The Decaying Empire (The Vanishing Girl Series Book 2)
Read The Decaying Empire (The Vanishing Girl Series Book 2) Online
Authors: Laura Thalassa
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Text copyright © 2015 Laura Thalassa
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Skyscape, New York
Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Skyscape are trademarks of
Amazon.com
, Inc., or its affiliates.
ISBN-13: 9781477829042
ISBN-10: 1477829040
Cover design by Paul Barrett
Library of Congress Control Number: 2014956179
To my father.
Thank you for always seeing the best in me.
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
I
was thrown into a chair, and the door slammed shut behind me. It looked like I was in an office, along with Emilio Santoro and the Three Stooges. Behind me knuckles cracked.
Emilio backhanded me, and my head whipped to the side. I winced from the pain; my head already pounded from where I’d received an earlier head wound, and I could feel the stream of blood from it snake down my neck.
Never taking his eyes off me, Emilio reached a hand behind him and pulled out a gun. “So,” he began, “which name do you prefer, Angela
. . .
or Ember?”
I tried to hide my surprise. He knew my real name? This was very, very bad.
“Well, from you, I prefer
mi pirata
.”
He laughed, sounding a little crazy. “That you are.”
And then the humor in his face drained away. He lowered himself in front of me and cocked the gun for show.
I knew the drill. He’d slowly torture information out of me. It would be calculated and cruel. However, if I could get a rise out of him, I might actually get hurt less. People with hot tempers liked to personally get their hands dirty—they liked the feeling of their fists slamming into skin. And at the moment I was more worried about a gunshot wound than getting beaten to a pulp.
“What do you want?” he asked, the firearm trained on my chest.
“The pleasure of your company.” It was an incredibly stupid thing to say, and it had the desired effect.
“Don’t fuck with me!”
Emilio roared, his accent thick. His nostrils flared as he breathed heavily through his nose. Eventually he calmed down; the killer was in control again. “Tell me who you work for and why you’re here.”
I gave him a look, putting attitude into it that I certainly didn’t feel. “You mean to tell me you can’t hazard a guess?”
The gun went off, and I screamed as the most agonizing pain tore through my right upper chest. He shot me!
So much for my calculated plan.
I was gasping—he must have hit a lung. Fire spread through me, and each movement—even my ragged breathing—was agonizing.
“Listen, little girl”—Emilio leaned in close—“I kill people on a regular basis. I know more ways to torture a person than you can imagine. So tell me again, what—”
A series of shots rang out on the other side of the door, accompanied by the sound of splintering wood. Several bullet holes appeared in the door, and one of the guards grunted and clutched his stomach.
Emilio cursed and swiveled to face the door, lowering himself to the floor and aiming.
“He’s down on one knee!” I yelled, forcing the words out even though it felt like Emilio had shot me all over again, “and has a gun trained on the—”
My voice cut off as one of the remaining guards smashed his fist into my temple. My head rocked to the side and I coughed up blood.
Another series of shots destroyed the door’s metal handle. Someone on the other side kicked the door open.
A spray of bullets hit the man in the doorway. I screamed until I realized the man wasn’t Caden but instead a guard he used as human shield.
Caden didn’t hesitate; he shot Emilio in the head, then the guards. I’d never seen Caden—or anyone for that matter—move so quickly. The fight was over in a matter of seconds.
He let the man he’d shielded himself with fall from his arms, and only then did he look at me, slumped over on the chair.
“Ember!” He ran to me, sinking to his knees in front of me. “Oh God,” he moaned when he saw the wound. We both knew what an injury this extensive meant. My body wouldn’t piece itself back together correctly when I teleported. Instead it would splice, ripping apart skin, organs, and bone in a botched attempt to fit me back together.
I was going to die.
I should’ve been worried about myself, but the only thing I could think about was that Caden’s deepest fear had come true. I’d abandon him, just as his family had.
He cupped my face. “You can’t die, Ember,” he said, his eyes red. “Goddammit, I love you—you can’t.”
Tears trickled out of my eyes. “I
. . .
love
. . .
y—”
My watch beeped once.
Caden’s eyes widened, and his hands tightened on my skin, as though his sheer force of will would keep me here. “N—”
My watch beeped again, and I was gone.
I woke up to shouting, and for one horrifying moment I believed I was still at Emilio’s estate. A split second later the pain resurfaced.
I tried to scream, but my air passageway was blocked. Someone was already manually pumping oxygen into my lungs. My entire chest was consumed by flames, so much so that my vision blurred from the pain. I could barely think through it.
My eyes wouldn’t focus, but I could tell from the movement that I was on a gurney. A group of doctors wheeled me down a hall. Color seeped away, and with it, the pain.
I’m dying.
There was a blast of cold air, and then I lost consciousness.
CHAPTER 1
Ten Months Later
I
t was like surfacing from a deep abyss. The darkness gradually lightening, the freeze inside me thawing. Fingers and toes began to twitch. I’d forgotten they were there to begin with.
“She’s coming out of it.” The voice sounded far away, as though I heard it through water.
My body felt heavy and stiff, and my mind was sluggish. But with each passing moment, they moved a little faster. Then my eyelids fluttered, and light filtered in and out of my vision.
It felt like
. . .
resurrection.
I ordered my eyes to open. It didn’t happen immediately, but once it did, they focused on the plain white ceiling and the fluorescent lights glaring down at me. I registered the shadowy silhouettes surrounding me for only a moment.
And then I disappeared.
I blinked a few times, confused. Cool air brushed against bare skin. I was in someone’s room, naked and curled on my side. I pushed myself up with my arms and brushed away locks of my hair. Absently I noted that it was longer than I remembered.
Behind me someone drew in a sharp breath. “Mother of . . .”
That voice
. . .
it was familiar, and it had my heart speeding up.
I threw a glance over my shoulder and locked eyes on a devastatingly handsome man. Devastatingly handsome. It was a term Ava and I used to describe especially attractive men. Ava. My friend. The information surfaced from somewhere deep inside me, and I filed it away to analyze later.
The guy stopped in his tracks. His hazel eyes widened when they met mine, and he staggered back, his hand clutched to his heart. A beat passed before he spoke. “Ember?” he whispered a name—
my
name, I realized—like it was a prayer.
Déjà vu washed over me as I heard his voice and drank in each of his familiar features. His golden hair, his tan skin, and his muscular body, which seemed even larger than my memory of it. The dimples that would’ve decorated his cheeks had he been smiling.
I remember.
This man, I knew his secrets; I shared his pain.
I loved him.
His name came to me, and with it, the feeling of pure happiness. “Caden.” My voice was hoarse, but I savored the sound of his name on my lips.
His face cracked. “Ember,” he repeated, his voice breaking.
He closed the distance between us and fell to his knees next to me. Desperately he gathered my body to him. The thick bands of his arms wrapped around me, pulling me close. “You can’t be real,” he whispered into my skin. Beneath me his body began to shake, and I felt wetness where his face pressed against my shoulder. Tears.
Even locked within his tight embrace, I managed to run a hand through his hair. I didn’t understand why he was crying, so I didn’t know how to console him.
“This must be a dream,” he whispered.
“I
. . .
I think I’m real.” I should’ve sounded more certain than I did.
“You died, Ember,” he said, his voice ravaged. “I saw it. Oh God, you died.”
I stiffened at his words. A dozen memories bubbled to the surface, and with each one I reclaimed a piece of my identity.
I was Ember Elizabeth Pierce. Age eighteen. I could teleport, and I worked for the government. I went on deadly missions.
And I was in love with Caden Hawthorne, the man who now rocked me in his arms.
I inhaled sharply as some of the haze that clouded my mind dissipated. Dissipated only enough that I knew there was still so much more missing from my memory.
I ran my hand through Caden’s hair again and brushed a kiss against his temple. “I’m alive,” I whispered. I wanted to add,
I remember you
, but I wasn’t sure I remembered everything. Just enough to feel the ache in my heart and the flutter in my chest. Love. It was the only sensation that could feel light and heavy at the same time.
Instead I said, “I’m sorry I’ve been
. . .
gone.” The phrase sounded funny. I hadn’t felt like I’d been away, but my head, it wasn’t right. I should know certain things. The day of the week—of the month, of the year. The information wasn’t there. How long had I been gone, and where had I been?
I whispered against Caden’s temple one of the few pieces of information I did know. “I never wanted to leave you.”
Caden stilled. He pulled away from me, his face the picture of anguish. He brushed my hair away from my face, and his eyes devoured me. A shaky hand rose, and the tips of his fingers grazed my cheek.
A tear spilled from one of his eyes. “Jesus, you are real.”
I placed my hand over the one that touched my face, and I glanced at his mouth. I swear I saw a hint of dimple before he leaned in and pressed his lips to mine.
The intensity in the kiss nearly took my breath away. I pressed a hand to his cheek as his mouth moved longingly over mine.
The stroke of his lips wasn’t frantic; it was reverent. This wasn’t a man thirsty for me; this was a man finding God again in a kiss.
That realization pulverized my heart. He’d thought I was dead. I pinched my eyes closed to push back my own tears.
The kiss ended, and Caden shuddered against me. Both of us clung to each other, reluctant to let go.
I leaned my forehead against his shoulder. A thought surfaced, and I voiced it before it had a chance to flitter away. “Stealing a kiss from a dead girl,” I whispered. “I see you’re still an opportunist.”
My words didn’t have the witty snap that they should’ve, but it didn’t seem to matter. Caden let out a choked laugh and tightened his hold on me. He stared down at my face, a true, genuine smile spreading across his.
His eyes drifted down to my lips, then my chin, then lower. Suddenly he stiffened against me.
“Oh God.”
“What?”
I followed his horrified gaze, which was riveted to my torso. It only took me a moment to see it. I made a strangled noise at the back of my throat.
Just inside my right breast, the jagged purple line began. It sliced down and across my stomach before zigzagging in the other direction. Tiny horizontal lines bisected it every so often—residual marks where I’d been stitched together.
“I—I look like Frankenstein.” I choked on the words. “What happened to me?”
“I don’t know.” Lightly he traced over the scar, his face full of raw pain. His finger paused. “You were shot here. It hit a lung.” His voice was flat.
“I was?” Even as I asked, the memory came back.
Thrown into a chair. Calculated taunting. He’d shot me. I knew I was going to die. And Caden, begging me to stay, to live.
“I had a head wound.” I reached up and touched my temple. Sure enough, I could feel a thin strip of raised skin hidden under my hair. A horrible thought struck me. “Is my face . . . ?”
“No,” he said, his eyes roving over my face. He drank me in. “It’s not scarred.”
I closed my eyes and nodded. “I was spliced.”
That was why the scar from my bullet wound was so extensive and abnormal. My mind conjured images of things I’d once seen. Files filled with photos of dead teleporters, their bodies flayed open by the process.
How had I survived that?
Caden’s lips pressed into my forehead. His arms shook as he held me. “I can’t believe you’re here,” he whispered against my skin. “That you’re
. . .
alive
.” He seemed to come undone with that word. His cheek rubbed against mine, and I felt wetness there.
I drew back from him and touched his face, surprised when I felt roughness. Stubble. He was older than I remembered. I moved my hand along the skin of his cheek, my brow furrowed.
Caden watched me, his eyes shining too brightly. Someone else might have said he looked mad, but I knew instinctively what I was seeing: his heart’s deepest desire being fulfilled. Only he didn’t completely believe it. He was enjoying the moment, even though he hadn’t ruled out the possibility that I was a figment of his imagination.
I took in the hard planes of Caden’s face; it wasn’t just his stubble that caught me off guard. He looked older—manlier—his body more muscular than I remembered. Which meant . . .
“How long have I been gone?” I asked.
Sad eyes stared at me. Gently Caden reached out and touched my face again, his fingers moving over my features. He drew his hand down, along my neck, stopping at the hollow of my throat.
His gaze flicked back up to me, his expression grim. “Ten months.”
“Ten months?” I repeated, my voice small.
“Yes.” So much bleakness in those eyes.
Almost a year. I couldn’t remember any of that lost time. Not since that hazy memory of getting shot. And while I’d been gone, Caden had lost the last soft edges he might’ve had.
“So long,” I said.
“An eternity.”
I traced his lips. He took my hand and stared down at me, longing replacing sadness.
His head dipped, and then warm lips pressed against mine. Something low in my belly clenched, and I sighed at the rightness of the moment. Of us, together.
This was my pair, the man who’d been genetically engineered for me. Our forced partnership shouldn’t have turned into something genuine, not when the Project had created pairs not only to fight together but also to reproduce together. But it had.
Caden’s hands came up and cupped my face, and I wrapped an arm around his neck. His lips coaxed mine open, and then his tongue stroked the inside of my mouth. Even after all this time apart, he still smelled, tasted, felt like home.
I drew away, savoring him on my lips. My eyes slowly opened, and Caden and I held each other’s gazes. The moment lingered.
Whatever else happens, at least we’re together.
I’d no sooner thought the words than I vanished.