Dark Horizons (The Red Sector Chronicles)

by Krystle Jones

  I approached the crowd without slowing. Angry mob or not, I was getting into that building.

  No paths opened up as we approached, so I decided to make one. Turning sideways, I began shoving my way through, tugging Aden along behind me. For the most part, the protesters parted with ease, too caught up in their cause to notice one more person shoving them around.

  It wasn’t until we were actually in the heart of the crowd that I noticed some of the soldiers were trying to hand out masks exactly like Aden’s. An official stood off to the side, blaring urgent instructions to place the masks on immediately, but that only seemed to fuel the crowd’s anger. They ripped the masks from the soldiers’ hands, threw them on the ground, and stomped on them. One guy even ripped his in half like a barbarian. Some of the reporters, casting nervous glances at each other, accepted the masks, putting them on without question, while others seemed more worried it would mess up their makeup or hide their million-dollar smiles.

  One reporter jerked her arm out to grab a mask right in front of my face, and I nearly slammed into her. “Put this on,” she ordered her cameraman, snapping her own mask into place. “It will look more authentic. Our bosses are going to love this!”

  Something about that really struck a nerve. “Are you kidding me?” I yelled. “We’re in the middle of a crisis, and all you care about is your damn story?”

  The girl turned to me with a vicious, cherry-lipstick smile, eyeing me up and down. When her eyes reached my face again, they were wide with a mixture of fear and excitement. “Sloane? The Sloane McAllister?”

  I felt myself pale and quickly cleared my throat, making to move past her. “You must be mistaking me for someone else.”

  A manicured hand slapped down on my shoulder, and I spun, taking it and starting to twist her toward my body in an armlock. “Sloane!” Aden hissed, grabbing me before I could get very far with it. “Don’t. The media doesn’t need any more gossip to film, and I’m sure catching a soldier rough-handling a civilian won’t do us any favors in calming the protests.”

  I instantly let go of her, nodding. How could I have been so stupid?

  “Ow!” The girl rubbed her wrist, gawking at me. Her mouth dropped at least another inch when she spied Aden. “Captain Knight, too? Oh. My. God.” She turned to her cameraman. “Get this,” she hissed, then wheeled about and jammed her microphone in Aden’s face. “Word has it you’re the one who shot the emperor. Are you scared of going before the Council and possibly incurring the death penalty?”

  I thought my blood would literally start boiling. Snatching the microphone away from her, I snarled, “He’s not the one who shot him – I did.”

  She must have turned up the volume in the microphone, because my voice boomed over the shouts and cries of the enraged crowd. The air went silent in a heartbeat, and every pair of eyes turned to gape at me.

  CHAPTER 2

  I stood perfectly still, as if in doing so I would disappear. In the sudden quiet, my heartbeat sounded twice as loud in my ears.

  Not even daring to breathe, I glanced at Aden, who looked as nervous as I was.

  “She shot Nero!” someone cried, and that’s when all hell broke loose.

  “Run!” Aden grabbed me and we bolted for the barrier. I scurried after him as he parted the crowd like butter, still clutching the microphone and using it to bat away people’s hands as they tried to grab me.

  One of the soldiers was frantically yelling in his walkie-talkie. As we neared, I heard Rook, Aden’s second-in-command and one of my oldest friends, yell over the radio, “Let them through!”

  Two of the soldiers stepped aside, creating an opening just wide enough for us to dive through. Once we’d cleared, the soldiers slammed together again as the frenzied crowd pushed against them. My face flushed as I heard every obscenity under the sun directed at me, but all my guilt died the instant I laid eyes on Aden’s now significantly paled face.

  Two soldiers were already moving to help him, but I hurried past them, beating them there. “Here.” I draped his arm across my shoulder and lifted him up. “Can you walk?”

  He was panting hard. Sweat dribbled into his eyes, and he blinked several times to clear his vision. “Sloane, really, I’m all right.” He took a step and swayed.

  “Like hell you are,” I mumbled, steadying him. “Come on.”

  “This way, Sergeant McAllister,” one of the soldiers said, his voice sounding alien through the mask. He walked toward the doors, leading the way as the noise grew behind us. A few seconds later, I heard the grunt of the soldiers as the crowd pressed against the shields, fighting to get through. My face started to flame, then I glanced at Aden, at the pain in his eyes, and any shame I might have felt at shooting my own brother vanished, replaced by a dead, hollow feeling that threatened to eat out my heart.

  The escort punched in a code and the metallic doors swung open. I recognized the place immediately. It was the same lobby I had almost broken out of a few months ago, when I first learned I had been turned. It looked pretty much like any other lobby, only not quite so nice, with fake potted plants nestled between some old-looking chairs and coffee tables. A clock hung on the wall behind the main desk, its hands telling me it was nearly 1:30 a.m.

  My shoes squeaked on the freshly swept tiled floor as we made our way to the front desk, where a mousy girl with blonde hair sat furiously working her way through a stack of papers. She also wore a white mask similar to Aden’s. When she looked up, her face instantly paled.

  I bit my lip, looking away and feeling sheepish. Last time I met her, I had held her hostage and threatened to rip her throat out with my teeth, which I never would have done, but I was desperate. I couldn’t blame her for being a little nervous.

  “Page Dr. De Lange immediately,” the soldier said. The girl sat there, staring at me with fear in her eyes. The man cleared his throat and she blinked, nodding and pressing a button.

  Her squeaky voice blared over the intercom system. “Dr. De Lange, please come to the front lobby.”

  We stood there, with me tapping my foot. I hadn’t realized I was grinding my teeth together until my gums started to hurt. Every muscle in my body felt like it was wound as tight as it could be, like any sudden movements and I would literally snap in half. I busied myself with listening to Aden’s shallow breathing, noting the faint gurgling sound coming from his lungs. A wave of nausea rolled through me, but I squeezed my eyes shut, refusing to acknowledge it and let my fear get the best of me.

  “Sergeant McAllister.”

  I turned, finding the escort extending a mask to me. “You should put this on.”

  I groaned. “As I told the last bunch, I don’t need it.”

  When the soldier opened his mouth to protest, Aden cut him off. “She’s immune, Dennison.”

  Before he could argue, the sharp tap-tap of stilettos rapped toward us. A moment later, a bolt clicked and a tall woman who looked to be in her mid-twenties burst through the double doors from behind the desk.

  I always thought Paris belonged in one of those classy, black-and-white movies, with her long lashes, deep auburn hair, and flawless complexion. She looked like she had come straight from the New Year’s Eve bash that had taken place on the base earlier; a red silk dress clung to her tall frame, partially obscured by her white lab coat. All the medical staff wore them, along with a red cross sewn onto the right shoulder, followed by a caduceus. Four gold chevrons pointed down in a stream below the winged staff, marking her as a top-level doctor.

  Paris’s sharp eyes fixed on us immediately, and though I couldn’t see her mouth because of the mask, I knew her crimson lips were set in a deep frown. Adjusting her ruby-rimmed glasses, she strode toward us. “I should have known you’d be involved in this mess,” she said in her thick French accent, pausing to glare at me.

  On any other day, I wouldn’t have hesitated to sling sarcasm right back at her, but today I opted to ignore her barb. It seemed too trivial, given the circumstances. I leaned in
, trying to keep my voice down. “Aden’s been infected.”

  Her eyes widened, and she pressed the stethoscope draped around her neck to Aden’s chest. All the rosiness drained out of her cheeks as she listened. After a few seconds she straightened, her face all business. Whipping out her pager, she punched in a code, and less than thirty seconds later a nurse appeared, pushing a wheelchair. She looked young, maybe about my age, with dimples and a ponytail that looked annoyingly perky. “You paged, Dr. De Lange?” she asked brightly.

  “Yes,” Paris replied, jerking a finger at Aden. “Take him to a room immediately.”

  The girl’s gaze landed on Aden, and a blush stained her cheeks as she eyed him up and down. “Is that Captain Knight?” she asked a little breathlessly.

  A low growl rose in my throat, and I would have hissed at her had Paris not said, “You’re one of my interns. You’re here to learn about medicine, not to treat this profession as some kind of a dating service. Is that understood?”

  “Y – yes, ma’am,” she stammered, blushing profusely. She kept her eyes glued to the ground as she wheeled the chair over and I helped Aden sit.

  “I’ll take him,” I said, pushing my way behind the chair and gripping the handles. The girl moved without protest, a little stunned by my audacity.

  Below me, I heard Aden softly chuckle. “Easy, tiger. I promise you’ll have me all to yourself soon.”

  I was about to come back with an equally smartass remark when Paris snapped her fingers, clearly irritated by the girl, who stood there gawking. “Get moving!”

  “Ye – yes, ma’am!” The girl ducked her head and punched in a code by the double doors. Once they opened, she briskly started walking down the hall.

  The soldier who had led us inside followed a few steps behind, mumbling something into his walkie-talkie. Nursing staff flitted about in blurs of white, shouting to each other while doctors tried to direct them. Several civilians and even some soldiers I’d seen back at the emperor’s office were being either carted around or led away, surrounded by a cluster of medical staff. As before, nearly everyone had on masks.

  “Are all these people infected?” I asked, scanning the sea of frantic faces. “I thought the virus was contained.”

  “It was, so far as we know,” Paris said, walking quickly. Her heels were starting to annoy me, but at the same time they were fascinating to watch. There was something mind-blowing about her ability to not twist her ankle in six-inch stilettos when practically jogging on laminated flooring. “These are all people who might have been exposed to it before we, er, you got to Nero.”

  Paris and Aden had known about my brother’s plot for months, and had been planning on taking him down when his kidnapping me forced them to act.

  We zigzagged down some white-walled hallways before the girl abruptly turned into an empty room and flipped the light switch. A bulb stuttered to life in the shoddy ceiling above, from which several wires hung like vines. I carefully wheeled Aden over to the little twin bed and helped him lie down. “Leave me, just like this,” he said when I tried to cover him up with the thin sheet.

  I placed the back of my hand to his forehead. “Aden, you’re cold as ice,” I said, glancing again at the sheet.

  “I assure you, I’m burning up inside,” he rasped, the last few words lost to a cough.

  My insides twisted as I watched him suffer.

  Paris immediately sprang into action, placing monitors to his chest and head, and delicately inserting an IV after rubbing the back of his hand down with alcohol.

  I had to turn away for that; even looking at needles made me go cold all over.

  The girl stood by, wringing her hands in her coat and looking like she wanted to help. She kept glancing at Paris, who was finishing up.

  “Go,” Paris said, not looking at her and waving her hand as if waving away an insect.

  Shoulders slumping, the girl trudged off with a defeated sigh. I watched her leave, feeling a little sorry for her. Being Paris’s intern couldn’t be easy. I hadn’t spent that much time with the French physician, but what little I had was plenty for a lifetime.

  “Excuse me, Captain,” the soldier said, walking up to the bed. He had been so quiet that I’d forgotten he was there. “I… need to go. Lieutenant Rook summoned me.”

  My brows steepened at his nervous tone, but neither Aden nor Paris seemed to pay him any attention.

  “Of course,” Aden replied sleepily. His lids were starting to drift shut. “Do what you need to do.”

  The soldier saluted him and promptly left the room.

  Once she had checked all of Aden’s vitals for at least the third time, Paris sighed and walked over to me. “His heart rate is still a bit fast, but overall he’s stable.” Her voice lifted on the end, as if she were about to say “for now.”

  I glanced at him nervously. He looked to be asleep, his chest rising and falling with a labored, wheezing sound. “Can’t we find a cure, now that we know exactly what Orion used to manufacture the disease?”

  Paris was also an expert in hematology, or the study of blood. If anyone could find a cure, she could.

  She sighed. “It’s not that simple. I’d need a sample of Nero’s, er, Orion’s blood – as well as a large dose of your own – to work with.”

  I rolled up the sleeve of my sweater. “Take as much as you need.” Though the thought of being pierced by a needle terrified me, the idea of losing Aden scared me far more.

  Paris glanced at my arm and then walked over to a cabinet, producing a syringe, a vial, and an alcohol pad. My stomach flipped at seeing the needle, which seemed to grow longer the closer she got, and I mentally braced myself as she pulled on some gloves and prepped my skin.

  You’re doing this for Aden. Be strong. He needs you.

  Gritting my teeth, I forced myself to think about anything else as she inserted the needle with a sharp prick at my elbow and drew out a sample. I felt my blood pressure drop as icy fear ran over me and my vision began to go black on the sides.

  “There,” Paris said, pulling out the needle. “I was trying to hurry, since it looked like you were on the verge of blacking out.” The tone of her voice shifted to delighted malice. “And I wouldn’t have time to dig out the needle if it happened to snap off in your skin.”

  I almost passed out then and there. Closing my eyes for a few seconds until the world stopped spinning, I heaved a shaky sigh and glanced up as she injected the syringe’s contents into the vial, watching as my blood stained its insides red. “This should be more than enough to work with.”

  “How long will it take?” I asked as she dropped the sample into her pocket and disposed of the needle. She pulled open a drawer and grabbed a Band-Aid, handing it to me. Yanking off the protective wrappers, I slapped it on the rising welt at my elbow and banished the past few seconds to the back of my thoughts.

  Paris hesitated, her eyes guarded. “That sort of thing could take years of testing to perfect –”

  My jaw dropped. “We don’t have years! Aden’s life is at stake here, not to mention anyone else’s who might have been exposed.”

  “Do you think I don’t know that?” Paris hissed, silencing me. She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose, right below the rim of her glasses, and took a deep breath. I waited impatiently while she calmed down, eventually opening her eyes to give me her token glare. “Since Aden and I have been working on finding a cure for some time now – and since we’ll have samples directly from the sources – it might not take as long.”

  During my stay here, I remembered Aden disappearing for several hours at a time, and when he returned, he would have a row of bandages on his arms. When I asked him about it, he said he’d been donating blood, which he had. Orion had turned Aden, so in theory, his blood was inside him. Apparently, it wasn’t enough to find a cure though.

  Along those lines, a thought occurred to me. “Why isn’t he immune, like me? He’s had my blood and Orion’s, so shouldn’t that technical
ly make him immune?”

  Paris almost rolled her eyes, as if this were the dumbest question in the world. I fisted my hand, wanting to punch her. “It’s not like mixing drinks, Sloane. While that may aid in his tissue not breaking down as quickly –” I winced at that “– it’s not the same as manufacturing a cure. Besides, he’s still Aden, full of blood that doesn’t belong to either of you.”

  I glanced at Aden, who looked more peaceful, though I could hear the struggling thrum of his heart over the symphony of beeps and machines in the room. His breathing had also become more labored.

  Everything inside of me turned to ice. If he dies… I immediately forced that thought away, refusing to think about the future because fear would only distract me, and right now, I needed to be on high alert if I was going to be of any use to Aden.

  “How long does he have?” I asked, turning back to Paris.

  Her eyes flicked to Aden, studying him. “I don’t know for certain. Since Orion changed him, I think it will slow down the disease’s progress. It could be a few days or a few weeks.”

  Those words slammed into me like a lead weight. “A few days,” I repeated woodenly.

  Paris looked at me, her eyes softening. “We have Orion in custody, downstairs in the dungeons,” she said.

  The floor threatened to drop out from under me. “What?” Orion was alive? “How is that even possible? I shot him out of a twenty-story building – with Scarlet Steel.” Scarlet Steel was an acidic red metal that was lethal to vampires.

  “I don’t know,” Paris said, sighing in irritation. “Apparently they had paramedics on the scene immediately, and when they dug the bullet out – which missed his heart, by the way, by about an inch – the hole closed up and they cuffed him and brought him here.”

  I swore, fisting my hand and wanting to drive it through a wall. I missed. I freaking missed my homicidal brother’s heart.

  And yet I couldn’t ignore the little dose of relief that gave me.

  I closed my eyes, trying to reason with my heart. Your brother’s as good as dead. That man – that thing – is not Orion anymore.