Descendants Series Page 15

  I waited, fighting the urge to continue my explorations.

  “It’s Morgan,” she said.

  I cleared my throat. That was a mood-killer. “What do you mean?”

  “The knife was too low,” she groused. “He’s been forming an attack since earlier this afternoon.”

  I leaned up on an elbow.

  “He’s a little upset, Aern. And he’s coming to”—she winced—“finish us off.”

  “Finish us off?” I said.

  She smirked. “His words, not mine. Listen, I got us some time together, but Logan can only cover us for so long.”

  I sat up. “What on Earth are you talking about?”

  She looked pointedly toward the door. “What were we supposed to do? No one knows about Brianna, so they didn’t want us together.”

  “Dammit, Aern,” Logan hissed from outside the door. “Open up.”

  I fell back to the mattress, hand slapping loosely over my face.

  “Don’t worry,” Emily said. “I’ll get it.”

  A minute later, Logan’s voice hovered above me. “I know you’re awake.”

  I dropped the hand to glare at him.

  “Brendan is sending someone to retrieve you,” he said. “We’ve only got hours to prepare.”

  I hadn’t even gotten dressed yet. I looked down, pursing my lips at hospital-issue Ralph Lauren pajamas. I glanced at Emily where she stood behind Logan, still fully dressed and only mildly disheveled. “Thirty more minutes,” I said.

  She flushed, ran a hand over her hair.

  “No deal,” Logan said. “The only reason I got talked into this, was because you needed to recover. But now I’m out. Brendan isn’t catching me leaving you alone in here with…” He started to gesture toward Emily, and then cleared his throat. “Besides, you need to catch up.”

  “Fine,” I said. “Get started.”

  Logan gave me a quick debriefing while I rummaged through the dresser, and then I took a three-minute shower while they waited. As I rinsed off, I marveled at the raised pink skin lining my hip and side, the only remainder of what was surely a handful of gruesome injuries. Aside from some muscle tightness over what was likely still reforming bone, I was almost completely recovered. I slipped on a white tee, loose-fit jeans, and brown leather belt and shoes. Morgan would be here soon, in his custom-made suit and tie, and I didn’t want to disappoint him.

  When I returned to the main room, Seth was waiting for us. “A few of Morgan’s men have been spotted along the borders of our outlying properties,” he explained. “Brendan thinks it’s a ploy, to get us to move our men from covering home base. But regardless, we’ll still need to shield them.” He glanced at Emily. “We have people there who need protection.”

  “I’ll be heading to the Adair house,” Logan said. “I’ve got enough men to cover the files and what staff remain on site. Team two will return to Fordham, and the Westlake properties will be evacuated until we have a better idea of what their plans are.” He gave me a long look. “Be safe, brother.”

  I returned the sentiment with a terse nod, and then said, “We’ll talk later,” putting more meaning in words that would sound to Seth like a generic reply. Logan was no fool, but he didn’t understand what was happening with Emily. And the thought brought pause, because I’d barely had time to process it myself.

  My gaze found hers, and I could tell by the way her cheeks colored she was thinking along similar lines. And then both of us realized we were being watched, and we broke the connection to say goodbye to Logan and be escorted to the meeting by Seth.

  The Southmont house was large, even by Division standards, and was much like a colonial museum. The colors were rich, carpeting plush, and furnishings ornate dark woods. Oil portraits lined the corridors and elaborate battle scenes or landscapes featured the long walls of open, spacious rooms. The house had a history, and we were about to add to it.

  Seth led the way, walking the halls in front of us, and I let my arm brush Emily’s, unable to resist the urge for at least some contact. When we at last neared the entrance to the conference room, she froze, a hint of panic in her tone. “Wait.”

  Seth stopped, glancing over his shoulder in a half turn.

  I waved him on. “Go ahead, we’ll be there in a minute.”

  As soon as the door closed, she was in my arms, both of us in great need of one last touch. I squeezed her tight to me as we moved, until she was pressed against the wall and I could free my grip. She reached around my shoulders to bring herself higher, desperate to deepen the kiss, and my hands slid low to curve around her thigh and raise her off the ground. Her fingers were suddenly grasping at the hem of my shirt as she struggled to pull it free, to press her skin to mine. When she finally succeeded, her touch, her bare palms exploring the skin of my chest, my back, crossing my abdomen, sent fire through me. My hips pressed into hers and she groaned.

  It took everything I had to pull away from her.

  I leaned back, both of us breathless, and stared into her heavy-lidded eyes.

  A wry smile crossed her lips as she realized we were still in the hall. She cleared her throat, and slowly withdrew her legs from around my waist to slide down the wall. My head leaned forward to press against hers, and then I found her mouth again, for two soft kisses. Her hands slipped from beneath my shirt, one gliding slowly up my chest to rest over my heart while the other circled my back in a tender embrace. And we simply stayed there. It was too long, and it would never be enough.

  As the voices rose from within the conference room, Emily sighed, and I leaned further back to take her hand. I brought it up for a brief kiss, and then held it until the last moment, when the door finally opened in front of us.

  The conference room was large, poorly lit, and packed full of Division men. Brendan stood front and center, fielding questions and sorting out arguments. Brianna was off to the side, sitting watch at what appeared to be the only isolated area of the room. With Wesley.

  Though he didn’t acknowledge it, Wesley excused himself from Brianna’s side as we entered the room. We made our way over, and Emily took his seat on Brianna’s left as I slid onto the table, one foot resting on the bench to her right.

  We listened as Brendan laid out a plan, giving specific, detailed directions to each of his men, covering every entrance and exit to the property, to the house. He didn’t miss one single aspect, didn’t skip over one single point. They were coming, and he would go over it until the last minute. It would be learned by rote.

  It wasn’t long before Emily became restless, standing, shifting, and then pacing the back and side walls of the conference room.

  I tried not to watch her, leaning forward as I sat on the table, elbow resting just above my knee, thumb twisting the ring on my middle finger.

  Brianna didn’t look at me as she spoke. “It’s not going to work.”

  “No,” I said, though the certainty I felt was not the work of prophecy. It was merely familiarity with Morgan.

  “She will save us,” Brianna said. “But not this time.”

  My thumb stilled against the ring. “Brianna—”

  She turned to me then, so close beside me, and the wanness in her face stopped me short. “It keeps shifting,” she said with a sad smile. “It’s never done that before.”

  I glanced automatically at Emily.

  “Yes,” Brianna said. “I suppose I should have thought of that, given that none of the prophecies went past the union.”

  She took a deep breath and my eyes came back to hers, questioning.

  “I’m just tired,” she said.

  “Come on,” I said, stepping down from my seat. “There’s no reason for us to be here.”

  When I grasped her hand, several of the observers across the room took notice. But it didn’t bother me now, because none of that mattered. The union was complete.

  And nothing about it felt wrong.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Resistance

  “It’s ti
me.”

  The voice from the doorway came much too soon. The three of us had been waiting in one of the small sitting rooms, knowing what was coming. Knowing we had gotten lucky before. It wouldn’t happen again. This time, people would die.

  And none of us were ready for that.

  Brianna squeezed her sister’s hand, and then gave me a meaningful look before joining Seth at the door. “I’d like to see Brendan privately for a moment. Aern and Emily can meet us there.”

  Seth’s gaze swept over us, but he didn’t argue with Brianna.

  When they were gone, I stood and crossed to Emily where she sat perched on the edge of a low-backed chaise, pretending to study a painting. I held out a hand and she took it, silently standing to move into my embrace.

  She slipped her arms around my back, and we stayed there, unspeaking, as I pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

  I wouldn’t let it be the last time.

  “I’m not scared,” Emily whispered against my chest.

  I leaned back, lifting her chin to face me.

  “But I can’t shake this feeling,” she said. “The prophecy, we can’t trust it, can we?” She shifted, her hand coming to rest on my side. “Have we brought absolute conflict? Blood against blood? Or is there more? They were so wrong, about everything, Aern. It was all there, and they’d only misunderstood.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I said. “We’ve created the bond. We will find a way to get through this.”

  “Will we?” she asked in a soft voice. “Because I don’t know anymore. What if we’ve mistaken it this time? The heir to the dragon’s name will rule with the union. They were wrong about which heir before—”

  “No,” I said, cutting her off too abruptly, and she narrowed her gaze. If I had been sure, it wouldn’t have been so harsh.

  “You heard Brianna,” she said. “Morgan can’t die. Not yet.” She glanced toward the doorway. “If he still has a part to play, Aern…”

  “No,” I repeated. He would not have her. No matter what else happened, Morgan would not win.

  Her breath came out heavily and she stared at me. Finally, she nodded, adopting my determination as she straightened to go.

  “Wait,” I said, grabbing her arm to pull her to me. I studied her for a long minute, re-memorizing her features. And then I touched my lips against hers softly, lingering there to whisper her name. When I pulled away, her eyes remained closed, saving the moment, and then steeling herself for what was to come.

  Brendan’s office had been transformed. Forty of Division’s men stood scattered around a control room of sorts, sleek, flatscreen monitors and communication equipment covering every flat surface near the back wall. A spiderweb of wires crisscrossed the desks and tables, historic furniture now overwrought with electronic technology. Cables vined up through the stand of an old-fashioned writing desk, supplying the computer systems Eric’s younger brother ran. Plush, burgundy carpet held the restless feet of cultivated soldiers, waiting for battle.

  The chairs sat empty.

  No one spoke; the time for words was over. There was nothing but the wait. And then it was gone.

  “He’s here,” Brendan said from his place behind the display.

  The room fell still.

  “North wall. He’s using the main entrance.” He glanced at the other screens. “They haven’t split up. He’s bringing them all together.”

  Beside me, I felt Brianna’s lack of surprise. I couldn’t look at her, though, because Emily was there, standing on her other side.

  “Cue the gate current,” he said. “I don’t know what he’s got up his sleeve.”

  The boy keyed in the command, sending high voltage through the secondary barriers near the gate, and we all watched as a dozen black town cars and sleek new SUVs pulled to a stop in front of the wall. The driver of the second car stepped out, opening the door behind him for Morgan.

  He stood, elegant in black suit and tie, and straightened his jacket with a practiced shrug. His hands went to his wrist, adjusting his cuffs with an easy smile. Right into the camera.

  “Brendan,” I said, but my voice was too low, too lost in the realization.

  “What’s happening?” Kara yelled. “Brendan, damn it, why are they letting him in?”

  Brendan’s head pivoted as he switched from one screen to another, examining the angles, willing it not to be true.

  The gates swung open, and Morgan waved the cars forward as he slid back into his own vehicle. Light flashed off tinted glass as the door shut behind him, and his driver returned to his station.

  “Stop them,” Eric said as the first car drove through.

  Keys clicked furiously as another command was entered, but they had expected to find them on foot, not driving through the main gate.

  We watched in horrified silence as the progression of vehicles made its way up the drive, bypassing every security precaution laid before them.

  Brendan was speechless at his own mistake. But it was all of us who’d overthought it. There was no way to stop what was happening, it was too late to undo this now.

  A wave of black doors opened down the drive as Morgan’s men stepped from their cars. They were relaxed and confident, armed with silencers and long-range weapons. Morgan walked forward, heading casually toward the steps of the mansion.

  “Shoot him,” Brendan said, his hand pressed against the device in his ear.

  The command went unanswered as Morgan’s gaze swept the men outside the front entrance. Seven shots were fired, but the cameras caught Division men falling, not Morgan.

  “The sway,” Eric whispered. “Gods, he’s turning our men with a single glance.”

  “Set a sniper,” Brendan demanded. “Get someone out of his sight and waiting at the main door, now!”

  Two of the cameras showed their response, a half dozen men scrambling to change position, set up to fire on him. But they couldn’t kill him, Brianna had said. I glanced sideways at her, but she wasn’t watching. Whatever Brendan did now, he did under his own conscience, because Brianna was elsewhere, her pupils flickering against a sea-green iris. My gaze fell to Emily, hand resting on the hilt of her blade through the fabric of her shirt as she watched Brendan go against her sister’s advice.

  We’d not revealed Brianna’s gift to anyone else. Only Brendan knew she was a prophet. To speak it now would put her in more danger.

  I opened my mouth to call Brendan’s attention, but stopped short as my gaze caught on a screen.

  “No,” he hissed as a Division soldier rushed a sniper set to fire on Morgan. Kara’s hands flew up to cover her mouth as a bullet from his own team ripped through his chest. A second monitor flashed as another Division man shot a gunman in the stomach and then turned to fire on the camera. Brendan frantically called orders over his headset, but it was too late. The soldiers from the gate and front entrance were moving through the house, taking down strategically placed men who were out of Morgan’s range.

  He wasn’t even using his own army. He had turned ours against us.

  I didn’t look at Emily as I ran. I wasn’t sure I could go through with this if I had. But Morgan had to be stopped, and there was only one chance, one person who might have the ability to stand up to his power without risking her and her sister.

  “Stop!” Brianna shouted from behind me, but I couldn’t look at her. I had to do this. I waited in the doorway, hands pressed against the frame.

  “He cannot die,” Brianna said to my back. “You can stop him, Aern. But he cannot die.”

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Challenge

  In the end, it was all of us who ran to meet him. We could not stand to watch another soldier die, could not wait idly by as they slaughtered the lot of us. And so we stood, a room full of descendants of the seven lines, and faced Morgan.

  “No more,” Brendan said, his words echoing off the walls of what was once a ballroom. “You’ve killed enough.”

  Morgan smiled. “Oh, but I’m just gett
ing started.” He raised a hand casually to the men on our right, though they’d followed Brendan’s command to lower their weapons.

  “You’ve won, Morgan,” I said. “You’ve made your point.”

  He turned to look at me, but the hand didn’t immediately drop. The expression on his face made it perfectly clear he was aware of his victory. “I’m not done yet, brother.”

  His eyes fell to the men standing beyond his hand, and their rifles rose. Emily flinched beside me when the first shots fired, and I couldn’t help but to reach for her, press her slightly behind me. It was a mistake, and Morgan noticed. He waved a hand and the firing ceased. Seven more Division men lay bleeding on the polished wood floor. But they were not kill shots. Not yet.

  Kara’s hand pressed to her stomach, several of the others looked as if they too might be sick. Morgan was going to drag this out, he was reveling in the power.

  “My, my,” he crooned, “it seems you finally care about someone, brother.” His eyes trailed slowly over Emily before returning to mine. “Aside from yourself.” His grin turned feral. “It will definitely make things more interesting.”

  My stomach plunged. He was going to hurt Emily. Because I’d touched her, tried to protect her, he would torture her. And he would be certain I stayed alive long enough to watch.

  “I care about everyone here, Morgan.” It took every ounce of energy not to let my tone betray the anger and tension blistering through me. “As should you.”

  He scoffed. “You are a fool.”

  “Just like our father?” I said.

  His eyes flashed with rage, but before he could act, he remembered himself, realized I was trying to distract him.

  “Come, girl,” he said to Emily where she stood partially behind me. I couldn’t see her face, but by the expressions reflected on Morgan’s men, I knew she was anything but frightened.

  Morgan snapped his fingers and the man to his left fired on a young boy behind us. He screamed out, the bullet having ripped through his thigh and knocked him off his feet. He wasn’t strong. It wouldn’t heal quickly enough.