Scarlet

Forty-Two

Cinder sensed the thaumaturge before she saw him, like a snake slithering into her brain. Urging her to stop running. To stand still and be captured.

Her right leg obeyed—her left kept going.

With a yelp, she crashed to her hands and knees. The unconscious man—Wolf?—nearly crushed her before his body rolled away. Thorne cried out and tripped, barely able to catch himself before falling.

Cinder jumped back to her feet and spun around.

The men came out of the shadows, from the alleyways, around corners, from behind the ship, each with their glowing eyes and sharp canines bared. Seven in all.

She spotted the thaumaturge, handsome as they always were, with curly black hair and a chiseled face. He wore a red coat—a second level thaumaturge.

Backing up, she collided with Thorne.

“So…,” he murmured. “How many more darts do you have?”

The thaumaturge’s dark irises sparkled with moonlight.

“One.”

She doubted the thaumaturge could have heard her, but he smiled serenely and tucked his hands into his maroon sleeves.

“Right,” said Thorne. “In that case.”

He snatched the officer’s stolen gun from his belt and spun, aiming for the thaumaturge. Then froze.

“Oh no.”

From the corner of her eye, Cinder saw Thorne’s arm curl back, change direction, until the barrel was aimed at her temple instead.

“Cinder…” His voice nearly broke from panic.

The thaumaturge’s expression remained complacent.

Cinder held her breath, stilling her nerves, and targeted her last tranquilizer at Thorne’s leg. The thunk made her cringe, but within seconds the gun had clattered from Thorne’s fingers and his body collapsed motionless on top of Wolf’s.

A warm laugh spilled out of the thaumaturge. “Hello, Miss Linh. How pleasant to make your acquaintance.”

She swooped her gaze over the seven men. They were all threatening, hungry, ready to pounce on her and tear her limb from limb at the slightest provocation.

Somehow, she preferred that to the thaumaturge’s gleeful amusement. At least with these men there was no misinterpreting their intentions.

She’d taken three steps forward before she realized it. She braced herself and strained to keep her feet still, wobbling for a moment before finding balance and standing solid on the pavement, at the same time that her bionics picked up on the intrusion.

BIOELECTRICAL MANIPULATION DETECTED. INITIALIZING RESISTANCE PROCED—

The text vanished as Cinder regained purchase of her own thoughts, her own body. Her brain was being stretched in two directions as the thaumaturge failed to control her, her own Lunar gift fighting against him.

“So it’s true,” he said.

The pressure released, her ears popped, and she was back in her own head again. She was panting, feeling like she’d just run across the whole continent.

“You will forgive me. I did have to try.” His white teeth glinted. He didn’t seem at all put off by the fact that she couldn’t be controlled as easily as Thorne had been.

As easily as the seven men surrounding her.

Heart skipping, she glanced at the nearest man—one with shaggy dark blond hair and a scar that ran from temple to jaw. She forced herself to be calm, urged the desperation to subside, and reached her thoughts toward him.

His mind wasn’t like any of those she’d touched with her Lunar gift yet. Not open and focused like Thorne’s, not cold and determined like Alak’s, not petrified like Émilie’s, not anxious or proud like the military officers’.

This man had the mind of an animal. Scattered and wild and raging with primal instinct. The desire to kill, the need to feast, the constant awareness of where he stood in the pack and how he could improve his station. Kill. Eat. Destroy.

With a shudder, she pulled her thoughts away from him.

The thaumaturge was chuckling again. “What do you think of my pets? How easily they fit in with the humans, but how quickly they turn into beasts.”

“You’re controlling them,” she said, finding her voice.

“You flatter me. I’m only encouraging their natural instincts.”

“No. No person—not even animals have instincts like this. To hunt or defend, maybe, but you’ve turned them into monsters.”

“Perhaps there were some genetic modifications involved.” He finished the statement with another chuckle, like she’d caught him in a guilty pleasure. “But don’t worry, Miss Linh. I won’t let them hurt you. I want my queen to have that pleasure. Your friends, unfortunately…”

In unison, two of the soldiers stepped forward and grasped Cinder by the elbows.

“Take her to the theater,” said the thaumaturge. “I will inform Her Majesty that Michelle Benoit turned out to be useful for something after all.”

But Cinder’s captors hadn’t taken her two steps when the roar of an engine rattled the pavement. They hesitated and Cinder glanced back as the Rampion started to rise, hovering chest height above the street. The ramp was still down and Cinder could see the metal vibrating, the storage crates rattling against one another.

“Cinder!” Iko’s voice cut through her thundering pulse. “Get down!”

She sank to her knees, hanging limp between the two soldiers, as the ship surged forward. The lowered platform collided with the two men. They dropped Cinder onto all fours and she glanced up as the ramp cut through the rest of the soldiers, mowing down all but one who had the sense to dodge out of its way, before the ramp smashed into the thaumaturge.

He gasped, his legs dangling as he clung to the edge.

Staying low as the belly of the ship hovered overhead, Cinder spun around and scrambled for Thorne’s dropped pistol. She waited until she was sure she had a clear shot before firing. The bullet lodged itself in the thaumaturge’s thigh and he screamed, releasing the ramp and dropping onto the pavement.

His calmness was gone, his face contorted with rage.

The blond soldier came out of nowhere, tackling Cinder to the ground, sending the gun skidding across the pavement. She struggled to push him off, but he was too heavy, pinning her right arm to the ground. She swung a punch at him with her metal fist—heard the bones crunch on impact, but he didn’t release her.

He snarled and opened his jaws wide.

Just as he brought his mouth toward her neck, the ship spun in the air. The landing gear took the soldier in his side, throwing him off Cinder. She rolled away, colliding with Thorne’s and Wolf’s prone bodies.

The ship swept back around, its running lights washing over the street. The ramp scraped against the road as it settled back to the ground, not half a dozen steps from where Cinder lay. Inside the ship, Scarlet Benoit’s head appeared in the cockpit’s doorway.

“Come on!”

Clambering to her feet, Cinder grabbed Thorne by the elbow and dragged him off Wolf, but she’d barely moved when a long howl ricocheted down her spine. It was quickly picked up by the rest of the soldiers, the sound deafening.

Cinder stumbled at the base of the ramp and looked back. Two of the soldiers were lying motionless—the two who had taken the brunt of the ship’s impact. The rest were crouched down on all fours, their faces turned up to the sky as they howled.

The thaumaturge, farther away, picked himself up from the ground with a sneer. Though it was too dark to see any blood, Cinder could tell he was favoring the leg that had been shot.

Brushing the sweat from her eyes, Cinder focused on the soldier closest to her. She mentally reached out for the bioelectric waves that were rolling off him, frenzied and hungry, and clamped her thoughts around them.

One howl was cut off sharply from the rest.

A headache was already forming at her temples from the effort required to control him, but she sensed the change immediately. Still violent, still angry, but no longer a wild beast sent to rip apart anyone in his path.

You. She wasn’t sure if she said it out loud or merely thought it. You are mine now. Get these two men on board the ship.

His eyes flickered, loathing but restrained.

“Now.”

As he moved to lumber toward her, the rest of the howling ceased. Four faces peered at Cinder and the traitor. The thaumaturge snarled, but Cinder could barely see him. Bright spots were dancing in her vision. Her legs were beginning to shake from the effort of keeping herself standing while maintaining her control on the man.

He grabbed on to Wolf and Thorne by their wrists and began dragging them up the ramp—a puppet under her strings.

But she could already feel the strings fraying.

Hissing, she fell to one knee.

“Impressive.”

The thaumaturge’s voice was muffled in her head. Behind her, her pawn dropped Wolf and Thorne onto the cargo bay floor.

“I can see why my queen fears you. But taking control of one of my pets will hardly save you now.”

She was so close. Get the soldier out of the ship. Get herself inside.

She managed to bring him back to the edge, the very bottom of the ramp, before her hold on him snapped. She fell forward, clutching her temples, feeling as if a hundred needles were being jabbed into her brain. It hadn’t hurt like this to control anyone else, had never hurt at all.

The pain began to ease. She squinted. The thaumaturge was snarling at her, one arm clutching his stomach where the ramp had hit him.

The rest of the soldiers were just standing there, their eyes still glowing but their expressions passive, and it occurred to Cinder that the thaumaturge was too hurt to keep control of them all. That even his hold on them was tenuous.

But it didn’t matter. She had no more strength.

She sank back on her heels, letting her hands fall heavy at her sides. Her body swayed—she could feel unconsciousness calling to her, seeping into her brain.

A grin once again creased the thaumaturge’s lips, but this time it showed more relief than amusement.

“Troya,” he said, “go in and retrieve Mademoiselle Benoit. I will have to decide what is to be done with Alpha Kes—”

His eyes darted past Cinder at the same moment she heard a gunshot.

The thaumaturge stumbled back, clutching his chest.

Slipping onto her hip, Cinder glanced back to see Scarlet marching down the ramp, carrying a shotgun.

“Mademoiselle Benoit retrieved,” she said, planting her heel on the back of the dazed, blank-faced soldier and shoving him off the ramp. “And don’t worry, we’ll take Alpha Kesley off your hands.”

Sneering, the thaumaturge sank down to the ground. Blood began to dribble out between his fingers.

“Where did you get that?” Cinder wheezed.

“One of your storage crates,” Scarlet said. “Come on, let’s…”

A mix of emotions flickered through her eyes—writhing fury, startled confusion, emptiness.

She lowered the barrel of the gun.

Cinder cursed. “Iko, the ramp!” she said, crawling up onto the ramp and collapsing at Scarlet’s feet. Reaching up, she snatched the gun away before the thaumaturge could turn it on either of them, and the ramp began to rise, dropping them both down into the cargo bay.

An angry scream reached them, and then another chorus of howls that faded quickly away. The thaumaturge’s last fading effort to control his pets.

Cinder saw Scarlet shaking her head to rid herself of the fog, before hauling herself to her feet.

“Hold on to something if you can,” Scarlet yelled as she hobbled into the cockpit. “Ship, engage magnet lifters and rear thrusters!”

Cinder sank exhausted onto the floor, still clutching the gun. Moments later, she felt the ship rising up away from the Earth and whipping toward the sky.