Dark Reign Page 3

  Envisioning the death of Blackbird, he and Roman shared a laugh while I reached for the pitcher. As I poured, Julian finally found his way into the dining room to join us. Judging by his expression, I concluded something wasn’t right. That’s when I remembered his bot had been present when I shared that another donor had gone missing. He only nodded a silent greeting as he dropped down into the seat adjacent to mine and began filling his plate.

  Meanwhile, Levi continued his rant.

  “It’s only fair,” he concluded. “This … girl … has singlehandedly undermined the very principles Dr. Percival fought so hard to establish and protect.”

  “We could always just hand her over to the Butcher,” Julian grumbled, never lifting his gaze from his plate. “Then we could wash our hands of her altogether, move on with our lives.”

  “Out of the question,” Roman interjected, speaking through gritted teeth. His gaze lingered on his glass as he traced the rim with a finger. “She’ll suffer before us all.”

  There was a distant look in his eyes as he spoke, drifting further with each passing second.

  “She doesn’t get to die in secret, in some private corner of the Butcher’s funhouse. Her sins have been carried out for all to see. Therefore, her death should be carried out in the same manner.”

  None of us spoke, knowing his bitterness was warranted. The loss he experienced had been at the hand of a rogue faction similar to the one Blackbird orchestrated. Actually, the only reason we were certain she wasn’t responsible was because the event had taken place in the South Quadrant. To the best of our knowledge, she’d only directly plagued the East. Although, it could be argued that her rogue actions, the message they conveyed, had been just as damaging.

  It was time to change the subject, for Roman’s sake.

  “Well, on a slightly lighter note, who’s gotten started with the whole … mate selection thing?” Levi chimed in, having the same idea to switch to a new topic.

  And quite elegantly, I might add.

  I glanced around, taking in the array of expressions my brothers in royalty wore.

  Reluctantly, Roman raised a hand into the air, and I think we were all equally surprised. Just a few months ago, we could hardly convince him to leave the house, and now, he’d taken the initiative to explore his options for a mate. It was a good sign.

  “And?” Julian chimed in, seeming to have shed whatever mood he’d been in when first joining us. “Were any of them ‘empress material’?”

  “Screw that,” Levi interjected. “We’ll get to the ‘tied-down-for-life’ business later. The real question is whether any of them are worthy to grace our sheets,” he added with a cheeky grin.

  We’d come to expect these outbursts from him. Mostly, he just said the things the rest of us were too socially conscious to say out loud.

  Roman shrugged. “A few were mildly interesting, but as a skeptic of the entire system, I’m probably the wrong one to ask. Are we expected to believe all these women have been screened by the Dynasty’s coordinators?”

  “Thoroughly,” I answered with a laugh. “There’s a multifaceted selection process, followed by a second, even more complex sifting that further scrutinizes the candidates. When all is said and done, what we’re left with is the crème de la crème of Ianite women,” I shared.

  Roman wasn’t biting. “I still believe no one’s more capable of finding a man’s true mate than that man himself.”

  Julian nodded in agreement while Levi gave an indifferent shrug.

  “And yet, despite the lack of trust in the system, you’re all still opposed to plan B,” I observed.

  They were all silent.

  Completely.

  In fact, that was their collective response every time I brought up that there was another plausible solution, one that could not only satisfy the requirement for us each to take a bride before taking the throne. It could also potentially fix a number of things ailing the Dynasty. In my opinion, for that reason alone, it seemed worth considering.

  Succumbing to a blood bond by way of a sacred ritual—specifically one consisting of blood and venom from four emperors—could change lives. Could save lives across all four quadrants.

  However, because there was no guarantee this would be a quick fix, or even a viable solution down the road, the others had been hard to convince. A great sacrifice with only the possibility of our blood producing an antidote to the sickness was, apparently, not incentive enough.

  The others’ hesitance may have also had to do with the fact that there was a very specific side-effect of the ritual. To summarize, we—four princes who’d soon be emperors of the free world—would be bound to one queen, locked in, and forced to share one mate.

  For eternity.

  While it wasn’t the best scenario I could have thought up either, according to Dr. Percival’s reports, once the ritual was complete and we were a solid unit of five, all feelings of possessiveness, jealousy, and separatism would disappear. We would be enlightened, understanding the bond on a deeper level than most could fathom.

  Our fathers had been offered the same opportunity in years past, along with council from Dr. Percival himself should they have agreed to initiate a bond. However, with no guarantee of its effectiveness, they quickly refused, deciding instead to choose mates and wed of their own volition.

  At that time, hundreds of years ago, there was no illness to speak of, and thus no noble benefit to justify making the sacrifice. It was easy to understand why our fathers opted not to participate. However, by the time the first case of the sickness arose, the option of a bond had been lost, thanks to a series of unforeseen events. Thus, the opportunity to test Percival’s theory had only recently reemerged as we, the emperors’ sons, prepared to take the throne.

  Despite the extensive research Percival had done, I was still the only one willing to consider it. Even with the added benefit of inheriting the gifts of the other three quadrants. Yes, my intuitive abilities had been convenient, but I could only imagine that adding my brothers’ region-specific gifts would have been even better.

  Roman’s gift of flight.

  Julian’s incredible strength.

  Levi’s psychokinetic abilities.

  These all added icing to the cake if you asked me. And to keep balance, not only would we possess all these traits, our mate would as well, and whatever descendants came of the union.

  If we could find a way to come into agreement on this, we could be on the verge of not only curing the sickness, but becoming the first super nation to ever exist.

  “I’d sooner take up with a Doll and risk marring my family name,” Levi blurted. “For all we know, this whole bit about the blood bond is just the mindless rant of a madman.”

  It was forbidden to speak of Dr. Percival in such a way. However, Levi knew this was one of few settings where expressing himself openly wouldn’t result in a swift beheading. Well, provided none of Julian’s staff was in earshot to report us to the magistrate. Not even our titles and status could protect us from the long arm of the law if the committed offense was against the beloved founding father of our Dynasty.

  “Mind your tongue,” Julian grumbled, reaching to pour a glass of fresh blood.

  “Oh, come on,” Levi scoffed. “You all agree. You simply don’t have the balls to admit it. No one’s laid eyes on Percival in years, and generally people only retreat to a mountain range to work in solitude when they’ve lost all their marbles. Therefore, I think it’s time we all consider that some of his later theories and research might just be steeped in insanity,” he concluded.

  I said nothing. Partly because I, too, had grown concerned about the stability Ian Percival had shown in recent years, but still believed him to be a great man of science. I mean, he was the reason we even existed, the reason we had the luxury of enjoying immortality.

  Unhinged or not, no one could deny the man was brilliant.

  “I just don’t buy it,” was Levi’s indifferent conclusion. “You
mean to tell me the best the man could do was to require that we break the strictest law—one he himself imposed—to even get this insane bond started?”

  It was no secret that the only way to initiate the bond would be for one of us to break the ‘no-turn’ law. With population control being a major concern, as was blood shortage, turning humans into Ianites was strictly forbidden now. Not only would it remove a blood source from circulation, it would also create another mouth to feed. And even if we did decide to give this a try, we’d have to hope a human woman would be willing to participate.

  The more I mulled it over, weighed the odds of this working in our favor, I had to admit how slim the chances were. Still, it would have been a huge breakthrough if it weren’t so farfetched.

  Sitting back in my seat, I decided not to push. Besides, there was only one way to know if Ian Percival was insane or a genius, and that was to throw caution to the wind.

  “Well,” I sighed, “as long as none of us randomly decides to turn a human girl, I suppose we’ll never know.”

  Levi raised his glass into the air, thick, red liquid sloshing inside. “I’ll drink to that.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Corina

  Currents of humid air caressed my cheek. It wasn’t until a soggy tongue swept beneath my nostrils that I equated the aroma of bacon marinated in swamp water with Riot’s breath. If her goal was to wake me … mission accomplished.

  “I’m okay, girl.”

  I nudged her snout an inch or two away before scratching her chin, feeling the softness of brown fur at my fingertips. A whimper hit the air when I showed signs of consciousness. She was always like this for the first twenty-four hours following an episode—clingy and overprotective.

  The room spun a little when I swung my legs over the edge of a cot. The main effects of seizing subsided within an hour or so, but I typically didn’t feel like myself for much longer than that. Hence the reason I had yet to leave the infirmary, opting to hang out here until the sun set again.

  I could have sworn someone had taken a drill to my forehead, right between the eyes. It was always this way, and the postictal headache was my least favorite after-effect. I hated it even more than the sore muscles, the nausea and confusion.

  Riot took a seat right beside my foot, her large body pressed against my calf. She was a good girl, the best dog someone like me could have for more reasons than one. My arm was heavy to lift, but I reached to scratch her head anyway, imagining that seeing me down for the count must have been traumatic for her, despite having comforted me through too many episodes to remember. Especially before Felix rigged the nifty bracelet to suppress them.

  I glanced there, to my wrist where the gadget glinted beneath the sterile glow of florescent lighting. To the naked eye, it looked like a simple piece of jewelry, but it was much more than that to me. It’d been the key to regaining a small measure of control over my life about three years ago.

  Riot and I were both jumpier than usual, whipping our heads toward the door when someone burst through. A set of peeved, green eyes just about burned a hole through me in the fraction of a second Liv cast her gaze my way. I watched as her slight figure crossed the room in the t-shirt I loaned her months ago. On me, it was a perfect fit; on her, it was at least two sizes too big.

  She bounded toward the small table in the corner without a word. I expected as much, the team giving me the silent treatment all day, and now into the evening. Especially considering what I’d done the night before. They’d been kind enough to slide meals in beneath the door, but none had come in to chat. None until now, until Liv.

  Going into the field knowing I wasn’t at my best wasn’t heroic. Not to the people watching from a monitor miles away, the ones talking you through a mission. Not when we were all the closest thing anyone had to family. Whenever I kept things like this from them, it was looked upon as a betrayal, a breach in trust because I’d taken an unnecessary risk with my life.

  My transport’s life.

  Except … they were the only ones who saw it as unnecessary. I’d make the same choice I had today time and time again if it meant not sending one of them to do the job in my place.

  No one liked a lecture, but I honestly would’ve opted for that versus being frozen out.

  A tin cup slammed to the table and water sloshed over the rim. Riot responded to Liv’s aggression with another whimper before lowering to the ground, covering her face with a paw.

  I didn’t blame her.

  Liv may look sweet and innocent with her small stature and pixie-like features, but I knew for a fact she was neither of those things when you pissed her off.

  A heavy sigh came with a look, and then she did her ‘I mean business’ pose—feet planted firmly together, hands on hips.

  “You know … I’m still trying to find the logic in having a service dog that can predict and help you through a seizure if you’re only gonna leave her behind.”

  My back fell against the cool, cinderblock wall before answering. “We’ve already gone over this. It’s too dangerous out there.”

  When I closed my eyes for a moment, I envisioned the hellhound that chased me down last night. Yes, Riot was a service dog—a gift from, and trained by, my late father—but she was also fiercely protective of me. There was no way she would’ve backed down, and I could only imagine what would have happened had she attempted to defend me from the monsters.

  “You need her, Cori.”

  “Which is precisely the reason I’m never taking her out there. You know as well as I do what these missions are like.”

  Liv stared me down, but I returned her stern look.

  “What if Alex and O.C. hadn’t made it to you when they did?” she countered.

  “But they did make it, so …”

  Her eyes narrowed to slits when she glared. “Is that how we operate now? Hoping and praying things go okay? Crossing our fingers you don’t have an episode while trying to escape?”

  The pain between my eyes spread. Pinching the bridge of my nose helped a little.

  “Maybe,” I breathed, partly because I just wanted the conversation to end, partly because it was true. Maybe that was our normal.

  “Well, I can’t accept that.” The statement was the verbal equivalent of her putting her foot down.

  “What we do has never been pretty or perfect,” I reminded her, and I had the scars to prove it.

  There was the time I nearly burned to death inside an abandoned apartment building—a hive of roamers blocking one entrance, a tactical unit from the Ianite army flooding in from the other. There was also the time I had to run several miles on a foot that’d been impaled with a three-inch nail, thanks to a trap set by some amateur, wannabe hero. My choice had been to either keep running while I cried, or stop to nurse the wound and be captured by Dynasty sentinels.

  I chose to run and cry.

  Liv was quiet, that furious gaze of hers softening only a little when she handed me the tin cup that my pride wouldn’t let me beg for, even if I needed it. I was thirstier than I’d ever been in my entire life.

  “Thank you.” I barely got the words out before snatching it and guzzling half.

  She stared while I panted like Riot after a good run.

  “Alex says it happened again.”

  My gaze lifted from the cup, confused about what she referred to for a moment. It was that sympathetic gaze beneath the harsh one that gave her away. As if she wanted to still be pissed at me, but couldn’t—considering.

  At this point, I only felt relatively embarrassed. The crew was somewhat used to me mumbling about my mother as I came out of an episode. Usually, I just asked for her, disoriented by the haze, forgetting she’d been gone for years.

  I lowered the cup and instead of following Liv down the rabbit hole of deep-rooted feelings and untapped emotions I knew she hoped for, I ignored the statement altogether.

  “Got any aspirin?

  The sympathy she held for me evaporated as it dawne
d on her what I was doing—avoiding.

  “We’re out,” she sighed. “Supplies, in general, are getting low.”

  My hand stopped midair with the cup nearly touching my lips. When my eyes flitted to Liv’s, I could tell right away she regretted saying so much.

  “How low?” I asked.

  She started toward the door as a passive response tumbled out. “We’re fine, Cori.”

  I managed to catch her arm from where I sat, interrupting what she thought would be a clean getaway. It was no secret we were beyond max capacity. We had taken in more bodies than we could feed and care for, but we had no choice.

  “Still no word on when the next boat’s coming in?” My breaths came quicker, mirroring my heartrate.

  Liv hesitated but finally shook her head. “Not yet.”

  No boat meant no transportation for the refugees to Pitcarin Island. No transportation meant supplies would only continue to deplete faster than we could replenish them.

  “Times like this, I really wish we hadn’t lost contact with the Benefactor,” Liv mumbled to herself.

  I hated hearing her say that, hated hearing how heavily her hope depended on some stranger’s charity—a stranger we hadn’t been in contact with for over a year. I never approved of our arrangement with the anonymous donor. One who gifted us supplies and funds without any explanation of who they were or what they might one day want in return.

  Everything came with a price.

  The part of me that regarded our team of eight as family wanted to panic with our provisions being scarce, but the side of me that was more like my father immediately began to strategize.

  “Felix has the bike back up and running, I can easily find out when the next race is and—”

  “Absolutely not.” She did that thing where her words sounded eerily like a foot pounding down on the pavement. “I hate that you even think it’s an option, Cori.”

  “It’s our best bet.”

  “You’ve got a death wish,” she countered.