naked once again, unable to hide. The Lord of the Kere’s face hovered right above hers, twisted into a monstrous grimace. “Oh, now you’re finally turning me on,” he said as his grip on her tightened, crushing her airway as she pawed feebl
y at his sleeves.

  He placed his forehead on hers, pressing so hard it felt like her skull was going to cave in. “I told you that you were going to die, Aislin,” he murmured. “But perhaps I should have mentioned that I would be the one to kill you.”

  Aislin surfaced all at once, coughing and flailing like a rag doll, shuddering from head to toe. Above her, dim silhouettes hovered, but her vision wouldn’t focus. Where was she? With fumbling fingers, she reached up to touch the Scope of the Charon at her throat, needing its comforting weight . . . and remembered that Rylan had taken it.

  “I’ve got to go help make another batch of minions,” Eris was saying. “I’ll be back later. Are you going to work on her some more?”

  “She’s had enough for now,” said Apate. “If we scramble her too much, she won’t be able to follow basic instructions.”

  “Fine,” Nemesis said in a whiny voice. “But I get first dibs when we come back.”

  The silhouettes disappeared, leaving Aislin in the massive cavern, the sound of trickling water somewhere nearby. A low sob escaped her, and she rolled to her side and pulled her knees to her chest, so thankful to be clothed again, to be alone.

  Everybody hated her. Everyone wanted her dead. And they would all be glad that she was gone.

  Stop it. They’re trying to break you.

  Moros was scheming against her. He didn’t care about her. It was an act, one she had fallen for completely because she so badly wanted it to be true, especially now when she had so little time left. He would use her vulnerability to destroy her. He was a monster.

  Cold stone rubbed against her cheek, and she was grateful for the rough feel of it. It was real. She was sure of it. As sure as she was that Moros needed to be destroyed.

  Think about who they are. Think about what they’re doing.

  They were going to use her as the weapon of his destruction.

  She smiled, imagining plunging the sword through his stomach, watching his face go slack with shock, all the smugness gone. His gray eyes would shine with pain.

  Misgiving swirled through her. I don’t want to . . .

  His mouth would drop open, but he wouldn’t have any breath to tell her how little she meant to him. Blood would trickle from the corner of his mouth. She would wipe it away with her thumb, then smear it on his pressed white shirt. Hurts, doesn’t it? Good.

  “No,” she said with a moan. “I won’t let you control me.” Her voice echoed in the dimly lit cavern, and for a moment she watched the torchlight dancing on wet stone as an idea licked at the edges of the chaos in her mind.

  She was fated to die. That part hadn’t been a lie.

  She was the Charon, at least until the board officially awarded her Scope to someone else and Moros approved it. If any Ferry was mortally injured, a mere thought from her was the difference between life and death. She still held their lives in the palm of her hand.

  And her own.

  She could take herself out of the equation forever. It was better than being controlled and used.

  New energy crackled up her arms, allowing her to push herself up and look around. The cavern was huge, and she was on a platform of sorts, a flat expanse of stone near one of the walls. In the distance, across the rocky terrain of the cave floor, there was a sumptuous silk tent, but she knew she didn’t have the strength to get herself there.

  So what could she use to get this done? She imagined trying to bash her own head in with one of the loose stones at the edge of the platform, but she wasn’t sure she was powerful enough to strike a deathblow. She looked down at herself. At some point, she’d lost one of her shoes. Her slacks were smeared with dirt. The bottom edge of her bloodstained sweater was torn. Hope quickened her thoughts. If she could tear a strip from it, she could wrap it around her neck and . . .

  Her eyes blurred with tears. She didn’t really want to go this way, but she’d heard Apate, Nemesis, and Eris. They were coming back soon, and when they did, they would pack her head full of deception once again, and then use her to hurt people she cared about.

  She’d wouldn’t allow them to steal any more from her than they already had. With shaking hands, she reached down and began to tug at the tattered sweater.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Ten startled faces turned toward Moros as he appeared in the boardroom. The heat poured from his body, warping the air. “Greetings, Ferrys.” He took a mock look around. “I believe you’re missing your Charon.”

  Hugh Ferry stood at the opposite end of the table, his lips tight. His silver hair was combed back, revealing his severe widow’s peak, and his chin jutted out in defiance. “This is a scheduled board meeting,” he said. “And we were just discussing the fact that Aislin hasn’t bothered to show up. Apparently she’s abdicated her position.”

  “What?”

  Hugh reached into his pocket and lifted out the Charon’s Scope.

  Moros’s throat constricted. “Where did you get that?” he asked in a low voice.

  Hugh’s eyes widened in innocent surprise. “It was delivered to my office a few hours ago, along with her letter of resignation.”

  Rosaleen Ferry, who had been a board member for decades, frowned at the sight of the Scope. “You didn’t mention that, Hugh. Why would she do such a thing?”

  “I didn’t have a chance to tell you before we were so rudely interrupted,” Hugh explained, holding the ornate platinum disk in his palm. That Scope belonged around Aislin’s neck, and without it, she was fearfully vulnerable. “And as for why she would do it,” Hugh continued, “perhaps she realized she wasn’t up to the job.”

  Brian Ferry, the same age as Aislin but full of hubris instead of her tempered wisdom, folded his arms across his chest. “Once again, I nominate Hugh Ferry as Charon. It’s time we had some stability, and Patrick Ferry’s branch of the family has proven unfit for leadership.”

  Hugh Ferry’s fingers closed over Aislin’s Scope. Moros stared at the man, feeling a strong desire for blood.

  “Seconded,” said Ennis Ferry, giving Moros a nervous glance.

  Brian grinned. “All in favor—”

  “I object,” Moros said evenly, a dangerous smile pulling at his lips. He tugged off his gloves and pocketed them. “I don’t believe I know you well enough, Hugh.” He willed himself across the room, appearing right next to the would-be Charon. “Let’s go someplace and have a talk.”

  He grabbed Hugh’s sleeve and dragged him into the Veil, where they appeared on a high plain somewhere in Wyoming, open space for miles. Spluttering and shivering, Hugh staggered back. “How dare you!”

  Moros felt his fangs pressing against his lips, turning his smile grisly. “But I am the Lord of the Kere, Hugh. I must approve every Charon. It is my right.”

  “You could have done that in Boston!”

  “No, and I won’t do it here, either. Because Aislin didn’t resign, did she? Not of her own free will.”

  Hugh took an unsteady step back as Moros moved closer to him. “Of course she did. I received her letter—”

  “You’re lying, or you’ve been duped. Which is it?”

  Hugh couldn’t meet Moros’s crimson eyes. “I thought for certain it was from her. It bore her electronic signature. You think it was fake?”

  “I know it was,” Moros said softly. “She’s missing. Someone took her.” The memory of her shoe, lying abandoned by her desk, was one he’d never forget. “And you haven’t questioned it. You’ve made no effort to find her.”

  “But how do you know she didn’t just run away?” asked Hugh.

  “Because Aislin Ferry never runs from anything.”

  Hugh’s watery eyes narrowed. “How would you know? Or are you just into her looks? Are you really letting that frigid bitch give you a case of blue balls?”

  “How utterly disrespectful.” He was only a few feet away from Hugh now, and his calm was slipping away with each second. The man was emanating fear and hatred, but also a scent that Moros hadn’t smelled in ages. T
he moment it hit his consciousness, his entire body reacted, tensing in readiness for an attack. “Hugh,” he murmured, his ears roaring. “Who have you been spending time with?”

  His hand shot out, and his fingers wrapped around Hugh’s throat. The moment their skin met, a face appeared in Moros’s mind, one he hadn’t seen in nearly two thousand years. Her curly blonde hair bounced around her face, and she bit her lip coyly. Hugh’s thoughts were saturated with her venom—images of the Charon’s Scope around his own neck, visions of Aislin lying in the Veil, bleeding and dying as Shade-Kere closed in . . .

  Moros could feel the man thrashing in his grip, clawing at his arms, kicking frantically, but none of it reached him. Bile rose in his throat as Nemesis coiled herself around Hugh. Together they watched Aislin being torn apart, her body mortal and fragile, the light in her eyes fading. And Hugh felt nothing but joy at the sight. No remorse, no pain.

  Moros’s claws cut into Hugh’s neck, and the man’s scream finally penetrated his consciousness. With the visions still pulsing in his skull, Moros opened his eyes and focused on his victim, this man who dreamed of seeing Aislin suffer. “You certainly have colorful fantasies,” he hissed.

  He kicked Hugh’s legs out from under him, and the Ferry collapsed to the ground and slid away, his blood painting the Veil red. “You can’t do this,” Hugh shrieked, clutching at the wounds on either side of his neck. “You’re violating the treaty! We have to appear before the Keepers tomorrow night, and I’ll tell them what you’ve done!”

  Moros laughed, sharp as a blade. “You’re foolish to believe that I would ever allow you to stand next to me before the Keepers.”

  “I’ll make sure they know you attacked me!”

  “How will you do that, Hugh?” He walked slowly after his quarry, who was scrambling back, designer shoes slipping on the soft ground of the Veil. He was still hungering to hear Hugh scream again, but reason reined him in for a moment—the man was the key to finding Aislin. He had to clear away the fog of horror and think.