Inception (The Marked Book 1)

by Bianca Scardoni

  “What are you going to do about him?” he asked, gripping the steering wheel firmly. His all-business demeanor was even more rigid than before, if that was even possible.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Are you going to tell the Council about what happened?”

  I heard my uncle mention the Council in passing—that they were the elected officials of The Order responsible for overseeing all matters regarding Descendants in everything from training, to tracking, to analyzing threats and assigning missions—though I had yet to meet with them personally.

  “I don’t know,” I shrugged, examining his profile. “What would happen if I told?”

  “He’d probably be sanctioned for death.”

  “He’d be what?” My eyes widened in horror.

  “He would be killed, Jemma.” He spoke without hesitation. “He’s only been kept alive on the premise that he’s a Descendant and can control himself, that he wouldn’t be a threat to humans.” He looked at me dryly. “Nearly killing one of their Slayers won’t exactly speak to that. It’s definite grounds for execution.”

  God knows I hated Dominic Huntington with the fiery force of an erupting volcano, and I wanted nothing more than to never lay eyes on his face again…but did I want him dead dead?

  “I knew it would only be a matter of time,” he continued, audibly detached. “And I’ve prepared myself for that.”

  “You’ve prepared yourself for his death?”

  I couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. Regardless of what I felt about Dominic, he was still his brother.

  “I’ve prepared myself for what I’ll have to do when that time comes,” he clarified. “I vouched for him once before, and I knew the price I’d be paying if this turned out badly.”

  “I don’t understand,” I said, suddenly feeling as though we were having two separate conversations. “What price are you paying?”

  He didn’t look at me when he answered, “The price of having to carry out the sanction and right the wrong.”

  “Carry out the—wait, what? That’s ridiculous,” I said, shaking my head in disbelief. “They wouldn’t make you kill your own brother.” I heard myself laughing, like a nervous tick, though there was nothing funny about this.

  He didn’t respond.

  “Would they?” I gulped down the mounting disgust. I couldn’t even begin to imagine his position.

  “I’m a Warrior Descendant, Jemma. My mother was a Slayer just like you,” he nodded over to me, pride brimming from his eyes. “Even though I’m a Revenant now, my mission has not changed, nor has my loyalty to The Order. My duty, above all else, is to protect humanity and to follow the orders of those above me. That is what I was created to do.”

  I was taken aback by his unwavering commitment. Not even death could deter him. I’d never seen such a blatant display of devotion to anything other than oneself before.

  It was rousing.

  “I have no qualms about my obligations,” he pushed on. “I knew what the consequences were when I asked for their mercy. I thought there might be hope for him—that he could be saved, but I was wrong. Dominic will never change. This is who he is.”

  “Why is he like this?” I wondered. “You seem so dedicated to all this Warrior Descendant stuff,” I said, and remarked his frown at my too-casual choice of words. “Why isn’t he?”

  “For one, he isn’t a Warrior Descendant,” he said, glancing at me. “My father remarried shortly after my mother died. Dominic was from his second marriage.”

  “Oh. So you’re half-brothers?” That explained why they seemed to have nothing in common, inside or out.

  Gabriel nodded. “Dominic’s a Shifter. His mother was a Descendant of Guardian Angels, same as my father was. He’s entirely of that faction. A Pureblood.”

  “He’s a Descendant of Guardian Angels?” I repeated aghast. “That seems so paradoxical.”

  “These aren’t your textbook Angels, Jemma. Guardians are extremely powerful beings. They’re known as the Defenders of Man because of their combat strengths and ability to shift into animal form in order to protect their target. They’re strong and ruthless, and should never be taken lightly.”

  “Trust me,” I scoffed. “I have no intentions of taking—” My head whipped back around. “Did you say shift into animal form?”

  “Yes. Most Angels have the potential to transmogrify, but it’s innate in all Guardians and their Descendants.”

  “So Guardian Descendants can like, shape-shift?” I asked, somewhat frightened by this revelation and its implications.

  “Yes.”

  I swallowed hard. “Even Dominic?”

  “Even Dominic,” he nodded, stoic. “He can shift into any animal form, though he has to have taken the animal’s life in order to transmogrify into it.”

  “That’s really...disturbing,” I said, thoroughly off-put by all of this new information. “I can’t even imagine it.”

  “It’s actually quite fascinating. The shift itself is—”

  “That’s okay,” I interrupted, flinging my hand up in the air to stop him. “I wasn’t asking for a demonstration or anything.”

  Gabriel nodded. “I forget how new all of this is for you. I imagine it’s a lot to take in all at once.”

  “You have no idea,” I said, rubbing my temples. “I’m still trying to digest the part about being a Slayer, let alone Dominic being a Descendant of Guardian Angels.”

  “Don’t be fooled by the names and titles,” said Gabriel, remarking my expression. “They’re all just different factions of Anakim depicting different lineages, and he may be a descendant of one, but he’s still his own person with his own free will. We all are. Unfortunately, Dominic’s free will has always gravitated to the darker side of things.”

  I could see that about him. “Was he always this way?”

  “I can’t remember a time when he wasn’t.”

  “I’m sure that won’t make it any easier for you...” To kill him, I thought, though I left that last part out.

  “I suspect not.” He turned to meet my gaze. “Does that mean you’ve made your decision?”

  The answer seemed set in stone, like a heavy gavel anchoring me down under its uncomfortable weight.

  Dominic was a monster. If I told the Council about what he had done to me—that he nearly killed me tonight—he would be put to death for it. And even though he hurt me, and I hated him, and he wasn’t exactly human, and maybe even deserved to be punished for what he had done, somehow it just didn’t feel right knowing that if I told, I’d be forcing the one person who saved my life to kill his own brother.

  I could never do that. “I’ve decided not to say anything.”

  He blinked into me, surprised by my decision. “I’m not sure you understand the gravity of the situation,” he objected. The truth was, I wasn’t sure either. “I think you should discuss this with Tessa before—”

  “No!” I shook my head decidedly. “I don’t want her to know. I don’t want anyone to know. It’s only going to make things worse.” For me, that is.

  If Tessa found out about this, she would undoubtedly report back to my uncle and I didn’t want to give him any more leverage over me than he already had. Nobody could know about this. I made a mistake, I’ll admit that, but it’s done and over with. I wasn’t going to let it happen again.

  “Promise me you won’t say anything.”

  I could only imagine what he thought about me—about my decision to remain quiet. He probably thought I was being careless and stupid, or naïve about the danger Dominic posed.

  Or maybe he was relieved by it.

  Whatever it was, he wasn’t saying. He simply nodded, and to my relief, let the subject drop by the wayside.

  I turned my attention back to the bustling trees just outside my window and quietly prayed to myself that I would not go to my death regretting this decision.

  18. BLINDSIDED

  I lay on my back watching the moon radiate from my
bedroom window for what felt like hours, trying to make sense out of everything that had transpired tonight. It seemed as though the levees of my subconscious had finally given out, forcing my mind to be flooded with a steady stream of everything I had been running from. Things that I’d been too afraid to look at—who I was, who I was supposed to be, what I was expected to do. What would become of the life I was desperately trying to hold onto? What would become of me?

  The weight of each question resting heavy on my shoulders, and the consequences, insurmountable. I wasn’t yet ready for it, for any of it—the truth, the future, the responsibility—but I also knew I couldn’t stay where I was anymore either, because the only thing more dangerous than moving forward was standing still. And that was no longer an option for me.

  So where did that leave me?

  I knew I wasn’t ready to be anyone’s vampire-slaying human crusader, and truthfully, I wasn’t sure I’d ever be ready for that. But I also didn’t want to sit around here waiting to die. I was too young to die. I hadn’t even lived yet.

  I had a choice here. Not a good choice, but a choice nonetheless. I could hide myself from the world, cower away and do nothing, and hope to God that Dominic or someone like him didn’t come along and find me again. Or I could become the person my uncle believes me to be and throw myself into the symbolical lions pit every day for the rest of my life. Either way, it felt like a lose-lose situation.

  I racked my mind for a way out, for some kind of middle ground I was comfortable standing on. Not here nor there, but a safe place in the middle.

  And therein lay my answer.

  If I wanted to have a fighting chance, I’d have to go at least halfway into this. I had to make sure I was ready for him next time—like Trace had said. That I could defend myself. That I could fight back. That I could survive it. Because no matter how I looked at it, no matter how I tried to spin it, this was my reality now. It was life or death, fight or die—me or them.

  And I chose me.

  I woke up the next morning feeling surprisingly rested despite the all too familiar nightmare, and for the first time in a long time, I felt at peace with myself. There was a sweet release that came with making a decision, from resigning myself to a given path, and I couldn’t help but indulge in its sap.

  I inspected my neck thoroughly in in the bedroom mirror before making any attempts to leave my room and was surprised to find that the two puncture wounds above my right jugular had nearly healed overnight. There was definitely something at play here, something unearthly, and even though it was off-putting, I couldn’t help but feel relieved because at least I wouldn’t have to hide the marks under some ugly scarf at work today, or worry about trying to explain the telling wounds to my uncle.

  I threw on my work uniform, stole one more glance in the mirror, and then hurried off to speak with Uncle Karl, who I found sitting at his desk in the office, shuffling through a stack of bills and other papers. He was surprised to see me; that much was evident on his face.

  “I thought you were sleeping at Taylor Valentine’s house?” he asked through creased brows.

  I smiled at his use of her full name. “I decided to come home after the party. I kind of wanted to be in my own bed,” I said, sitting down in the leather chair across from him.

  “Is everything okay?” he asked, peeling away his reading glasses and setting them down on the desk, the concern billowing in over his eyes like a translucent film.

  I took a nervous breath as I readied myself for the distorted version of the truth I was about to tell. “I was attacked by a Revenant last night after the party,” I said, in an eerily calm manner. When I saw his eyes swell, I quickly added, “I’m fine though, I got away. Nothing happened.” My tongue pelted out each lie as though it were an intrinsic weapon.

  “For Pete’s sake, Jemma. Why wasn’t I told about this last night? We could have sent someone after them.”

  “I wasn’t thinking about that,” I said, shrugging my shoulder. “I just wanted to get back home.”

  He let out a displeased breath, though there seemed to be some understanding in his eyes.

  The conversation was veering off course. I needed to get back to the point. “The thing is, I’m glad it happened, Uncle, because as scary as it was, it made me realize something.”

  He watched me curiously, uncertain of where I was going.

  “It made me realize how much danger I’m actually in, and as long as I stay like this,” I said, motioning to my pitiful self, “I’m just a sitting duck waiting for the next attack.”

  He sunk back into his chair and nodded solemnly as though he’d already been grappling with this truth for a while now.

  I, too, had been struggling with it...with the reality of who I was and of what I was supposed to do. Up until now, I hadn’t been able to accept it as my truth—as my destiny, and even though I was still struggling to come to terms with it, the alternative was to stay in the dark; weak, unready, and vulnerable to predators like Dominic, and that was something I was no longer willing to do.

  “I want you to break the spell,” I said with conviction. If the spell was suppressing my abilities—preventing me from sensing Revenants—then I wanted no more part of it.

  His eyes widened, pulling in the light from the room as a full-figured smile formed on his lips. “This is wonderful news, Jemma. I knew you would make the right decision—”

  “I haven’t made any decisions yet.” I felt a mild tinge of guilt for not giving him the entire truth about what my true intentions were, but I batted it away. I had to stay focused on my new plan: operation stay the hell alive. “I’m going to take this day by day. Right now the only thing I know for sure is that I don’t ever want to be in that position again, so I’d like to start training as soon as possible. If that’s okay with you.”

  “Yes, of course. I fully support you in this.” His eyes shifted away just then. There seemed to be something unsettling him. Something he wasn’t saying.

  It was making me uneasy. “What? What’s wrong?”

  “It’s nothing for you to worry about,” he said, doing his best to assure me. “I’m taking care of it.”

  I made a face letting him know I wasn’t buying whatever it was he was trying to sell.

  He brought his elbows up onto his desk and pressed his fingers together in a steeple. “We might have to delay your training for a little while,” he finally said, his eyebrows pulled together in frustration. “We don’t have a Handler ready for you just yet, however, the Council is working on remedying the situation. It’s only a temporary setback.”

  “What’s a Handler and why do I need one?” I asked, unsure of what that was and how big of a wedge it would throw in my plan.

  “Of course, forgive me. I forget how little you know of the Order,” he said, ill at ease. “Handlers are highly trained Demibloods that are part Slayer and part something else, usually a Caster or a Shifter.”

  That was just like Gabriel. His mother was a Slayer and his father was a Shifter, which would have made him a Demiblood. Or at least it did before he...changed.

  “Their sole purpose,” he continued, “is to train you and your Keeper and prepare you both for battle. As one. Together you will form a Rig and work for The Order. But without your Keeper on board, it’s impossible to—”

  “Why can’t I just train alone?” I interrupted. I had no interest in hearing all the rules and useless protocol. That stuff was for the birds.

  “Slayers very rarely work alone. It’s far too dangerous,” he explained. “Your Keeper is essentially your other half. They’ll learn your every move, your every weakness, and they’ll be there to protect your neck when it’s on the line. It’s a bond unlike any other.” There was a strange twinkle in his eye that looked a lot like pride. “There is so much that goes into creating a powerful Rig, Jemma, but without the other half, it is virtually impossible to find a Handler willing to sign on.”

  “So, no Keeper means no Handler and no
training.”

  “Precisely.” His face hardened as he went on. “A Keeper must first Pledge himself to you, and unfortunately, yours is refusing to accept his responsibility.”

  My head recoiled. “What do you mean mine is refusing?”

  He pressed his lips into a hard line, offering nothing.

  “Who is it? Do I know him?” I pushed, crossing my arms as I tried not to feel offended by this news. I wanted to hear that this person was a stranger—someone I’d never met before, whose decision not to Pledge themselves to me (whatever the hell that meant) had nothing to do with me.

  My uncle nodded that I knew him, affirming all my fears.

  “Who is it?” I demanded.

  He hesitated a moment before answering, probably looking for a way to soften the blow.

  “It’s Trace Macarthur,” he finally said, shaking his head in disappointment—or abhorrence—I couldn’t tell.

  He immediately went into a monolog of sorts as he tried to downplay the whole thing, though I had already stopped listening to what he was saying. I was far too busy picking up my jaw and heart from the stinking floor.

  By the time I arrived at All Saints, the hurt and shock I’d felt at the house was all but gone, having instead stewed itself into a sizzling fury that flamed my skin from the inside out. Of all the people my uncle could have named, Trace’s name was the one that stung the most. Trace, with his condescending attitude and cold shoulders, and those stupid mesmerizing eyes.

  I wanted it to be anyone but him.

  I walked in and headed straight for the back area, bypassing all my coworkers as I combed every inch of the kitchen and office in search of him. When I didn’t find him in his usual spots, I turned for the storeroom and nearly tore the door off its hinges as I stormed through the threshold.

  Trace was kneeling down at the end of the room with a clipboard in his hand, taking inventory. He straightened out as soon he saw me, his eyebrows pulled together in bewilderment.