The Horde Without End (The World Without End) (14 page)

I’m downstairs, and almost to the door, when he stops me. I don’t know why I didn’t expect it. Or maybe I’d just deluded myself into thinking this wouldn’t happen. That Kenny would be smart enough to leave me alone. But he isn’t. Not terribly surprising, in retrospect.

“Nurrin—she’s a lovely girl,” he says, sipping at a drink. I eye him briefly. “She reminds me of Kelsey.”

“That you can say that with a straight face is a little disturbing, Kenny. Kelsey was your sister, after all.”

“I know exactly what she was. And I know that you are responsible for her death.” His genial smile is gone, replaced with a cold mask. There it is. The man behind the charm. “I want Nurrin. And I want you out of my Haven.”

“Pity I don’t much give a fuck what you want,” I say lazily. “I’m here looking for information. By your own family’s decrees, I’m given safe passage and shelter in this Haven. You broke your own laws by violating the sanctity of my house.”

“It was Kelsey’s,” he growls.

“And she’s dead. So what the fuck do you think it matters? She deeded it to me, and I was using it, in good faith that it would be undisturbed when I returned home. You broke that faith. Not me.”

“We gave her to you, in good faith that you would bring her home.”

I look away, too tired for this fight. “I did,” I say softly.

“You brought home a
corpse,”
he snarls. I blink. I don’t want to do this. I want my quiet haven—and Collin, with no questions. I want the orchards around me as I listen to Nurrin and her friends. I want the warm sun and my bike, and I want—more than anything—I want it all to be over. This whole fucking thing.

I’ve been wrapped up in it—the disease, and Kelsey, and the war—for too long to ever truly separate myself from it. I should know better. I do know better.

“Are you throwing me out?” I ask softly. “And before you answer, know this—Nurrin will come with me. I won’t fight for her—she’ll
come
because I am still the only person who can help her find her brother. One night of charm and drinks won’t distract her from that.”

“Maybe not. But you are fighting an uphill battle. The Order doesn’t like you—and the word about your history with Omar is filtering out of Vegas. The generals don’t like you, and I can’t blame them at all for that. And I don’t like you. Who the hell do you think is going to take your side—stand by you—in 1?”

I cock my head and give him a smile. “What makes you think I need an ally? I’ve always worked very well on my own—it’s one thing the Thrasher valued most about me.”

I use her title on purpose—I know it annoys him. A vein pops in his forehead, and I smirk and step away from the wall. I can see Nurrin reentering the room, see the way the crowd reorients itself around her. They react to her the way I remember people around Kelsey—like she is special, something different that needs protection.

In a way, they’re right. She is special. She is different, and that deserves to be treasured.

In a way, they’re better for her than I am. I am too fascinated in how breaking her can make her stronger to consider protecting her. I know that she’s different—but I know that as lovely and strong as she could be, there is so much more to her. There is a world of strength waiting to be discovered in her moments of weakness.

They don’t see that. Dustin didn’t—none of the Walkers in 8 saw it. They saw a pretty girl, another Haven girl perfect for raising the next generation and taking care of her husband—worrying about him. They didn’t see a girl whose strength matched their own.

Surprise flickers on her face, and I wonder how many of my thoughts she read in my expression. I force it blank, slipping behind the mask. She frowns, but an Alderman is talking to her and she is distracted briefly. I exchange a long look with Kenny. It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him to stay away from her, but I remember the boy he was.

The more interest I show, the more he will want something just to take it from me. It’s the reason he’s always been fascinated with Kelsey.

“I’ll send some men to escort you around the Haven tomorrow,” he says, his tone firmly back in warm politician mode.

I shrug. “Don’t bother. I’ll be out most of the day.”

He’s still forming a response when I turn away. I see a party of five arriving, Priests of the Order in pristine robes. Black, Red, Gray, White, and Blue.

There is a stronger presence here than I believed. My gut twists, and I catch her eye again. They’re a bit wide and a little glazed—to anyone else, she looks calm and collected. But I can see the subtle tells of fear. I arch an eyebrow and watch as she takes a deep breath, steadying herself and her nerves. She gives me a tiny nod.

And against all good sense, I leave her there, surrounded by my enemies.

I leave in the morning, while she is still sleeping. It was a shitty night all around—I was restless all evening, waiting for her to return, and the tension didn’t die down when she did. If anything, knowing she was on the other side of the suite made it even worse. I wanted to slip into her room, into her bed, kiss her until she forgot Kenny and the politicians, her own name, forgot everything but me.

I didn’t. Of course I didn’t. But the temptation was there, and it was damn hard to ignore.

And sleeping was difficult—too much silence. I shared space with her for long enough that being on my own feels strange.

Which is fucked up. And fucking annoying.

I make a face and grab some fruit off a platter provided by the Embassy. Then I head out, deliberately leaving her behind.

Here’s the thing. When you leave a place, it kind of freezes in your mind. Even knowing that our world is defined by blood and adaptability, it’s strange to see the changes in 1. I wander the Haven for four hours, find deserted shops in the places of friends. I find my way, slowly, to the barracks.

It’s where I should have started.

Being a Walker—and before that, a special forces solider—means I’m most comfortable with weapons and men who know how to use them. But even here, it’s like a different world. The rooms are different, the faces filling them unfamiliar. The commander is a man I’ve never met, and he gives me a brief look when I’m ushered into his office. “President Stiles said you’d slip my men. I sent the best I have.”

I shrug. I saw the Walkers in the Embassy lobby as I ducked out.

“Sorry,” I say, completely unrepentant.

He grunts. “They’ve better things to do than chase a has-been war hero.”

I smirk. He’s got a lot disdain for a man he’s never met. I wonder what Kendall told him. The Commander sits back, rubbing his eyes. Orwell is a trim man, mid-thirties, with hair that is going salt-and-pepper at the temples. His eyes are brown, and cold as they stare at me. “What the hell are you doing here, O’Malley? I’ve heard the stories. I know about Columbus. I’ve read the reports—the one President Buchman didn’t have redacted. I never understood why he bothered with that. Why he protected you.”

Because he trusted me.
The words are on the tip of my tongue, but I don’t say them. I don’t say anything. I stare at him until he finally sighs. “Tell me what you want.”

“A Black Priest.”

Orwell’s face takes on an expression of distaste, and my impression of the man inches up. “I can’t help you with that. The Order is not a fan of mine.”

“Why?”

He pauses, studies me. Then shrugs. “I’m new to the command—Stiles gave me the appointment a year ago. The Order had a man up for the job—one of their Black Priests. Not the High Priest. But he chose me. They haven’t been happy with the president since.”

“So he’s not in their pocket.”

“It’s hard to determine. A Blue is in his cabinet, and several Grays have been made Science Czars. But for now, he’s keeping the military away from the Order.”

“Because of Omar. As long as he controls the Blacks, Kenny won’t want anything to do with them,” I say quietly. The Commander’s eyebrows go up, but it makes sense.

“You don’t have to have ties to the Order—but you monitor who comes into the Haven. Have any Priests come by recently? From 6?”

“I’ll have my assistant check the records. It might take a few days—we have six gates and several hundred visitors on a daily basis. You understand.”

I do. But it makes me twitch with impatience. “I need this quickly. 1 is not a friendly place for me or my companion.”

“Nurrin Sanders? Stiles seems very taken with her.”

I nod, my lips pressed together. “That would be the issue.”

Understanding and amusement fills the other man’s eyes. “Don’t worry. Stiles is easily distracted—another pretty face will arrive from another Haven, and he’ll forget all about your girl.”

For some reason, that bothers me even more.

I’m leaving the Commander’s office when I see them. Kendall is dressed down, in jeans and a button down shirt with two buttons undone.

Nurrin is dressed up. She’s put on a dress, of all things, and a pair of heels that stretch her legs and curve them. Her hair is up in a messy knot on the top of her head—the same way she wears it when she’s fighting or working out, or when she’s running the track. With the dress, it doesn’t look sweaty and messy. It looks sexy, finger-tousled, and freshly fucked. She’s holding his arm, her head tilted to him, a smile on her face.

I can’t hear what he’s saying, not from here, but I can see how incredibly beautiful she looks, and how she hangs on everything he says.

I stay in the shadows, watching as he leads her, as he settles her into a chair at a café—only in 1 would they have open air cafés. He orders for her, and I see the annoyance in her rigid shoulders before she lets it go, smiling at the waitress and Kenny.

I should leave, but I can’t bring myself to move. So I lean back, into the shadows of the door way, and watch as he flirts and charms, as she asks questions and sips at the drink he selected for her. What the hell does she think she’s doing? What game is she playing?

They talk for a while, until she finally shifts and stands. Kenny stands with her, and I can’t see his face, but I see his move. Rage flares in me as he kisses her. But still, I watch as she leans into him, fitting against him, the soft drift of her eyelashes as she closes her eyes and brings a hand up to twist in his hair. I hiss, a soft noise I’m glad no one can hear, and then she’s pulling away, a soft smile in her eyes. She says something else and moves away. I let her take three or four steps, until I know she will be sure to see me. Then I step out of the shadows clinging to the door.

Nurrin goes still, startled, her eyes wide. Her lips are still wet and lush from his kiss, color in her cheeks, but there is a touch of fear in her eyes that I know is for me. Just me.

I stare silently for a long moment, until she’s fidgeting, and then I let my disgust seep through. She flinches, as if she’s been struck.

Then I step past her and walk away. “Finn,” she calls, once. I keep walking. There is nothing I can say to her right now that won’t be violent and unforgivable.

She isn’t mine. She’s been with me, long enough that I’ve begun to forget. She can’t be mine. I won’t let her be.

But it doesn’t mean I don’t want her. And the sight of her in Kendall’s arms is enough to leave me irate and shaking with violence.

The best part—the only good thing—about the Order is the vice clubs. They're a part of every Haven, and I go to one now. Anyone can fight in the ring matches. All you need is a little cash and a bit of desperation. I'm lacking on the latter, but the first is easy and I'm angry enough that I need violence to flush it from my system. Before I see her and do something neither of will be able to live with.

The Priestess who takes my money is a pretty girl in dull red robes. A blood-thirsty little bitch then. All reds are driven by blood and conversion—crazy zealots, the lot of them. She gives me an appreciative stare as I strip out of my shirt and weapons belt and hand over the money.

"You'll be fighting our Kang," she purrs. "He won a few nights back, but isn't our current champion."

I nod and push past her into the crowd. They immediately launch into the predictable chatter as they eye me. I'm not a sure bet—I don't look like the type that will beat another man into oblivion. I'm wiry instead of thick, and I don't bother playing to the crowd. I'm content to ignore them altogether and focus on the source of my real rage—her arms wrapped around Kenny, her lips wet, her hands gentle in his hair.

She was gentle with him. There’d been none of the passionate violence she gave to me, on the rare occasions I kissed her.

Each time we’ve kissed—the boat, the house in 18, the club, even the barracks, when I watched her fall apart under my hand—each time has been a battle, a fight for dominance that shifted into desire. There was never gentleness. Nurrin doesn't
need
gentle. She needs fire and fight, the heat of passion burning her up until there is nothing left. Until she is broken by it and so desperate for it again that putting herself together is the only option, as natural as breathing.

Kendall has no idea what she needs—what she is. He can't know, because he met her twelve fucking hours ago.

I growl, softly, as a spectator gets a little too close, and there's a nervous titter of laughter from the candy on his arm. She giggles. "He's savage. I like him."

I give her a cold smile, the last smirk from a predator before he devours his prey, and her eyes go wide and hungry.

Then the bell clangs and the far gate swings open, and Kang explodes into the ring. I watch him lazily, the arm candy forgotten as I assess my opponent. He's big—outweighs me by close to thirty pounds, with a shaved head and a fucking face tattoo. Who the fuck is this prick? Does he have no sense of what's fucking idiotic? Who the hell tattoos their face? Who the fuck kisses a man she's known for twelve. fucking. hours?

He bellows and rushes me. I slip aside, twisting around to follow him with a sharp kick to the kidneys. He reels back, and I punch him once, twice. Three times in that fucking stupid tattoo, because dammit, who the hell decided that was a good idea? He roars as he hits the mat, and I kick him again, vicious shots to the kidneys until he lies there limply and I can smell blood and shock in the air. I shake my hand out, blood spraying from it. A few of the girls shriek in mock disgust, and I bare my teeth at the crowd.