Chapter One: Beginning to an End

In this world, there is nothing living that is not poisoned. Everywhere, there is this poisonous disease. It seeps into every moment of life like blood beneath a door crack. Everything in this world is tainted with destruction, decay, and death. Yet this world is the safest. It is the sanctuary of security and perseverance. Even in all of the ruin, there is not a place more protected than this world. Citizens can sleep soundly in their warm beds at night, dreaming of tomorrow. Almost everyone can believe in a tomorrow. Almost everyone.

Cold and sterile, the pistol fit his hand like a friendly glove. His eyes scanned the darkness, and impatient and eager, he squeezed the waiting gun close to his chest. He had to wait, wait for the signal. This was a game of pass the baton, and he was the final runner. Yet if she did not come with the baton . . .

He never made a mistake and never cowardly ran away from an assassination. None of the tasks that his superiors assigned him failed, especially if he was leader. This was his life. If he failed it would mean the end of everything. Absolute failure was not an option.

The balcony groaned as he shifted his weight to his opposite leg. To not swear out in frustration he clamped his lips shut. Every noise was dangerous, and this balcony was too frail to move on. If only she would make the signal, he thought and glared at the window diagonally below. The signal would come from there, but why had it not come yet? Checking his watch, his heart froze with tension. Thirty seconds late.

Bitter, the wind washed over him in a great wave and spiked a shiver through his spine. In an attempt to ignore the cold, he carefully tilted his head to stare up at the full moon that was too bright for his liking. His team had arrived at twenty-three hundred hours. To stealthily crawl into their positions it took a mere five minutes. One person per floor was all that was necessary. From his respective position he had given them their orders: hunt and purge. Clean out the filth, but do it quietly and calmly. Composed and collected was their motto. Show no fear or hesitancy. Be firm and concise. Meanwhile, and most important, leave no witnesses.

Lower floors would be first. Start at the bottom and eliminate all possible exits. Slowly force the cockroaches to have no other options except to ascend to their death. Floor by floor they would eliminate all the evilness from the building, and only with a signal would the next floor begin their cleansing.

He was supposed to have started a minute ago, and that minute was making all the difference. What was wrong? Had something happened? Had she run into a problem? Had someone foreseen the attack? Had someone pulled out a gun? Was she lying in a pool of blood, hoping to be rescued?

His heart froze again, but not from tension. Nothing could be wrong—not with her. She would not mess this up, not again. She could do it. He knew it. She had to be safe. Thorns twisted and coiled in his stomach. Stiffness formed in his slouched over position. Just signal, he thought, please just signal!

Yet it was there before he could blink again. Liberating, a flash of light in the corner of the window relieved him. The light winked out at him with every ounce of pride and relaxation, as if mocking his worry. Ignoring the arrogance, he turned his head to the lone grimy window, slightly ajar. The balcony had long since been unusable due to rust and wear, and therefore the door had been replaced with a simple window. It was probably in hopes of keeping their profane secrets a bit more secret. He wanted to laugh out loud.

Pressing his back against the brickwork, he glanced through a crack in the window and stared past the darkness, forcing his eyes to adjust to its depths. Though as expected, there was no one in sight. There was a perfect silence. How he loved silence. Carefully he pried the window open and leaped into the room with all the stealth and grace of an expert hunter.

Eyes primed and ready, his gun pointed straight ahead, prepared for any movement. Yet there was none. There was not the slightest movement or the slightest sound. There was nothing. His head turned left to right. Shabby cardboard boxes suffocated the petite room, and there was nothing else but a lonely broken light dangling pathetically from the towering ceiling.

A mere quick glimpse around and he threaded his way through the sea of boxes. Once he left this room there would be only one more room and then one bathroom. In this aged industrial building many of the workrooms were on levels one through three. The fourth level was supposed to be a resting area. Therefore, he was assuming the other room would now be used as sleeping quarters, or at least he was hoping.

Behind a column of boxes he spied the exit and hastened toward it. His left hand turned the grating doorknob and allowed the door to peel open with a long moan. The noise rose hairs on the back of his neck, and he lowered the gun to peer around the corner of the door. No one.

He sidled out of the room and peeked down the short, featureless hallway before darting to the next door. Routinely he flattened himself against the wall. Moonlight trailed in through a window and it tossed his shadow across the hall. The eerie shadow was immense and wild against the quaint space. His fingers latched onto the doorknob and twisted. Yawning open, the door produced not the least bit of sound.

According to reports there were only thirteen parasites in this building. Most probably slept in the quarters. He had to be vigilant and enduring. So he waited—waited for any sounds of surprise or recognition. He waited for an unending time, but nothing happened. Satisfied, he swallowed the spit congealing in his throat and edged into the devouring blackness.

Anorexic threads of moonlight propelled in from the hallway, but it was enough for his nocturnal eyes. The room was expansive compared to the previous one. No lumpy boxes adorned this area, but instead there were mats and blankets sprayed across the floor. Every now and then a mountain would rise up and out of the blankets as if something was there. He counted five mountains. That meant the others were elsewhere or already dead.

He took a step forward, but grounded to a halt and glanced at the pistol in his hand. If he wanted to keep this as discreet as possible, the pistol’s silencer would not be enough. Only the sound would be reduced, and there would still be a chance of waking others in the process. Screaming and pleading was too much hassle, but that meant it was going to get messy—really messy. How bothersome, he thought.

He stuck the gun into its holster and leaned down to slide out the serrated combat knife from his boot. Stale, the air forced him to hold his breath as he weaved his way to the first lump.

Not bothering to glance down, he maneuvered one leg over each side of the lump, and eased his body down until he hovered directly overhead like a watching spider. The immoral parasite below him was a young woman with lank blond hair and candlewick thin limbs. In sleep she looked breakable and blameless, but he knew it was a lie. He lowered his knife close enough to feel her hot breath on his icy fingertips. All of them were monsters.

His grip tightened around the handle, and he slowly brought his unoccupied hand to her lips, ready to silence her screams. Lingering above her exposed throat, the knife smiled up at him. All he needed was one quick stab right into the carotid artery. There was no need to think. Simple. With one tensed breath . . .

The knife bit into flesh. Blood sprayed out, spattering his uniform. Her eyes and mouth gasped into life, and his left hand mechanically slammed down, choking her airway. A leg jerked out from beneath, but he only sank in the knife further. Larger and larger her eyes grew as they stared horrified up into his placid face. Warm liquid crept across his palm from her mouth, and he observed as the liquid leaked from underneath his hand like a slick waterfall. Another choking cough sputtered from her lips, and he twisted the knife. Her body convulsed one last time beneath him before going limp. The chore had taken no more than twenty seconds.

He guided out the knife, allowing the blood to spurt from her neck across his chest. He dragged himself away from the corpse and lifted his blood soaked hand, swallowing his disgust. He smeared it on his pants and glared down at the girl, whose eyes were still peeled open like skinned oranges. Such a mess, he thought before taking a stride toward the next vulnerable lump.

Those five vermin took only three minutes, but the time was still too long. Was he losing his edge? He shuddered as he walked toward the door. No, it was not his fault they would not stop struggling. Moonlight engulfed him, and he glanced down at himself before shoving angrily through the door. Verdurist blood—how staining and revolting. It drenched him from head to toe, and the warm slick wetness seeped through his clothes to his skin. Repulsion prickled through his body. Was this what it was like to be infested with disease?

Just the bathroom remained now. Doubtful that anyone was left alive, he strolled to the dented bathroom door with no name plaque and halted. He placed the knife back in its sheath and removed the pistol from its holster. If anyone were in there, he would pull the trigger before they even knew he was there. To be killed while taking a piss, what a comedic end to their life, he thought. He stifled his chuckle.

Eager to depart, he grasped the doorknob without bothering to be wary, but just as he began to twist the steel, he heard a noise that forced him to instinctively freeze—voices. Alertness spiked through him faster than a releasing coil, and he whipped around, pressing his back flat against the doorframe. Not daring to breathe, he listened.

The voice was noticeably female. “Emmett, let’s hurry now.”

“But I’m not sleepy.” A childish voice replied. He assumed the person was a boy.

“It doesn’t matter. Everyone else is asleep, and I’m exhausted.” The boy let out an audible protesting whine in answer. What was this? Why was there a child? And how had he not noticed them entering the bathroom?! “Don’t act like that. Let’s go.” Footsteps grew close. Pounding, his heart thrashed inside. He had to act now.

The door crashed against the wall. “Hands behind your head!” He threw out his gun arm as a shriek devoured the bathroom. A pathetic candle dashed the white walls and the lone figure standing petrified in the middle of the room. She was a thief caught in a floodlight. Fear trembled through every crevice of her body, and it poured off her in a tsunami that left his body strangely heavier. Her fear smelled intoxicating.

His slight hesitation gave her that one chance though. She bolted. He fired. The bullet exploded above her left shoulder and splintered the wooden stall. Trembling, she clung to the door, and when another scream echoed from inside the stall’s confines, her eyes widened to panic. She was trying to save the boy! His eyes lowered darkly, and he cocked the gun. She flinched at the sound, and he moved the gun the fraction he needed for aim. Sacrifice? How foolish. The bullet had missed by an inch. Pathetic, he thought.

“I said, HANDS BEHIND YOUR HEAD!” Every particle of the room echoed with his demanding voice.

Her frail arms rose as she placed her hands behind her head of ivory spring curls. Trills of shivers strummed through her slim body. Those shivers of fear meant nothing to him though. She was the enemy and the utmost threat. He took two measured steps toward her, the gun not wavering the slightest as she cringed against the door. “Move aside.” He knew the power of his commanding voice, and he watched as her quivering lip dropped open.

“I—I . . .” Her lips froze open.

“I don’t believe I stuttered.” He took another step.

Tears welled into her eyes. “I can’t!”

“Meiran!” The child cried out and banged against the door. He flicked the gun up and fired into the door. More wood fractured and the boy cried from inside.

“STOP!” the girl shrieked to the boy. “Just stay there. Everything’s f—fine!” The pounding stopped and a whimper cried out. Her eyes darted to the gun. “Please!” she pleaded. “I don’t care what you do. Just don’t hurt the boy. Please!”

Pleading did nothing. He had heard it before. Prayers, damnations, and entreaties: he heard them all before, and they never worked for him. The candle flickered. Why should they work for her? He took another step. They were close now, close enough that he could smell the saccharine fragrance of her flesh. It stained the air and penetrated his nostrils. It made him dizzy, but he did not falter. He needed to stay focused. “Why? There is no reason to save ugly fleas.”

Her violet eyes were impossibly huge and she tensed. “Y—you, how could you say that? He’s an innocent child.”

Innocence was her reason? “That’s a laugh. That has never stopped any of your kind before.”

“What?” Shock consumed her. “I would never . . . what are you talking about?”

Silence warped his insides, and his head felt stuffy from her perfume. What was that scent? He had to shoot her. His finger flexed above the trigger. “I can’t. He’ll just mutate into one of you.” He stepped closer, full with intent and hate.

Her eyes darkened. “And what? What are you? You are no better.”

“I am a soldier.” His hand tightened around the gun. “My killing is justified. You are just worthless flesh.”

“No . . .” Her arms began to drop, but she was too late. He pulled the trigger. The bullet ruptured right above her chest. A gasp spilled from her lips, and her eyes fluttered shut as she slumped back against the door. The boy gave a ghastly scream. Blood crept across her green dress, and her body slipped to the ground, leaving behind a streak of crimson.

Simple and clean, a pistol was much easier. Edging forward until his boot toed her abdomen, he gazed down at her hunched frame and lowered the gun. See what pleading gained a person?

He knelt beside her and leaned over her legs to check her neck’s pulse. He had to be sure. Yet as his face neared the bloody pulsing mass on her chest, he froze for a fraction of a second. Arising from the blood was a foreign smell, something he had never experienced. It caught him unaware, and before he could think, it flushed into his nostrils like a strike to the gut. He reeled away and plastered a hand over his nose and mouth. What was that?! He stared at the body as his heart thumped rapidly. That fragrance, what was it?

His eyes frantically flickered to the blood spilling down the trench between her scarcely ripe breasts, and his face flushed with heat before his eyes darted away. Oh damn, it was absolutely irresistible. Desire and pleasure made his head lurch. He just wanted to reach out and . . . and what? He couldn’t think that. She was impure and vile and . . . but that fragrance! It was unbearably delicious, and he felt a sinister impulse to touch that crimson dark patch of liquid. Unfurling around the gun, his fingers jerked, ready to latch out. But no . . . !

“Sebastian!”

Familiar, a voice evaporated the fog from his mind, and he whipped around, dropping the hand from his face. “Lil—?” That was all he could manage before that aroma lunged into his throat and all sensation left him. That smell was heavenly. His body melted against the cold stone and tremors snaked through his veins leaving him paralyzed. He wanted it. He needed it like oxygen. He would die if he did not taste it.

“SEBASTIAN!” Thoughts buckled in his brain, and he knew he had to escape or else suffocate. He stumbled to a stand, and a shrieking pain tore at the pit of his stomach. Grabbing at his abdomen, he disregarded it. He had to get away. All of his self-discipline he put into ripping his mind away from that seducing smell, and without a second pause, he bolted out the door, shoulder slamming against the frame in his hurry. Agony burned throughout his shoulder, and breathless, he collapsed against the door as it shut with a click.

Slouched over, he grasped at his shoulder and winced as a slight pain spread through it. He shut his eyes, taking in long draughts of breath and struggling to relax. The scent was gone. It had dispersed as soon as he left the bathroom, but in its place queasiness churned his stomach. He wanted to vomit out his insides.

“Sebastian! There you are.”

His eyes flashed to the right. “Lily?”

Concern wrought in her amber eyes and she sprinted down the hall toward him. “I’ve been calling you.” Her eyes widened as she looked at him up and down. “You’re covered in blood!”

“Wha–?” Ah—yes, he forgot. Repugnance itched his skin. Verdurist blood was still on him. He shuddered. “Carotid arteries . . . slit their throats in their sleep. Unfortunately, it was messy.”

“What was all that screaming then?”

He frowned. “Nothing. What are you doing up here?”

“Don’t answer a question with a question. I heard screaming and was worried.” She seized hold of his arm and pain shot across his shoulder.

“Shit!” Sebastian snatched his arm back and clutched his shoulder. “Don’t do that.”

Her hand dropped as she frowned. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, yes . . . it’s nothing, I just . . .” He had to bite his tongue as his stomach jolted. “It’s nothing. I only hit my shoulder.”

Skepticism ate her petite features, and she crossed her arms over her chest. “What happened?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He scowled. “And why did you leave your post?”

“Oh, don’t change the subject, Sebastian!” She snapped her fingers and brushed a strand of fallen chestnut hair behind her ear. “What was all that screaming? What happened to silence?”

“Well, what happened to being on time? You were a minute late. And what happened to addressing me correctly?”

Her bottom lip dropped in disbelief. “Oh quit it. It was only a minute. And you’re still avoiding my question.”

Agitation rose inside him. “I made a mistake, okay. Just drop it.” Lily began to open her mouth but stopped as she saw the anger in his eyes. “I don’t want to discuss it.”

“You never want to discuss anything,” she sharply retorted and glared at him. She was much shorter than he was, and he raised an eyebrow at her. It always went like this. Personal questions, he hated them, and he detested wasting time on them. Lily would never understand that.

He sighed. “Lily, please?”

Lily bit her bottom lip and there was a drawn out silence before she took a step toward him to gently touch his arm. “Those stupid Verdurists.” Her grip tightened. “Is your shoulder all right?”

“Uh, yeah.” Holding back a rising blush, he sidestepped and positioned himself behind her. Change the subject, he thought. “You should not have left your post, Lily.”

Silence. Had he said something wrong? Frowning, he turned slowly only to find her head bowed and her eyes shut and lips drawn tight. His throat constricted. “Lily?”

Flashing toward him, her eyes spat venom, and his mouth dropped open in astonishment. Cold and monotone, her voice pierced him. “So if I had screamed you would have remained at your post?”

He stepped back. What was she saying? Of course he would never leave her. He would tear the throats out of anyone who would dare harm a single hair on her body. What was she talking about? “But I did not scream.” Why was she mad?

“That doesn’t matter. I thought something had happened.” Irritation gradually increased in her voice, but Sebastian simply did not understand. He was fine.

“I—I don’t . . . nothing happened. And address me correctly, Private Lykke.”

Fury flew through her eyes. “Specialist Kaspersen, I thought you were hurt!”

“I was not.” He shrugged.

She stared at him in despair. “Liar. When your friend is in trouble you go to their aid. That’s what friends do, Sebastian. My friends come before my mission.”

“But . . .” Nothing. There was nothing he could say. There was no rational logic to that thought. If soldiers did whatever they wanted, even stepped out of line for friends, it would lead to chaos. It was absurd.

“You don’t get it, do you?” She sighed.

Why was she this angry? No one was hurt. “You didn’t use my title again. You know you have to when we’re in combat. We’re supposed to follow the orders . . . I can’t . . . we have to stay in our assignments, Private Lykke. I don’t . . . I can’t do this without following my orders.” His heart sank as he watched her expression turn bitter.

She shook her head and took off down the hall. “Never mind! The others are waiting; we should go, Specialist Kaspersen.” Without looking back, she marched to the end of the hallway and down the pitch-black stairwell.

Numb, Sebastian remained standing in place and nothing but a painful sensation boiled in his stomach. What had he done? “Damn!” His foot connected with the wall, and the deafening bang resonated inside his ears. He had only spoken the truth. He rested his forehead against the cold wall and permitted it to soothe his headache. Perhaps he should have lied?

Checking his watch, he realized he was now ten minutes late and that meant ten minutes off the mark. It was his fault. His sergeant would be furious. He failed and he was still confused. How could Lily expect him to do anything but his duty? The military and assassinations were his life. It had been that way since he was eight years old. Ever since those vile excuses for human beings murdered his parents right in front of him. Those simple-minded earth freaks slaughtered everything he cherished. They butchered and tortured them to save a few pointless trees. It was all wrong. People's safety was more important than a bunch of useless plants. His parents deserved better than to be executed by those hateful Verdurists for bloody flowers.

Groaning, Sebastian erected himself and attempted to regain his composure. He had to act like a soldier. It was his obligation. The monarchy only tried to bring safety and security to all citizens. Those dense Verdurists endeavored to ruin the industry and security. Verdurists would kill everyone if it meant saving the earth, but what good was an earth without humans? What a joke.

Atonine, his home, did not need Verdurists. They were the cockroaches of the kingdom and even forced a great split within its walls. Those whom sided with the monarchy were known as the loyal Sedulists, and those whom sided with the hippies, the degenerates were known as Verdurists. The two groups made up the divide. While the Sedulists tried to carry out peace and security amongst the citizens, Verdurists protested with blood stained signs and raged wars over the slaughtering of hogs.

He dragged his feet down the hallway. What was wrong with being responsible? He just wanted to protect everyone. He wanted to save everyone from those leeches. Was that so wrong?

If it had not been for that girl, this would have never happened. There would have been no time lapse. There would have been no screaming. There would have been no need for Lily to leave her post. If it just had not been for her stubbornness and that dumb, wailing child . . . that child! He froze on the spot. THAT CHILD! He had forgotten! That boy was still in there. He had left him alive. Sebastian began to immediately turn but stiffened instead.

He could not go back. That girl . . . that fragrance. Surely he would asphyxiate if he went back. That scent of hers was the most intoxicating thing he had ever smelled, and even his stomach was still nauseous from longing and hunger. Never before had he smelled something like that. Never before had something made him completely forget his objective and purpose. Yet that scent had brought him to his knees A shiver crept over his skin. There was no way he could go back, but . . .

Footsteps made him turn around. Two figures, of the same tall height and lithe build, morphed out of the shadows of the stairs, and when the moon’s light revealed who they were, Sebastian's face soured. "What are you two doing here?" he asked.

The girl's midnight blue eyes darkened, and unlike the boy, she did not halt until she was in front of Sebastian, as if to intimidate him. "What did you do this time, Sebastian?"

He grimaced. "What are you talking about, and what are you two doing up here?"

Still at the top of the stairs, the boy shrugged his shoulders and turned to the window, staring uninterestedly out into the night. "Ask Nynette," he murmured, not returning his gaze.

"Ares, quiet." She growled at the boy before turning her infuriated eyes to Sebastian. "Beth stormed down the stairs all in a huff because of something you said."

Beth? Sebastian never called her Beth, and it still surprised him whenever anyone referred to Lily as Beth. Her true name was Lilybeth, but she despised the name Lily and demanded that everyone call her Beth. Only Sebastian could call her Lily. Only him.

"Obviously you were done up here so I waited. But when you did not come down, I came up." Nynette's long tresses of black hair harmonized with the darkness, giving her a threatening appearance. "What did you say to her?"

"Nothing." He glared back at her untrusting eyes. "She left her position. All I did was inform her so. And what the hell happened to using titles?!"

Nynette's eyes softened with confusion. "Why would she come up here then?"

Ares' eyes slid back to them, and he brushed a hand through his short black hair. "It's getting late, and there’s somebody waiting for me."

Ignoring the comment, Sebastian shrugged. "Thought I was hurt or something . . .” He stopped as laughter burst from Nynette. "What's so funny?"

"She thought you, you of all people was hurt?" Nynette laughed until her giggles consumed the barren hallway.

Sebastian’s fists clenched, but before he could retort, Ares interrupted. “In translation, you’re dense. Now let’s leave. We’re already late. And when I said somebody, I meant a woman. Let’s go!”

Nynette’s laughter stopped short and her eyes turned sharply toward Ares. “Really, a woman? I bet all she has are large breasts and no brains.”

“So?” Ares shrugged. “I don’t need a lady with smarts for what I’m going to do.” Without waiting for replies, Ares gave a short chuckle and vaulted out the window, disappearing.

Nynette’s disapproving eyes watched the empty space he had left before she turned back to Sebastian. “You know, he’s right. You’re dense, and apparently breasts are the only things girls have that are useful. Come on.” She whirled around quickly to flit to the window like a sprightly fairy.

“Whatever.” Sebastian scraped his feet along the floor as he followed closely behind her.

As he neared, she spun back around and flashed him a smirk. “But I’ll talk to her for you. I know words aren’t your, well . . . expertise.” With another giggle she ducked through the window.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sebastian shouted after her and climbed through the window. He watched her scale down the rust iron fire escape ladder. In reply all he heard was a laugh from below. Feeling much agitated, he propelled down the ladder, but scraped his fingers along the rough rust in his haste and irritation. Halfway down, he sprang off the rung and was absorbed into the dense darkness.

His eyes scanned to and fro, and his ears pricked up, listening to wind tear at dead foliage. Nothing could be seen, but his other senses snatched up the stench of garbage and the distant pit pattering footfalls of Nynette. He took off into the arctic night air. Sight was unnecessary.

At the age of ten he had been taught that sense was arbitrary. A true soldier could at any moment be without one or two or more senses. A soldier always had to be prepared. If a blind and deaf person could live without sight and sound, then a soldier could as well. They were all trained that way, and they were also trained never to trust in any of them: sight, sound, taste, smell, or touch. Senses could fool anyone with lies and cheats. Senses were the worst kind of tricksters.

At the end of the alley, he saw the outline of Nynette climbing into the back of a hulking cargo van parked across the street, and he sprinted across the miserably fractured road to catch up. As he came to a halt, the back door swung open, and he clambered inside while his eyes adjusted to the subtler darkness within the van’s belly. Two couch seats, facing each other, were thrown up along both sides of the van with Nynette and Ares occupying one and Lily on the other. At the wheel in front was Sergeant Raine, a young woman who was looking more impatient than Sebastian was hoping, and her irritation was only confirmed when she jerkily sped off once the back door banged shut.

Sebastian stumbled as the van wrenched over the fissures in the road, but he finally settled himself in the only empty seat next to Lily, who made a stubborn point to keep her head turned away at a perfect forty-five degree angle. She was really putting effort into ignoring him. He sighed and glared over at Nynette who was beaming at him as if she found the entire situation amusing. Ares, on the other hand, looked thoroughly bored and undaunted.

Sergeant Raine broke the silence choking the air. “You are late.” Austerity and displeasure tainted her usual composed voice.

Lily exhaled softly. “I was off; it was my—”

“It was my fault,” Sebastian interjected and disregarded Lily as she whipped around to face him with surprised eyes. “It was my fault and no one else’s.” His words were final, and he noticed the doubtful expression in Sergeant Raine’s green eyes as they met his in the rearview mirror.

“Is that true, Specialist Kaspersen?”

“Yes, I will take full responsibility for our tardiness.” He refused to meet Lily’s eyes.

“The leader should always take full responsibility for the actions of his teammates, but if his teammates act unwisely then it must be accounted for as well. Do you still accept full responsibility?”

“Yes,” Sebastian confirmed and a grave silence draped the air.

“Then I will be reporting to Lieutenant Kyrre, understood?” Sergeant Raine confirmed.

“Yes, ma’am.” Sebastian caught Ares shooting him an exasperated look, and when he frowned, Ares only quickly glanced away with his brow furrowed in agitation. What was that for?

Agitation burned through his body, and Sebastian’s eyes, still struggling to ignore Lily’s questioning gaze, turned to stare out the window. It seemed for hours that nothing but black monstrous shapes of buildings hurtled by as they sped through the narrow, winding streets. These parts were the very outskirts of the Atonine Empire, their country. The outskirts, or the slums, were a place of ruin and disgust. Decay and garbage polluted the region, and the sky always had a permanent dreary appearance, as if dipped in gray paint. Everyone who had any sense of mind had long since abandoned the slums. Every well-known company or person of nobility moved inland toward the promise of opportunities. What was left of the outskirts were the poor and destitute. Those who could not afford to live in the luxury of the inland were left out there to live in the accumulating filth. Commoners and those who lacked pride in the monarchy infested the slums.

Safety was not an issue though, even in the slums where poverty strutted. As long as citizens obeyed the monarchy, Atonine promised security and a prospering life to anyone, no matter their class. Life was that simple and carefree. Safety could be obtained by anyone for the straightforward price of obedience, and anyone who did not accept those terms was hunted and imprisoned. The only exception was the Verdurists; they were hunted and slaughtered. No special privileges were given to any Verdurists—merely death.

Unexpectedly the van lurched to a halt, and as Sebastian’s instincts made him stiffen to maintain his balance, an unaware Lily fell sideways atop his lap. Sebastian froze as her chest pressed against his legs, and still lying against him, she shot a glare at Sergeant Raine. Pleased, Sergeant Raine just grinned. Straightening up, Lily’s eyes met Sebastian’s for a second and she realized where she had landed. “A—sorry!” she sputtered and sprang off him. “I’m so sorry!” She scrambled to get out of the van and left Sebastian behind. He could only remain seated as Nynette tossed him a sly grin and leapt out of the open doors. Shit—he had been so close. His cheeks felt hot, and he realized he could still feel her warm body in his lap. Shit, shit, shit.

“Are you coming?” Ares peered at him through the door with stern eyes. He nodded and took a deep breath. He just had to calm down. Sebastian clambered out where the freezing wind spiked his face, relieving his cheeks.

Yet as he headed toward the bunker they were parked behind, he noticed Ares did not follow, but was watching him with his arms crossed over his chest. “Yes?”

“I’d like to know something.” Coercing, Ares strode toward him until he was barely a foot away. “When are you going to stop covering for her mistakes?”

“What?” Sebastian asked.

“You know what I’m talking about. Stop covering for Lily’s errors.”

“I am not,” Sebastian replied.

Ares rolled his eyes. “Don’t lie to yourself. She’s our friend, but mistakes will get us hurt or worse, killed.”

Defensive blocks walled up inside of Sebastian. Criticism, he hated criticism, and he definitely did not need a lecture from his best friend, not tonight. “She did nothing wrong.”

“Right, I’m supposed to believe that.”

He really did not need this, and he was not intending to let this bother him. “Fine, then don’t.”
Ares’ features did not change; the sternness to his face did not even seem deterred. “You’re a liar.”

Choosing to remain silent, Sebastian spun around and took off toward the bunker, leaving Ares behind. First it was Lily and now Ares? Hell, he was not going to listen to this. He kicked in the bunker door and stomped loudly into the muted steel locker room. Striding down the empty aisles of lockers, he almost did not stop when he crossed in front of a mirror, but his appearance made him double back.

The mirror’s reflection was not kind at all. He looked a wreck. Blood had already hardened and darkened against his coarse military uniform rendering the crimson almost invisible, but the caked on blood that streaked his face and hands stood out starkly against his alabaster skin. His shaggy, dark auburn hair was standing up all over the place and blood solidified chunks of hair into sculpted, hideous spikes. Even his naturally ash eyes were much paler than usual, giving his aura a ghastly appeal. He made a perfect zombie. He needed a shower—urgently.

Resolved, he trudged toward the showers and yanked a towel from a cabinet on his way. The shower stalls were barren and the tiles were an empty gray. He peeled off his clothes, feeling at once refreshed and uncontaminated, and tossed them into a garbage bin. He stepped beneath a showerhead and turned the nozzle on full blast, letting the chilling water stab at his bare skin. He despised warm showers; they felt too much like fresh blood. As the water pierced at his skin, he watched the blood, now a happy pink, washing off and swirling into the drain. Queasiness knotted his stomach. It was Verdurist blood. He wanted it gone.

He furiously shampooed and scrubbed at his skull, nearly ripping out his hair in attempt to vanquish the blood. When he was fully confident that no trace of the contamination was left on his body, he shut off the shower and quickly dried off with the towel. Normally his showers only lasted at most a minute, but that shower had been at least three. Daggers of coldness stabbed his skin all over.

A towel around his waist, he left the showers and headed out the door that led to the living quarters. The hallway was dimly lit and only two others strolled around. Both bowed their heads when he passed, but Sebastian merely nodded in acknowledgment. He stopped at a door with his name on a silver plaque and hurriedly opened it, allowing the dark confines of his room to swallow him up. As he flicked on a light switch, the light spread like a disease across the bare room. The walls were gray and the floor was a dull white. There were no posters or pictures or stylish rugs. There was nothing but a dresser, bed with black sheets, and a desk. Few adornments spread haphazardly on the desktop, but otherwise the room lacked interest. He liked it this way.

He dressed in gray boxers and a black shirt before he slumped onto his bed and fell against his pillow. His eyes turned from staring at his blank wall to his alarm clock. It was already two in the morning. There were only a few hours before he had to wake up. Maybe he would actually get more than one-hour of sleep tonight. It was highly unlikely, but perhaps there was a chance. He rolled onto his side, wincing as the pain from his shoulder revisited him. Damn, he thought. Perhaps sleep would take it away. Take away all of today. Hopefully . . .

Light danced atop his closed eyelids, and an unintentional groan dropped from his lips. He rolled over and grasped at the ground. Something unusual touched his fingers, and his eyes slowly opened. Regret filled him immediately. Burning light, brighter than any light he had ever known, scorched his sight and he swiftly shut his eyes from the electric shock of pain. He squeezed a hand over his eyelids to soothe the hurt, but the itching of distress did not leave his body.

Lying there he concluded only one thing. He was definitely on grass, but it was a foreign grass softer than anything he had touched. It confused him. Grass he always knew to be coarse and brittle, but this was different. It was pliable and . . . he inhaled. Tainted air rushed in. His throat closed. Coughs sputtered out of him in powerful gasps, and he tore at the grass in his desperate attempt to regain his breath. Even the air was different; it tasted . . . unsullied?

Slow and careful he breathed in and out, not daring to take another full breath. When his initial shock dissipated he cautiously pried open his eyelids and cringed as sunlight baked them like egg yolks in a frying pan. He wanted to scream. Light had never been this leering before, but he struggled until he could at least squint and manage to push himself up to a sitting position in order to peer around.

Nothing, he recognized nothing. His heart raced. Thousands of tall and healthy trees surrounded him; trees that held no distinction or recognition. All the trees he knew were limp and half-dead. None of them stood like these. None of them had this vigor. Even the colors all around him boasted magnificence. There were so many greens and browns that he could only name a few of the shades. Plants of all sorts swarmed around him, displaying brilliant colors and strange leaves. Where was this place?

Up high above he heard a screeching cry, and he flattened to the ground, expecting a missile until a black creature streaked across the canopy. It was a bird? Maybe if he was fortunate he saw one or two birds a month, but as the black bird cawed out again, five more dove through the canopy with their beady eyes flashing extraordinary blues. His mouth fell open. Where the hell was he?

As if on cue, a voice as pure and rich as ambrosial velvet sang out from behind him. “Sebastian?”

Startled, he spun around, sprawling back against a thick trunk of a tree. His breath pounded out of him as he watched the creature emerge from behind a massive tree, and his eyes stretched open when he realized it was a woman, but not just any woman. She was a woman with such a foreign and strange beauty that he could find no words of description. She exuded warmth. A piercing light seemed to ebb off her golden tan skin giving her an ethereal glow, which only magnified the hundreds of scorched black tattoos twirling and dancing across every inch of her bare skin. And as his eyes followed the spiraling tattoos, he realized there was a surprising amount of bare skin. Only a simple, short brown leather and gray fur dress clung tightly to her curvaceous frame. Even her breasts seemed on the brink of spilling out, but her bountiful red auburn hair hid them from view as if half-heartedly concealing a secret.

It took every ounce of willpower for Sebastian to break eye contact with her. He felt he would be caught in a spell if he kept staring, and as soon as he broke away, she took a slight step toward him. A terrifying pull tugged at him, as if something inside him bound him to this being, and he found his eyes returning, dragging to her as if they could not linger away for too long. She was hypnotic. She took another step, and his spine stiffened like a cat in danger.

“Who are you?” he snarled, his hand gripping a tuft of weeds beside him.

Benign, she smiled at him as if nothing was strange about her presence and this area. “Sebastian, Sebastian, Sebastian. I have been wondering when . . .” A fog began to leak over his mind, a fuzzy fog erasing every angry thought. Her voice was mesmerizing. She snaked forward, curling around a tree with as much delicacy and elegance as a predator. That smile on her face was entirely warm, but those sparkling green eyes betrayed her with their fiery intensity. They burned into his eyes, leaving him feeling weak.

Yet somehow he could not lose to her. He knew he could not be seduced. His teeth bit through his lip, blood popping to the surface. Entice the pain, he thought, erase whatever spell she was invoking. Sure, he did not believe in magic, but this . . . this he could not describe. His eyes refused to look away, but the pain made his mind clear. “W-who are you?” he growled once more, lacing his voice with every ounce of threat.

The power in his voice stunned her to a stop, but only for a moment. Within a minute, that coy smile slid back onto her face. “Ah, but the marauder should always know its prey.” Clucking her tongue in disappointment, she stopped in front of him, her toes touching the tips of his leather boots, which looked out of place against the wilderness, even against her bare feet. His breath stopped in his throat. “I am Thear, and I should be the one questioning you—worshiper of the iron, sovereign of the beasts, and slayer of the blameless.” She took a step over his foot and knelt, straddling his ankle. His eyes widened, but he could go nowhere. Penetrating, her eyes pinned him into place, and she placed her hand against his shin as if to keep her balance. The touch made him flinch, and she raised an eyebrow. “You fear me? You are the one in my lands.”

He felt the tug on his body, as if she wanted him to lean to her, to ease to her presence. He refused though. He was a first rate soldier; he would not give in. His hand latched out and snatched onto her wrist, making her gasp in surprise. He twisted the wrist, and even though she did not utter one breath of pain, he saw the tightness around her eyes. It hurt. “Move,” he hissed.

She shook her head slowly. “You’re on my lands. Don’t think you can command me.”

His eyes narrowed. “I said get off.”

“No, I am not one of those Verdurists that you can just shove around.” She smirked at the surprise in his eyes. “Oh, I know all about what your kind does. Atonine—a land of waste. You’ve killed off almost every one of my children, and still you all insist on justifying it with this foolish word ‘security’. It’s pathetic. Security should not mean death.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Sebastian snarled.

“Yes, I forgot, you believe all those lies they feed you.” A sigh pressed through her tight lips. “But you don’t even know the biggest lie yet.” Eyes narrowing, she chuckled. “It is beginning, isn’t it?”

Caught off guard, his grip loosened and almost slipped. “What?”

“But you do not know. You believe the poison as if it were a drug to make you sane. You believe all the lies and all of the nonsensical death. Yet poor thing, you do not even understand. What have they done?” She leaned across him and placed a shockingly warm hand against his cheek that made his skin boil and his head rave.

“DON’T TOUCH ME!” he snapped, his eyes infuriated. Her hand retracted swiftly, and her face turned placid and emotionless.

“What have they done to you?” she whispered, curling her hand against her chest as if it had been physically wounded.

“What the hell are you talking about?!” He tore his leg out from under her, sending her stumbling to the ground. He quickly stood up, his back leaning against the rough tree bark. What the hell was happening? His eyes glared down at the expression of hurt on her face

Before he could begin to feel any amount of regret, a smirk curled across her face, as if a wicked thought occurred to her, and the words drummed delightedly from her lips. “It would be wiser and quicker to show.” She slowly stood, a motion that flowed like a gliding stream’s water. “Since no one ever seems to trust words.” She lifted her index finger, and allowing him to stare for a moment at the thickness and sharpness of her nail, she brought it to the side of her neck, strumming the skin above her artery. Words froze in his throat. What was she do—?

The nail sliced into the skin, and a brilliant blood, that shined a bright ruby in the light’s luster, bubbled out and then burst, spilling blood down that silken throat. His mouth fell open to speak, but she dug the nail in deeper, her eyes watching him with a smoldering passion and strength. Blood and blood and blood cascaded down her neck, and his eyes were mesmerized by it before he even noticed the smell. The recognizable scent perforated his nostrils, and he had to clutch at the tree to stop his knees from buckling. That scent punctured every spore in his body, and the heat that rose inside him scorched until agony split his head apart.

“How disappointing. I did not bring you to your knees.” Her eyes flared with energy, and he dared not speak. That fragrance was intoxicating; it was filling every particle of space inside him—consuming him. It was like slowly drowning, and the want and need inside him was growing steadily with every passing second. His body ached with it.

“It must not be enough.” Her finger twitched, and he saw it coming. He wanted to plea for her to stop, but her other fingers fastened to her neck like leeches and tore. A gap bursting with fresh, sweet fragrant blood bloomed beneath her fingers, and horrifyingly, the engaging and arousing smell tripled. It lunged at him like a cobra baring its fangs, and with venom it lunged and lunged over and over again at his jut. Agony surged over his body with such an unbearable force that every part of him trembled and shook as he desperately tried to maintain his grip on the tree. Yet desire roared inside him. He needed to touch that scent. He needed it! He needed to taste it before he choked in its power.

He heard her giggle as echoes in his mind. He could not string it together, and when she grabbed at his face, he hardly felt her fingers. “What do you smell, Sebastian? Is it the white chrysanthemum, in all its warmth? Or is it the aconite, in all its coldness?”

The words did not made sense. Everything swam, and her face became a blur in his mind. Only the blood seemed alive and still against her neck. It was the only thing his eyes could fixate on and hold. It kept him sane. It was stationary and whole and unwavering. Damn, he wanted to touch it. Her giggling rose amidst the swirling whirl of colors and pictures, and the high-pitched mockery made his brain itch with irritation.

“Choose, choose,” she breathed out, whispering the word into his ear, bringing the smell ever closer until he thought he would go blind with it.

His knees finally gave out, and his fingers released from the tree. He plummeted, but her strong hands grabbed him and held him against her. Her heart pounded against his chest, and his eyes were inches away from that enticing blood that flowed down her neck like a luscious waterfall. His jaw slackened, and in that last second, he lost all reasoning. He knew what he wanted, and he could not stop it. He wanted it. This pain was excruciating. He wanted it and craved it more than anything he had ever longed for. And as her eyes stared pitifully down at him, his lips shivered with anticipation and opened hesitantly, his tongue stretching out with a great fear. With a sigh, she tilted her neck to his tongue, and jerking it back with initial shock, the drop of blood that touched his tongue detonated in his mouth, wrapping every taste bud in infinite pleasure. His mind went blank and every thought ceased, except the yearning for that blood, and like a whip, his tongue lashed out, slithering up the length of her neck and allowing the blood to pierce everyone of his senses. His body went limp in her arms as his tongue pulled back, and a moan broke from his quivering lips. The blood pulsed against his tongue and made his body numb with pleasure. Yet he knew he needed more.

Her eyes fearlessly watched him and a weak smile spread to her face. “Aconite then?” Moans tumbled from his lips, and without any hesitation his lifeless hands seized her arms, digging his nails into her forearms until they drew blood. A laugh choked out from behind her teeth as if pain had stifled it. “Come then,” she whispered, her shaking fingers reaching and gripping his arms as well so that they were locked together. His head lifted as if her words gave him power, and his eyes met hers for but a minute. A fascinated horror glissaded across her emerald eyes, and he saw his own reflected in the pearly black pupils, giving him a moment’s pause. The madness in his eyes was so entirely feral that for a second he felt a thread of sanity crawl back to him, and he felt frightened for the first time in eleven years. He froze.

She brought her lips close enough to brush his ear. “Do it,” she whispered, sending a shiver purring down his spine. “I will feed their abomination because . . .” He felt his jaw unhinge as his lips touched the warm, caressing blood on her throat. “Because I feel sorrow for you.” The last word fell inaudible from her as he rose up and plunged his teeth into her throat, the blood pouring like a flood into his mouth. A gasp shuddered from her as her body went slack and this time he was the one that caught her as she swooned. And he hungrily pressed her soft flesh closer to his until they were connected as intimately as possible. Rapture devoured him, and their hearts beat rapidly against one another as he sucked and sucked, sending shudder after shudder through her convulsing body.