Chosen

by Ella James

  “We do not accept failure a second time,” Isiag said.

  “I won’t fail,” Nathan had said. “I swear.”

  “Do not,” the brothers has warned, and then all three had vanished, leaving Nathan alone and panting.

  He had selected the team—several dozen other Chosen, each with at least some combat experience but a violence-must-be-justified attitude—and thrown himself into planning the largest mission he’d ever been tasked with. There were lots of details, and not much time, so he was able to avoid dwelling on the worries that now consumed him.

  Julia. The One. And a more reluctant Candidate he couldn’t imagine.

  Except Meredith. Who was with her. Who was her friend.

  Drew was there too, with Carlin.

  And Cayuzul.

  Nathan clenched his fists. How could The One, The One, have feelings for that monster? Some things he would never understand—but then he didn’t have to. He’d been tasked with a mission—find and bring back The One—and he’d carry it out, regardless of anything personal.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  After seeing Julia to bed, Cayne opened the door that connected the two suites. He paused to listen; the quiet living area where he would spend his nights was empty except for him. He walked into the kitchenette and sat on one of the elegant bar chairs. He sighed, letting himself slump onto his elbows, rested his head in his hand, digging his fingers into the short cut before sitting up and running his hands through his hair—something he never did unless he was alone.

  It was reassuring—because it reminded him of his mother. His hair had been long and unkempt, and she liked to untangle it. He felt something close to longing, or maybe nostalgia, but like the memory of his mother’s fingers, it came from somewhere distant.

  Buried by his time with Samyaza.

  The Nephilim king’s conditioning plus two centuries did a lot to strip one of his history. Among other Hunters Cayne had never indulged his humanity—the mortal half of him that, left to its own devices, might have done something different than kill.

  He had found affection again, with Kat, and it had made him weak. Samyaza had found them and killed her. The guilt he felt was overwhelming. But it paled in comparison to the complex swirl of emotions he felt about Julia.

  They were good and bad. Love was the strongest, even though he was loath to admit it to himself. It’s what stirred everything else up: lust, anger, happiness, fear.

  And now he was consumed with worry, which was awful. He could tell everyone else, even Julia, thought he was being over-vigilant. He just didn’t know how else to be. His feelings might as well have been his very first, as raw as they were, and until they found some way to help her, until he was sure she was safe, he was going to be on edge.

  Edan had told him it would only get worse. Cayne was prepared to take the pain, to have Edan transfer it to him the way he’d discreetly done in the hostel. But Edan claimed he couldn’t siphon it for long. Eventually it would become too great for him to touch.

  He remembered Monte’s skeptical expression when the others had told him of Edan—and that Cayne understood. There were a lot of things off about him and his story, but Cayne still didn’t consider the guy a threat. If he wanted to screw them over, as Julia and her friends liked to say, he would have done it already.

  Still, why had he disappeared as soon as they’d reached the House? And he had disappeared. Holed up with a woman, Samyaza’s ass. Something was going on, and Cayne was going to find out what. Bring Edan back into the fold so Cayne could focus his attention on the Chosen. Find chinks in their armor and be sure he knew their game.

  For his happy little visit to the hostel, he pulled on black jeans and the shell that went under his black ski jacket. He tried the girls’ bedroom door and found it locked, the way he’d left it; he listened, and heard only breathing.

  Good. He’d be back quickly.

  The lights in the hallway were dimmed, so the red carpet looked brown, and the pictures on the walls only revealed parts of themselves—half a lake, a shadowy forest. He walked briskly, his jeans making a swishing sound that faded into the ancient choral music coming from the speakers in the ceiling.

  The music reminded him of Killin, and once again his mind spun over the place’s disappearance. It was gone the year he’d been born. But it hadn’t been gone the last time Cayne visited, nearly sixty years after he’d left. He’d actually gone into the village and recognized one of the girls. She’d been an old woman, of course, but a girl when he’d known her.

  He didn’t go back again until the night with Julia, and according to the sign he found there he never saw that girl. He never lived in Killin at all.

  Impossible.

  But the alternative seemed implausible. Someone had managed to hide almost a century of Killin’s history—they’d managed to destroy it. The question ringing through Cayne’s head: Why?

  Samyaza had told him he was no Nephilim, the possessed girl (he’d decided since meeting her she had to’ve been) had alluded to the same. When he considered his life, and his recent history, his doubts about himself only grew. How had he survived Samyaza’s attack, when the Nephilim king had come after Cayne and Kat, following Cayne’s defection? He’d honed his skill for millennia; he’d killed everything he’d ever set his sights on. But Cayne had survived.

  He exhaled loudly, sticking his hands in his pockets as he stepped onto the elevator, where the music was louder. The rhythm was slow, the voices ancient, haunting. He loved it. Even recognized some of the words.

  They reminded him of another time… Another life…

  Somairhle Mochridhe.

  That had been his name. His Celtic name, given by his sentimental mum, who loved the old ways. He hadn’t planned on sharing it with anyone but he’d found himself writing it, reclaiming it as his “real” name, before Cayuzul.

  Somairhle Mochridhe. It nagged at his memory, like a whisper from some dark time.

  The elevator shuddered open on the ground level, its marble floors and red-carpeted halls silent. Three young Stained at the check-in desk played cards labeled “Uno”s. He slipped by them without notice, following a series of signs through a curved hall that led to the back of the building, toward the tram connection. If any of the few employees passing noticed him as a Nephilim, none stopped him.

  The tram was big and over warm, with large windows that looked out over the slopes, which glowed green with artificial light. He slouched into a gray bucket seat and glanced out at the fluttering snow as the tram fired up, a woman’s voice prompting him to choose a destination.

  “Jacquie’s House Hostel.”

  He pressed the big, orange button for that destination, buckled when prompted, and the tram set off.

  It smelled of plastic and women’s perfume, and it was silent except for the whoosh of its own motion. He propped his boots in the seat in front of him and shut his eyes, hoping fiercely that he’d made the right choice leaving Julia behind.

  He didn’t know what he’d do if he had to take her back to The Three. He didn’t know if he could. Which was why he must find Edan.

  “Somairhle Mochridhe.”

  His name echoed through his head, unbidden. A teasing voice… Dread in his belly… A grating, hopeless feeling… Something startling.

  Suddenly, Cayne couldn’t get to Edan’s room fast enough. He was on the edge of some insight, and he was sure Edan was involved. He made a hasty decision: He used his pseudo-camouflage ability to get past the entry desk and glide up the stairs. Room 202 was down the right hall, at the end. Cayne knocked hard once. Twice. Three times. No answer. Tentatively, he opened the link he’d created in Scotland, queasy at the thought of touching Edan’s strangeness—but it was necessary. And yeah, Eden was definitely behind the door.

  “Edan.” Cayne knocked once more. “Let me inside.”

  No answer.

  “Edan.”

  He heard a shuffling sound and struggled to squelch a wave of rage. He tr
ied a softer approach. “I only want to talk…buddy. Let me in.”

  When, after another minute, no one answered, Cayne followed the curved hallway back to the staircase. He walked out the front of the building, into fluffy white snow that came up almost to his knees.

  He walked to the end of the building, called forth his wings, and jumped.

  As soon as he snapped Edan’s window off its hinges, he heard a “Whoa!” and spotted the bastard sitting on the floor, wearing nothing but his skin, holding an oddly shaped remote, watching computerized people do something on the screen and eating croissants that smelled of cinnamon and butter.

  The guy’s eyes danced, as if he knew he had been caught and it excited him. “Sup buddy?” He waved at the television. “I’m playing Mass Effect. This X-Box thing is amazing.”

  Cayne sent his wings away and began hoisting himself through the window, speaking through gritted teeth. “I need to…talk to you, ya bastard.”

  As he dropped onto the gray carpet, Edan’s gaze returned to the busy screen. “No can do, dude. Sovereign is attacking the Citadel.”

  Cayne dropped onto a narrow bed and rubbed his face, which had started to go numb with cold. For once, he hesitated to speak. He glanced up at the clock above the desk beside the TV and thought of Julia. Then he shoved off the bed and stood over Edan, arms folded.

  “I want some answers, starting with who you really are and where you came from. Don’t tell me you’re the son of a female fallen and a male human. I’m not stupid.”

  Edan cocked a brow, as if to say touché. “That seems a little unfair, don’t you think? You haven’t told me your whole happy history. Who are you, Somairhle Mochridhe? Do you even know?” he smiled slyly, and Cayne’s blood boiled.

  Two seconds later Edan was pinned to the floor. “If you were the girl in my cell and you are fucking with me, so help me,” he growled.

  “What girl?” Edan swatted at his head, and Cayne tightened his grip a second before letting the guy go. Panting slightly, Edan rubbed his neck. “I’m not a chick, dude. Check it out.” He looked down at himself, and Cayne looked away. “Get dressed,” he snapped. “And you will answer my questions. I’m not leaving till you do.”

  “Your wish is my command.” Edan whipped a hand back through his caramel waves and stepped into some gray sweats. He pulled on a red hoodie and held his arms out. “Now tell me what you want. I’ve got a girl coming over in a while and I’ve got a game to play.”

  Cayne rubbed his eyes roughly. “Why did you ask me that? ‘Who are you’?”

  Edan shrugged. “Just being existential, ya know?”

  “What do you know about me?”

  Edan shook his head. “Besides being whipped by a wee Chosen,” Edan said in a mocking Scottish accent, “I don’t know shit about you.”

  He looked casual, but there was something in his voice that raised Cayne’s hairs. “I’ve been told I’m not a Nephilim.”

  “You look like one to me.”

  Cayne sighed. “Why did you separate from our group?”

  “Girls, man. You know, I was kept away from them at the Compound.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “I thought so too.”

  Cayne growled, then stopped himself. It was a habit he was trying to kick at Julia’s insistence. She said it scared people.

  Then he realized he didn’t care whether Eden was scared.

  “Why were you afraid of the guards we saw outside the resort?” He growled.

  Eden puffed himself up. “I don’t know what guards you’re talking about, and I’m—”

  “You think I bought your story about the café?”

  Edan looked confused, then his eyes widened. “They did. They stole my money!”

  “You’re lying.”

  Edan shrugged. “You don’t believe what I say, I see no point in continuing our conversation. Maybe you should hit the bar, dude. Loosen up a little.”

  Cayne tried another angle. “I’ve got a past of my own. If anyone’s going to listen with an open mind, it’s me.”

  A look passed over Edan’s face—a rippling that eventually became a smile, but Cayne suspected could have come out uglier.

  “Bro—can I call you Bro? Of course I can. So here’s the thing, Bro: there’s nothing to tell. Maybe my origin doesn’t make much sense to you; it hasn’t to me—but it’s the story I know. Think what you will, but I am who I am. And I can’t help Julia. I’m not sure who can lift a curse.” He rubbed his forearm, looking irritated. “I’ll catch you later.”

  Edan walked to the door, but Cayne stayed put. “You need to come back with me. We have two suites—both nicer than this room.”

  “No can do my man. Like I said, I’ve got a date later. I’ve gotta get ready.”

  Cayne walked to him, intentionally intruding on his personal space. “I don’t know why you decided to come with us in the beginning—”

  “You’re all such good company.”

  “Shut up! I spoke for you then, and now you owe me.”

  “I’d say that made us even.”

  “Then how about this: If you don’t come back willingly, I’ll drag you back.”

  Cayne hadn’t really expected the guy to comply, but he was surprised by the darkness in Edan’s eyes. No, they actually did darken, turning almost black as he stood straight. “That is not something you want to try,” he warned.

  Cayne held himself in check. He couldn’t force Edan to do anything. So he gritted his teeth and he did it for Julia. He said, “Please.”

  Edan looked torn. For about a second. And then he simply said, “I would if I could.”

  Cayne flexed his hand. Balled into a fist. But instead of smashing into Edan’s face, the way he wanted to, the way he would have in the past… He walked out.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  As she watched herself writhe against the binds that pinned her to the chair, Julia had an incredible sense of déjà vu. She’d been here before. The sting of the ropes rubbing her skin, the feeling of being trapped with no escape—it was familiar. But she didn’t know how.

  Adrenaline raced through her, her mind bounced, her whole body twitched, and something must have happened, because the next second she was running—fast.

  I have to get to Cayne!

  He was swathed in fog—so much of it she almost couldn’t see him. The wisps wound around his body like tentacles, puffs of white against a dark landscape. Somewhere nearby, she heard the sloshing sound of water lapping rock.

  She stepped closer, and the space cleared around his face. She gasped. It was blue. Lifeless.

  She lunged toward him, but he and the fog vanished, and she tripped, fell onto her knees. Her head was pounding, and her hands were wet. She pulled them to her face. They were covered in gold. On the ground was what looked like splatter paint. She touched it and found her fingertips pressing into woven gold: the net. It shifted as she moved, sending heat through her body, and soon she was hot, too hot and getting hotter. She felt herself fraying from the inside, her pieces ripping—

  Julia awoke in a cold sweat with her head pressed into Carlin’s side and one of her legs tangled with Meredith’s. The first thing she thought was: She’d had that exact same dream before—when she’d had her headache the first time, back in Scotland.

  She looked left, and found Mer’s wide brown eyes fixed on her.

  “Holy cow,” Meredith whispered, “I just saw you in my nightmare.”

  Julia propped her head up on her arm, but she was shaking and she didn’t know for sure if she could speak. She widened her eyes in response.

  “Julia, you were doing what I do. I was having this dream about…” She chewed her lip. “I was dreaming about Nathan. He had this really bad feeling. Confused and terrified.” Meredith’s voice cracked on the word. She rubbed her eyes and sat up a little, clutching the blanket to her chest. Carlin resituated behind Julia, and Mer dropped her voice to a softer whisper.

  “Sorry—Nathan turns me in
to a big crybaby.” She rubbed her eyes. Inhaled. Exhaled. “So anyways. He was walking on top of dark water where I see him walk sometimes, and he was really upset about his family. He was really alone…and sad. And then all of a sudden you were there. I saw your pink shoes first, and you were standing sort of behind him, in the fog. You looked right at me and you said, ‘Did you know that he’s been to see The Three? That’s what this water is. It means he’s in their grasp.’ Then I woke up, and you were waking up to!”

  Julia shook her head. “I was dreaming something completely different.”

  Carlin, lying on her stomach, pressed one palm over her ear, and Mer grabbed Julia’s arm. “Let’s go somewhere else,” she whispered.

  Sitting up and scooting off the bed made Julia’s vision dapple, but she gritted her teeth and followed Meredith to the bathroom, where her friend gave her a kind, parental look. “I can tell your head is killing you. Wanna try a hot shower? I’ll stand on the other side of the curtain and we can talk about your freakish new dream walking abilities.”

  Julia groaned. “I am so a freak. And I was right—dream me: I think the foggy that foggy stuff and the water must be where the Three hang out. Or hung out.” She shrugged, wincing as the motion sent a bolt of pain into her head.

  Meredith had grabbed a paddle brush and jerked it through her long hair, prancing like an anxious horse. “You said he’s in their grasp. What does that mean? I never really thought about him seeing them—not that he ever admitted it. I just thought he was just this annoying, holier-than-thou kind of guy, but now I don’t, and now I’m worried. Julia, it’s terrible. I am so worried about him. He’s a good guy. I’m sorry if that’s hard for you to see.”

  “It isn’t.” Julia grabbed the brush from Mer’s hands and pointed to the dark marble Jacuzzi. “Sit down.” As Meredith did, Julia sank down to the floor, facing her friend, leaning her back against the cabinets below the sink. “Honestly, I do think Nathan is a decent guy. I don’t know anything about The Three…not firsthand anyway, but I think it’s probably not good that he’s so… That he’s in such close contact.”