Fated (14 page)

Trevor ran his hand over his short black hair. “Shit. You make me feel like an asshole for ever resenting you.”

“You may resent me all you like, Trevor. I’ve got your soul in my pocket. That makes our relationship, shall we say, uneven.”

Trevor nodded. “Now—want me to take a look at that arm?”

“Please.”

Trevor knelt next to him and peeled back the shirt, then grimaced when he saw the wound. “You need more than a bandage. I have to go get some supplies. I’ll be right back.”

After he vanished, Moros looked up at the stars, wondering where Eris and Apate were right now, and when they would strike next. Would they dare face him, knowing he’d already destroyed Nemesis, or would they attack somewhere else? Should he go to the Fates and try to move them someplace safer, even though it would leave the loom unattended?

Either way, he was of little good like this. He never slept, had never needed to, but this heavy feeling in his muscles could only be fatigue. With the fabric of fate fraying so dramatically, his own strength and health had been diminished. He was weaker than he’d ever been in his entire existence. But he would still fight.

“I’m back,” Trevor said as he appeared in front of Moros, a med kit in his hands. “But—”

“I decided to invite myself over,” said a hard voice to his right. Declan Ferry climbed out of his Scope, wearing his paramedic uniform and looking characteristically pissed off. “Where the fuck is my sister?”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

A
islin awoke with a start to the angry sound of her brother’s voice. She sat up quickly, looking around. She was in a dark bedroom, the sheets soft and fragrant against her bare skin. She ran her hand over her body, feeling weak with hunger but otherwise fine . . . except for the fact that she wasn’t wearing a stitch of clothing.

She closed her eyes at the sudden memory of Jason’s body against hers, of the way they’d come undone together. It had been euphoric, triumphant. She’d never felt so powerful as when the Lord of the Kere pulsed inside her. His moan had infiltrated her bones as pure pleasure. For one moment, everything had been clear. They belonged together. They understood one another so perfectly. He was what she’d been missing all along, and she had felt in that moment that she couldn’t be complete unless she offered him her heart. So simple, so true.

“So ridiculous.” She slid out of bed and padded to the open doorway of his expansive walk-in closet, smiling at the rows of designer suits, the stacks of folded shirts, the rack of ties. The man certainly knew how to look good. She grabbed a button-down and slipped it on, even as she heard Declan’s words: “If you don’t let me see her, I swear to God I will find a way to fucking end you.”

Aislin felt inexplicably warmed. Declan cared, in his own rough kind of way. She poked her head into the hallway to see Trevor, Declan, and Moros on the patio, the glass door half-open. Trevor was kneeling at Moros’s side. The Lord of the Kere was shirtless, and there was a pile of bloody fabric at the base of the chair he was sitting in. His posture was lazy and relaxed, but Aislin could see the taut lines of his muscles, the hard edge of his jaw as he looked up at Declan. “You can try if you wish, Declan, but as I told you, Aislin is sleeping. I will not allow her to be disturbed.”

Declan’s thickly muscled arms were folded over his chest as he glared at Moros. “Forgive me if I don’t take your word for it. Trev said she was in bad shape. I just want to see her.”

“And so you shall, when she is ready to be seen,” Moros said mildly.

“What the fuck are you hiding?” Declan snarled.

“Dec, back off,” said Trevor, who was wearing gloves and peering at what Aislin realized was the gash across Moros’s biceps. “If it weren’t for Moros, Aislin would be gone, man. They weren’t going to let up until they owned her mind for good.”

Declan took a step back. “Thanks for saving her, then,” he said brusquely, looking out over the city. “But I still need to know she’s okay.”

Moros had saved her. That was real. Aislin shook her head, hating the jumble of images inside, still feeling the edge of what Apate had done to her. She’d been so desperate to regain control that she’d thrown herself at Moros, and he’d given her exactly what she wanted. His hands on her skin had been electric, forceful but frenzied. Ravenous. And she’d needed that, to see him lose his usual amused detachment. But now what?

Aislin looked down at herself. Had he actually been protecting her dignity when he told Declan he couldn’t come back and see her? Her cheeks heated. Given the way Declan looked right now, it seemed better to reassure him than to hide. Tucking a loose lock of hair behind her ear, she stepped into the hallway, her bare feet cold on the marble floor, and strode through the living room to the patio. Declan saw her first, his face lighting up. But then his eyes went wide as he took in her bare legs and her chosen attire—a very nice pale-blue button-down, the sleeves of which hung to her knuckles, the hem tickling her thighs. Trevor leaned to see her, then quickly averted his eyes, and that was when Moros turned.

His eyes took her in slowly, from her head to her toes, and Aislin’s heart sped. She hadn’t taken the time to consider how things would be between them after what they’d done, and she had no time to ponder it now. Declan slid the glass door all the way open. “Hey,” he said, stepping inside. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” she said. “My clothes were damaged during the rescue.”

Behind Declan, Trevor arched an eyebrow but remained silent, and Moros smirked. There it was, that sense of amused detachment. Aislin tensed. Very well.

Now she knew where she stood.

Declan came forward, his arms rising from his sides, and she walked into them, so grateful for his love.

“I really thought you might have been gone for good,” he said hoarsely.

She closed her eyes. “I almost was.” A twisted memory of Declan defying her just to undermine her power tried to rise in her mind, but now she was able to turn it on its head, to remind herself that he had been willing to sacrifice everything for the woman he loved. “I’m so glad to be back,” she whispered.

“You want me to take you home?” he asked, his head bowed over hers.

“Not quite yet.” She pulled out of his embrace and headed to the patio, strengthened by the knowledge that she was in control of her mind once more.

Moros was still lounging in his chair, but he had returned his attention to his wound. “Will this take much longer?” he asked Trevor.

Aislin stepped behind them and looked down to see that Trevor had packed the wound with some kind of compound and was now aiming a laser stylus at the top edge of the wound. He looked up at her and then back down to the gash. “This’ll activate the compound and seal it. Won’t take more than another few minutes.”

Moros sighed and tilted his head back until he was gazing up at her. “And how did you sleep, my dear?”

She braced for him to make a callous remark about what had happened before she’d passed out, but it didn’t come. “I slept well. And thank you for the loan.” She lifted her arms—but not too high. She wasn’t wearing anything under the shirt.

“Of course.” The corner of his mouth curved as his fingers began to tap the arm of his chair, keeping eerie time with her thrumming pulse. “But although you look predictably lovely this way, I’m sure you’d like to change as soon as possible.”

Now that he mentioned it, she was rather enjoying the smell of the shirt, a deep woody scent with a hint of lavender that made her recall hours spent staring at Moros in meetings, watching every movement of his fingers, his mouth. She blinked and stepped back out of his line of sight. “Yes. I would. But I thought perhaps this was a good time to discuss next steps.”

“The Shade-Kere have disappeared,” said Declan. “I left Galena at Psychopomps with her guards while I’ve been coordinating the emergency response, but Eli came in around eight and said they couldn’t find any more in the city. It’s been quiet for the last few hours, which is good. I’ve made nice with Police and Fire.” He rubbed at a smear of something on his sleeve. “It’s given us a chance to pick up the pieces.” He glanced at Trevor and smiled, and Aislin could read relief there. Declan had his best friend back at his side.

“Where would the Shades have gone?” Trevor asked, sitting back and examining Moros’s wound, then reaching for a beige cuff that must have been some sort of bandage.

“I’ll have to check with the others,” said Moros. “They might know if the monsters have merely transported themselves to some other city to wreak havoc.”

“My Ferrys will know more quickly than that,” said Aislin. “They’ll sense souls in the Veil. I’d better get back to Psychopomps and coordinate communication.”

Declan gave her an anxious glance. “Um, I’m not sure that’s the best idea.”

“And why not? It’s my job, isn’t it?” Her fingers rose to touch her Charon’s Scope, and her eyes went wide as she realized she wasn’t wearing a Scope at all. “What—?” Then she remembered. “Rylan stole my Scope.”

“And gave it to Hugh Ferry,” Moros said quietly.

“He’s been named interim Charon,” said Declan, looking wary, as if he expected Aislin to explode.

It was tempting. She looked down at Moros, but his head was bowed as Trevor fastened the bandage tightly over his arm. She stared at the back of his neck, his smooth skin and thick ebony hair, his bare muscular shoulders. He was perfectly made—and deceptive. He still wasn’t telling her everything. “You knew, when you came to get me, that he had my Scope? That he was claiming to be Charon?”

“It seemed, quite frankly, the least urgent of the problems at hand.”

“So while I was gone, my board completed a coup.”

“I wouldn’t say it is complete, my dear.”

Aislin thought about that. Even before Rylan had kidnapped her, the board had turned against her. They thought she was weak, unable to get things under control. The attack of the Shade-Kere might have cemented that notion in their minds. They also thought she was blindly loyal to Jason Moros, of whom they were all endlessly suspicious. If she went back to them to reclaim her position, she needed to be able to offer something—a plan, a strategy for victory. She couldn’t beg for her job back. She had to make them beg her to take it.

She looked down at the bloody shirt at her feet. “The blade that Eris used to hurt you—you called it the Blade of Life.”

Moros got to his feet, and Aislin looked away from his bare torso, the trail of hair down his flat belly that, even now, her fingers itched to trace.
It was a one-time tryst, something to clear your head—and then forget.
She forced herself to look into his eyes, refusing to let him see the way he was affecting her. “Where did the Blade come from?”

“I told you—my mother used it to vanquish Chaos. She buried it near his tomb. But Eris found it.”

Aislin shook her head. “But why is it called the Blade of Life?”

“It has been dipped into the Spring.”

“In the Lucinae realm?” she asked, her eyes wide.

Moros nodded. “They allowed my mother to coat the metal with its water, the source of all new souls.”

“And it can hurt you,” Trevor said simply.

Moros rolled his shoulder, wincing at the movement of his arm. “Obviously. But it is also deadly to Chaos, which doesn’t help us at the moment, because my sister and brother are trying to raise him, not hurt him.”

“Would any sword do, as long as it was dipped into the Spring?” Aislin asked. “Could we make another one?”

His eyes met hers. “Theoretically, but the Lucinae despise me with the fire of a thousand suns, so somehow I doubt they would be eager to help.”

“Don’t they serve fate, like we do?” she asked.

“Not like we do at all. They can bring new life into the world whether or not those lives have a destiny. And remember—they might live for a very long time, but they are mortal creatures, through and through. They abhor and fear death in any shape or form, no matter how charming.” He gestured expansively at himself.

She fought the urge to smile. “They might despise you—but they don’t despise me.”

“Even though you usher those precious souls into the Afterlife?”

“Even though. And that might have something to do with the fact that a year after I took over Foreign Exchange, I reached out to them with an offer.” When she’d told her father, she’d delighted in the glow of pride on his face. “We provide them with a share of our commissions. We have for the past two decades.”

“We have?” said Declan.

Aislin nodded. “It’s part of your banking fee. Don’t you ever look at your account statements?”

Declan shrugged. “I look at the total. That’s about it.”

Her mouth dropped open. “Really, how have you survived?”

He chuckled. “Good thing you’re in charge, right?”

She stood up a little straighter. “Anyway. I created the ambassador position to furnish them with updates regarding any shifts in policy or outlook, and we manage their money.”

Moros looked puzzled. “Why would they need money?”

Aislin shrugged. “They might inhabit their own realm, but they spend time in this one, just as your Kere do. They do enjoy the finer things.” She’d always known instinctively that solid relations with the Lucinae might come in handy, though she’d always imagined it would be in the context of a conflict with the Kere, not an alliance with them.

“So what are you proposing?” Moros asked.

“I should go to them,” she said. “I’ll explain the threat and ask for the favor. My ambassador, Cavan, will help with any negotiations. I’ll create another blade, or perhaps several, and then we’ll have a fair fight.”

Moros stared at her, and in his gray eyes she saw something stir, wary but admiring. “You are quite something, aren’t you?”

She folded her arms over her chest, hoping none of them would notice how her body was responding. “Don’t say that quite yet. Before I go, I need to go to the office and get my Charon’s Scope back. I can’t travel to the Lucinae realm without it.”

“I’ll go with you to Psychopomps,” he said. “They can’t appoint a new Charon without me, no matter how badly they wish otherwise. And if they want any representative before the Keepers, it will be you.” His eyes caught and held hers, and she wished she could translate what lay in their depths.

Trevor cleared his throat. “Uh, can we go? Dec, you ready?”

Declan was looking back and forth between Moros and Aislin, a distinct glint of suspicion in his eyes. “Sure,” he said, drawing the word out. “I’ll just . . . go now.” He looked at Aislin. “If you’re okay with that.”

“All is well, Declan. Thank you for your concern.” She touched his arm. “Really,” she added quietly.

He smiled as Trevor’s hand settled on his shoulder and they both disappeared. Slowly, Aislin turned back to Moros, uncertain once again. Part of her wanted to go to him, to wrap her arms around his waist and lay her head on his warm shoulder, to feel his skin against hers one more time. But the rest of her remembered how hard and desperate their coupling had been, how even while he was inside her, it had been a battle of wills.

And now the softness in his eyes was disappearing behind a wall, the smirk returning to his face. “I assume you’d like to return to your apartment and clothe yourself for battle.” He looked her up and down. “Or would you prefer to appear before your board au naturel?”

The mocking condescension in his voice confirmed that the old Moros was back. “One guess,” she said.

“Your wish is my command.” He reached out and touched her cheek, just his fingertips making contact, but the moment he did, she was yanked into the Veil in a burst of hot and cold air. Her apartment materialized an instant later, and she grasped the back of her sofa to keep from staggering.