The Last Sanctuary Omnibus Read online

  The Last Sanctuary Omnibus

  The Complete Series

  Kyla Stone

  Paper Moon Press

  Rising Storm

  1

  Amelia

  Terror coiled in the pit of eighteen-year-old Amelia Black’s stomach. Sweat beaded her forehead. The fabric of her dress clung damp and chilly against her skin.

  The polished marble corridor stretched ahead of her, silent and empty but for the bodies.

  In just a matter of minutes, the whole world had fallen to pieces.

  It was hard to believe that only a few hours ago, the Grand Voyager was a glittering jewel of crystal and glass, a lavish fulfillment of every wish and desire, a shimmering promise of dreams come true.

  But it was all a lie. This wasn’t a dream; it was a nightmare. And with the nightmare came the terror, the shrieking and running, the beautiful bodies falling, limp as dolls.

  Now, there was nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide.

  Amelia strained for any sound over the crashing thunder of the storm. She crouched behind the counter of a coffee bar along the corridor of Deck Ten of the Grand Voyager luxury liner.

  The display cases were all smashed, glass shards littering the marble floor. A humanoid service bot slumped against a bank of storage cabinets, smoke hissing from the bullet hole drilled into its forehead. Above the sink, the broken holoscreen flickered.

  The voices came again. Two or three of them, from somewhere down the corridor.

  She didn’t know who they were. Terrorists, pirates, hired thugs, or private militia. It didn’t matter. They were ruthless killers. And they were hunting her.

  Because of her father, the powerful leader of the Coalition. Because of what he’d done.

  If they found her, she was dead. They would use her as a bargaining chip, a pawn to get whatever they wanted from her father. They’d torture her. Then, they’d kill her.

  But she was sick of being a pawn. She’d die rather than give in. She had her own plan, if she could live that long.

  She’d thought the terrorists were the deadliest threat on this ship. She was wrong.

  Thunder crashed. Waves rocked the ship. The floor tilted, and she stumbled, glass fragments jabbing into her bare feet. She sucked in her breath. She had to ignore the pain, the mind-numbing fear. She had to think.

  Her family was still out there, trapped somewhere on the ship. Her brother, Silas. Her mother. And Gabriel. She winced. She couldn’t think about him. Not now.

  She’d done something, too. Something she couldn’t take back.

  Lightning shattered the night sky through the floor-to-ceiling windows on the far side of the corridor. Rain lashed the glass. The awful rat-a-tat of gunfire exploded from somewhere above her.

  The voices grew louder. They'd be on her in thirty seconds or less.

  Her heart leapt into her throat. She was cornered. Trapped.

  Out of time.

  2

  Amelia

  Two Days Earlier . . .

  For Amelia, the decadence of the Grand Voyager was nothing new. She was used to luxurious opulence. Only the setting changed. What never changed was the pressure, the expectation, the anxiety that always snarled in the pit of her stomach.

  People only saw the beauty and the glamour, the illusion of a perfect life. They didn’t see the cracks—or what lay beneath them.

  “Are you all right?” her mother asked, her elegant brow furrowing in concern.

  “I’m fine,” Amelia lied. They were almost halfway through the fourteen-day cruise. Tonight, they were preparing for yet another dinner at the captain’s table in the Oasis dining room.

  Her father, Declan Black, slid open the glass doors of the veranda and strode into the Infinity Suite, the most extravagant stateroom on the ship. He’d been deep in a tense conversation on his Smartflex. A line like a scar appeared between his eyebrows. It hadn't gone well.

  She tensed. “Who were you talking to?”

  Declan tapped off the platinum earpiece curved around his right ear and slipped it into the pocket of his tuxedo. Her father’s presence was regal and commanding, drawing all the energy in any room he entered. His brown hair and spade-shaped beard were threaded with silver, his magnetic, iron-hued eyes dark and cunning. “Just confirming the last few details of the Safe and Secure Act. Nothing to concern your pretty little head about.”

  He was one of the wealthiest, most powerful men in the country. He was the founder and CEO of BioGen Technologies as well as the chairman of the Unity Coalition, a conglomerate of powerful biotech, communications, and defense corporations that advised the government on pretty much everything.

  His critical gaze swept over his wife and daughter, his eyes narrowing as he appraised them, searching for imperfections. It didn’t matter how perfect they looked. There was always something wrong.

  Amelia’s gut tightened as she smoothed her dress, the shimmering scales shifting with her every movement. She stood taller, forcing a smile.

  “Not the pearls.” Declan fingered the array of necklaces, earrings, and bracelets spread over the vanity. He picked up a necklace with a half-carat benitoite gemstone haloed with diamonds. “Blue is her color.”

  He was right, as always. The benitoite glistened at her throat, highlighting her white-blonde hair and bringing out the ice blue of her eyes.

  Her father turned to her mother. “Wear your hair down. That up-do ages you.”

  Her mother flinched. She was beautiful and elegant, from her sculpted cheekbones and arched brows to her flawless posture. Obediently, she unpinned her mass of auburn curls.

  She always did what Declan wanted. They all did. Except for her brother, the black sheep of the family.

  “Get up, boy,” her father snapped.

  Sixteen-year-old Silas was sprawled sullenly on the ivory settee, his legs slung over the velvet arm, his expensive tuxedo already rumpled.

  “Stand up straight. And fix your damn clothes.”

  Behind her, Silas unfolded his lanky limbs and stood as slowly as possible. He stared at her in the mirror, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. He shared their father's lean, wolfish face and cruel, smoke-gray eyes.

  The beginnings of another headache pricked the back of her neck. She winced.

  Amelia’s mother peered into her eyes. “Are you dizzy? Tingling or numbness anywhere?”

  Maybe this once, she could be too sick to play her part. “I don’t feel well—”

  “Are you taking your medication as directed?” Declan asked.

  Amelia nodded. They never spoke of her illness, the one they kept secret from everyone outside the family.

  “She could have caught that terrible bat-flu,” her mother said. “If she was infected before she received the vaccine—”

  “She wasn’t,” Declan snapped. “I would know.”

  BioGen’s new universal flu vaccine promised to eradicate the bat-flu epidemic plaguing the country. Last week on National Health Day, BioGen had inoculated over forty million citizens in a well-publicized display of goodwill. Amelia’s inoculation was captured by the most popular vloggers and shown repeatedly on the newsfeeds.

  Her mother frowned. “But a fever could trigger another episode—”

  Declan raised a hand dismissively. “Last year was an anomaly. Her dosage was corrected. Do you doubt my abilities?”

  Her mother blinked, her hand fluttering to the hollow of her throat. “Of course not.”

  Declan rounded on Amelia. He stared at her with hard, unflinching eyes. His gaze always unsteadied her. Like he could look straight through her and see every pulsing organ, her vulnerable, trembling heart. “Your mother treats you like you're made of glass. Is that true?”


  Her mouth went dry, her heart thudding in her ears. It was like this whenever she did something wrong, whenever he made her feel small and stupid.

  She lowered her gaze and stared at the digital ocean drifting across the wall opposite the veranda. The suite’s polymer walls were embedded with photo-synthesizers, surrounding the occupants with whichever environment suited them—jungles and waterfalls, a sleek cityscape, or the black velvet of outer space.

  The ocean usually calmed her—but it did nothing to calm her now. She opened her mouth, but the words curdled in her throat.

  “Speak, girl,” Declan demanded. “I asked you a simple question.”

  “Mr. and Mrs. Black, I detect an increase in stress indicators,” the room AI said in a smooth feminine tone. “How may I make you more comfortable? May I suggest—”

  “Activate privacy mode,” Declan snapped. The AI fell silent.

  Before her father could say anything else, Silas seized an opened bottle from the liquor cabinet and held it aloft. “Who feels like getting drunk?”

  “I must have misheard you,” Declan said, wheeling to face him.

  Silas took a long swig and wiped the back of his mouth with the sleeve of his tuxedo. “I think not.”

  “You will not attend dinner acting like a drunken, spoiled idiot,” Declan said, his voice going cold. “Stop this infantile behavior at once.”

  “Who’s going to make me?” Silas asked defiantly. He stood tall, his fists curled at his sides. He was all tight, bristling energy. Like he was waiting for their father’s wrath. Like he wanted it.

  Declan’s face darkened in fury. He took a menacing step toward Silas. “You do not want to test me—”

  Someone knocked on the door of the suite. Everyone froze.

  Ed Jericho, her father's head of security, opened the door. “We're ready for you, Mr. Black.”

  “Of course, Jericho,” her mother said brightly, instantly composed.

  The tall, muscular Nigerian hesitated in the doorway. “Everyone good to go, sir?”

  The tension in Declan's face melted away, the mask he wore for everyone else slipping into place. He grinned broadly. “Jericho! How are your sea legs?”

  Jericho had been with Declan's security team for the last six years. His clean-shaven, angular face matched his broad shoulders and confident swagger. He was cordial but aloof, always professional and all business, exactly the way Declan wanted him. Jericho frowned. “Fine, sir.”

  “Why the long face?”

  “I’d feel better with my weapon, sir.” He'd been in a foul mood since they’d boarded a week ago, when ship security had forced him to stow his drone and refused to let him wear his gun clipped to his belt. It was stored in the safe in the chief security officer’s office instead. “Even with the private security detail, this ship is understaffed—”

  “I’ve heard this complaint too many times already, Jericho. That's why you're here. Besides, these are our people. Let’s go.” Declan adjusted his gold cuff links and turned to Silas, the faintest flash of disdain in his eyes. “Don’t bother coming to dinner.”

  Jericho followed her mother and father into the corridor. Amelia hesitated. She glanced back at her brother. She wanted to thank him for what he did, for drawing her father’s wrath away from her.

  But his face was closed, his mouth twisted in contempt. He raised the bottle in a salute. “Go on. You wouldn’t want to disappoint dear old Dad.”

  She ignored him and checked herself in the mirror. Face. Hair. Nails. Posture. Dress. Check. She took a deep, steadying breath and pasted a smile on her face. And there she was. The dazzling girl her father wanted.

  She left Silas behind, just like she was supposed to. She played the part of the good daughter perfectly.

  She hurried from the suite as gracefully as possible, lifting the glimmering fabric of her mermaid gown so it wouldn’t catch on her designer heels. In the corridor, two ship’s security officers waited to escort them to the captain’s table in the Oasis dining room.

  She recognized the tall and handsome one who’d been on her father’s security detail all week. He was Latino, with flawless bronze skin, a scruffy goatee, and dark, brooding eyes. Like every time she saw him, he met her gaze and flashed an enigmatic smile, a dimple forming in his left cheek.

  Her stomach gave a little jolt. She was used to being admired, but this was different somehow, in a way she couldn’t put her finger on. Instinctively, Amelia started to smile back.

  Her mother caught her arm and gave a sharp shake of her head, her gaze flicking to Declan. Her father would disapprove. Of course he would. She swallowed her smile and looked away, focusing on her surroundings instead.

  The Grand Voyager was the most opulent ship to sail any sea. Everything was gleaming marble, sparkling crystal, and shining glass. Glass elevators soared through the ten-story atrium. A curved grand staircase constructed completely of glass swept up to the second and third balconies. Radiant sunlight flooded through the transparent domed ceiling, making every surface glitter like diamonds.

  Beautiful children tossed coins into the grand marble fountain. Turquoise water streamed from the mouths of gold-plated mermaids. Elegantly-dressed men and women murmured greetings to her father and shook his hand as they passed. Her father was usually delighted to oblige, but today he barely acknowledged them. He was tense and on edge.

  Declan’s SmartFlex blinked. He swiped the platinum band and the digital overlay appeared. He read the message, his frown deepening. He turned to Amelia and spoke under his breath, so only she could hear. “You’re failing with Senator López. Turn on the charm tonight, as I’ve repeatedly instructed. Get him in a favorable mood.”

  “Yes, sir.” She'd endured these types of political dinners a hundred times, charming senators and CEOs, investors and financial czars, including President Morgan and Vice President Sloane. Her father paraded her around like a prized possession, a beautiful doll who performed on command.

  “I will announce his support—and the success of the bill—at the Prosperity Summit gala tomorrow evening.” He snorted in derision. “It’s ridiculous that we even need his vote. The senate is obsolete. Those pompous asses are the only ones who don’t know it yet.”

  “Yes, father,” she said obediently. She rubbed the violin on her diamond charm bracelet, the one her father had bought for her thirteenth birthday. She longed to play her actual violin, which always soothed her. Her father had her play several times at dinner, showing her off, but it wasn’t the same as playing for herself.

  A white-gloved waiter greeted them at the entrance to Oasis. He led Amelia and her parents to the large round table on the dais in the center of the dining room. There were no bots allowed here, only human servers. The three-story ceiling glimmered with holo-stars like floating candles. The walls were diamond-glass, so clear it seemed the ocean was at her fingertips. The music of the four-string quartet swirled over the hum of voices and the clink of silverware.

  Her father greeted Captain Liebenberg warmly as well as the others at the table, all members of the Coalition: the cocky entrepreneur Tyler Horne; Bradley Marx, a heavy-set international banking guru; Omar Ferguson, a black senator from Illinois; and the CEO of Yates Pharmaceuticals, Meredith Jackson-Cooper, with her helmet of glossy yellow hair and perpetually pursed lips.

  “Hello, Amelia dear.”

  Amelia pasted a smile on her face and turned to Senator López. “Are you having a pleasant evening, Senator?”

  Enrique López was a handsome Mexican-American in his sixties, lean and fit, with dark eyebrows and thick, silver hair. He shook his head and swiped the newsfeed holo from his SmartFlex. “Just checking the latest updates on the bat-flu outbreak. Three hundred thousand dead. Can you imagine?”

  She couldn’t. Not really. “Thank goodness for BioGen’s universal vaccine.”

  He raised his eyebrows dubiously. “If it’s as effective as claimed.”

  “The vaccine distributed on Nati
onal Health Day will prevent millions of people from getting sick. And the Safe and Secure Act is the next step in protecting our citizens,” she said, parroting her father’s words.

  “Your faith in your father is admirable.” The senator swirled his wine. The lines bracketing his mouth deepened. “But I’m afraid I’m rather set in my ways.”

  “You don’t think the VitaliChip implant will save millions of lives?” Amelia asked. “A simple, noninvasive scan at the checkpoints into every city will easily identify contagious individuals and minimize the spread of disease.”

  “Citizens do not want their every move tracked.”

  “But bio-identification will prevent terrorists from hacking SmartFlexes and crossing state and city lines to evade capture,” Amelia argued gently. The law would require citizens to receive VitaliChip microchips implanted on the underside of the wrist. Wirelessly connected to a neural processor embedded near the base of the brain, it couldn’t be hacked or cut out without alerting authorities. The vote in congress was scheduled for mid-September, less than two weeks away.

  “The Coalition may have hands in many pots, but they still need votes to change laws. There are many citizens concerned about the potential ramifications of this bill, including myself. And President Morgan.”

  “You may wish to reconsider with whom you align yourself, Senator López,” Declan said from across the table, an edge of steel in his voice.

  Amelia flinched.

  Declan flashed a thin, flat smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “President Morgan harms our interests with his anti-security state border policy. He allows disease and dissidents to ravage our beautiful country. He’s done nothing to eliminate these so-called revolutionaries.”

  “We’re one terrorist attack or plague outbreak away from the breaking point,” Tyler Horne said, raking his hands through his styled blonde hair. He’d founded VitaliChip Technologies, one of her father’s subsidiaries and the company set to manufacture and distribute the VitaliChip once the law passed. He was in his mid-twenties, with a square jaw, cultivated stubble, and a swagger to match his enormous ego.