Page 11 of The Order: Rise of the New Empire (Order #4)

Chapter ten

Forest

T rying my best to quietly creep into our housing in the Precipice, the large creaky doors to the lodging units seem to announce my every move, making it that much harder to remain as silent as I was hoping to. Keeping my hood drawn, every guard on watch barely looks my direction, too petrified by my presence to question my late-night comings and goings. Keeping my hands on my stomach as I move, the firm torso Xavier had taken notice of seems to be that much more prominent, the feeling of his hands and lips on me something I never thought I could crave as much as I did last night.

I knew it was stupid to seek him out.

It was even more idiotic to think I could see him and hold up this facade of hate.

What was I thinking?

Xavier seeing me will only fuel the fire burning within him to come looking for me. Coupled with the fact he thinks I am sick and, perhaps in some ways, I am. There's no telling what he will do now that he has had a taste of the love we share that was so violently taken from the both of us nine months ago-

"Where were you?" Elyon's cold voice snaps, all of my focus diverting to the man so casually positioned in one of the soft velvet chairs of the leisure area of our quarters.

Sipping on a small glass of espresso, his focus pulls away from the book nestled in his hand, the old world's literature something the man frequently partakes in.

Shutting the book with raised brows, I keep on a cold facade, mentally double checking how concealed my body is in this cloak.

"I couldn't sleep last night so I decided to get a good look at the night life of this place," I casually say, gravitating toward the array of breakfast foods left for us on the small kitchen table.

Salivating like a starved dog, the idea of food has been impossible to stow away, my portion sizes going from barely anything, to an absurd amount in a matter of weeks. Looking over the rich red glass of blood left next to a plate of eggs, Elyon's dishes are already clean, his morning starting well before I got here.

"So, you thought leaving alone in your condition was a good idea?" he questions, my back toward the insufferable man.

"My condition?" I question, doing my best to casually avoid any meaning he might have hidden in the words. "Last time I checked, I'm fucking old enough to leave when I please and I am more than capable of defending myself-"

"Defending just yourself still?" Elyon questions, his lips inches away from my ear, his body a mere foot away from my side.

Looking me over with a look of disapproval, I try and understand what he is getting at, keeping my hand clamped over the opening to the cloak.

"What the hell are you talking about?" I question, his eyes narrowing.

"Avoidance of blood, all the questions about Dove, and now, suddenly leaving in the middle of the night and feeding me the half assed lie of exploring this sector?" he questions, his mind's ability to put pieces together both unsettling and admirable.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I continue on, reaching for one of the many fruits positioned in the bowl.

Coiling his hand around my long locks, he yanks back before I can grab anything, forcing my head toward the ceiling, a gasp ripping free from my throat.

Casually grabbing the small cup of blood from the table, he urges the drink close to my mouth, letting the rim settle between my lips.

"If you're so keen on lying to me then perhaps you will enjoy the drink I so graciously had prepared for you this morning," he seethes, tipping the glass back.

Already feeling a churn rise in my stomach, I hold back the want to vomit, keeping my focus on the man.

Forcing my hand into his side, I shove him away, letting his hand yank my hair, the glass nearly spilling the contents. Facing the front of his shirt, a nasty grin spreads across his face, my hand clutching the glass.

"Gladly."

Downing the drink, it settles in my stomach like acid, my face stagnant despite the want to hurl the drink all over this display of food. Slamming the glass so hard on the table it cracks, his grin turns into a smirk, his head shaking with disappointment.

"One more thing," he continues, looking me up and down. "Take off your cloak," he pushes, my throat dry despite the drink.

"What-"

Winnowing before me, he grabs the collar of the cloak, tugging me toward him with one great heave. Stumbling into him, I brace my hands on his chest, his grasp so tight around the material, my throat struggles to take in air.

"I said take off the cloak, Forest," he pushes, no humor in his tone.

"I'm not taking off my cloak in front of you," I snap, his hand raised, his finger slowly shaking.

"I wasn't asking what you wanted. Take it off, before I take it off for you."

Narrowing my eyes at the man, I do the one thing I can in this situation, exerting all my energy into getting some space from the man.

Burying my Call into what little spaces in his mind he has allowed me to see. I force a thought pattern toward him, staring daggers in the man's direction.

"Let me go," I snap, watching his hand forcefully unhand the cloak.

Taking a step back, I point toward the man, all of my defenses on high alert.

"Do not mistake me for someone you may order around. I drank the blood. You are a damn fool if you think I will undress in front of you," I push, praying that this shirt is enough to conceal what lingers beneath this cloak.

Tearing off the cloak, the baggy sweater I had chosen to wear widens the size of my small frame, giving the man little opportunity to scan my skin. Tossing the cloak to the floor, I narrow my eyes at the man, hearing the scoff roll off of his throat.

"Happy?" I question, thankful I merely look bloated.

"Was that so hard?" Elyon questions, shaking his head at me like Andrew used to when disapproving of my actions.

"Disappointed?" I question, dripping with rage.

"Just testing a theory," Elyon gripes, both of us unwilling to reveal the true nature of this little interaction.

It's nothing.

It's nothing, Forest.

There's nothing in there.

There's no baby-

"You visited him, didn't you?" Elyon questions, shifting his focus away from his initial theory on where my wariness originated from.

Good. Perhaps his focus being on a new direction will allow me the time to process all of this for myself.

"You'll have to be specific. I know a lot of men," I snap, his eyes rolling at the statement.

"Your ring," he smiles, my body seizing at the mention of the jewelry.

Glancing down at my ring finger, the engagement ring I stole remains plastered to my finger, the true nature of him wanting to get my cloak off not to see my body, rather my hands.

There's nothing.

A pain creeps inside my torso.

It's all in your head.

Elyon knows nothing.

"I may have checked in on things," I say, the guards in my mind on high alert. "I don't need any of them sticking their noses where they don't belong."

"And that's why you took the ring?" Elyon questions, clearly off put by my willingness to hold onto Xavier.

You wretched evil.

I will burn down this whole fucking world if it means my family is safe.

Pain creeps in my stomach again.

All of my family.

"You will have to learn to let go of the past, Forest," Elyon lectures, tossing me back my cloak. "This meeting today is important. The last thing I need you doing is killing an important ally, all because you are too absorbed in your mundane wants, hopes, and dreams."

Looking at Elyon now, he looks so defenseless, nothing like the entity in silver I chased for so long. Now, he looks like a simple man, one that would have done well in New Haven, working a cushy Untouchable job.

In fleeting moments, humanity touches his soul, making me question how he turned out the way he did.

But humans know nothing but influence.

The kindest soul can be broken.

The most hated man can be changed.

Mankind was never meant to be just good and evil.

Perhaps that's why free will is such a dangerous thing.

Turning away, ready to dismiss the entirety of this conversation, I snap.

"And what if Xavier could be a resource?" I question, selfish wants flooding my thoughts. "What if they all could be a resource?" I question, Elyon's interest suddenly much more present.

"How so?" the man questions, crossing his arms with confusion.

"The creature. The one turned man, Mason, I heard his thoughts. He has become allies with his Shifter counterparts."

"I thought-"

"We thought wrong. It would seem any influence we had cannot beat the loyalties my companions have created. Something larger is at play here. While we make our moves, so do others. Isolating them from all of this may serve you now, but what happens when we need our reach in the places we don't even know about?" I question, a million thoughts rolling through Elyon's mind.

"Perhaps my companions are larger resources than you have decided to give them credit for," I push, hoping my way of thinking is just.

If keeping them away does not keep them safe, perhaps keeping them at arm's length will.

"And if they try and poison your mind? Try and sway your way of thinking-"

"Then you kill them," I rebuttal, forcing the words free from my throat. "Simple as that."

Still hesitant, I push the man further.

"You can hide the people I love from me and make them your weapon against me, Elyon, and defiance is all I will know. Or, you keep them close and keep them safe, and all I will know is my fealty to you."

Finally seeing a shift in the man's face, something new settles in his mind, something he has yet to show me.

Remorse.

"I suppose," he starts, sighing as he speaks. "Allowing them in might have potential benefits-"

"Allowing who in?" a new voice questions, both of us widening our eyes at the presence of someone new.

Turning on our heels, a man leans into the doorway, his dark hair perfectly pristine, his skin olive, his eyes darker than a night sky. Wearing a suit only upper leadership in the Precipice would partake in, his face is youthful, his demeanor far too ignorant to mean he has age on his side.

If it weren't for the deep red scar running down his left cheek, you'd think he was damn near perfect.

Clearly perfection means nothing in a society this vain.

"Who the fuck are you-"

"Atticus Hawthorn," Elyon says with glee, stopping me before I am able to hurl a wave of questions toward the man.

Sensing it from a mile away, the blood of the Marked runs through him, his bright white smile and malicious eyes enough to pull in any ignorant woman.

"Commander of the Precipice," Elyon clarifies.

"An ignorant power-hungry bastard," Elyon whispers, giving some clarity to the man's off putting presence.

Extending a hand out toward Atticus, Elyon embraces the man in a grasp, being sure to squeeze the man's hand as hard as he can. Barely looking at Elyon, Atticus focusses on me, my hands fumbling to put my cloak back on.

"Elyon Morgan, I presume," Atticus smiles, extending his hand toward me. "And you're his daughter, Forest-"

Grabbing his hand, the strong presence of Marked energy rolls through him, his blood a powerhouse just waiting to be ripped into. Only touching his hand long enough to gather what information on the man I need, I take a step behind Elyon, lowering my eyes as the man smirks.

"Another Marked aiding in our cause to flush out our kind from Sanctum's hubs?" I question, amusement consuming Atticus' face.

"So, you're the Apparatus all the fearful Marked swore was their salvation?" Atticus questions, throwing the promises I made to my people back in my face. "Do they know how dirty their savior's hands truly are?" he questions, regret nestling into my soul.

"I suppose one's perception of me depends on what side you stand on," I seethe, feeling satisfaction in Atticus' wariness around me.

"I believe we have other matters to attend to, given your presence," Elyon states, trying to pull the conversation into a new direction.

"Right," Atticus states, his focus on me only growing. "Of course," he smiles, clapping his hands together. "Let me show you both around."

Something tells me, Atticus Hawthorn is the farthest thing from an ally.