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

by Becky Moynihan

  I gasped as the shadows shifted, taking the shape of a tall form. Either my eyes were playing tricks on me or we were being pursued. With a tug on the reins, we veered right, away from civilization and safety. I told myself I was leading the beast to a secluded place where I could take it down and protect the village, but if I had indeed heard a human cry of pain, I was a hypocrite. A fake. I was running away again. In this moment, I hated myself and my crippling fear of beasts.

  The panic grew as I realized I was weaponless.

  Idiot!

  No way could high-heeled shoes take on a beast.

  We galloped and galloped.

  “Stop running away,” Bren’s voice whispered to my mind. “Face your fears.” Instead of gritting back anger at his reminder, I pressed my heels into Freedom’s flanks even harder. And we ran. We ran and ran until we ran out of land.

  Freedom huffed when I eventually yanked on her reins. She shook her head and nickered as her sides heaved. I could feel the power of her annoyance ripple through my body. I rubbed soothing patterns along her sweat-soaked shoulder while gathering my bearings.

  The outer wall now loomed before us.

  We changed course again and, this time, galloped alongside the thick slab of never-ending steel, giving the wall a wide berth. The power was always active and charged with so much electricity that it could stop a grown man’s heart.

  I’d seen this happen once. Five years ago, I had hid behind a bush as a man chopped down a tree. It crashed against the wall, branches draped over the very top. As soon as his boot touched the wood, he stiffened and fell, the high voltage traveling through the trunk’s sap and into his body like lightning. He was dead before he hit the ground.

  There was no escape.

  Dimming hope demanded I try, anyway.

  I searched for a hole, a flaw, anything. Like I always did. I was stupid to think I’d win all three Trials and make it out alive.

  It felt like Freedom and I had traveled the city’s perimeter for hours, scouring for a way outside the wall. I’d ceased caring if a beast was following our trail. Seeing those shadows transform into my nightmares must have been a trick of the moonlight. Or my grieving mind.

  My fingers were fused to the reins, frozen stiff. My bones creaked with every jarring step—brittle, breakable. But I wouldn’t stop. Couldn’t. This was my last hope.

  I was going to die in here, my heart and body ripped in two.

  I had always known that death might claim me before I could attain freedom, but now it felt real. I had spent so many years training for the eventuality and, now that it was finally here, the weight was too much. Too heavy and suffocating. Too final. I couldn’t breathe.

  Something in me broke then and I finally stopped my heaving mount. My legs were two icicles and I fell as I dismounted, a layer of snow softening the impact. But it still sent dull stabs of pain throughout my shivering bones. My hands sunk into the glistening white fluff, oblivious to the wet cold, and I crawled toward the wall.

  As I neared, closer than I’d ever dared before, slits in the wall’s structure allowed teasing glimpses of the outside world. A keening, primal wail rolled from my mouth and shaped into vapor.

  “Help!” I screamed. Desperate, I hunted for a sign of life beyond my prison. There must be someone out there. Someone brave enough to rescue a trapped soul. “Please, help!”

  The broken pleas tore a sob from my throat. Then another. I was an insignificant blue speck against an endless field of white. My throat was raw, my chest was raw, but my heart . . . it bled.

  “Mum,” I whimpered. “Mum, I need you. I don’t know how to—” The words hurt too much to speak. Tears dripped unnoticed into the snow.

  But no one was going to rescue me. If I ever wanted to see home again and, more importantly, my mum, I would have to save myself.

  In the fairytales, Mum always said a knight in shining armor would rescue the princess, and they’d live happily ever after. But I’d long ago given up hope of being saved. I had allowed myself a weak moment where, in my mind, Bren protected me from the beasts and let me claim the win. When that moment vanished, thoughts of death had consumed me. But I still had a chance. I could still earn Title of Choice and shock the entire city with what I truly wanted.

  And so, after I’d picked myself up last night, I decided I was done running. Bren’s words rung true. The Trials were my fate and I would face them. Life wasn’t a fairytale. The princess needed to save herself, not cower in fear.

  My newfound courage—or maybe it was just plain stupidity—urged me to do something daring. Reckless. Something I’d never done before. If I was going to fight in the Trials, I’d do so as the real me, Lune Avery—not Lune Tatum, adopted daughter of the Supreme Elite.

  “Do you have access to gold fabric, Arlyn?”

  The seamstress straightened from her bent position near my bed and nodded. She had just begun gathering supplies for my final Gala dress. The strain of threading together so many elaborate gowns while still attending her regular duties had aged her delicate face this week. Guilt niggled at me again, but I squashed it. This had to be done.

  “Tonight, I need to stand out. Make a statement. Will you help me with this?”

  The whites of her eyes grew and her fingers slightly trembled. Elites didn’t ask the lesser for help. Ever. They demanded, but never asked. And maybe that was why she nodded her assent even as fear pinched her lips.

  A single pair of eyes slid the length of me as I descended the spiral staircase, no doubt shocked at my appearance. My dress was a golden waterfall, refracting every light source that touched it. The material hugged my upper body and arms, flaring like a spray of foam when it reached my thighs. A complex knot of braids swept my hair atop my head, thin gold ribbon woven into the strands.

  But those intent eyes lingered the longest on the leather cord. My hand crept toward it until the bear tooth was hidden by my fingers. I froze, six stairs from the bottom, my decision a scraping noose around my neck. Perhaps I’d been too daring.

  Then he held out his hand, a hand I was growing accustomed to, a hand I still ached to depend upon. I knew I shouldn’t. I teetered on the edge of something. Bren was asking me to make a stand with him. I just had to reach out and grab hold. And, stars above, I did.

  Strong fingers engulfed mine, guiding me toward the floor, until inches separated us and I was looking up into eyes the color of my gown. A sense of rightness wrapped its arms around me and filled me with calming quiet. The Trials were a battle I needed to face on my own but, right now, knowing that he cared for me despite everything, this was exactly where I should be. With him.

  “I’m sorry,” Bren said. I could still see lingering pain in his sorrowful expression.

  “I’m sorry, too.”

  We didn’t have to explain. Our secrets were many, our futures uncertain, but tonight—maybe just for tonight—we could lock it all up and be a girl and boy dancing the night away.

  One step. I took one small step away from him, making for the Gala, when I knew he’d caught sight of the most scandalous part of the dress. “Lune Tatum.” He gasped, then I was being propelled around the staircase to its underbelly where a private nook shielded us from view.

  He whirled me around for a better look at my back, a small window illuminating the length of me. The dress was completely backless and exposed every scar that marred my skin. “It’s Lune Avery, actually. I’m done with pretenses and expectations. Tonight, I’m just me. The real me.”

  His reaction wasn’t what I’d presumed. I thought he’d order me to cover the scars or, at the very least, question my brash behavior. But he was silent. Except for his ragged breathing, like he’d just run a mile uphill. I peeked at him over my shoulder, curious. He looked like a man on the brink of losing control of something. A thrill zipped through me at the thought.

  Bren noticed me watching him. His eyes held mine as he said, “Lune Avery, it is a pleasure to meet the real you.” Hesitantly, he tou
ched the back of my neck and, when I didn’t pull away, his fingers lightly skimmed down the length of my spine. My eyelids drifted shut, the feeling overwhelming my ability to think. It was warm lightning under my skin. The currents exploded when his hand slid over my stomach and drew me to him. As my back met his chest, I melted, completely and utterly lost to the sensations.

  This.

  Maybe dying here would be worth it, if I could have this.

  Tinkling laughter from above broke the spell and I quickly pulled away, my legs like a newborn foal’s. A pair of elites descended the stairs and proceeded to the Gala. Bren sighed through his nose, frustrated, not hiding the fact that the interruption was unwanted.

  I had the urge to laugh. We were precariously close to breaking all sorts of rules and, instead of panicking, I struggled to contain laughter. What had gotten into me? “We should go,” I whispered, biting back an idiot grin. “We can’t miss the last night of the Gala.”

  Air puffed from his cheeks. “Yeah. Let’s go before I do something I’m not supposed to do.” I arched a brow but he just smirked, then threw me a wink. Holy stars, we needed to leave. Now.

  We entered the overflowing room together, arm in arm, my usual trepidation muted. Tonight, this city’s taint couldn’t touch me. Tonight, I was free to be me. Tomorrow held no promises and so I would live in this moment, consequences an afterthought in comparison to the challenges that awaited me.

  A day from now, I could be dead.

  Or Bren could be.

  My arm brushed his as I leaned into him, seeking comfort. He looked down at me, his smile a balm to my aching chest. Gasps, murmurs, and hissed whispers followed us across the room. My spine straightened as someone blurted, “Look at those scars!” The words whipped my back and I steeled myself against a cringe of shame.

  “Dance with me?” Bren asked. All it took was three little words and shame lifted like fog giving way to sunlight. The soft whisper became the loudest sound in the room, absorbing my attention. “And this time I won’t let anyone come between us.”

  The teasing note in his voice drew a shaky grin from me. “They couldn’t even if they tried.”

  He drew me close and twirled us. I laughed, unable to help myself. I let the room disappear. The music ebbed and flowed like a meandering brook. Wrapped in his arms, I decided right then that I’d never felt safer. Maybe I was delusional to think so, but my heart didn’t agree, as if it had found a home, at long last. The thought made my conflicted heart pump harder, and my fingers dug into his shoulder. The room spun; I felt dizzy.

  Bren must have noticed my shift in mood. He leaned in close, his breath stirring wisps of my hair. “I think we should sneak away.”

  “Oh?” My pulse jumped. His nearness wasn’t helping my equilibrium.

  “Yeah. You up for it?”

  A challenge. Of course he would extend a challenge.

  I snorted. “Do you know me at all?”

  Even though I couldn’t see them, I knew his eyes were twinkling. “Follow me.” He let go and faded from view. With a smirk, I lifted my skirt and followed.

  He led me on a wild chase: through a side door, into the bookless library, up a ladder to a secret passageway—wait, how did he know about this passage? I shrugged and continued. Would I ever learn the secrets of this mysterious boy? I trailed him down a little-used stairwell and out into the night. The brisk air slapped my face, stealing my breath. I stopped and silence greeted me.

  “Bren?”

  Arms grabbed me from behind and I squeaked, ramming my elbow into rock-hard abs. I whipped around, prepared to fight, only to find Bren doubled over with laughter.

  I rolled my eyes. “Serves you right.” I swept up a clod of snow and chucked it at his face. He ducked.

  His mouth widened into a wolfish grin. “Careful now. Don’t dish it if you can’t take it.”

  We stared each other down, neither moving a muscle. Then in a flurry of motion, snow was spraying, a large chunk sliding down my neck, and I was laughing so hard I couldn’t breathe. I backed up a step and his eyes narrowed wickedly. With a squeal, I hightailed it for the stables, as fast as heels would allow me. When I arrived, he was already there, leaning on a post just inside the double doors.

  “What in the—” I wheezed, rubbing at a stitch in my side. “How did you—? You know what? Never mind.”

  He chuckled and pushed off the post, grabbing a bridle and saddle blanket on his way toward Stalin.

  “Where are you going?” I followed, cautiously curious.

  “You mean we?” He opened the stall and offered the mammoth beast a morsel of meat. “You’ll see. Come here.”

  I rubbed at the goosebumps prickling my arms. “Um, I don’t think that’s such a good idea . . .”

  He threw the blanket over Stalin’s back then led him into the aisle, halting next to me. Without a word, he removed his suit coat and draped it over my shoulders. Still gripping the lapels, he tugged me close and dipped his head until our faces were inches apart. I was now fully awake and quickly warming as his woodsy scent surrounded me.

  I inhaled it greedily, barely restraining a groan that pushed against my lips.

  “Better?” he asked.

  “Huh?” I blinked dumbly.

  He cracked an amused smile. “You looked cold,” he said, untying his bowtie and tossing it aside.

  The gesture made my mouth twitch. “Not anymore. I mean, yeah . . . thanks.”

  His smile grew at whatever had spewed out of my mouth. “You ready?”

  I glanced at Stalin, then back at him. “Uh, no, not really. Do you see what I’m wearing? I can barely walk in it let alone straddle a charger.”

  He laughed loudly at that, probably envisioning the image I just gave him. “Come here.” He crooked a finger and I backpedaled, leery of his intentions. But my dress-clad legs were no match for his. He ate up the distance in one stride and placed both hands on my waist. I was in the air and sitting astride the monstrous animal before I could utter a protest.

  Not used to riding sidesaddle—especially without the saddle—I wriggled, seeking a somewhat secure position. “Next time warn me or I might accidentally throw a punch . . . or kick.”

  He looked up in mock terror. “Yes, ma’am.”

  I felt for the reins and grabbed hold. “Is there a reason you left off the saddle or—” He swung onto Stalin’s back before I could finish, shifting until I could feel the length of him along my side. Words fled my brain as he reached around me and plucked the reins from my limp fingers.

  “So I could do this,” he murmured into my hair.

  I suppressed a shiver. Barely.

  Bren clipped something large and bulky to his belt, a bag I hadn’t noticed because I was too busy noticing him. “What’s that?”

  “You’ll see.” His lips quirked, and I rolled my eyes. The boy of too many secrets.

  We left the stables and I squirmed, not knowing what to do with my body. His arm halted my movements as it wound around my waist, fitting me snuggly to his chest. I sighed, content to be near him and traveling away from the root of my troubles.

  One night.

  One night to be me.

  I’d make it count.

  Before I knew it, Antler Hill Village came into view, a soft yellow glow outlining its edges. Usually the village was pitch black this time of night from curfew. Finally, Bren explained, “I spoke with Asher earlier today. He mentioned the curfew was lifted one night a year in celebration of the Elite Trials. Thought we could make the celebration a bit more . . . enjoyable.” He jiggled the bag, which I now guessed was packed with food stolen from the Tatum House kitchens.

  I pressed my lips together, overwhelmed. He really was ruining everything.

  Bren led Stalin to a small open stable, and somehow supplied the beast with a sliver of meat. Did he stash it away in his pocket? I almost fell headfirst into the hay when my gown tangled up my graceless dismount, but Bren grasped my shoulders and set me upright. “S
tupid dress,” I muttered.

  “I’m rather fond of that stupid dress,” he practically purred in my ear.

  A typical blush stained my cheeks. “You can have it then.” Wait. But it was too late. Bren choked on a cough. “When I’m not wearing it, that is.” He barked a laugh this time. “You know what? Never mind. I’m going to cut it into pieces.”

  I left him behind as he cackled like a lunatic. Was it hot out here?

  The revelry was in full swing and, with the help of a violin and clapping hands, the entire Village Square was transformed into an undulating sea of dancing faces—most of them smiling. They had so little to celebrate but, for a few, this night could be the last of their misfortune. Tomorrow, a child or mother or father could win a Trial segment and change their family’s future. And so, they celebrated, even if that loved one could very well fail or die instead.

  Hope. They celebrated because of a sliver of hope.

  “Whoa,” Bren breathed next to me. I looked up in time to catch the awe in his expression. “I expected weeping and sad tales around the campfire. Not . . . this.”

  In that moment, I felt a touch of pride for these people. My people. Despite my efforts not to get close, not to get attached, these were my people—the hard workers who made up this village. “Those with less find joy in little things, Mr. Bearon.”

  He directed that awed expression my way and I plucked the heavy bag out of his hands, needing space from all that intensity. I went in search of Asher—he would never miss a chance to socialize. But I’d never been to this annual event before. Had never dared. And when several dozen heads finally turned my way, I doubted my recklessness. My heart sank as my eyes darted around. The murmurs and whispers grew in volume until the dancing and music slowed to a halt.

  I stopped, my pulse pounding out of control as hundreds of faces gaped at me. Not in awe. No. In fear. I was, after all, the Supreme Elite’s daughter. A threat to their way of life. An intruder. My throat closed.