Page 56 of Bound By Prophecy (Descendants)

“Not me,” William answered in a low tone.

He jerked the ties at my arm, which wrenched my side and brought me back to life. Abruptly awake, I realized the other men had guns on me. And there were five of them now.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“To witness your brother’s destiny,” he said. “Now, make one wrong move and you’ll get another bullet hole in your chest.” He pointedly jabbed a finger into the meat over my heart. “And this one won’t heal so easily.”

My arms fell from their bonds, for a moment numb and then suddenly stinging with sharp, needling pain. I rubbed my wrists, agony and relief warring at the act, while William unlatched the other restraints. When he released my waist, my knees gave, and I fell against a post of the structure they’d brought in to restrain me.

He threw a shirt at me. “Clean up. Morgan doesn’t want you looking like a vagrant.”

I glanced down, dried blood covering large portions of my torn jeans.

“Put the shirt on,” William demanded. “No one will see your legs anyway.”

My head jerked up to stare at him, but he was already walking toward the door. “Let’s go, Archer. We’ve got a prophecy to carry out.”

I slid one arm into the button-up shirt, but it took considerably more effort for the other arm. After fumbling with the middle three buttons, I gave up, leaving it loose at the neck and bottom hem.

“On your feet,” one of the gunmen said from beside me, and I pushed unsteadily off the post to be led from the room, a guard clutching each arm, two following behind, and another between us and William in the lead.

Morgan had never underestimated me.

Several minutes later, I was thrust into restraints and seated on the raised, dark-mahogany platform running the front wall of Council’s meeting hall. William had been right, my lower half was not visible from the hall, because in front of me was a short half wall meant to disguise electrical equipment and the like. The half walls were positioned at each end of the raised platform, and at the center, not twenty feet from where I waited, was the podium from which Morgan would be making his “presentation.” The chairs had been removed, and Council men lined the outer, unadorned tan and burgundy walls of the hall. I was surprised to see that they seemed to be adhering to at least one of the old code: there were no weapons in conference.

I recognized many faces, though few of them risked a look in my direction. They were pointedlynotlooking at the man their leader had tied to a chair, a man who would likely soon meet some unfortunate end at the hands of his brother. What I did not see were the faces that had been my allies. Nowhere among the crowd were the men and women who had supported my rise to head of Council, who had hoped I would one day supplant Morgan.

“Ready, brother?”

Morgan’s voice from beside me made me jump, and I questioned my faculties for not hearing his arrival. And then the slightest noise, the muffled whisper of a metal track, and I knew why. There was a hidden door behind us, an unmarked entrance that had not been there before. I mentally cursed, knowing he’d have modified the security throughout Council’s walls, because his biggest threats were those who had left him, those who had been raised to know this place’s secrets.

I opened my mouth to respond, but before I could get the words out, Morgan’s face lit up in a grin. “Brendan, so glad you could make it.”

I followed his gaze to the entrance opposite us, and stared in horror as the Division’s eight walked through the door.

“Shut it, Archer,” Brendan said, “I’m not in the mood for your antics.”

Behind them, a dozen more came through the door, headed by Logan, and what I assumed were his best men.

It felt as if the episode were playing out in slow motion, as if I were caught in the depths of an ocean and couldn’t find which way to swim out, could do nothing to stop what was coming. It was endless and frantic, a sinking, drowning sensation, and I was helpless to fight it. Had they not realized what they were doing? Had they not read the prophecy? They were outnumbered three to one in this room alone. They had no chance of winning.

I wanted to shout at them to run, but I couldn’t seem to get air.

They would die here, all of them.

Brendan’s gaze flicked briefly to me, and then back to the center of the platform where Morgan stood. “We want to make a trade.”

Morgan laughed. “Oh, Samuels. You always were a dull boy.” He clapped his hands and picked up his speech-giving tone again. “You are here today to witness the coming of the prophecy.”

He took two steps forward. “I understand that you of this… Division,” he said with disgust, “have been living on the notion that you have figured out a way to subvert the prophecy.” Morgan’s gaze narrowed the slightest fraction, taking in the assembly that watched his performance. “But I can assure you, you are wrong.”

Brendan stared on, but several of the others shifted uncomfortably.

“Let me say, also,” Morgan continued, “what a huge disappointment it has been that you turned against the core of our existence, the one truth of our kind.” His eyes scanned the group of twenty. “That so many of you were traitors to our lines.” Morgan shook his head, as if dismissing the idea. “No bother. Because most of you will not be leaving this room alive.”

Brendan’s jaw went tight. “You invoked the rules of the code, Morgan. You invited us here under the pretense of conference, and now you turn on the very ideals you accuse of us abandoning.”

“Precisely,” Morgan said. “You have abandoned them. Which is why they do not apply to you.” He paused. “Some of you may stay,” he added, gaze lingering on Kara, “but we will decide that later.”

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