Flynn blinked groggily awake and then blinked again when his eyes met only darkness.
Shit.
He couldn’t see a damned thing. Stretching out his hands, he winced at the pain in his arm. The entire right side of his body ached, starting at a spot just under his jaw and extending all the way down to his hip. He rolled onto his back with a groan and checked himself for injury. His legs and arms moved. There was a small cut on his arm, already scabbed over. The knot in his neck might have been simply from sleeping on the cold floor, but that didn’t seem right. It didn’t feel quite like a muscle cramp.
Something niggled at the edge of his consciousness. His memory of how he’d gotten here—wherever the hell here was—was foggy. He spent a few minutes trying to draw it into focus, but it was no use.
After Molly had stolen his ship the first time, he’d gotten so drunk he’d lost days of his life. Waking up had felt like this, the throbbing head, stiff muscles and queasy stomach. The only thing different about this time was that he didn’t remember getting drunk.
Forcing himself upright, he rested his head in his hands and waited for his stomach to settle. Once the room stopped tilting like a ship in a strong wind, he directed his attention to his surroundings. His eyes never adjusted to the dark. Either something had happened to his eyes or he was underground. His eyes didn’t hurt. His money was on underground. It was dark, cold, damp. It felt like a dungeon.
When he stretched his hands out, his fingertips bumped up against cold stone. The dirt under his knees was packed hard and there was a faint, nauseating scent of decay to the still air.
Frederick.
He’d gone to talk to Freddie, leaving Molly wide-eyed and alone in a roomful of sharks. He’d only intended to be gone for a few minutes.
The sound of breathing echoed back to him from the stone walls, but there was something off about it. He stopped inching forward and held his breath. That wasn’t the sound of his breathing. There was a shadow sound there, slower and quieter. He wasn’t alone.
“Molly?” Heart pounding, he climbed to his feet and stumbled in the direction of the sound. If Freddie had hurt her, Flynn would kill him. “Mol, is that you?”
“Don’t come any closer.” The voice was deep and gravelly, with a rusted quality that froze the blood in Flynn’s veins. “There are bars separating our cells, but you don’t want to come any closer. It will be better for us both if you keep your distance.”
“Who are you?”
“My name is Nicholas. Nick Givens. Frederick Stark introduced us last night right before he tossed you into the cell. Don’t you remember?”
“No. I—” Flynn shook his head to clear it. He remembered Freddie standing over him. The flicker of torchlight on rough stone. A greasy cloth in his mouth and the sting of chemicals in his nose.
Freddie had had a man waiting in the alley to drug him. They’d shoved him into a private lift and then onto a ship. How long had he been unconscious?
“Where are we?’
“Who the hell knows? I was taken here by airship from Eyrion. We’re not in the city. I’d be able to hear the machinery.”
“You wouldn’t hear it if we were buried deep enough.” Especially on Eyrion, where new construction was so carefully regulated.
“I would be able to hear it if we were within fifty miles of the source.”
Letting the boast pass, Flynn slid down the wall until he was seated again. His legs were too wobbly to hold him. “I was taken from Ballonet. I was drugged at the time. I have no idea how long it took to get here.”
The only thing he could recall of the trip was being thrown into a cargo hold while his annoying little shit of a cousin gloated about how Stark intended to name him as his heir. Flynn had laughed. Only a lunatic would willingly place himself in Stark’s power. Flynn could forgive most people for not seeing the real man behind the public persona, but Freddie had no excuse. He was family. He knew exactly what kind of bastard Stark was.
He didn’t remember seeing Molly after he was forced from the party at gunpoint. Hopefully that meant she hadn’t been on the ship with him.
He lifted his head to stare into the darkness. “Did they bring anyone else here? A woman?”
“Another prisoner? No. Only you.” Stone scraped against stone as the man shifted. “The rest were Stark’s men. The nephew, the pilot, three hired men. There are another five men assigned here as permanent guards. A dozen servants. Stark’s butler. Three female servants who seem to do most of the cleaning. A woman who prepares the meals. The women never come to this level. The rest rotate serving as guards.”
It sounded like one of Stark’s hunting lodges. They were all difficult to get to even when you knew where they were located. He owned three separate lodges, two near Eyrion and one located halfway between Ballonet and Oro. They were probably at the one nearest Ballonet, but he had no way to be sure.
God, his neck hurt.
“Is Stark here?”
“Not yet. Frederick ordered the captain of the guard to send word that his hunting trip was successful. I assume Stark will arrive shortly. You’re the prodigal son.”
“Stepson,” Flynn corrected automatically. “That’s the story Stark is selling, anyway. Himself as the good father patiently awaiting the day his rebellious son repents of his sinful ways. It’s not going to happen.”
“No?” Nick sounded faintly amused. “You might change your mind.”
“Why would I do that?”
Nick didn’t answer right away. As the silence stretched, Flynn rubbed his neck and winced at a particularly sore spot. The pain dislodged another memory. His cheek pressed to the cold, gritty floor. A guard’s knee in his back, his arms wrenched behind him. The alarmingly large syringe in his cousin’s hands. The cold slide of the needle into his neck, the pulse and surge of the serum as it burned its way toward his heart. Oblivion.
Flynn swallowed past the bile rising in his throat. “Freddie had a needle.”
“It’s coming back to you now, is it?”
“What exactly did he put inside me?”
The stranger’s voice was coldly amused. “What do you think they put inside you?”
Flynn dropped his head into his hands and curled his fingers into his hair. His blood rushed in his ears as Nick continued to speak in a soft, low voice.
“Stark’s throwing a party in a few days to unveil his new creation, a vaccine that prevents the contraction of Reaper infection. There are several ineffective formulas on the market, and Stark feels the need to prove he has the real thing. He originally planned to inject himself with the vaccine and allow a Reaper to bite him during the party, but Dr. Gunnar talked him out of it. Apparently he’s decided that allowing his stepson to be bitten would be nearly as dramatic.”
So it was true. Stark’s scientists had come up with a vaccine. This was a damnable way to learn the truth.
“Does the vaccine work?”
“The preliminary trials were successful.”
Stark must believe the vaccine worked or he wouldn’t risk killing Flynn. Or maybe Molly was right and Stark had given up hope of ever getting his hands on the Flynn fortune. If the vaccine did work, it wouldn’t matter. If the vaccine were effective, Stark would never have to worry about money again.
If it didn’t work…well, the only consolation there was that Stark would be broke. Of course, Flynn would be dead, which would make it difficult to gloat. Stark might be willing to take the risk that the vaccine would work, but Flynn sure as hell didn’t want to bet his life on it. He didn’t stand to gain any money from the vaccine.
He lifted his head. “Is that why you’re here? Is he using you as a guinea pig too?”
“In a way, you might say that.”
There was a strange note to the man’s voice—half amusement, half resignation. It raised an alarm in Flynn’s mind. Flynn’s jangled thoughts spun and arranged themselves into a new shape he didn’t much like the looks of.
“You’re a Reaper,” he said, shocked numb by the realization. Stark had locked him in a cold, dark cage next to a fucking Reaper. At least Nick was sentient. Reapers were ravenous when they were young and freshly bit. The parasite was ascendant for a century or two after the initial infection, with the poor human soul trapped inside along for the ride. Eventually the host was able to regain control of its body. A youngling would likely rip his arm off.
“It is coming back to you,” Nick said, amused.
He’d really hoped Nick would deny it. “When is this party taking place?”
“Three days. It takes twenty-four hours for the vaccination to become fully effective. And they’ll want to test it first. Make sure you’re truly immune before Stark puts you on a stage in front of all of his friends.”
That meant Stark would have a Reaper bite him twice—once to test the serum, and once for the show. Flynn repressed a shiver.
“How old are you?”
“One hundred and sixty-two.”
Flynn closed his eyes and rested his throbbing head against the wall. “Did you come north looking for a cure?”
Nick shifted. It sounded like he was stretching out on the rock floor. The least Stark could have done was give them a mattress, maybe a few blankets. Well, actually, the least he could’ve done was not lock him up with a Reaper.
“I don’t want to be cured,” Nick said. “The parasite is what’s kept me alive this long. I’m in charge of it now, not the other way around.”
“Where did Stark find you?”
Flynn had no idea how a person would go about caging a sentient Reaper. They mostly stayed south, near the equator. The parasite they carried didn’t tolerate cold well. It was only the younglings who surged north during warm weather to look for food.
“Founder Williams invited Tomas, our king, to speak to the assembly on Eyrion.”
“That got nixed,” Flynn said. “Word leaked out and half the Founders on Eyrion showed up at the assembly to voice a complaint.”
In control of the parasite or not, no one wanted a Reaper loose in the city. Almost no one. Some people were still interested in the idea. There were investors who wanted to negotiate for territory, a delegation from Oro who wanted access to the abandoned mines, the curious who wanted to meet a Reaper up close for the thrill of it. But for the time being, those people were in the minority.
“Later, Tomas was invited to attend a private meeting with a group of Scrapers working outside the bounds of the Federation,” Nick said. “They’re dissatisfied with the passivity of the assembly and have joined together to protect their interests.”
“Stark.”
“He’s one of them.”
Stark, Williams, Corrigan. The heads of many of the most powerful families. All of the people Flynn had been keeping an eye on for the Rangers. “You came as Tomas’ ambassador and Stark imprisoned you?”
That seemed a bold move, even for Stark. He couldn’t possibly want to provoke an army of sentient Reapers.
“I didn’t come openly, no,” Nick said. “You’re not the only one who wishes to know more about your enemy.”
“Are there more of you up here?” The thought was chilling—sentient Reapers moving among them, spying on them, learning their weaknesses.
“There may be,” Nick said. “We’re not as organized as that. We’ve never had to be.”
“How did Stark discover you?”
There was a long silence. Long enough for Flynn to consider the ways in which a Reaper might reveal himself. Non-sentient Reapers were easy to identify. They were clearly monsters—unwashed, feral, bloodthirsty monsters. Give one a bath, some clothes and a little self-control, and it would be hard for anyone to know what was lurking inside. Unless he snapped. Lost control. Maybe got hungry…
“I made a mistake,” Nick said.
Despite the chill, Flynn started to sweat. “This mistake,” he said carefully, “you’re not likely to make it again anytime soon, are you?”
“Not with a dozen guns trained on me. Even I couldn’t survive that. When Stark gives the order, I’ll bite you. The parasite in my saliva will heal the wound. The vaccine will kill the parasite. You’ll roll down your sleeve and go back to mingling with the guests.”
Flynn considered that for a time. That he’d probably survive the experience didn’t make him any more willing to offer himself up as a sacrifice on the altar of Stark’s greed.
“Do you think there’s a chance we can break out of here before it comes to that?”
“I’ve been here for two months and haven’t figured a way out yet.”
Two months. At least Flynn wouldn’t have to wait that long.
“I’ll try the locks, but I don’t have anything to pick them with.” Molly had always had more of a talent for locks than he did, and she was clever about hiding her picks. If Molly were here now… No. He was glad she wasn’t here. She probably thought he’d abandoned her and was halfway to the border by now. He hoped that she was. She could hate him forever so long as she stayed safe. “Freddie could have left us a light.”
His cousin would remember that Flynn had been afraid of the dark as a child. His mother had always left the gaslight burning low in the hall and the door to his bedroom open. The only time she ever shut the door was when Stark was angry. She’d done her best to protect her son from her husband’s temper. Lost cause, that. Every time she’d locked the door, it only reinforced his fear of the dark.
Flynn curled into a ball on his side, facing the Reaper, though he couldn’t see a thing. He wrapped his arms around his body when he began to shake, from the cold and his fear, and possibly from the serum Freddie had injected him with.
Any way he looked at it, he was fucked.
The one bright side of all this. The one thing that gave him any peace at all was that he hadn’t taken Molly down with him. Molly was smart and she was a survivor. She’d get back to Esther’s. She’d get his ship and she’d run. Molly was good at running. For the first time in his life, Flynn was grateful for that.