“Hey!” Silver jumps in. “He assaulted me first.”
“How many times do you have to be told? It’s procedure.”
“Let me tell you something, jackass. The Governor won’t stop until he’s destroyed you—that’s a fact. Right now, your best chance of survival is a banished Hunter with a grudge, and every minute you insist on keeping me down here, the Third Reclamation draws closer.”
Trieste turns on her, a bloody scalpel in his hand. “You need to stay in line and watch your mouth.”
“Back off, buddy.” Alex pushes him away.
Trieste turns on Alex instead. “You want me to rip your stitches out?”
An unidentified flying object swings through the air and knocks the scalpel out of Trieste’s hand. Another object catches him on the side of the head and sends him to the floor, smacking the other side of his head against the edge of a table as he falls, now unconscious.
A few feet away, Jax is armed with a handful of makeshift missiles: pewter cups, a tennis ball, and a shoe. She drops them all to the floor with a loud clatter.
“Are we done here, or what?”
With Trieste unable to protest further, the interrogator leads them all up to the top floor of the building. Here, the expansive penthouse suite of an Old World hotel is Arcadian’s private domain.
Unlike the rest of the hotel, Arcadian’s penthouse has been completely refurbished. Walls have been repaired and repainted, and all of the furniture’s been refinished. Works of art have been painstakingly restored and re-hung, and the place looks almost … normal.
Escorted into a room at the far end of the private entrance hallway, they find something completely unexpected.
Red.
Seated at a table, sipping cannabis leaf tea with an unknown male.
And that’s not all.
Tucked away at the edge of the room, Dylan receives a lap dance from a borderline underage Fusion. Judging by the expression stuck on his face, he’s either lost in awe of her beauty, or he’s very, very frightened. Silver can’t tell which, but at the sight of such calm civility, her blood begins to boil.
“Well, what the fuck?!” Hands on hips. “We all get drugged and beaten, and you get to come up here and have a tea party with the butler?”
The man, having heard their rapid approach down the hallway, doesn’t seem at all surprised to see them. “You’ve been looking for me? So I’ve been told.”
Silver’s heart almost stops.
Arcadian.
Not the butler.
He’s tall, with dark hair which he grows long and seldom brushes. The lines on his face suggest that he’s slowly waving goodbye to his thirties, but he still looks dashing. In a suit and a long black coat, he appears suave and mysterious, and he hides his strength. He’s incredibly powerful, and doesn’t have to work out to maintain his physique.
His violet eyes lock onto Silver. “You’re friends of Red’s, I presume?”
“You’re the dude?” She points an accusatory finger at him. “You’re Phaeden’s ghost?”
“You were expecting something else? A monster, perhaps?”
“Something like that.”
Arcadian gets to his feet and approaches Silver, his coat ruffling and swaying in the light of a hundred flickering tallow candles. Where holes have worn through the old leather, he’s patched them up with human skin.
Many of the patches bear tattoos, and Silver catches sight of at least one Omega emblem among them. A Hunter? One of Phaeden’s bodyguards? A member of the Fusion Project?
He holds his hand out to her. “I hope I won’t be too much of a disappointment.”
She ignores the offer of a handshake.
Instead, with tight lips, “You knew we were here?”
“Of course.”
“Red told you?”
“Everything.”
“So how is it that she didn’t receive the same generous welcome downstairs?”
Arcadian gives up waiting for a handshake and pockets his hand, looking mildly apologetic. “The men who picked her up didn’t consider her or the boy a threat.”
“That’s funny, given that she knows at least a hundred different ways to kill you without even using her hands.”
Arcadian shrugs. “The system’s not perfect.”
He can smell Alex’s blood. Just the faintest hint of it makes him salivate, and he runs his tongue slowly across his lower lip.
Nobody notices.
“Besides, it looks like your friend here needed some work.” He indicates to Alex’s wound.
Silver scowls her displeasure at his twisted logic. “And the rest?” She points at the bruise on her face. “Or is this just what you call foreplay?”
Taking her by surprise, Arcadian reaches for her face and runs his fingertips softly over her cheek, admiring the shade of violence.
Alex waits for her to rebuke him, but it doesn’t happen. She’s paralyzed with intrigue. Arcadian’s hypnotic eyes have a hold of her, and she can’t pull away … so she reaches for her knife.
As her fingers wrap around the handle, Arcadian’s fingers wrap around hers, holding her hand there.
“If you didn’t like the pain,” he whispers, suddenly tugging her hand away from her knife, “you wouldn’t do it to yourself.”
He holds out her arm and pulls back her sleeve, her scars revealed.
Spell broken.
Silver yanks back her arm and covers the shame with her sleeve. It’s too late, though. Oz and Jax already saw, and their opinion of her is already irreversibly changed.
Alex strikes offense at the smirk pasted on Arcadian’s face, and he steps in between them. “Touch her again, and you’ll have me to answer to.”
Arcadian glances down at Alex’s wound, then back up to meet his eyes. “You’d die for her. That’s sweet.”
In the bedroom, two Fusion strippers stir from sleep and catch on to the scent of fresh flesh.
Men.
Human men.
Wearing only underwear and stiletto heels, they stride boldly toward Alex and Oz. One of them is so skinny, Silver reckons she’d fly away in a gentle breeze. She couldn’t weigh more than about ninety pounds, and Silver hasn’t weighed that since she was thirteen.
While Oz happily accepts the advances of one of the strippers, the one approaching Alex is about to be forcefully rejected. Catching her attempting to run her hand across his chest, Silver snatches up the stripper’s boney wrist and jerks her away from him.
She’s angry now, and desperate not to be thought of as weak. “Try that again and I’ll break your face,” she snarls.
The stripper backs off, and once she reaches an acceptable distance away, Silver turns back to Arcadian—back to business.
Tipping her head toward Red, “Did she tell you why we’re here?”
“Yes, you want to kill Phaeden Rist.”
Alex’s face becomes you’re-out-of-your-mind serious. Turning his back on Arcadian, he wags a finger at Silver’s face. “This is not why we came here!” he chastises her.
“Isn’t it?” She pushes him out of the way.
“You have to stop this,” he pleads.
Her recent bout of insomnia suddenly makes sense: lying to him messes with her conscience.
“You have to trust me,” she urges him, before quickly refocusing on Arcadian. “I need you to lure Phaeden Rist into the Out District.”
Arcadian pours himself a glass of whiskey. “What makes you think I can do that?”
“You know how to get to him. You can send one of your men to deliver the message. I don’t have the time to sit and wait for him to fumble his own way out here to you.”
“Why do you think he’d want to meet with me?”
“He’s got something he wants to offer you. He thinks it’ll buy him a truce, and I want you to let him think that he’s right.”
Arcadian swirls the whiskey in the glass. “Maybe he is right. What is it?”
“A girl.”
“A girl?”
“One of yours,” Silver explains. “A Fusion.”
Arcadian’s eyes narrow, his interest growing. “What kind of girl? What does she look like?”
“Short, blonde, cute.” Silver shrugs. “You know, a girl. He stole her from me, and now I want her back.”
“He stole her? From you? And where did you steal her from?”
“I didn’t. I found her. Look, I know your men can come and go from the Sentinel District as they please. Send a messenger. Tell him you’re willing to make a truce, but you want to make the deal with him in person, not with one of his mindless goons.”
Arcadian shakes his head, dismissing the notion. “Even if I thought you were a sane person, it wouldn’t work. We don’t have the firepower. We’d not be able to get within five hundred feet of him, he’d be so well protected.”
“Phaeden Rist is just one man, and I can get you weapons.”
“What kind of weapons?” Arcadian raises an eyebrow.
“Anything you want.”
The eyebrow stays put.
“How soon can you ready your people?” Silver presses.
He downs the whiskey. “How soon can you get me the weapons?”
CHAPTER THIRTY
The Futurist
Silver unloads the last of her weapons onto a large banquet table in the dining hall of Arcadian’s Old World hotel. When her arsenal, C-4 and all, is laid out all in one place, it looks frighteningly impressive. The sheer range of weapons, as well as their quantities, has violet eyes gleaming all around the room.
There are: assault rifles—M16, AK-47, and HK G36; sniper rifles, like the M40; semi-automatic shotguns, including a lot of Striker 12 shotguns, and more than a few Pancor Jackhammers.
There are sub-machine guns: HK MP7, HK UMP, MGP 15, and a number of her favorite close quarter combat weapon, the PP-2000.
Semi-automatic pistols are everywhere: the HK P46, Desert Eagle, and Jericho 941, to name but a few. Grenades fill hold-alls strewn about the room. All sorts of grenades: percussion, fragmentation, concussion, smoke, riot control, incendiary, stun, and sting.
Silver looks anything but weak now.
“Dare I inquire as to the origins of your acquisitions?” Arcadian asks.
“No.” Silver folds her arms, adopting a defiant stance.
“Fair enough.”
He orders his men to leave the room, and indicates that Silver should do the same. She obliges, although Alex is hesitant to go. When they’re finally alone, Arcadian steps up to the table and admires an HK G36 assault rifle, deep in thought.
“Why?”
Silver seems taken aback by his question, uncertain of his meaning. He selects an HK MP7 semi-automatic shotgun from the table of goodies and picks it up.
“Why do you want to help us?” he continues.
“I told you.”
“No, you didn’t.” He aims the shotgun at her head.
Silver doesn’t even flinch. “Are you going to be the next person in a long line of assholes threatening to kill me with my own weapons now?”
“You’re not afraid?”
“Seldom, if ever.”
He puts the shotgun back down on the table. “You don’t care if you die?”
“Honestly? It’s probably overdue.”
He wanders over to the C-4 and squishes a block of it in his hands. “You were a Hunter during the Second Reclamation?”
Silver nods. “Front line. So what?”
Arcadian finally takes a seat at the table. “Why’d they kick you out?”
“Why are you making small talk with me?”
“I want to understand you,” he confesses.
“I wouldn’t bother. I’ve been reliably informed that any attempt to do so only generates more confusion.”
Undeterred, Arcadian continues to push her for more information. “Omega … did they know? About the girl.”
“No.” Silver shakes her head. “They would’ve enforced me.”
“Where did you find her?”
“In the Out District. The place was filled with Chimera. I thought I was saving her life.”
“Did she say where she came from?”
Silver shakes her head again, sitting down opposite her unlikely ally. “She didn’t say anything. She didn’t speak—not a word. Didn’t remember a thing. But she belongs to you, yes? She came from here?”
“I would imagine so.” His eyes run over Silver, taking in every detail of her. “When you found out what she was, why didn’t you kill her?”
“I don’t know what she is,” Silver corrects him. “I don’t know what you are.”
“You know she’s not human.”
“I know she’s not Chimera.” She fixes on his violet eyes. “Did the virus do this to you?”
Arcadian shakes his head, beating on his chest with his fist, his hand over his heart. “Born Fusion.” He beams with pride. “Most are. Some are turned, but the virus is so … selective.”
“Deadly, you mean.”
“Believe me, it’s worth the risk.”
“Yeah, well, I hope you won’t be too offended if I’m not the first in line to try it out.”
Arcadian breaks into a condescending smile. “Quicker reflexes, advanced healing, and a better immune response. Who wouldn’t want that? You’d be stronger, faster, and more capable.”
“I’d be a traitor to my species.”
“Nonsense. You’d be a futurist.”
“Like you? Is that what you think you are?”
“A new age is coming, whether you like it or not.” Arcadian leans back in his chair, resting his feet on the table. “You should embrace it.”
“I’ll take that under advisement.” Gear shift. “How long have you been sparring with Phaeden?”
“Do you have any idea what that man has done to us?” His anger rises. “The expansion of your human city has not been well tolerated by my people.”
“The Third Reclamation? Why?”
“This district does not belong to Phaeden Rist. I told him he’d have to fight for it.”
“That’s all this is? A good, old-fashioned turf war? Why don’t you just go and pee on a lamp post like all the other wild dogs?”
“I met with him, years ago, before the expansion began. From my limited view of your world I could see your tiny human bubble growing cramped and dense and I knew what was coming. The Second Reclamation took your people to the edge of my world, and Phaeden agreed upon it. But now, as time goes on, the less he seems to care about our arrangement.”
Silver isn’t surprised. “He’s a well-renowned jerk. It’s a wonder it took you so long to figure that out.”
“I did everything I could to hold him off. He wanted biological samples, I gave them to him. He said he wanted to run tests. He wanted to find out what we were: where, or what, we came from. To him, they were just sacks of genetic material. To us, they were mothers, brothers, and sisters. For his end of the exchange, he promised to hold the line.”
Silver can’t quite fathom that. “You gave them up? Just like that? Your own people.”
“Kill one, save a thousand.” He locks eyes with her. “I know you must understand that. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be here.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You intend to kill the Governor. Such an act cannot occur without the anticipation of retaliation.”
“I intend for the Governor to be killed, yes. Do I intend to make myself a martyr for the cause? Hardly.”
“This is not a spectator sport, my dear. If you intend to become a part of my faction, direct participation is required.”
Silver brushes that off. “For one thing, I don’t want to join your little tea party—I’m just trying to help you rid the world of a tyrant. For another thing, I already did participate. I gave you the means to fight your battle, and win it.” She folds her arms in protest. “I think I’ve done enough.”
“And when it’s over? Where do
you go then? Back to the city?”
“For your sake, you’d better hope that I do.”
“For my sake?” Arcadian cocks an eyebrow. “Since when am I so invested in your wellbeing?”
“After you kill Phaeden Rist, you and your people will become the target of an all-out war. Unless, of course, someone goes back to Amaranthe and kindly reports your death. I’ll tell them the person responsible for the Sentinel District murders was killed in the same ruckus that killed the Governor, and there’s no need for retaliation. I’ll say you led the Governor into a trap, luring him there with talk of truce making. You double crossed him, and you both died in a blaze of fire and gunplay.”
Arcadian is becoming sufficiently seduced by her proposal.
“The Third Reclamation will be halted,” he ponders, “buying us enough time to re-group. And the election of a new Governor may well pave the way for some alternative territorial negotiations.”
“No more trading lives for land.”
Some hint of sadness is visible on Arcadian’s face, albeit only very faint and fleeting. “You have to understand that all of this—the genetic exchange for peace, and the years of torment—was before Phaeden Rist started to abuse his position. There came a point where the continuing loss became unbearable for me. He wanted more—more than I was willing to give. And so he began to take.”
“He does that.”
“And for what? To make my people suffer torture and humiliation. To make my men fight in rings, and to turn my women into their sluts.”
“Forced prostitution?” Silver feels a pang for Alice. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, his love of torture and humiliation isn’t species specific. He’ll do just as bad, if not worse, to his own people.”
“I’d noticed. Where do you think your people end up when Phaeden Rist turns them out?”
That’s news to Silver. “You have humans in your colony?”
“Many.”
Silver picks an incendiary grenade up off the table and messes with the pin. “So why ECCO? I mean, why not just bust in there and start a riot? Really draw attention to yourselves.”
Arcadian shakes his head, setting her straight. “We don’t want that kind of attention. We just want to be left alone. Targeting the Fusion Project was supposed to be a warning.”
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