Page 72 of The Order: Rise of the New Empire

"A plan? If it goes south, there's only one more solution to end the Prophet. I'm not willing to harm my sister to find peace," Kai snaps.

“Our kind will be exterminated if we do nothing. Can't you see that? If we sit back and do nothing, our kind is gone-”

“And what makes you think your kind is needed?” Kai yells, both me and Aaron turning our attention to the man.

"What the hell did you say to me?" I question, the darkness I have sensed in the man only growing.

There are those true colors, Kaiden Blackburn.

"What makes you think your kind is needed in the world, all the Marked have ever done is fuck up my life-"

"Do you think that was their choice?" I snap, getting in the man's face. "Of course you do, because you have no idea what it means to bear the burden of being a Marked. We did not ask to be fucking genetically mutated. We didn't ask for any of this, so you can sit here and act as if we are the problem when you know damn well you are related to the real issue. I will sit here and entertain the idea that she turns back to us, but in the meantime, I will always keep a realistic plan within arm's reach."

Glancing at Aaron, I nudge past Kai, allowing him to fester in his own despair.

"I am getting my resources. I am getting my fighters. Choose your side now, Kaiden," I hiss, barely looking the man's way. "Just know, any scenario in which you are not on mine will end poorly for you."

Making my way out the front door, I slam the door shut, listening to the shouts from Kai and Aaron as they begin to argue, focusing on one thing and one thing alone.

The fall to the house of the Prophet.

Chapter twenty-two

Xavier

If this is real life, how much worse could hell be?

For the past twenty-four hours, every second I have spent with the land of the living has felt like pure torture.

Driven by the feral need to protect my girls, every moment spent not knowing where they are only brings me further to a tipping point I can't come back from.

Groggy and disoriented, I pull my head up from its slumped position against the cold floor, doing my best to rationalize all that has happened before this.

Feeling her lips press to my skin as she comforted me, tears rolled down her cheeks, her heart filled with sorrow as she played the game.

His game.

She's playing his game, and I'm in the dark about all of it.

"Fucking hell," Fallan's voice groans, the crackle of the fireplace burning before us the only light in the space.

Pulling his head from the floor, we are both bound, the feeling of sedatives pumping through our veins.

Taking notice of the sleek furnishings before us, it's easy to piece together where the hell we are.

The Prophet's quarters.

Specifically, in New Haven.

"He brought us back home," I hiss, forcing myself into a seated position, kicking Fallan's legs once he tries to go back to sleep.

"Perfect," Fallan hisses, clearly as thrilled to be here as I.

Wearing clothes much nicer than the ones we came in, we both are dressed to impress, wearing silks of the finest craftsmanship.

"These are the guest quarters," I whisper, taking into account the nicely folded sheets swarming the bed.

Sensing a buzzing energy below us, I press my ear to the floor, the faint whispers of the Marked still being held captive touching my ear.

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