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

by Becky Moynihan

  The moment lasted an eternity. Then came the sound of scuffing feet. “Excuse me. Pardon me. Lune!” The familiar sight of blond messy hair, twinkling blue eyes, and deep dimples greeted me, and I started to breathe again. “I can’t believe you came!” He laughed, completely oblivious to the tension surrounding us.

  I thrust the bag at him, my tongue a useless lump. He took it with raised brows and quickly peered inside. Whistled. “You’re an angel,” he said, a little too loudly. “Let’s share this with others. They should know who you really are, Lune.” My lips parted. Tears pricked my eyes. I was going to miss him so much.

  “It was Bren’s idea, actually,” I rasped, and cleared my throat. “He came too.” I pointed to where I’d left him. Sure enough, he was still there, watching our exchange. Holy stars, his eyes were even more intense, if that were possible.

  Asher snickered. Baffled, I met his gaze. “I think now would be a good time to dance.”

  “If you didn’t notice, I kind of crashed the party. I don’t think—”

  But he wasn’t listening. With a few whispered words, he passed the bag off to another villager. Then he yelled, “Hey, where’s the music?”

  Several people chuckled as they threw looks of adoration his way. Someone clapped their hands to an invisible beat, and soon more joined in. It was as if they were accepting me as one of them. A tear slipped down my cheek.

  “This isn’t a night for crying, Lune. This is a night for celebrating.” Asher offered me his hand, eyes alight with merriment. I held back a laugh as I shrugged off Bren’s coat and tossed it onto a nearby table. When I placed my hand in Asher’s, he all but jerked me off my feet. The dance moves were fast and frenzied as we kept pace with the tempo, twisting and twirling. My skirt flared like a child’s spinning top.

  Finally, a laugh burst out of me and I let myself go. Soon we were but two bodies in a tangle of dancers, weaving, stomping, and clapping to the music. The pins in my hair popped loose and I shook my tresses free, letting them float down my back. It hit me then: I hadn’t heard a single judgmental whisper about my scars.

  Iris joined us and I squealed. Literally squealed like a little girl. She beamed up at me and I decided my odd behavior was worth it if I could put such a large smile on her face. “You look like a princess,” she said, her hazel eyes round with wonder. And for once, I didn’t flinch at the word.

  I didn’t know how long we danced.

  Long enough for my feet to hurt. If this was to be my last night on earth, at least I had spent it as me, not the closed-off human being I had been for several years. Maybe this was a taste of what freedom should be.

  My eyes searched the shifting crowd for Bren, wondering if a village girl had pulled him in for a dance. The thought dampened my mood and I slowed. I came to an abrupt stop when I finally found him. He was still standing where I had left him, and . . . his eyes were on me. Air stalled in my lungs.

  “I did the best I could. Now it’s up to you, Lune,” Asher said, slightly winded. He and Iris watched me watching Bren, and from my peripheral, I could see they wore matching grins. What was going on? Asher nudged my shoulder with his own. “Go. You’ll never find that peace you’re always searching for if you don’t give this a chance.”

  My eyes flew to his.

  He smiled softly, dimples winking. “I see you, remember? Now go. He already left.”

  I jerked my gaze back to where Bren had been standing and, sure enough, the spot was empty. Swiftly, I dodged twirling limbs and fancy footwork as I snatched up Bren’s coat, then slung it over my shoulders. My heels slowed me down once I hit snow, but I pressed on.

  He was almost to Stalin by the time I caught up with him. “Bren!” He froze. I was completely out of breath at this point. I heaved in mouthfuls of the cold, still air. “Were you going to leave me stranded here? If you say yes, these shoes are going to magically sprout wings and smack into your face.”

  I was teasing, still hyped up on adrenaline, but when he turned around, his expression was pained. He tried to smile and failed. “No, I would never leave you in such dire straits. What kind of gentleman would do such a thing?” He meant to be funny, but the words came out flat, strained. “I just thought it would be best if I waited for you here, that’s all.”

  “Oh.” I blinked. My adrenaline nose-dived.

  His jaw muscles bunched, and he looked away. “So, you and Asher?”

  I blinked again, not comprehending. “Huh? Asher and I, what?”

  He sighed, like he was agitated, and met my confused stare. His lips thinned, and then he blurted, “You like him?”

  My brows pulled together. “He’s my best friend. Of course I do. What’s going on, Bren?”

  “Best friend,” he repeated under his breath, yanking a hand through his hair. Dark strands fell over his forehead. “And what about me?”

  My stomach flipped at the bold question. “I . . . I . . .” I was tongue-tied. And apparently struck stupid.

  I was still reeling when he reached for me. I squeaked when he lifted me onto Stalin’s back. My foot itched to give him a swift kick for startling me yet again. “Come on, we have one more stop for the night,” he said, swinging up behind me and nudging Stalin into a trot before I was fully seated. Bren secured an arm around me, but this time my back was stiff against his chest. Where were we going? Why was he acting this way?

  After several minutes of meandering southwest in complete silence, we found ourselves at the river, the full moon glinting off its surface in never-ceasing ripples. Bren flicked the reins and Stalin’s hooves dove into the frigid depths. I lurched forward with a gasp. Bren’s arm tightened, keeping me from tumbling head first from the charger. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you. I won’t let you fall.”

  I raised my feet and watched as the tips of my shoes skimmed the water’s surface. “It’s not the fall I’m worried about. I’m wondering if I head-butted you one too many times because the Bren I know wouldn’t willingly cross a freezing river. You do realize we passed a bridge a few minutes ago?”

  His chest rumbled against my back as he laughed softly. I relaxed a little. “I’ll explain when we get to the other side.”

  “You mean if?” I had an evil desire to grab the reins and create a storm of chaos, just for the fun of it. Maybe it would shake him out of this strange mood he was in.

  He growled, low and menacing. “Don’t you dare.”

  I held in laughter, but the need was strong. “If I recall,” I drew out the last word, “you failed to heed my warning when I told you not to dare, so it’s only fair that I return the favor.”

  Bren nudged Stalin into a faster clip. I snickered as we climbed the opposite bank and onto solid ground. We stopped in a small clearing near the river’s edge and Bren slid down, shoes crunching in the snow. And then he peered up at me, hands lifted as if to break my fall.

  I went still.

  His mouth tipped sardonically and he waited, a clear challenge on his face, daring me to trust him. What game was he playing at now? I almost jumped down on my own. Almost.

  But I found myself accepting his help. My hands left the blanket and rested on his shoulders and, when I leaned forward, he grasped my waist and eased me toward him until my body brushed down his. I swallowed loudly as heat pooled in my veins. When my shoes sunk into powdery snow, neither of us made a move to separate.

  Bren’s expression changed then. The lost look from earlier was gone, and in its place . . . My stomach fluttered at that look of want.

  His lips parted and my eyes gravitated to them. “You have a cruel sense of humor, little bird.”

  I didn’t know what he was talking about. Was there something funny about this moment? I swallowed again, with difficulty. “You’re the one being cruel right now.”

  Did I just say that out loud?

  He smiled, slowly. I think I just died.

  “My apologies, ma’am.”

  He dropped his hands and put space between us. I wanted to pou
t. Pout? Inwardly, I rolled my eyes at myself. To appear natural, I busied my hands with pulling Bren’s coat around me, and then resisted the urge to sniff it.

  Thank the moon and stars, thoughts can’t be heard.

  “This is where it all started, you know,” he said, sweeping an arm out. I glanced around the clearing, once more confused at the topic change. “This is where you first made me face my fear of water. This is where I first heard you laugh—a real laugh—deep and unchecked and . . . perfect. That moment, I knew I’d do just about anything to hear that perfect sound again.”

  As he spoke, I noticed the rock where I had sat to empty my boots of water after our fall into the river, the stone now buried in crusted snow. That day seemed so long ago, when my heart had been full of anger and bitterness.

  And now . . .

  He approached me again, this time from behind. I didn’t flinch, didn’t stiffen in fright like I normally would. With a shock, I realized that somewhere along the way, I had stopped reacting negatively to his presence at my back. My heart lurched. I knew he was close, warmth radiating from him like a furnace, and I leaned backward, my head connecting with his shoulder. His arm slid around me, securing me to him.

  Home, my heart purred. I couldn’t breathe.

  “You’ve changed me.” His voice rippled pleasantly against my skin. “I’m not the same person I was when I first entered this city. Your strength makes me want to be stronger—and not just for myself. For you. And so, crossing this river tonight was no big deal because I have you here with me. You give me the courage to face obstacles I would normally run from.”

  My chin quivered. I could tell he believed each and every one of those words, and I felt . . . humbled, yet empowered. I twisted in his arms, his face inches from mine. I didn’t know if I was capable of speech in this moment, but I tried anyway. For him.

  “I’m not the same either. I used to hate you, and now . . . I—I don’t know if I can do this without you. Maybe that makes me weak, but—”

  He interrupted, shaking his head. “It doesn’t. You’ve faced your fears again and again. Lune Avery, you are the bravest soul I’ve ever met. You don’t need me. If you wanted, you could tame this river or make it boil.”

  I laughed, heart swelling. But a second later, my smile faltered. “You’re wrong about one thing. I do need you. And the thought of you dying in the Trials—” My breath hitched, pulse beating frantically in my chest. What if this was our last night together? What if he never held me in his arms again? What if he—What if, after everything we’d been through, I lost him?

  With death lingering in the shadows, greedy for our blood, I pushed upward and held his head in my hands before I could talk myself out of it. “You can’t die, Brendan Bearon,” I whispered fiercely. “You just can’t.”

  His eyes swirled, reflecting the moonlight. “I won’t. I swear I won’t. Just as long as you don’t. Because if you died, I . . . I’ll never—” His voice quavered to a halt, and my heart hurt at the heaviness in his words. His nostrils flared as his gaze ran over my face, memorizing, searching. It stopped on my mouth and stayed there. “Dare me.”

  I blinked. “What?”

  His throat bobbed as he repeated, “I need you to dare me.”

  “Um. Okay. I . . . dare you?”

  “Thanks,” he breathed.

  Then his lips ever so softly touched mine.

  I froze, eyes wide. My brain short-circuited, not knowing what to do. I hadn’t even seen him bend down. The soft pressure lingered, begging me to accept, to respond. I trembled but held still, afraid that if I wrenched away then I would disappear for good. And as the warmth of his skin seeped into mine, I felt only one thing: a bone-deep ache for more.

  I let my lips move against his, kissing him back, and my eyes finally drifted shut. A breathy groan left his mouth and my insides reacted, fluttering, flipping. My fingers scraped along his jaw and entwined behind his neck. His skin was smooth, softer than silk.

  I pressed my body closer to his.

  A chill hit my back as Bren’s coat fell from my shoulders. A moment later, his palm set my lower spine ablaze, drawing me closer still. It was hard to tell where I ended and he began as he curled his body to mold against mine, and I marveled at the feeling. His other hand fisted my hair, tilting my head. Our kiss deepened.

  Fire lit every nerve ending.

  I might have whimpered as his full lips devoured mine, like a man starving. I might have attacked his lips with equal fervor, desperate to be close, closer. I might have gotten a little carried away and sucked his bottom lip into my mouth. And bit it.

  He jerked, then stilled. My heart thundered harder than it ever had before.

  Loosing a growl, he shuffled me backward until rough bark pricked my shoulder blades. The needling pain only enhanced my ache for him. I whispered his name and his body pinned me against the tree as my knees gave way. He was the only thing keeping me upright.

  I thought I couldn’t feel any more than I did now, but that was before he bit me back.

  The noise I gasped into his mouth should have embarrassed me. Should have, but didn’t. I was lighter than air, yet I knew I was drowning. And I never wanted to break the surface. When his tongue ran along the bite mark on my lower lip, soothing the slight ache, my blood ignited with a roar.

  I needed to taste him, consume him. I was burning up.

  But his lips left mine. He leaned back slightly, sucking in air.

  I felt robbed and almost whined, like a puppy denied a treat.

  His chest rose and fell sharply, working as hard as mine. I must have forgotten to breathe the last couple of minutes. I could have lasted longer . . .

  “I guess that answers my earlier question,” he panted. His forehead thunked against the tree.

  All was silent except for our loud breaths. Then I started to laugh—or maybe I was crying. So unaccustomed to these feelings, my body reacted all at once. Emotions flowed out of me in the form of tears, trickling faster and faster when I realized that, for once, they weren’t tears of pain or rage or sadness.

  Here in this prison, with a boy who should be my enemy but wasn’t, I had found real happiness.

  I expected to feel regret about last night.

  But I didn’t. I felt liberated, like I had made a decision for me, come what may. Burn the consequences. Reckless thoughts, but I couldn’t stop myself from thinking them. Maybe I had truly snapped this time.

  I had slept remarkably well, all things considered. Maybe the fact that I’d used Bren’s pilfered coat as a pillow had something to do with it. His scent had wrapped me in a cocoon, staving off the usual nightmares. He would never see that coat again.

  Today was the beginning of the end. The start of something I had waited eleven torturous years for.

  The Elite Trials.

  Blood would spill this day. Lives would be lost.

  Maybe my own. I was finally ready to face that all-too-real possibility, but my mouth still went dry at the thought.

  The Trials were split up into four days—Rasa Rowe on the first, Faust Night on the second and third because of its many contenders, and Arcus Point on the fourth. There were only two segments, each consisting of seven contenders, on this bitter cold day. I could barely feel my toes or my nose; my fists were jammed into my armpits for warmth. A lock of hair tickled my cheek but I left it there, too cold to care.

  Many years ago, I had dared to ask Renold why he’d created the Elite Trials to take place in the winter. Thinking the question impertinent, he had whipped me. But while doing so, he explained that the contender’s and even the audience’s comfort was irrelevant. One of the Trial goals was strength, and overcoming the elements was the ultimate test of a person’s endurance.

  The path to greatness required pain.

  Fourteen lives were about to change today, for better or worse. Mostly for worse. My Trial wasn’t until later this afternoon, but my nerves were currently firing on all cylinders as I waited for B
ren’s Trial to start. It was then I felt rather than saw a presence materialize a little behind and to the right of me. I should be safe here, surrounded by thousands of onlookers, but a well-placed knife stab to the ribs in the middle of a crowd would cause just as much damage as one delivered in an isolated stretch of woods.

  I searched for the source of my unease and locked my sights on steely blue trapped in rings of shifting black. Ryker. I inwardly shuddered. His watchful eyes never failed to unnerve me.

  My brows lifted, and I peeked at his striking tattoo before I could stop myself. Finally, his neck was at the right angle for me to clearly see the design: a black crescent moon with three slashes through it, like claw marks. Ominous, but strangely beautiful. My tone was flat as I said, “Am I in your way?”

  He settled his frame at the railing next to me and I locked my knees, refusing to broaden the gap between us despite my instincts screaming at me to do so. With a grunt, he replied, “Not at the moment. But when we’re on that track, keep your distance.”

  “We?” My brows became soaring eagles above my head.

  He huffed softly, but it was loud with annoyance. “Your shortsightedness will get you killed someday. First rule of survival: always know who your enemy is. Second rule: know where they eat, breathe, and sleep. You’d know that I’m contending in this Trial if you paid attention to detail.”

  My jaw hit the concrete slab beneath my boots. Was he for real? I could feel the snark sliding out, thick and decadent, reserved for the extra dim-witted. “And what’s the third rule? Know what your enemy’s favorite dessert is and stick a razor blade in it? Wait, that might not be subtle enough. Maybe glass? Poison?”

  Ryker was facing me fully now, looking for all the world like I had given him the gravest of insults, worse than a spit to the face. I stared back, waiting for a response in mock expectancy. He snorted and a muscle in his jaw feathered. “I don’t know how you survived this long with a forked tongue like that.”

  I laughed, but there was nothing funny about this moment. “I compensate for it in other ways. And I do pay attention to detail. A fork would make a great weapon.”