by Theresa Kay
“We would be happy to, as you refuse to listen to reason, but you have confiscated our ship. ” Lir draws closer to the general. The general takes another step back. They’re both stiff and intense, but only the general shows visible signs of anger.
“Now listen here, kid—”
The president stands up and slams his fist on his desk. “That is enough. Carter, I won’t have you insulting our potential allies any longer.”
General Carter sputters and turns to the president. “But sir, I was just—”
“I don’t care what you were just doing. I’ve made my decision. Mr. Vestra is here as an emissary, not a prisoner. I insist that he and his, uh, colleagues be treated accordingly.”
The general looks like he wants to say more, but he doesn’t. He shakes his head in silence and plops down in one of the other chairs. Then he crosses his arms over his chest and leans back with his feet kicked forward. He shoots a wordless glare at the president, but then lowers his chin in acquiescence.
The president turns back to Lir. “Now, you were about to tell me about the hybrids.”
As the general makes a choking noise, the door swings open again—a little less violently this time. It’s Dad who enters, leaning heavily on Karo.
He looks even worse than when I saw him an hour or so ago. The circles under his eyes have gotten darker, and there’s hardly any color in his face at all. He can barely stand—which is probably why Karo’s here—but he lets go of the E’rikon’s arm and crosses the room. He stops behind my chair. “Before you make any decisions, please understand I had to keep it from you. If the information had gotten out, it would have been disastrous—and things were unstable enough as it was.”
The president and the general share a confused look, but I’m pretty sure I know what Dad’s talking about. Me.
Lir clears his throat. “We have not gotten that far yet, Adam.” He gestures toward his vacated chair, and Dad half collapses into it. Lir clears his throat. “The hybrids… I am uncertain where to start. I do not know much about the events here on Earth, and I am not familiar with the more technical aspects of things.”
“Start with what you do know,” says Dad. “I can fill in some of the gaps.”
Lir presses his lips together and nods. “Our planet, Rikonos, was dying. The Council decided to send out scouting missions to find another planet suitable for us. The atmosphere wasn’t perfect for us on Earth, but it was acceptable, and our kitus would allow for our biology to adapt. However, the children born here would not have kitus, and unless another solution could be found, they would have to live within a barrier like the one in place around the city—in a space where the atmosphere could be altered.
“That other solution...” He pauses. “Since humans are somewhat similar to us biologically, the idea was to create a hybrid of our two species, in order to… to bridge the gap, I guess you would say. The hope was that our scientists could study the hybrids and come up with a way to make adjustments to our biology so our children would not be dependent on kitus. But the experiments failed—or at least, that was what I was told. I did not find out until very recently that any hybrids existed, or that they were even possible.”
Dad picks up the narrative. “Those experiments did fail, but the lead E’rikon scientist, Jastren Reva, did not give up on the idea of hybrids. Even from Rikonos, he was the driving force behind the original experiments, and once he arrived on Earth with the rest of the E’rikon, he continued with his own experiments. However, I believe he was ultimately looking for a solution for himself rather than one for the children.”
Dad rubs at the back of his neck and glances at Lir. “The E’rikon have a fairly stringent caste system. Well, the E’rikon here…” His eyes dart to Karo. “Never mind. That’s not important right now. Back to what I was saying. Within this caste system, those from the Reva line were—are?—scientists, not too high on the power chain, but not low either. The Revas developed both the kitus and the method for giving E’rikon family-specific abilities they call ‘enhancements.’ These are tied to the kitus, along with many of their other abilities, including the telepathy at this point.
“When the Reva line created the enhancements, they gave themselves one that allows them to manipulate others’ emotions. But Jastren’s enhancement was stripped from him when he and the E’rikon Council had a bit of a disagreement—this was not long before the exodus from Rikonos. Somehow, though, he has gotten his enhancement back. I assume he managed this through his continued experimentation with hybrids and genetic manipulation. As I said, I think this was his real objective all along.
“Jastren’s enhancement is also now much stronger than it used to be, probably because he designed it that way. He can not only manipulate emotions but thoughts, and who knows what else. And he’s been using this ability to pull strings behind the scenes for who knows how long—or for what purpose. My best guess is he’s out for revenge on the people who stripped him of his abilities: the E’rikon elite, like the Council and Lir’s family.”
Dad takes a deep breath. “He also experimented with enhancing others… like his own daughter. He managed to pack her full of multiple enhancements while she was in utero. This was before his bondmate was shipped here to Earth with one of the early arrival teams. That enhanced daughter later became my wife… and Jax’s mother.” He pauses and swallows audibly. “Jax is my daughter. She’s every enhancement Jastren Reva thought up, all combined in a neat little half-human package.”
His eyes come up to meet mine. He smiles softly and reaches for my hand.
I pull away. I should feel badly about his crestfallen expression, but I don’t have it in me right now. No matter what his excuse was, the guy abandoned us.
Lir’s hand comes to rest on my shoulder, and he gives it a gentle squeeze. I cover his hand with mine and turn my attention back to President Taylor.
Taylor coughs, his eyes wide. “Well, that’s certainly unexpected.”
The general whirls around, one finger pointing at my dad’s chest. “Mitchell…” He’s sputtering, barely able to form words through his rage. “I’ll have you court-martialed. I’ll have you tossed back in the goddamn brig for this!” He turns back to President Taylor. “Taylor, we can’t stand for this insubordination!”
Taylor’s eyebrows go up. “Insubordination? It seems to me Dr. Mitchell was only protecting his child.” His eyes slide back to my dad. “Though I am disappointed he chose not to trust us with the information before now. It might have changed things. But…” He leans back in his chair with his hands resting on his stomach. “We know now, and we have Mr. Vestra here to help broker peace between us and the E’rikon. I don’t see how punishing Dr. Mitchell at this point would serve any purpose.”
My mind barely registers what Taylor is saying. I’m too busy focusing on one word. Indignation flares through me. “Children,” I say in a flat voice. “He was protecting his children. Plural.”
The president cocks his head to the side, and General Carter narrows his eyes.
My dad stares at the floor.
“It was my twin brother Jace who stole the E’rikon ship out from underneath your noses,” I say. “He’s just as enhanced as I am, maybe more, and he’s under Jastren’s control. Eventually Jastren’s attention will shift to this base. Should he send my brother here…” I trail off, shaking my head. “You all might not want to listen to Lir, or even me, but this really shouldn’t be up for debate. Like I said before, Jastren is a threat to us all.”
“And time is of the essence,” says Rym. “My father, Lir’s uncle, will order some sort of retaliation for your failure of a ‘mission’ if you do not act quickly. Beyond that, in a choice between Jastren and the humans, I have no doubt my father will ally himself with whichever side he thinks will win—so you don’t want Jastren to get to him first. You don’t want Jastren in a position to control where my father’s arsenal is aimed.”
“My cousin is correct,” says Lir. “Even if you care
nothing for an alliance, at least provide us with transportation to the city so I may speak with my uncle before Jastren has a chance to do so. The future of both our species may depend on it.”
I LAND THE SHIP IN a patch of brown grass near the west gate. Sharp pains stab my temples and behind my eyes, and my vision keeps blurring in and out. I don’t know if it’s from flying the stupid ship—I had to maintain a connection with the damn thing the entire flight—or from the internal battle between truths, lies, and manipulations playing out in my head. Maybe it’s both.
But it’s done. Grandfather can leave me out of things for a while. I need my bed and—
Another pain jolts through my head, and I bring my palms up to press against my temples. My right hand brushes against wetness, and when I pull it back, my thumb is wet with blood. I run my hands over my face. No injuries, but… I rub my index finger against my right ear. It’s wet. That’s where I’m bleeding from.
My stomach drops. What’s happening to me? Is it overexertion, or something else? Could that brief connection with my sister have broken through Grandfather’s mental barriers and resulted in physical symptoms?
Nausea churns in my stomach and I frantically wipe at the blood, hoping to clear it away before anyone sees. I can’t let Grandfather see it, not if it could be from—
Leave it.
My hand freezes as Grandfather approaches. He walks around to my side and peers down at my ear, a pensive look on his face. “Interesting,” he says. He prods at the side of my head with one long finger, then pulls it back, examining the blood with detached curiosity.
The pain in my head has receded a bit, but it’s not gone, and watching him study my blood as if I’m some lab experiment fans the flames of rage inside me. I clench my hands into fists and try to push it down, but it’s not working. It’s growing out of control. My eyes narrow on the tall, red-haired E’rikon, and every ounce of darkness inside me comes roaring to the front. There’s a knife in my hand and I’m spinning, reaching—
Stop.
Such power in that one little word. Enough to stop me in my tracks. I’m still seething, my breath coming in harsh pants. For a moment, Grandfather just observes me. Then his lip curls up in a sneer. “Get control of yourself.”
My every instinct screams at me. My muscles are rigid and my fingers curl into my palms, the nails biting into the skin. It won’t go away, the raging darkness threatening to drown me. I can’t do it. I can’t. It needs an outlet and I don’t have one. Not now, with pain wracking my body and black hatred swirling through my thoughts. Jax might have gotten through to me, might have broken some of Grandfather’s control, but she’s also broken mine.
I have to…
I force my eyes closed. My nails cut deeper into my palms as I fight to push it back. It’s a struggle—every step of the way the darkness fights against going back in its cage—but I manage it somehow. The effort leaves me panting, sweaty, and even more exhausted.
Grandfather rolls his eyes as if I’m some petulant child having a temper tantrum. “If you cannot gain control of that, it will cause you more problems than a bloody ear.”
Gain control? I almost laugh. The best I can hope for is to keep the darkness hidden away.
I eye his expression. He’s more irritated than concerned—not that I’d expect him to be worried about me anyway. I’m not worried about me. I doubt I’ll survive whatever is to come. The blood is proof of that. My fragile human body cannot contain the E’rikon abilities forever, not like this, not when it’s a struggle to even harness them. Every time I use them there’s a price, a piece of me that breaks off and floats away. This time the price is a little blood. Next time it might be worse.
I want nothing more than to collapse into bed and close my aching eyes, but that’s not going to happen. I don’t have the luxury of rest. Grandfather is already staring at me with that expectant arrogance I despise. He is in control, will continue to be in control, and he doesn’t give a damn about anyone else.
He waves a hand toward me and quirks a brow, a silent signal for me to begin my report.
So, without pause, I relay the story of my trip to the base and the theft of the ship. My use of various mental abilities to locate the ship intrigues him, and he lowers his chin in a subtle nod of approval. That approval doesn’t last long though. His face darkens, his brows drawing together, as I reach the part about seeing my sister.
“Did she speak to you?” The question is bland, flat even, but I can hear the suspicion behind it. Suspicion of me.
She didn’t speak to me. Not out loud anyway, but Grandfather won’t want to hear that I let her inside my head. What would he do if I told him the truth? That she was almost able to get me to turn around? That his influence over me weakened in the moment I met my sister’s eyes?
No. I can’t tell him. I shake my head.
He nods, and a tiny smile breaks across his face. It’s a smile of pride rather than happiness, and it’s pride for himself, not for me, but it’s nice to see I’ve managed to please him at least a little.
Grandfather’s attention slides to the ship. He walks around it slowly, studying it from every angle, and at one point running a hand along the side of the metal. When he’s completed the circuit, he nods again, and his smile grows. “You did well. Very well.”
Pleasing him suddenly doesn’t feel all that pleasant. There’s a dark look in his eyes, a gleefully murderous glint that sends a tingle of apprehension down my spine. He doesn’t want the ship for transportation. So what is he planning to do with it? What sinister goals am I helping him achieve?
Why does it matter?
That’s right. It doesn’t. Grandfather knows what’s best for me. For everyone, actually. I shouldn’t question his actions. Not unless I want him to be displeased with me. His displeasure is not something I bear well.
I shake my head to clear it and follow a step behind Grandfather as he walks back to his—Dane’s—office, the place where so much of this started. My mind wanders during the walk, and it seems as if little time passes before we arrive.
What was I so worried about earlier?
Grandfather waves away the guards I hadn’t noticed following us here, then shuts the door behind us. “Sit.”
My butt hits the chair, and I focus on the dark wood of the desk in front of me. A different man sits behind it now, but this piece of furniture features in many of my worst memories.
I hate it here.
The fiery burn of hatred pierces the blankness forced upon me, and the scattered pieces of my mind slowly inch back together. It doesn’t do me any good. I can do nothing in the face of Grandfather’s full attention. Nothing but curl my hands and grit my teeth.
This is my punishment for what happened by the ship, for having the audacity to nearly lose control of the monster that lives in my head and under my skin. He’ll make me sit here and stare at the place where my heart died until, like a key twisting in a lock, a subtle mental push throws open the door my memories are locked behind. That same soft touch across my mind teases the images out one by one with a cold finesse, carefully selecting the ones that will gut me the most.
His smile.
His laugh.
His bright blue eyes sparkling with happiness, darkening with desire… widening with betrayal and horror.
Each one flashes in quick succession, over and over and over again, until they blur together into an endless loop of pain and guilt and—
“Stop!” The word bursts past my lips. And as the sound of it dies away, the ice-cold realization that it was a mistake to break my silence washes over me.
Because he listens. He stops. On the worst image of them all, the look in Flint’s eyes as I shoved the knife into his stomach. Worse, he flips the image so I’m looking from Flint’s eyes. And my face, the last expression Flint ever saw from me, is nothing but a mask of cold indifference. Even as I pull my knife back and he crumples to the ground, there isn’t so much as a twitch in my composure.
Did you know he died screaming and alone? That your sister left him there in a pool of his own blood in order to save herself?
No, I didn’t know that, but now I can picture it. The image twists around the hope that it’s not true and strangles it until it drifts away.
Now, let us put this unpleasantness behind us. I would like to know more about the layout of the base.
The memories are washed away on a soothing wave of calm. My face is wet with tears, my fingers cramped from clenching them into fists, and my head is pounding. But my lungs can inflate again, and the shattered pieces of the boy I used to be are once more locked in the back of my mind.
Grandfather’s hold on me loosens, and I slump in the chair, trying desperately to pull what’s left of me back together. There haven’t been many… intrusions into my head like that, but there have been enough for me to know I won’t get my full faculties back for a few hours. This one was bad enough that the fog might even last into tomorrow.
He settles back into his chair. “Go over your trip again. How many soldiers did you see? Did you see any weapons? Clearly their security is… lackluster.”
“I saw the two I killed… I don’t really know how many others. I felt more than I saw, but I don’t know…” I’m rambling now, the words pouring out of me in a desperate attempt to give him what he wants. “Stu was there. He’s not a soldier though. And the boy. Something was odd about the boy…”
“The boy?” He straightens and leans closer. “Tell me—No, don’t bother. I will get the information myself.”
A foreign presence slithers into my head, crawling along the mental images of my time on the base until it reaches the part with the boy. The images reverse and play again, focusing in on the boy’s face, his eyes, and that look he sent me…
“Interesting.” Grandfather smiles, cold and calculating. “They have no idea what they have. This will require me to move up my timetable a bit, but perhaps I do not need those records as badly as I thought.”
