Reactive: A Young Adult Dystopian Romance (The Elite Trials Book 1)
Page 14
“Loyalty.” My voice was tight as my body jerked. Another dart of fire ripped through my neck and my spine arched in agony. My mouth opened but no sound came out—yet my insides railed against the mistreatment. This wasn’t the first time he’d stuck needles in me, but he was being extra vicious about it this time.
“Correct.” He sounded pleased, but then a third needle pierced through tissue and scraped bone. Black spots marred my vision and nausea rolled heavy in my gut. Push past the pain. You are not weak. My lips trembled uncontrollably. “The trouble is, I don’t know if I can trust you. I don’t know if you have the good of your family at the forefront of your mind, and that won’t do at all. No, not at all.”
I was panting now, fast and shallow, the motions sending white hot agony through my skull and down my spine. Ever so slowly, he applied pressure to the needles still jammed into my neck. Air hissed through my clenched teeth. Then Renold whispered in my ear, “Can I trust you, daughter? Can. I. Trust. You?”
“Y-y-yes, s-sir,” I stuttered through chattering teeth.
“Good.” He unceremoniously yanked the objects from my flesh and pocketed them. My whole body slumped a fraction, but I refused to fall at his feet. “I need you, Lune. And now is not the time to go soft on me, not when your Trials are so near. Someday, maybe sooner than you think, you will reap the benefits of your loyalty. Your success in these Trials is paramount. Do not fail me. If you do, our past meetings will seem like child’s play.”
The threat was delivered with casual flippancy as he faced me yet again. But in his eyes was a deep well of warning and promised pain should I fail. If he only knew what I was planning once I earned Title of Choice.
My head bobbed submissively.
I thought he was finished, but his next words felt like needles sinking into my flesh all over again. “One thing you should know about members of the Recruiter Clan. They are loyal to me and only me. I have a mutually beneficial relationship with them and they believe in my cause. Maybe someday I’ll reveal to you what that cause is if you prove yourself loyal to a fault. In the meantime . . .”
He flicked a hand in dismissal. Before I could close the door behind me, I heard him say, “I have eyes and ears everywhere, Lune. You’d do well to remember that.”
I couldn’t feel my body. Shock had made me blessedly numb. But Renold’s words played over and over in my head until I thought my brain would burst. Somehow, I found my way to the stables and into Freedom’s stall. She nosed me, searching for meat. I was empty-handed. Still, as if sensing my desperate need for her, she allowed me to wrap weary arms around her neck. I barely felt her prickly hair poke my skin.
A groan fled from the depths of my bruised and cracking heart. Tears poured from my eyes and I let them, my strength depleted. “I need to get out of here, Freedom,” I whispered in her ear. “I think I’m finally breaking.”
I think you’re leaving something out.
The statement was stuck on repeat in my head. What did Renold know? Was someone watching me, whispering words into his ear? As I approached Bren and Stalin at the Rasa Rowe training track, the questions stirred a growing paranoia inside me. Most everyone would jump at the chance of being the Supreme Elite’s eyes and ears. The payoff would be worth any form of betrayal. Desperate people did desperate things.
I was screwed.
I would not live long enough to contend in the Trials, let alone win.
The odds were stacked against me and steadily growing. It was only a matter of time before Renold pulled out his last playing card and turned the tables on me, rendering me useless.
“Where’ve you been, little bird?” Bren’s touch on my elbow jump-started my senses, dispelling the numbness. I whipped around and put space between us. His forehead creased upon seeing my eyes, no doubt puffy and red-rimmed. “What’s wrong?”
The idea that had been niggling at me finally burrowed into my brain.
And the realization hurt more than I cared to admit, like someone was squeezing my heart. I almost took off without explanation, too emotional for words, but I needed to know. I needed to hear him say it out loud. My voice crackled with barely restrained fury. “It’s you, isn’t it? You’re spying on me, reporting my activities.”
His face turned waxen. “What?”
I scoffed. “You’re not a very good liar, Mr. Bearon. I just need to know one thing. Did you speak with Renold yesterday?”
For once, his eyes betrayed him, giving the answer before his mouth could. But I stayed, long enough to hear him say, “Yes.”
I hated being right.
The desire to punch him was strong, but the urge to flee was a riptide in my veins. In a flash, I was on Freedom’s back and maneuvering around the track’s outer edge. Right before I loosened my grip on the reins, Bren shouted my name. It was a plea. I never wanted to hear that voice again. Freedom shot down the road with my heels goading her sides, and I let her go free.
She chose her own path without hesitation, something I would probably never be able to do.
Landmarks blurred as we flew at a reckless clip, but there was no stopping us. Adrenaline spread through my bloodstream, a heady dose of power, and I reveled in it. It made me feel alive in a world that craved my demise. In moments like this, I controlled my fate—not them. If I chose to put myself in danger, it was my choice—not theirs.
And so, we charged over the rural landscape dotted with hills and valleys, streams, rocks, and dead leaves. Greens, golds, and fiery reds dipped and swirled around us until, abruptly, a swath of blue cut across our path. We plowed into the river, Freedom’s legs leaping over the swells and kicking up chunks of water. The cold couldn’t reach me. I was impervious to its bite.
For several minutes, we rode hard, both of us heaving in lungfuls of sharp air. Trickles of thought returned and I batted them away, only for them to nag me in full force.
I have eyes and ears everywhere.
With a pained gasp, I jerked on the reins. Freedom squealed at the unexpected command, flailing her front hooves as her hind legs skid in the loose soil. I was off her back and stumbling toward a scraggly bush before she could come to a complete halt. The nausea was too strong; there was no help for it. My stomach clenched and throat burned as my breakfast gushed from my body. I shook, groaning as cramps and tears had their way with me.
Weak. I was so weak.
I hated it.
That weight sat on my chest again, the one that was becoming all too familiar. I threw my head back and screamed. Screamed and screamed, the noise startling a flock of blackbirds. They flapped into the sky as I expelled my pain. But not just physical pain. Emotional. The hurt and anger from betrayal and threats was more painful than any broken bone or stab wound. The scars, the damage. They were soul deep.
My knees failed me and I crashed to the ground. I welcomed the bark of pain, but the distraction didn’t last.
He betrayed me. He betrayed me. He betrayed me.
The truth was a continuous loop inside my head. Invisible talons clutched my raw throat; I clawed jagged fingernails down the vulnerable skin of my neck. Bren was Renold’s eyes and ears. It made perfect sense, really. He was from the Recruiter Clan. They did Renold’s bidding. He’d traded his outside job for an inside job. I should have known better.
But I had become weak.
He had fooled me with his warm, honey-gold eyes and innocent smile.
Again.
I was so stupid.
They are loyal to me and only me.
So, I really was alone. He didn’t have my back. It was all a ruse to gain my trust and loyalty when he had no plans to give me his in return. I dry-heaved, gut contorting to dislodge any and all contents. But I was empty. Utterly empty.
My stomach was a mess. I skipped lunch.
Despite my newfound determination to cut Brendan Bearon from my life, I couldn’t. He was a dogged shadow, practically attached to my hip, and there was nothing I could do about it. But I didn’t have to make
things easy for him.
When I reached the Faust Night training field, he was throwing knives with Iris. My blood simmered at the sight; my hands formed fists as I strode toward them. Would he use her against me in his desire to get close to Renold? Who knew what tricks he had up his sleeve. But I wouldn’t take it lying down, not like I had been for the last couple of weeks. No. I would fight him every step of the way.
Starting now.
He saw me approaching, a ready smile on his face, but I spoke before he could. “Meet me at the northwest corner of the field with your preferred weapon. We’re sparring. Now.” I took off without waiting for a reply, and he followed me, ever the shadow. He shortened his strides, remaining a few feet behind me. Every hair on my body stood on end, hyper-aware of his presence.
Having him at my back was no longer a comfort. It was torment.
I slammed open the doors to the armory and made a beeline for my daggers. Before I could reach the wall of steel, a dark form blocked my path. I changed course only to be blocked again. My teeth ground together. “Move out of my way, Bren.”
“Not until you talk to me.” His voice was low and quiet, but his body spoke otherwise. Muscles were tightly coiled, ready for action. Good. I was itching for a fight. My feet pivoted and, when he mirrored the motion, I struck. He jumped aside, barely avoiding a knee to the groin. Next time, his crown jewels wouldn’t be so lucky. Their days were numbered.
I resumed my trek toward the weapons wall but only managed a single step before steel bands wrapped around me from behind, pinning my arms to my sides. I roared and pushed off the ground, tucking both knees close to my chest. Under the extra weight, his arms crept higher and higher, until they were within biting range.
And I did just that.
I dropped my chin; my teeth sunk into skin and muscle. I was out for blood. As the tang of warm copper coated my taste buds, Bren let out a feral growl and hurled me to the floor. With my arms trapped at my sides, I couldn’t brace. I detached my teeth from his arm and squeezed my eyes shut. Then my world twisted. Air still whooshed out of my lungs as Bren reversed our positions, taking the brunt of the fall.
In his vulnerable position, I tried to head butt his face but hit rock-solid shoulder instead. I yelled and thrashed for all of two seconds before I was unceremoniously flipped onto my stomach, face smushed against frigid tile. His superior weight pinned me to the floor.
But that didn’t stop me from cursing him. A slew of words ejected from my mouth, strung together in nonsensical phrases. I went on and on; the fire in my blood waved and cracked like a whip. And then I stopped. Sealed my lips shut. Focused on my breathing. Great gusts sawed in and out of my flared nostrils.
Bren shifted so his own harsh breaths thundered in my ear. “I swear, if you ever bite me again, I will bite you back,” he growled.
I was so done with threats. “I demand you get off me. Right. Now.”
His answering sigh was heavy; his whole body deflated. Still, I was trapped. “I’ve decided something, little bird. From now on, when you run away, I’m going to tackle you to the ground and sit on you until you talk to me. Running doesn’t solve problems. Stay and face them, no matter how painful.”
A shudder racked me. I couldn’t face the pain. It would crush me, body and soul. For a full minute, I laid quietly, then whispered, “Let me up.”
The brokenness in my voice was unmistakable. He immediately untangled his body from mine. I felt detached from my limbs as I dragged myself upright. My weary eyes took in his taut frame—blood leaked from an oval-shaped bite on his right forearm. He deserved it. That and so much more.
“Lune . . . talk to me.”
There was that plea again. Why? What would talking do? He would just use me. Lie to me.
I shook my head and folded my arms across my chest.
He sighed, exasperated. “Are you mad at me?”
My head gave a curt nod before I could stop myself.
“Does it have to do with your father?”
My neck muscles strained against the action, but my head moved up and down again. Stop answering his questions! I screamed internally. But it was like a force greater than myself controlled my body now.
“Are you . . . jealous that he spent time with me the other day?”
I almost lost it. My heart-rate spiked and my lips twisted in a sneer as I speared him through the gut with my eyes.
“Okay, okay. You’re not jealous. That’s good.” He heaved a sigh and scrubbed his hands down his face. And then something clicked, like he found the missing puzzle piece. His eyes all but glowed at whatever conclusion he had come to. He spoke in hushed tones, almost too low for me to catch. But I heard every single painful word. “You’re afraid. Something happened with your father and it scared the crap out of you. Is that it?”
Carefully, I met his impassioned gaze and shook my head, then retreated a step. Wrong move. His eyes gobbled up my reaction and before I could blink, he strode toward me, saying, “Yes, that’s it.” I swiftly yanked up a hand and slapped my palm to his chest. He pressed against my fingers but came no closer. His breathing was erratic; I could feel his heart thundering.
I didn’t know what to make of his reaction. Was it all an act? I couldn’t take any more of this. Trust was impossible with him and I needed to face that fact. Bren was right: the problem wouldn’t go away just because I ran from it. It was time for me to acknowledge and accept what stood between us—the thing that would never go away, no matter how much I secretly wished it to.
He and I, we were doomed from the start. Two beings on different sides, fighting for the same thing. And yet, we weren’t. What he wanted was different than what I wanted. How could we care for each other if we were fated enemies?
I finally spoke, each word like broken glass in my throat. “Stop. Just stop. I see you clearly now. I know why you’re here and what Renold has asked you to do. So, you can stop pretending, Bren. Don’t act like you care about me when I am nothing more than a means to an end. And I certainly don’t care about you.”
The anguished look on his face was unbearable. Why wouldn’t he stop? Was this some kind of psychological warfare? Because it was working. In a rush, I finished with, “I will continue my duties to you as your trainer, nothing more. Meet me on the field.”
I whirled and retrieved my daggers, unable to witness his crestfallen expression a moment longer. He was destroying my mind. A deep growl was the only warning I got before Bren grabbed my shoulders from behind. No way. I’m not doing this again. And this time, he made a grave mistake: I had steel in my grasp. But I completely froze when one of his hands brushed my braid aside. Then panicked when he sharply inhaled. “What happened to your neck?”
I jerked away and covered the evidence of abuse. Shame burned my cheeks. He shouldn’t have been able to see the marks. Renold had been sloppy. “It’s nothing.” Even I didn’t believe my words.
He squeezed his eyes shut, dug fingers into his hair and pulled. With a groan, he murmured, “Num acquired me tu es, paulo avis. Non possum resisters dolorem in te videre.” When he finished expelling the strange words, I slowly blinked. Just one more mystery. One more secret.
His eyes opened, and the storm within was devastating. He studied me, and I let him. I would not waver. His face fell. “You’re not going to let me help you.”
It wasn’t a question.
As I made my way across the room, his parting words clung to me, like shadows. They were shackles around my feet. “I’m not giving up on you, Lune. You’re worth fighting for.”
Over the next month, I trained Bren as hard as Drake had trained me. No quarter. No mercy. Sunrise to sunset. He didn’t complain, except when I made him train extra hours after dinner. In the dark. In the water.
“Suck it up, pansy. Do you think the Trials discriminate fears? No, they exploit them. Get in the lagoon.”
“You’re the devil,” Bren muttered. But he obeyed, muscles bunching as he waded toward me.
He shook his head, jaw muscles flexing. He was angry. My lips curled. Good. An angry Bren was far better than a funny Bren. Or a sad Bren. Our gazes briefly connected, long enough for me to see the half-moon smudges under his eyes and the fine new crease between his brows. I quickly looked away and focused on his hands as they clenched and unclenched.
I bent my knees. Water swished at my thighs as I prepared for our spar. “We’re going to keep doing this until you forget you’re in water. Until your fear is just a pesky fly in your mind’s eye. Until you willingly jump in on your own and start to doggy paddle.”
He brought his fists up, his shoulders still too tense. “And what about your fears? Shouldn’t we work on decoding them? Because I, for one, am still in the dark.”
I bared my teeth as I snarled, “Stop stalling, Mr. Bearon. You know very well that I’m not here to ease your curiosity. Now get over yourself and fight me.”
“You know, you’re not very fun anymore. You’re like a cantankerous old spinster, shriveled and bitter. Like one of those sour green apples.” He threw a fist at my jaw and I jerked backward. He really was mad. I leered. Perfect.
“I can be a sour apple if I want. I like green apples. All apples.” I sprang and his eyes widened as I went for his legs. For some reason this move always worked. My shoulder rammed his stomach; my arms wrapped around his thighs. And he toppled backward with a resounding splash. We submerged in the freezing water but I barely felt it. Rage burned me up from the inside out.
Bren flailed, digging his fingers into my shoulders. He wrenched me off him, then banded his arms behind my back, locking me to his chest. We breached the surface and I gasped. Eyes wild, I glared into his equally tumultuous gaze.
“Let go of me, Bren. This isn’t sparring,” I growled as I struggled against him. His arms only tightened more.