by Lexi C. Foss
“Shift back, Amelia.” A lethal command punctuated by the metal digging into her skin. “I’ve always adored your pretty face. Show it to me.”
She couldn’t move, her heart hammering against her ribs, her arms loose at her sides. One twitch and he’d send an incendiary bullet into her brain.
“Now, Amelia,” he snapped.
Her limbs trembled as she resumed her natural form, shrinking by several inches in the too-big clothes. The gun followed, Jonathan’s lips curling into a triumphant grin.
“Is that my son whispering in your ear?” he asked, eyeing the small device tucked just inside her ear canal. “Do send him my regards.”
No response from Tom.
Or Luc.
“I hear all my Sentinels have been transferred to Hydria. That’s disappointing.” Jonathan trailed a finger up her sternum, his other hand as stable as ever with the gun against her skull.
When he reached her throat, he circled it with his palm, giving it a squeeze. She trembled in response, his touch cascading a myriad of memories over her, all laced with pain.
Knowledge, some part of her whispered. Use that knowledge.
But she stood frozen, her heart in her throat, unable to move or speak.
Jonathan had captured her again. He had her pinned to the wall, his palm encircling her throat, a device meant to kill her in the opposite hand.
He’s going to kill me.
“You’ve caused so many problems for me, darling Amelia. You seduced Tom, converted him into this weakling, and convinced him to turn his back on a bright future. Not to mention all the issues between myself and Issac now, and I suppose Lucian and Aidan. Well, the latter is dead and no longer a concern. Such a shame, as I hadn’t meant for him to be a target.” He shrugged. “But it’s hard to control angry men, Amelia. I believe we’ve had this discussion before, yes?”
Countless times, she thought. The last of which had been after something Issac had done that pissed Jonathan off. He’d shattered her ankle and punched her repeatedly, yet he never broke the skin. His punishments were always internal. Always agonizing. Her blood too toxic to him to spill.
Until Stark healed her.
But he wasn’t here now.
There would be no remedy tonight.
Only death.
“You’re thinking about it.” He cocked his head to the side. “All the times I mastered you.”
Hatred boiled inside her. Blind rage. But her throat remained closed, his grip constricting to just the right point where she could barely breathe. He wanted to prolong the torment, to draw out her suffering.
That’s our advantage, she realized. His arrogance.
He wouldn’t shoot her until the perfect moment, until he destroyed her resolve. Anything else would leave him unsatisfied. If she fought back, he’d be forced to work harder to put her in her place.
She actually smiled. Probably a result of the delusions, the years of torment, the finality of the moment, but her lips fucking curled. And his lifting eyebrows displayed his surprise.
“Fuck. You.” She spit the words into his face, not caring at all how they rasped against her windpipe. As long as she possessed her spirit, he lost. That was what she’d forgotten when he caught her, the situation momentarily rendering her stupefied. But now she remembered his greatest weakness—he hated to lose.
No matter what he did to her, she’d never break.
That was why he kept her alive for all those years. The experimentation was all a guise. He had everything he needed, apart from her soul. And the monster in him wasn’t satisfied without it.
She started to laugh, the sound coming out as a croak, then disappearing altogether as he tightened his hold, stealing her breath.
“You court death, do you?” he taunted. “I’ll grant it. And when you wake up, I’ll grant it again.”
Her chest continued to vibrate with silent laughter, even as her airways begged her to inhale. It only seemed to infuriate him more. So much so that he didn’t notice the man creeping up behind him.
Tom grabbed the gun beside her head, yanking it upward and to the side before Jonathan could react. She gasped as Jonathan released her, her legs unsteady.
Curses and crashes occurred as Tom wrestled his father to the ground, landing a punch against the other man’s jaw that sent blood spraying across the room. “You fucking bastard!” Tom snarled, his expression crazed. Another punch, this one Jonathan blocked as he sent his fist upward. But it didn’t faze Tom, rage pouring off him as he clamped his fingers around the other man’s throat. “I’m going to fucking kill you!”
Jonathan sputtered, his eyes rounding as he gripped Tom’s forearms.
Amelia sucked in a breath, her lungs aching. She couldn’t speak, her throat still healing from the damage Jonathan had inflicted.
But Tom wasn’t letting up, his chest heaving from the exertion, his muscles bulging with the effort as if he were trying to rip Jonathan’s head from his body.
“You killed Mom. You killed Rosalie. You killed all those innocent people. You’re a monster. You deserve this. You can’t… you can’t remain. Everything you’ve done, everything you continue to do.” Tears poured from Tom’s eyes, a violent tremor ricocheting down his arms. “Fuck, I have to. You’ll just hurt more people, do more horrible things. To Lizzie. To Stas. To Amelia.” He shook. “Fuck!” His grip loosened, his head falling. “Why couldn’t you be normal and care? Be a real dad? All I ever wanted was your approval. But you never fucking gave it.”
Tom released him, his shoulders shaking, more tears falling as Jonathan gasped. He remained trapped beneath Tom’s stronger form, pinned to the ground. “Son,” he breathed, his voice in tatters, reminding Amelia of her own.
“You deserve to die,” Tom continued in a whisper, ignoring that single word. “But I can’t be like you. I refuse that fate. I will never be you.” He slammed his fist into Jonathan’s face, knocking the man out. “I can’t kill him.” He looked at Amelia. “I… I can’t.”
She knelt beside him, her hands on his cheeks, pulling him into a hug as Luc walked into the kitchen. He took one look at Jonathan and nodded. “The house is clear.” Quiet words. “We need to secure him.” He knelt to fish the phone from his pocket. “And I need to get this to Mateo. Whoever called him is our mole.”
Jacque appeared, his expression grim. “To the cell?” he asked.
Luc nodded while Amelia said, “No.”
Both men looked at her. “What?” Luc arched a brow. “What do you mean?”
“No,” she repeated, her hand locating the gun on Tom’s waist. Her mind was made up. If he couldn’t even kill his own father, how would he withstand the torture? He’d feel guilty. He’d worry about turning into the monster who created him. And that part of him, the history, would forever be there to haunt him.
But if Jonathan died, that history went with him.
“No,” she said again, her voice raspy but clear. “That’s not who we are, Luc. It’s not who Aidan would want us to be. We have to move on from this, to move forward. Not live in the past. Not torture a man to make us feel better. We’ll never get past this if we keep him around. The worst punishment we can give Jonathan is to forget him.”
She removed the weapon from Tom’s belt.
“Amelia,” Luc cautioned.
“No, Luc.” She glanced up at him, tears in her eyes. “I love you, big brother. I do. But this is the right way. He needs to die. He needs to be forgotten. He needs to burn in the sins of the past. By himself. Don’t you understand? Don’t you get it? As long as he’s here, he’ll haunt us. Torturing him will do nothing but bring more sorrow. This is the right path.”
And the longer they debated it, the more satisfaction it would give Jonathan. He didn’t have to be awake to broadcast that achievement. He would just know, for as long as his soul remained, he had a hook in them all. It gave him an importance, one she refused to allow him to keep.
She wanted her life back.
&
nbsp; He’d held it captive for long enough.
Amelia didn’t wait.
She lifted the gun.
And pulled the trigger.
Tom jumped beside her. Luc cursed. And Jacque… just smiled.
It was done.
“He’s dead,” she whispered, marveling at the charred blood pooling between his closed eyes. The incendiary bullet had worked instantly, rendering his insides to ash.
Jonathan Fitzgerald would never breathe another word again.
Never hurt anyone else.
Never be the source of another nightmare.
Amelia was free. They all were. “He’s dead,” she repeated, handing the gun back to Tom. He gazed at her with adoration and respect and sadness.
“He’s gone,” he said, as if he needed to say it as well. “He’s finally gone.”
She cupped his cheek. “It needed to be done.”
“I know.” He leaned into her. “But I couldn’t do it.”
“That’s what makes you so strong,” she whispered. “Even after everything he’s done, you still care. That’s called love, Tom. Never lose sight of that. It’s what makes you who you are.” She pulled him into a hug, her arms wrapping around his muscular shoulders, holding him tight while he silently grieved.
Luc and Jacque left them to their peace, to allow them their moment of shared understanding. And Amelia loved them both for it.
Jonathan may have been a monster, but he created Tom.
All sons and daughters deserved their right to mourn. Something Luc knew, even if he hadn’t taken his moment yet.
“I hated him,” Tom whispered. “God, I hated him so much.”
What was left unsaid were the words, But I also loved him.
Amelia parted her lips on a reply as Mateo’s voice came over the comms. “Uh, guys? I just received a call from Owen. He hasn’t heard from Stark in over two hours. And Stas just activated her tracker, but the location’s unknown. Something’s wrong.”
35
Stas
Aya.
God, it was cold. And wet. And that smell, like rust mating with sulfur. Ugh. Stas was not a fan at all. Her nose crinkled, her muscles cramping as she tried to roll to her side.
Aya.
Slick stone abraded her skin through her thin shirt and jeans, sending a shiver down her spine. Her stomach heaved, jolting her across the hard floor. This sucks.
Aya.
The male voice sounded impatient. She couldn’t find the source, her surroundings too dark. And so damn frigid. Where am I?
In Osiris’s dungeon. I need you to focus.
She blinked. What? Who was talking to her and how? Wait… Another slow blink, a yellowish tint forming. Something splashed between her eyes. More of that stench infiltrated her lungs. Oh, yuck.
This place reeked. And, God, what was she lying in? Some sort of icy liquid that seeped right through her clothes.
Stas shifted to her back, trying to sit up, but her head pounded. What the hell had knocked her out? A wrecking ball? Fuck. She swallowed, her throat dry. She needed water. No, she needed to determine what the hell happened.
With as much energy as she could muster, she levered herself up off the ground and forced her eyes open. A set of metal bars filled her vision. Beyond it lay an archaic room littered with stone walls and haphazard lighting.
What had the voice called it? A dungeon? Yep. That was exactly what this was. An old one with rusty metal, stagnant water, and… blood stains.
She scrambled backward, away from the remains to her left, the back of her hand at her mouth. Oh God. That was the smell—rotting flesh. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Her stomach churned, her mind whirring. Where the—
Aya, a voice snapped. Male. Familiar. Stern. Breathe and focus on me. I’m one cell over.
She glanced left at the gray wall. Issac?
Other side, love.
The same view overwhelmed her vision as she shifted her head in the opposite direction. How do you know?
Based on your vantage point of the chamber outside the cells, he replied. Do you still have your necklace?
Her brow furrowed. Necklace? She touched the heart pendant hanging from her throat. I’ve never taken it off.
Good. Can you activate the tracker?
She shook her head. It doesn’t work. I tried that when, uh, you know.
It works, he replied, sounding sad. But Mateo had turned off the monitoring after… the reception.
Oh. Right. She pressed her thumb to the metal rung at the base and shifted it to the side. It’s on.
When Osiris returns, be sure to deactivate it just in case he scans you. Although, I suspect he already did.
She shivered at the thought of that man touching her. What happened? The last thing she remembered was misting onto the property and coming face-to-face with Osiris. He ambushed us.
Indeed. Issac fell quiet for a long moment. Someone set us up. Only a handful of people knew where we were heading.
You’re worried Tristan betrayed us.
More silence, then a soft and hesitant Yes.
Where’s Stark? she wondered. And Ezekiel?
Gabriel is in the cell on the other side of you. He keeps showing me images of potential escape plans.
She frowned. Why doesn’t he just mist us out?
We’re underground. But he’s working on a rune. Except, well, he’s having to use his own blood to draw it.
Her mouth fell open. What?
There’s nothing else to write with, Aya.
She glanced around. What about water? Or… Her gaze fell to the rotting body in the corner. It wasn’t exactly a skeleton, more of a zombie-like form.
That’s what happens when an Ichorian is left to starve for a very long time, Issac murmured.
Are you telling me that thing might be… alive?
Possibly. I’d stay away from it.
Yeah, that was advice she didn’t require. Stas slid backward until she hit the wall beside Stark. We can’t just sit here, she said. There has to be something we can do, something we can use.
She grabbed one of the edgier stones jutting out above her and used it to pull herself up. Standing made no difference in her ten-by-ten-foot cell. Nor did it reveal anything additional beyond the bars. But sitting on her ass seemed pointless.
Stas reached for her power, searching deep inside, and came up against a wall of nothingness. Wait. How are you using your visual gift? she wondered.
Great question, he replied. I don’t actually know but, I suspect it has to do with not being fully transitioned yet. My powers have always worked underground.
A tremor rocked her to her core. Does that mean you’re not entirely immortal?
Possibly. He didn’t sound concerned. You know, I just realized why Osiris built the Conclave beneath the Arcadia—to prevent Seraphim from entering. He chose a powerful safe haven for his creations. Fancy that?
If you’re asking me to admire the monster, it’s not going to happen. She trailed her fingers over the bars of her cell, searching for a weak link.
It just further proves what Gabriel said about Osiris amassing an army. He’s been preparing for several thousands of years. And no one had a clue. The admiration in his tone reminded her a bit of Aidan. He, too, would have found the reveal fascinating.
The clank of metal had Stas freezing in place, her gaze searching for the source. Did you hear that?
Yes.
Another creak sounded.
Then footsteps.
Loud.
Heavy.
Authoritative.
She pressed her thumb to the tracker, deactivating it just as Osiris sauntered into the room.
“Oh, good, you’re all awake,” he said by way of greeting. The elegant cut of his suit acted as a façade for the evil lurking beneath. He almost appeared approachable and friendly, even with the ghastly halo reflecting around his bald head. “I trust you all slept well?”
No one replied.
He chuckled.
“Well, I have to say, I’m actually impressed. Especially with you.” He focused on the cell to her left. “I honestly never suspected you of being a Seraphim, Gabriel. I just assumed the genetics we implanted took. How did you fool the researchers? I know they drew blood samples, but everything came back mortal.”
“They were easy enough to swap with a local hospital.” Stark sounded as bored as ever. “Nothing to be too excited about.”
“You’re right,” Osiris agreed. “I’m just thrilled you managed to hide your identity for so long. It proves you might be useful to me. But your misting about with Ezekiel, well, that’s a shame. I honestly thought him to be tamed long ago. Alas, here we are. Poor Skye. She’ll bear the brunt of his transgressions, learn to hate him more. Such as my compelling her to give that fabricated prophecy about Sethios to Ezekiel. I mean, I can’t kill him. Trust me, I’ve tried.”
The way he said it, as if he expected them to pity him, had Stas biting her tongue to keep from saying something sarcastic back to him. Now was not the time to taunt the monster.
“Fortunately, it worked, didn’t it? You’re all here now, just as I planned. Well, and as she predicted. Such a useful little prophetess. And it served as a fun punishment for Sethios as well. Win-win all around, yes?”
He paused on a smile, allowing his admission to settle over his audience.
The prophecy was a lie.
A way to force them all to react, to fall right into Osiris’s waiting hands.
The bastard had played them all brilliantly, and his cocksure expression said he knew it, too.
“Ah, well, one day Ezekiel will truly heel. I just have to finish breaking him first.”
“And my father?” Stas asked, folding her arms. “Is that what you’re doing with him?”
His green eyes flickered beneath the lights, his lips flattening. “Sethios is a lost cause. You, however, I have hope for. And knowing you bonded to Issac has provided me with the most delicious training module.”
