by Nyna Queen
When two bony fingers pinched her butt cheek, Alex wheeled around with a hiss, baring her teeth.
“Ah.” Heloise stepped back with a triumphant smile as if she’d just gotten a murder confession out of Alex. “You might look human enough, but I know what you really are. Beneath that skin, you’re nothing but an animal. A primitive, ignorant creature, crude and unrefined. Creatures like you shouldn’t even exist. You are an evolutionary mistake.”
She waved toward Alex’s naked body and Alex realized the whole stripping show served one purpose only: humiliation.
“The others might be fooled by your pretty disguise, but I can see right through you. And now listen, missy, and listen very well because I will only say this once.” Their faces were barely three inches apart. “My family stems from one of the thirty great royal dynasties. The Dubois have been among the elite for centuries, starting from when Prima Luchesa ruled—may she rest in peace—little though this will mean to a simple creature such as yourself.
“And now Stephane is on his way to the greatest triumph this bloodline has ever seen. And he is so close. So close.” She held her fingers a mere centimeter apart. “He will be governor. I have worked too hard to keep the family in this position to let this chance slip through our fingers now. And I made sacrifices, the Great Mother knows I did. I won’t let this triumph be taken from me. By anyone. Not by our dear scheming competitors and certainly not by a dirty little mongrel who thinks she can take advantage of our magnanimity.”
Excuse me?
“If you threaten this family or my son’s position in any way, I swear by the Blind Child’s eyes that I will end you.”
Alex stared at her, shell-shocked.
Heloise smiled. Her voice was deceptively soft, almost sweet. “I won’t just kill you. No. I will crush your worthless little existence and you will regret the day your skank of a mother decided to keep you. Are we clear?”
“Crystal clear.” Bitch!
“Marvelous. You may get dressed again.”
Before Alex could so much as move, Heloise raised her left hand and rang a tiny silver bell attached to a chain around her wrist. A servant almost instantly poked his head into the room. Alex yanked her dress up, quickly covering her chest, and started to feverishly fumble with the back buttons, blushing beet red.
“They may come back in.” Heloise sniffed. “We are done here.”
To Alex’s dismay, it wasn’t just Josy and her mother who entered the drawing room, but also Darken and Stephane, like night and day beside each other. They were followed by a grumbling Max, who was trailing behind, complaining about how he was always left out of everything. Noticing her struggle, Josy had the grace to move over and help her with the dress.
“So?” Stephane rubbed his hands together, looking from his mother to Alex and back.
Heloise sniffed. “For the record, I still think this is an abysmally bad idea.” In this, at least, they were in complete agreement.
“Duly noted,” her son said with a fierce smile, clearly not caring a rap. Really, this whole family was insane. And he was the absolute top nut.
“When will you get started?”
“In order to make her presentable in time?” Heloise gave Alex another most derogative glance. “I think we better get started right away.”
CHAPTER SIX
DARKEN fixed the cuff links to his black silk shirt and studied himself in the mirror. His face was its typical cold, impassive mask but his eyes were burning with barely suppressed frustration.
Being under the same roof as Alex, walking the same corridors, eating at the same table, yet at the same time not being able to be close to her, was pushing him to the edge of self-control.
Not that he had seen that much of Alex during these past few days, since she was mostly monopolized by his mother for her “training,” and Heloise Dubois-Marcrant wasn’t known for her appreciation of leisure time.
Yet knowing that Alex was there was bad enough. And when Darken lay in bed, painfully aware that only a handful of walls separated them, his mind went on dangerous wanderings and it took all of his will power to keep his body from following suit. He’d wake in the middle of the night, heart hammering, with the memory of her smell in his nose and his blankets rumpled into a mess. The servants no longer made it a secret that they were avoiding him and even the rest of the mansion’s inhabitants seemed to feel a little more uneasy around him than usual, their careful attempts to act neutral scratching at his already brittle temper.
The door to his room burst open with such force that it crashed into the wall, sending all the small objects on the blackwood tables and shelves into a startled jitter.
Alex stormed into the room like an icy winter wind, eyes blazing.
She wore a lovely dress in all the colors of a vivid summer rain. It complimented her skin tone and hair color, but gauging her mood correctly, Darken had the feeling he’d have a fight on his hands if he were to mention it. If there wasn’t already one coming.
Darken raised one eyebrow at her in the mirror, not sure which disconcerted him more: the fact that if she’d arrived a couple of minutes earlier she’d have run in on him naked or the thought that it might have bothered her.
Alex planted her feet in a fighting stance and bared her teeth at him.
“You’re leaving?”
Darken’s gaze flickered toward the travel-ready carryall in front of his wardrobe. He gritted his teeth. Five minutes. Five more minutes and he would have been gone.
Yes, snuck out like a spineless coward!
Well, he was just trying to make this easier on both of them. At least, that’s what he kept telling himself.
Slowly shaking out his shirt sleeves, Darken turned around, keeping his face carefully impassive. “I must report back to the Order. I believe I mentioned that.”
Alex’s lips pulled back in a snarl. “Fuck the Order!”
This startled him enough to blink. Not the obscenity as such—the Great Mother knew he’d heard worse from her—but the vigor behind it.
There was almost something like panic on her face when she took another step forward. “You can’t leave me alone with these people!” Her voice dropped into a hiss. “They are all insane!”
Hah! That she would consider him, the forfeit, the notorious killer, the sanest of his family. Ah, the cutting irony.
Though why she would even want him to stay, he had no idea. After all, she was the one who had run out on him in the hall, leaving him with the severed end of their conversation.
Still, he supposed he had acted as some kind of buffer between her and the rest of the family, especially his mother. His presence must have been equated with some kind of protection. To assume anything else would be foolish. And yet here he was, being exactly that fool, who couldn’t help wondering if maybe, maybe, there had been some kind of misunderstanding. That, perhaps, he’d misread her in some way, and maybe if only he found the right words, there might still be a chance for the two of them.
It brought back all the doubts he’d thought he had safely buried in the recesses of his heart. But there were so many unspoken words lingering between them, a rift that was growing wider by the day. A rift he didn’t know how to span.
Well, she’s here now, old son. In your room. What are you gonna do about it?
He couldn’t waste this chance. It might well be his last.
Taking a deep breath, Darken raised a hand. “Alex, listen, I—”
“Alex? Alex!” Josepha’s voice came from somewhere outside in the corridor.
Alex flinched. The fearless I-will-tear-you-to-ribbons-with-my-bare-hands-and-tie-you-a-bow-for-your-funeral spider actually flinched at the sound of the voice of his baby niece. Interesting.
Darken’s hand fell to his side. The flood of disappointment he felt was so raw, he wanted to scream in frustration.
There was the sound of feet drumming on parquet, then Josy’s head peeked into the room. Her eyes brightened. “Oh, heeere you are, Alex. I’ve bee
n looking for you all over the place. Grandmother is waiting for you in the drawing room for your morning lesson and you know how she hates to be left waiting.”
With slight amusement, Darken watched Alex switch from desperate spider ready for a fight to a grumpy young woman who had been caught skipping. He half expected her to groan.
Josepha’s roaming eyes fell on the carryall. “Oh, you’re off, uncle?”
“I’m afraid this isn’t a question of choice,” Darken said quietly.
Crossing the room, his niece choke-hugged him. As he hugged her back, he noted with appreciation that she wasn’t as thin and weak anymore, as when they first arrived—thanks to a huge effort from the kitchen staff.
Josy pulled back. “Be back soon?”
“As soon as I can,” Darken promised, knowing it was more blarney than anything else. If he was sent on a mission it could be weeks or even months before he found another chance to come back for a visit. Wasn’t this the reason he’d stayed in the house, despite his rising temper? His eyes went back to Alex, taking in the sharp line of her jaw, the graceful curve of her neck, the shape of her lips … Was this the last time he’d see her?
Josy’s cheery voice cut through his fears. “Well then, if you don’t mind, I’ll borrow Alex or Grandmother will have a stroke and I don’t think anybody wants that.” Although she sounded a little hesitant as she glanced at Alex.
Josy took the spider’s arm and started for the door. To Darken’s surprise, Alex let out a disgruntled sigh and allowed the girl to pull her along; an image that reminded him a lot of a little mouse herding a hissy cat.
In the doorway, Alex threw him a helpless look over her shoulder but all he could do was to give an equally helpless shrug in response.
Then she was gone. Darken stared at the empty door frame. An even more gaping emptiness filled his insides. In his mind, he stalked her down the corridor and grabbed her hand, forcefully pulling her into his arms. His mouth found hers and he kissed her, deeply, desperately, and after a moment of shock, she kissed him back, every touch of their lips kindling the fire inside them until they were both floating.
And in his mind, this fantasy would stay.
Darken tugged his shirt sleeves down once more and straightened up. So many things left unsaid between them. Perhaps it was for the best.
With nothing else left to do, he picked up his carryall and left for the Order.
THE forfeit’s convent in Lancaester was located in Gral de Bassano, a recreational area outside of the city, formed by gentle hills that were covered in golden vineyards and punctuated with countless little lakes.
From its exterior, it could have easily been a castle spa hotel for high society, if it weren’t for the softly glowing magic wards that covered the entirety of the tall, wrought-iron fence girdling the estate—wards strong enough to blow you to bits if you so much as breathed on them—and the deceptively small laser-spell spring guns topping each column. These measures, although less obvious than the barbed wire and automated gun turrets the halfborns used, gave off a more prison-like vibe—and like a prison, this place was designed to keep its inmates locked inside.
The coach halted at the outer gate of the estate and the chauffeur spoke with the guards on duty, announcing the new arrival.
Darken leaned back in his seat, waiting for the security protocol to finish.
Finally, the heavy, curved gates swung open and admitted them to a long driveway that led through a terraced garden, along close-cropped lawns dotted with colorful splashes of tulips and artfully cut boxwood trees glowing in the midday sun. Half a mile later the monstrous sprawl of the main building swung into view. Originally the ruins of a castle, the antique building had been rebuilt with dark gray stone, adorned with engraved crenelations and ornate ledges. Four towers on each side of the castle rose into the sky, covered in gleaming black shingles. Ivy snaked up the walls, sprinkled with jasmine, hanging down like a green veil dotted with little white pearls. Its old-world elegance gave the place an imposing, awe-inspiring kind of beauty.
Darken grimaced. They always made sure that the outside of their cages was as sightly as possible, as if being locked up in a beautiful cage made it less of a cage. He supposed it made it easier to justify their confinement to the public.
The chauffeur let him out at the roundabout in front of the main entrance. Darken didn’t bother with his luggage; it would be brought up to his assigned room. That was, of course, after being carefully searched and checked for any personal items they might need to remove. Inside a convent, such distractions were not permitted. A controlled low-stimulus environment was deemed best, to keep their volatile tempers in check, and those in charge of the convents meticulously made sure to abide by that creed. Most of his kind didn’t have many personal belongings anyway. The state provided them with everything they needed: clothing, board and lodge, even sex partners. And when they went into the field they received the most cutting-edge gear and technology, intelligence, money, and all the weapons they could possibly wish for … It was ridiculous how much the state paid to keep their pet killers in perfect shape. Yet none of it belonged to them. It was nothing but a loan, and the price had to be paid in blood.
When Darken approached the main door, it opened to reveal the reception hall security check. A full unit of twelve guards was waiting for him in the bare, heavily warded steel chamber. They were fully armed and shuffling on their feet. The room stank of nervous sweat. Darken suppressed a cold grin. Word of his recent carnage must have gotten out and they were worried. As if he would be stupid enough to attack them in here! He wasn’t that keen on his execution order.
On the other hand, what had happed outside the Pacified Zone was only a taste of what he was capable of. They certainly were right to be wary of him.
The main handler, a seasoned guy with many years of service under his belt, nodded at him. “Enforcer, you know the procedure.”
As was expected of him, Darken slowly stepped forward and knelt in the indicated circle on the ground, crossing his hands behind his head and patiently waiting for the magic security scan to finish searching him for hidden objects and magics.
When the green light indicated he was clean, four of the guards moved forward to adjust the tempering rings on his wrists, while the others stood alert, pointing their spellguns at his chest. Fools. If he really wanted them dead, their combined power wouldn’t be able to stop him. Silently drawing on that image, Darken smiled and enjoyed how the youngest of the handlers flinched because of it.
The tempering rings—from the outside not much more than glyph-adorned, silver cuff bracelets—were charged with different stunning spells and magic applications. They also contained needles that could unload a cocktail of narcotics into his bloodstream at the press of a handler’s remote control button, which would knock him out within a couple of seconds. If needs be, the rings could also be linked together and attached to a leather belt, physically restraining their wearer. A worthwhile life insurance investment when keeping a house full of itchy killers. An out of control forfeit was difficult to rein in, that was, until after a full-scale slaughter that nobody wanted to put his neck on the line for. And when so many of them were stuck in a cramped space, violent clashes were bound to occur.
Solicitously, the main handler checked the lock of the cuffs once more and stepped back, nodding again.
“He is waiting for you in his office, Enforcer. Do you need an escort to show you the way?”
“I’ll find my way, thank you.” Darken’s deep voice was soft and slightly bored. He saw the instant relief in the eyes of the men around him. None of them would have liked to be chosen for that job, and, in turn, he had no desire to be tasered by some over-eager fool who thought that he had twitched the wrong way. Also, this was the convent he frequented the most and he knew his way around.
The light on the magically reinforced steel security door turned from white to green with a loud alarm sound and the door rolled open, allowing
him into the main compound, its steely teeth like a grinning mouth that was about to chew him up. Darken stepped through and it closed behind him with a heavy metal thud, locking him in.
Back home, Darken thought bitterly. Not that any of the chambers had ever made him feel anything but isolated; estranged from society and life.
Darken glided through the empty corridors, the naked dark stone exuding a cold, oppressive heaviness. The ground floor of the building held the sparring and training rooms, the fitness center, the armory, the library, the research lab, the infirmary, the kitchen, and canteen, the “play chambers,” which was what they called the small cubicles used for sexual release, as well as the offices and staff rooms of the handlers. The sleeping quarters of the residing forfeits were on the top floors, which could be locked down separately in the case of an “emergency.” Finally, in the basement, there were a few specially secured holding cells. Darken had seen more than enough of these and he had no intention of visiting them during his current stay.
While the compound contained everything that could keep a bored lot of notorious killers entertained while they waited to get out, and everything was new and modern, the whole place had a sickening sense of sterility to it; it lacked the emotional and personal touches that usually made a place livable. Like a haunted house—and they were the spooks.
The few forfeits Darken passed, greeted him with cold civility. He knew some of their faces, but despite having stayed under the same roof time and again over the past years, he hadn’t shared more than a handful of words with the majority of them. Most of their kind kept to themselves.
Darken reached the provost’s office and knocked on the plain blackwood door.
A distracted voice told him to enter. He walked in.
As always, the office stumped him with its visible hypocrisy.
In spite of the Order’s creed for simplicity, the provost’s personal space was overflowing with splendor: his rich carved mahogany desk was cluttered with all kinds of glinting knick-knacks and trinkets; velvet upholstery covered all of the chairs in the room; huge paintings adorned the walls and a thick rug covered the floor; a small table held assorted alcoholic beverages; and, finally, an old-fashioned arcaphonium musica occupied a good part of the rear wall. The magic-fueled music player consisted of brass pipes in several sizes and crystal balls veined with glowing, white-blue wires. It was a custom-built model and had to have been outrageously expensive.
