Birthright

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

The party down below seemed to be in full swing. Kray could hear more guests arriving and greeting their friends and family, their voices jubilant. He trudged after Alex as she headed for the stairway, tugging on his tie, which felt more like a noose than ever. He debated slipping outside again for some fresh air. This place, for all of its immaculate grandness, felt restrictive, like its walls were tightening around him with every passing hour.

It was the opposite of the openness of the Wasteland. There, the Sanser prisoners had slaved in the burning sunlight or frigid cold as they scoured cities for valuables, stealing precious moments of protection from the elements within crumbling buildings. But most of them, including Kray, had slept in makeshift tents in designated zones. The other option was to venture beyond these zones, where there was less supervision. Most didn't dare. Where they were no Metas, there were opportunistic Sanser gangs that targeted their own kind.

The ding of the personal elevator drew Kray from his thoughts. Up ahead of him by the stairway landing, Alex came to a sudden stop. She was still a good twenty feet in front of him, but he didn't mistake the way her body coiled up like a spring, the tension that seemed to etch itself into every square inch of her skin.

Curious, Kray looked past her to the two people leaving the elevator. He immediately recognized one of them. Mrs. Drasse. Alexandra's brother. And the man in the wheelchair—that had to be her older brother, Michael. Kray had never seen him before and would never have recognized him in any other context. There was no resemblance between Alex and the emaciated, shriveled person in the wheelchair.

He was quite the sight. Horrifying to look at, in fact. Bony wrists peeked from the cuffs of his ill-fitting expensive black suit. His face was gaunt, his eyes a watery gold color in their hollow, shadowed eye sockets. His thin and sparse hair, the same shade as their mother's light-brown locks, had been brushed adequately to cover the bald spots. And then there was his skin. Mottled with bruises that reminded Kray of overripe fruit, some of them the size of grapes and others as big as his fist.

Kray had seen this before, in photos at least. It was what happened to some humans when they were injected with the enhancer that turned them into Metas. The synthetic mix of Sen and other chemicals sometimes attacked the human host. Michael Drasse would have died a long time ago if it weren't for the drugs and intravenous medicine they pumped into his body every day. Not that this was a better alternative to dying. To live all of one's life stuck in a hospital bed, fighting every single moment just to breathe until the next . . . what a pitiful existence.

"Alex." Mrs. Drasse smiled warmly at her daughter and gave her a tight embrace, which Alex returned half-heartedly. "I was wondering where you were." She gripped her daughter's face between her hands, peering closely. "You're a little pale. Are you taking care of yourself?"

"I'm fine, Mom," Alex said, pulling back. "If you're looking for dad, he's in the conference room with the generals."

The mother's expression became tight. "All of them?"

"Yes."

She looked between the two siblings, who still hadn't addressed each other. Michael studied Alex with a crooked smile twisting his chapped lips. He finally said, "My darling sister. You look so grown-up in that beautiful dress. Like a warrior and a woman all at once."

"It's good to see you, Michael," Alex said in a stiff tone.

"Is it?" He tilts his head to the side, assessing her. "Well, that's a relief. And here I was wondering why you hadn't visited me in seven months."

Mrs. Drasse laid a hand on her son's thin shoulder. "Be more understanding, honey. Alex's new duties as a Meta-in-training are daunting. She barely has time to feed herself."