Reactive: A Young Adult Dystopian Romance (The Elite Trials Book 1)

by Becky Moynihan

  My wrist throbbed but I refused to rub at the ache in front of everyone. Instead, I focused on the quivering child at my feet, slowly crouching before her. She was bent in half, knees clasped to her chest, probably wishing she could melt into the ground.

  My heart pinched in pity for her. For the loss of precious innocence.

  “Hey,” I said, softening my voice like I did with Freedom. “He’s gone. You’re safe now. Bullies like that should be whipped, don’t you agree? I would do the honors in a heartbeat, if I could. Right in front of everyone.” I kept my voice light, but I meant every single word. Imagining his howls as I cracked the whip encouraged my lips into a smirk.

  Her head lifted a few inches, until I caught a glimpse of large hazel eyes. My breath hitched. Green hazel eyes. Like mine. She was about ten years old and strikingly similar to how I probably looked at that age.

  So that’s why Lars had targeted her. His words made a semblance of sense now. He did this because of me. Because she looked like me. But why? What had I ever done to him? A frown dragged my lips downward. “What’s your name?”

  She hesitated, uncertainty written on her little face.

  I relaxed the tense lines around my eyes and mouth, hoping I appeared friendly.

  “Iris.”

  I almost missed the whispered word. “Iris? That’s a beautiful name. I’m Lune.” I felt a heavy presence standing behind us and gestured at him. “This is Bren. And don’t let his size fool you. His giant ego made him that big.”

  He laughed and knelt next to me, dwarfing the small girl. Iris’s eyes rounded in fear. I couldn’t blame her. His size was intimidating.

  But his voice was soothing, sweet, as he said, “Is this girl bothering you?” He flicked a thumb my direction, flashing a wink at me. My eyes narrowed.

  She shook her head rapidly, as if afraid he’d haul me away. He could try . . .

  “Oh good. Deep down . . . deep, deep down, Lune is nice. If you can see past the looks she gives you, like she just finished sucking on a lemon—Ow!” My elbow in his ribs cut him off.

  Our antics coaxed a giggle from Iris and, despite the onlookers, I smiled in return. “Come on, Iris, we’ll walk you to your trainer, okay?” I held out a hand, waiting for her to decide. I knew this move would draw a line. A line that said, She’s with me now. Mess with her and you mess with me. But would this doom her to more hazings or save her from them? Only time would tell.

  She placed her thin fingers on mine and we rose together, hand-in-hand. The top of her head didn’t even reach my shoulders.

  The crowd lingered, as if witnessing the most fascinating thing they’d ever seen. Maybe it was. Not often did people help each other in this city, and they certainly had never seen me help someone. No one here knew of my nocturnal visits to Antler Hill Village. I stared them down as I raised my voice, saying, “Get back to training!”

  Surprisingly, they scattered like ants. A weight eased off my chest and I sighed. Wincing, I carefully rotated my injured wrist now that prying eyes were gone.

  I almost loosed an embarrassing squeal when a loud voice spoke beside me. “Miss Tatum, have you been avoiding me?” I faced the Elite Instructor, the thirty-year-old, well-built blond who had whipped me into peak shape for the last two years. Iris’s hand was still tucked in mine, and I nudged her behind me, then released her fingers.

  Even though I had earned top rank and permission to enter this year’s Trials, Drake Stonewood made it his mission to remind me every time we crossed paths that I was still not good enough. To him, his students were a waste of breath until they proved themselves. Of what, I wasn’t sure.

  He gave Bren a once over, his eyebrows twitching as he evaluated the fresh target. I stifled a chortle when I realized Drake couldn’t touch him. He was mine. Mentally cringing at my brain’s choice of words, I scolded myself. My student. He was my student.

  I cleared my throat, but Drake continued talking before I could make up a lame excuse. “So, this is the outsider.” His onyx earring winked dully in the waning light as his eyes swung my way once more. He crossed thick arms over his chest. “Did you win a Trial and earn a title while I wasn’t looking, trainer?” His upper lip rose in a sneer as he derided, “Must be nice to have the Supreme Elite as your father.”

  No more could I stop my fists from clenching than my teeth from grinding. The daughter treatment. I was sick to death of people thinking Renold gave me special favors. If they only knew the truth of the matter.

  And then his lips curved almost gleefully. My stomach bottomed out. I knew that look. I’d rather have him yell at me. “This is perfect, actually. I’ve been meaning to do a special demonstration and you’ll be my assistant.” Abruptly, he turned on his heel and barked over his shoulder, “Follow me. And bring your student.”

  Not good, not good, not good.

  I hurried to keep pace, briefly expressing with my eyes for Iris to stay put and Bren to follow. I felt him at my back, a living, breathing shield. Again, his presence wasn’t altogether unwanted, and that confused me. My brain was on the fritz these days.

  I focused on Drake’s wide, boulder-like shoulders plowing through the field’s obstacles. Nothing and no one dared stand in his way. We reached the center of the massive field where a lone Smart Bot stood head-and-shoulders above us all, peering down as if it found us lacking. The synthetic legs were bolted to a wide platform—the Platform of Endurance. The trainees called it the Spotlight of Humiliation.

  We had all set foot on its lofty perch.

  And been knocked down.

  Drake hopped onto the platform and wrapped a hand around the robot’s neck. “Trainees! Listen up!” his rough voice bellowed. All noise ceased—over two hundred pairs of eyes swiveled to the Elite Instructor. “If you haven’t heard, we have a new trainer. And not just any trainer. She’s still in training while instructing her very own student. They’re both contracted to contend in the Trials this year! How’s that for irony?”

  He laughed, and a few trainees hesitantly joined him. Then his eyes locked onto mine and he motioned me forward. A tremor began in my knees and worked its way up my legs, my stomach and chest, and into my arms. My hands formed tight fists around the trembling. I clamped down on the shivers that threatened to clack my teeth together.

  My stiff legs carried me up the stairs and onto the platform’s thick plywood and rubber surface. The sea of faces staring up at me were ravenous wolves, hungry for my bones. Drake clapped a meaty hand onto my shoulder, jarring me out of my stupor. My spine went ramrod straight and I felt his fingers dig into my flesh, anchoring me in place.

  Drake was speaking again and I tuned in. “I believe the Trial’s newest trainer doesn’t need an introduction, though. After all, this is a small city. Only one Supreme Elite whose daughter left the comforts of Tatum House for the Trials. And contend she will! I gave her the tier five rating. But . . .”

  My heart missed a beat. I knew how this would end. He was building me up, high and unscalable as a mountain, so that he could rip me into such minuscule pieces, no one would ever look up to me again. That was his way. No one was higher than him. No one stole his command—especially a trainee. Because he and I both knew that’s what I was, no matter what Renold said.

  At last, he dropped the ax. “But she still needs to prove herself worthy of a trainer status, wouldn’t you all agree?” I heard several shouts of affirmation. “We will put her to the test. See if she can learn a new fighting technique. Because she can’t teach if she doesn’t learn, right?”

  The crowd was all-out cheering now, worked into a frothing frenzy. Without looking, I knew their eyes were picking me apart, thirsty for blood. My blood. If it wasn’t for Drake’s fingers painfully wedged against my collarbone, I would have wilted on the spot, making a fool of myself before the real fun even began.

  “Lower the Smart Bot,” Drake murmured. He must have an earbud communicator in. The floor beneath my boots vibrated as a trapdoor opened, swallowing th
e robot whole. Solid floor snapped into place, smooth like the rest of the platform.

  My stomach twisted into jumbled knots, and a wave of nausea raced up my throat. I swallowed the sea of saliva filling my mouth. I thought he would pit me against the robot. Its motion-detector chip was state-of-the-art. Unbeatable. Most who fought it were sent rolling off the platform in under a minute. I could endure that shame. After all, every trainee did. But no, he had something else in store for me. Something even worse.

  My gaze left the rubber floor and fixed on Drake. He was grinning at me—had never stopped. “Up for the challenge?” He knew I wouldn’t back down.

  “Always,” I breathed, rotating my neck and shaking out my hands. Whatever he threw at me, I would be ready.

  He raised his voice above the crowd’s eager chatter. “Watch closely, students. Up to this point, we’ve taught you martial arts. But today, you will witness something different. It’s fast, efficient—and make no mistake—it’s brutal. But when you want your opponent on the ground as quickly as possible, this is the way to do it.” My pulse fluttered like a bird’s wings when he spread his arms wide and roared, “I introduce you to street fighting!”

  I’d never heard of it, and neither had the other trainees, but that didn’t stop the hoots and cat-calls, the stomps and whistles.

  I was so screwed.

  Drake was pacing now, clearly basking in all the attention. “Before I begin the demonstration, here are the rules for this technique.” Everyone hushed at that, ready to absorb the lesson. “The rule is this: there are no rules! Fight dirty. Hit the soft spots and hit them hard!”

  Pandemonium broke out. Hundreds of voices rose as one; the terrible sound of approval sunk deep into my bones.

  “Let’s begin!”

  I blinked, wholly unprepared when he came at me like a windstorm. His fist pounded into my exposed ribcage. “Uhh!” Air rushed from my lungs in one giant gust. My spine curled forward to protect my ribs only to be met with a sharp elbow strike. The blow connected between my shoulder blades and I hit the platform with a thwack.

  Pain lanced up and down my spine, shooting into my skull in patches of hot, blinding light. But I wasn’t broken. Never broken.

  I made my move. Twisting my hips, I brought my legs up and jabbed both heels into the soft backs of his knees. He crashed down next to me. I rolled to my feet at the same time he did and we exchanged blows. His fist pummeled my stomach while I punched his throat.

  Drake choked, neck tendons bulging as his face turned red, more from fury than lack of oxygen. Oh crap. He swung for my left temple and I ducked, then lashed a leg out. My boot struck his sternum. He staggered. With a bellow, he rushed me. Too sudden. Too unexpected. I went airborne as his body rammed into mine, then crushed me to the platform.

  Before I could fight my way free, he flipped me over, my stomach now pressed to the rubber. Then, he grabbed my left arm and wrenched it backward. My shoulder joint screamed in agony.

  My vocal chords joined in as I lay face-down, helpless, about to endure my bone being ripped from its socket. Push past the pain. You are not . . . you are not weak! Tears leaked from my eyes, blurring my vision, but I managed to lift my head an inch. To do what, I didn’t know. Ask for help? There wasn’t any. Just a haze of unfriendly faces.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I focused on a flurry of movement. Several trainees were struggling, holding someone in place. They were having a rough time of it, too, as legs and arms jerked and thrashed.

  Pain consumed me then, a searing wave. I squeezed my eyes shut, desperate for the misery to end. This time when Drake’s fist connected with my temple, the blow defused the scorching heat.

  Darkness took me.

  It was the gentle swaying that registered first, the motion smooth, effortless.

  My head rocked against something firm, unrelenting. The oddly warm surface thumped rhythmically. Or was that the pounding drums in my skull?

  My eyelids wouldn’t open. They were so heavy.

  The rest of me felt . . . strange. Twin bands wrapped around my back and legs, holding me aloft.

  I’d been knocked unconscious before, but this . . . this had never happened. Why did I feel secure?

  With a slight shifting of my body, pain returned. Roaring agony, all sharp teeth and jagged edges, stole my breath. A pathetic-sounding whimper came out of me.

  “Lune?” The deep voice hummed in my ear that was pressed against . . . a chest? “I’ve got you. You’re safe now. You’ll be okay.”

  Just like that, the questions disappeared. My mind latched onto the one word it needed to hear: safe. And, despite my confused state and the fact that my body was forcing me back to sleep, I knew it to be true.

  I was safe.

  This time when I awoke, my taste buds flared to life first.

  Acid coated my tongue. I rolled it around in my mouth, stirring up spit to clear away the nasty flavor. Even that small action caused pain. There was an incessant beat in my temple. More like the pounding of a sledge hammer. I grimaced at the sensation, but that only made it worse.

  A groan slid past my clenched teeth.

  Something shifted not far from me and I froze, listening. Silence. I pried my lids apart and blinked away the fuzzy haze. Black. All was black. At the realization, it was as if a hand pressed on my sternum with extreme force. Did I lose my eyesight? My eyes moved everywhere at once, looking, searching . . . for anything.

  There!

  An even darker shape materialized within the blackness and I knew all wasn’t lost. Alarm sizzled in my veins as the shape grew larger, heading for my prostrate form. Out of a deeply ingrained instinct, my hand slid under the pillow beneath me and grasped a hidden knife. When the long shadow reached for me, I grabbed hold and yanked it closer, revealing vaguely familiar features. The knife plunged toward the face of—

  “Bren!” I gasped. The suspended knife shook in my grip. I released the weapon and Bren. The sound of steel meeting concrete rang through the small room. My room. Wait . . . How did I get here?

  I was panting now, the movements sharp and painful. My ribs hurt. My brain whirred awake, finally, and I picked through my most recent memories. Drake. The platform. Street fighting. My smackdown.

  Gingerly, I probed at the sore spot on my left temple. A raised lump greeted my fingers. Another groan left me.

  Bren responded with soft laughter. “She awakens. I expected disorientation, but a knife? I’ll remember that for next time.”

  I couldn’t make out his expression. He didn’t sound mad. “Why is it so dark?”

  “Oh, sorry. I didn’t notice.” With a faint snick, he turned on the lamp at my bedside table. How had he not noticed?

  Weak yellow light bathed one side of his face, leaving the other in mysterious shadow. It was fitting, really. It’s how I saw him—a mixture of the two. His irises were a deep amber as they watched me studying him. All of a sudden, I was overcome with nerves. My fingers picked at the scratchy wool blanket wrapped around me. I had so many questions.

  “How—” I cleared my parched throat. “How did I get here?”

  “I carried you.” He sat on the floor beside my bed, forearms resting on knees, like he planned on settling in for a spell. That made me even more nervous than the thought of him carrying me. So, I had heard his heart thumping against my ear then.

  I inhaled sharply. “And no one stopped you?” Why wasn’t I in the infirmary? And how did he carry me so far? I wasn’t exactly skin and bones. My body was encased in lean muscle.

  He grunted. “They tried. But a few black eyes later and they let me take you. Drake walked away as soon as you passed out. Didn’t even call for a doctor.”

  My heart was racing now. Not at the mention of Drake’s callous treatment—that was normal. But at the hazy memory of a lone figure fighting against the crowd. “I-I saw you. Before . . . before I lost consciousness.” Why did I admit that? Stupid. So stupid.

  His eyes saddened. “I’m sorry
I couldn’t save you from that. It was barbaric.” His hands curled into tight fists and a flash of anger made his irises glow. “Is that how he usually trains his students?”

  I laughed humorlessly. “No. Usually he lets the Smart Bot humiliate us if he’s displeased. Which is often. But I . . . I didn’t earn my trainer status. He doesn’t believe in handouts or shortcuts.”

  “So, he reminded you and everyone else where you belong?”

  “Pretty much.”

  Abruptly, he rose to his feet and I flinched, then winced at the resulting ache in my head.

  “Here, drink this.” He placed a clay cup in my hand. I looked up at him in question. He tapped his temple. “For your head. No one would give me pain meds, but this tea will help with the headache.”

  I was struck speechless. He cared about my headache? How many countless headaches had I endured because no one cared? Because the pain wasn’t enough to warrant medication?

  My fingers trembled as I lifted the cup to my lips. The dark liquid could be poison for all I knew, but I doubted it. After all, he had carried me for over a mile when he could have just dumped my body into the lagoon. I took a sip. Immediately, my gag reflex kicked in. I almost spewed the contents across the room but managed to down the pungent stuff, not quite masking a grimace as I swallowed.

  “Yuck!” I stuck my tongue out and scrubbed at it with a shirt sleeve. “Wha ith tha?”

  The grin he gave me was pure evil. “Willow bark tea. It’s a natural pain reliever.”

  “It’s natural all right. Like drinking dirt, natural.” I glowered at the cup and made to set it on my nightstand.

  “Nah-uh.” He grabbed the cup, his fingers curling around mine. I didn’t know whether to gape or glare. I glared. His brows quirked. He was obviously hiding his amusement at the situation. “Don’t give me that look. Finish the yucky tea, little bird.”

  “Pushy, bossy doctor,” I grumbled, but did as I was told. He looked way too pleased with himself. “Why do you keep calling me that? ‘Little bird.’”

  He dragged a hand through his hair while looking at the ceiling. My gaze wandered to his throat, at the pronounced tendons. His eyes fixed onto mine and a terrible rush of heat crossed my face. I really needed to stop ogling him.