Page 6 of Hell Storm

I nodded as he continued.

“Well, there’s more to it than that. The region-specific gifts are the result of there being four strains of the vaccine our people were given. Each emperoralsoreceived one of the four, only a far more elegant version. I suppose it was Ian’s way of creating a hierarchy among a population that could, technically, live forever.”

Without him elaborating, I believed I understood. These gifts Julian spoke of, the monarchs possessed themtenfold.There were the physical differences between the royals—how the princes and their fathers towered the average Ianite male, their silver gazes, and unmatched physical perfection.

Julian’s strength was likely only rivaled by his fathers. I guessed Silas’ mental capabilities were more fine-tuned and powerful than others in his Quadrant. The same for Levi’s telekinetic strengths, and Roman’s physical gifts.

“Another thing Percival did to set the men of the royal families apart, was make us immune to the venom of an everyday Ianite. Ours will alwayskill one oftheminstantly; however, only venom from an emperor would prove fatal to another emperor.”

Or from aprinceto an emperor.

… From a son to a father.

It instantly reminded me of how Julian had stood to guard me. He had intervened to spare his father certain death when the rogue reporter dared him to feed on me. I also remembered how the other princes fell in line to shield me much like Julian had. They surrounded me like a fortress, and despite the ravenous beasts that filled the room, I couldn’t remember a time I felt more protected.

“You saidmenoftheroyalfamilies,” I pointed out when my thoughts shifted. “Did heintentionallyexclude women? Does the same not apply to them?”

When Julian searched my expression, I got the feeling he thought he’d find offense there. Only, I’d never limited myself to only being an advocate for women. There was no room for feminism in a world where an entire people, maleandfemale, remained severely oppressed.

He studied me a moment longer, likely only finding curiosity within my gaze.

“Yes, it’s the reason Roman, Silas, Levi and I have our fathers’ silver eyes instead of red like our mothers,” he explained. “The women are gifted, yes, but the amplified traits of our given strains lie dormant in them—hence the craze that ensued roughly twenty years ago, for our fathers to produce male heirs. I suppose they wanted to ensure that each Quadrant had the strongest possible Ianites in power.”

This was information I hadn’t considered before, hadn’t given the details much thought because the history of the four strains was unclear. Creating this hierarchy, this sense of the few being greater than the masses, had been Dr. Percival’s way of enforcing social order. Below the general Ianite population was the common roamer.

Ranking dead last?

Humans.

My eyes slammed shut with that acknowledgement, breathing deeply. I was aware that he had yet to fully answer my question, but it was time to divert the conversation. I couldn’t afford to let the darkness in; not if I intended to keep my head clear.

“Have you spoken with your father anymore today? Since the incident?” I blurted, wanting to redirect my thoughts.

There was a small chance this question was one I shouldn’t have asked. One more appropriate when discussed between two people on a level of emotional intimacy Julian and I hadn’t reached. Still, I barely hesitated.

Julian’s gaze lowered to the floor as he answered. “Actually, no. I haven’t.”

There was a distant look in his eyes I didn’t’ miss. I also caught the gravity in his tone. In another world, one where it made sense to sympathize with him, I might have reached for his hand.

“You stood up for me,” I commented. “I’m not sure I thanked you for that.”

A dim smile returned to his face. “You don’t have to thank me. It was the right thing to do.”

My gaze lifted when his response surprised me. Mostly, because I hadn’t really thought of it as a moral dilemma on his part—a matter of doing right by me.

He must have taken note of the bewilderment on my face when I swallowed hard. I guessed as much, because of how quickly he looked away.

“So … do you feel anything yet?” He stammered a bit when asking.

Focusing inward, I evaluated my thoughts, my senses, I then shook my head. “Nothing. You?”

“I do,” he answered, pausing to breathe deep as I waited on the edge of my seat. “It’s like, I have this extreme sense of justice, a more prominent awareness of right and wrong that simply wasn’t there before.” Intrigue filled his expression as his gaze shifted toward me. “The sensation is so strong it—”

“Feels like it’ll eat you alive if you don’t quench it?” I added.

He continued to stare when he gave a wordless nod.

“Yeah,” I chuckled. “I might know a thing or two about that.”

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