Reactive.
I really was a monster.
A feeling hit me so hard I curled into a ball, arms tightly crossed over my galloping heart. Fear. But it wasn’t fear of the monsters lying in wait outside of my locked room. I was afraid to be alone . . . with myself. The fear closed in—moving, reaching, grasping—until a single word pulsed in my head.
Bren.
I pulled myself to a stand and felt my way to the door. This room was a cell and I had only one thought: escape from this tomb-like silence, escape from my reactive body. With a soft snick, the lock sprung open, the door after that. My bare feet carried me into the hallway and I sighed, relieved. My heart rate kicked up again but for a different reason. If someone caught me sneaking up to Bren’s room, there was no excuse I could give that would spare me the consequences.
Was I willing to risk my future for this brief moment of escape? My body was a statue, my brain firing conflicting thoughts as I stood in the chilly hallway. And then, farther down the hall, I heard a cough. The creak of bed springs. My legs whisked me in the opposite direction, toward the stairwell, before my brain could make up its mind.
What am I doing, what am I doing, what am I doing?
I slid up the stairs on silent feet, barely breathing. As I slipped past several closed doors, I waited for the inevitable moment when someone would hear my loud heartbeat and jump out with a, “Got you!” I found Bren’s door and all but flew toward it, not even pausing to knock. The door should have been locked, putting an end to this idiotic venture, but it wasn’t. I’d scold him later for his foolish oversight.
My nerves gave a sickening jolt as I closed the door behind me and swiveled toward his bed. I shouldn’t be here. I’m an idiot. He’ll think I’m crazy. But I am crazy. My feet were stuck. Maybe I was still in a waking dream.
“Are you going to stand there and stare all night?”
I about leapt out of my skin at the sound of his voice. It was amused, I think. Hopefully. “Maybe,” I murmured lamely. My arms formed a protective barrier over my chest.
“Come here.”
The invitation did funny things to my stomach. I couldn’t hold still. But I didn’t budge. “This is . . . this is a really bad idea. I should go.” Uncrossing my arms, I reached for the doorknob, and he shifted, as if preparing to spring.
“Wait,” he said, and I froze. “Is Lune Avery afraid of me? After all that we’ve been through?”
“I’m not afraid of you. I’m afraid of what this,” I explained, gesturing between us, “will do to me.”
In the dim moonlight, I could see him lean closer, resting his forearms on his thighs. “I’m afraid of what it will do to me, too. But I just want—” He cut himself off, as if realizing he’d said something he hadn’t meant to say.
“What?” I dared ask, the question barely audible over the thumping of my heart. “You just want what?”
But the moment stretched into silence, and I felt a piece of me shrivel up and die. Instead of answering, he asked, “Why are you here?”
I laughed weakly. “Because my nightmares are eating me alive, and I-I can’t—Being alone is just . . .” I shrugged, feeling a burning behind my eyes. My fingers blindly reached for the door.
“Stay?”
I paused, breath sticking in my throat. No. Yes. I shouldn’t. I should. How could such a simple word fill me with so much terror? And yet, it gave me the courage to take a step, then another, until I was looking down at his upturned face brimming with hopes and doubts and possibilities. He shifted backward and laid down, pressing his spine against the wall, leaving me plenty of room to . . .
Stars above, I was really doing this.
With my lower lip trapped between my teeth, I sank onto the mattress. And after a slight hesitation, I flipped so my back was to him. Every muscle was tightly wound as I anticipated and dreaded what he would do next. Would he do anything? Did I want him to? But the minutes ticked by and Bren lay unmoving, so quiet I wondered if he had somehow snuck out the window.
It took a while, but my muscles eventually relaxed and I drifted to sleep, comforted knowing that, even in my nightmares, he watched over me.
“Don’t touch the prickly coat. Or the mane. Or the . . .” I chuckled and slid my hand underneath Iris’s much smaller one. “Let’s just practice feeding her, okay?”
She shivered when I placed the raw meat in her palm. “Ew. Disgusting.”
“I like the taste of pig, actually. So much flavor.” I lifted both of our hands toward my wide-open mouth. Iris squealed and I barked a laugh, offering the meat instead to Freedom.
As the charger’s large teeth gingerly nibbled at the food, Iris giggled, and my heart melted. They liked each other.
“What’s her name?” Iris asked, reaching upward to touch the beast’s nose.
“Cleo—” I paused, glancing around the stables, then whispered, “Can you keep a secret?”
The girl’s eyes rounded and she bobbed her head.
“All of the chargers are given a name at birth by the Supreme Elite. But I wanted my charger to have a special name, and I’ve never told anyone else what that name is. Until now. I want you to know that I named her Freedom, because I think you are like us. I think you want the same thing we do.”
My breath hitched as I watched her process the information. I was almost certain that I was right, but I didn’t know how she would react.
Finally, she spoke, her lips quivering. “I want to see my mother again.”
My throat all but choked me as I exhaled shakily. I wiped a tear from her cheek. “Me too, Iris. Me too.”
Questions hovered in her hazel eyes, and I knew I’d answer every single one of them. She and I, we were the same. Without even asking her, I knew that Iris was from the outside, just like me. I knew that she had been kidnapped—compelled to contend in the Trials. But unlike me, she didn’t have the heart for it. Our little knife-throwing lessons wouldn’t be enough to save her.
“It’s not easy tracking you down, Mute.”
The sound of Lars’s mocking voice was salt in an open wound. My back snapped straight as I faced him. He prowled closer, peering down at Iris. I shifted in front of her. Lars grinned. “Aw, was I interrupting a touchy-feely moment?”
My gaze flicked over his shoulder, noting that he had two of his cronies with him. I searched for Catanna and my brain froze.
“Did you forget?” Lars whispered in my ear. I flinched back and he snickered. My pulse hammered. He had caught me at a weak moment. I had no comeback or ready sarcasm. My scars were on full display, and he leered. “I honestly didn’t think you had the guts to kill Catanna. Maybe I’ve underestimated you, Mute. And yet here you are, playing with your two pets. Revealing all your weaknesses.”
At that, the world quieted. I casually crossed my arms, cocking a hip. But hidden from view, my fingers curled inward, forming tight fists. “Everything makes perfect sense now, Lars. The dirt. The smell. You have a fetish for charger dung. Cleopatra here is due for a crap if you want a fresh batch.”
The two men behind him chortled, but Lars only smiled, as if my insult was endearing. He slid into my personal space and roughly grabbed my chin. Iris gasped. He brought his face close to mine and I stopped breathing. His stale breath shriveled my nose hairs.
“That wicked, wicked mouth,” he crooned.
His other hand shot around me and gripped my butt, then jerked me against him.
Even as my blood roared, my voice remained calm. “If you think my mouth is wicked, wait until I introduce you to my knee.” I thrust my arms out and knocked his hands off my body, then pegged him in the groin. I danced back and prepared to punch his ugly nose. At the last second, I changed my mind and slapped him. Hard. The cracking noise was glorious.
“Iris, run,” I said, preparing myself for the inevitable fight.
“Grab the kid,” Lars ordered his cohorts.
Time stopped.
Iris whirled, but not toward the stable’s
exit. She ripped open Freedom’s stall door and slammed it shut behind her. No! Freedom wasn’t used to strangers. Iris would be trampled, or bitten, or . . .
Oh stars.
“Get her!” Lars shouted this time, and the two men launched toward the stall. I didn’t move. I couldn’t turn my back on Lars.
One of the men reached for the door’s latch and Freedom’s chestnut head streaked toward him. He pulled back, but not fast enough. Her sharp teeth clamped down on his hand with a crunch. The man’s scream raised the hair on my arms. The other man pushed at Freedom’s neck, then her cheekbone, trying in vain to break her hold on the now gushing hand. Blood rained on the light gray floor.
I smirked. Good girl, Freedom.
The man gave up his attempts at freeing his wailing accomplice and dashed away. I wanted to crow in victory, but he swiftly returned, this time with a whip in his white-knuckled grip. He raised his arm and struck my charger across the face, a mere inch from her right eye. She shrieked and wrenched her head back, jaw loosening. The wounded man stumbled out of biting range.
As the other man lifted the whip a second time, I broke. With a battle cry, I launched onto his back, winding my legs around his waist. I wrapped his neck in a chokehold and squeezed and squeezed. The whip clacked to the cement as he clamped onto my forearms and dug his blunt fingernails into my flesh. I only squeezed harder, my muscles shaking.
Just as he wavered on the edge of consciousness, something bludgeoned my skull. My limbs slackened and I fell. I smacked the ground, air whooshing out of my lungs. Lars’s smiling face loomed over me.
“Secure her.”
My growl was a pathetic wheeze as the man I’d almost successfully choked dragged me upright and locked my arms behind me. Before I could drive my heel into his kneecap, Lars drove a fist into my ribcage. Bright stars shot across my vision as fire ignited my ribs. I grunted, still unable to breathe. My eyes darted around the stable’s interior. I needed help, but the main aisle was empty.
Most of the city was headed for Faust Night’s second evening of Trial segments. Lars should be there, not here. His Trial was today. Why was he here and why was he doing this? Was it because of Catanna?
“You know,” Lars began, and punched my cheekbone. Blood filled my mouth. “I was only going to have a little fun with you. Remind you of who’s in control.”
My boot inched backward, and Lars barked, “Help us out here.” The injured man grabbed one of my arms with his good hand and wrenched it up my spine, higher and higher until I whimpered and stopped all movement. Lars swaggered in close. “I admire all that fire in you, but I like you best this way. At my mercy.” He touched my outer thigh and my teeth clenched as I fought to hold still.
His hand moved, sliding over my hip bone, up my stomach, where it paused at my sore ribs. “What are the outsider’s weaknesses?”
The question caught me off guard and I gasped. “What?”
Lars jabbed two fingers between my ribs, right where he had punched. I cried out, curling forward as pain consumed me. “Tell me!” He dug the fingers in deeper and I screamed.
My whole body trembled and blood dribbled down my chin. I started laughing. It sounded more like crying, but either way, the noise ended the torture. Lars stepped back, eyes narrowed, as I said, “I know what your weakness is, you sniveling pig. You don’t have any balls. Not anymore.”
And with that, I whipped a leg up and pegged him in his unprotected groin, this time with my boot.
He doubled over, groaning, and I cackled like a crazy person.
“Someday,” he wheezed, “I’m going to crack that head of yours wide open and spill all your secrets.” The rage in his eyes. Stars. I was done for. He slowly straightened. “But in the meantime, this’ll have to do.”
I saw the fist coming but didn’t have time to brace. Ready or not, I was going to lose consciousness. Or worse. The blow struck my left temple, right where Catanna had carved her mark. I lost my vision, but I felt warm blood trickle into my ear and down my jaw as the stitches ripped open. I heard familiar shouts and the pounding of feet as my knees gave out.
Asher.
Bren.
Lars chuckled, close to my ear once again. “Well, I think I know what Bren’s biggest weakness is.”
As I lost touch with reality, I heard him whisper one final word.
“You.”
Beep, beep, beep.
The annoying chirp wouldn’t stop. It was relentless, beating in time with the pulse in my left temple.
I batted at the noise, but something tugged my hand back down. My eyes popped open, and I cringed at the sterile fluorescent lighting. Slowly blinking, I took in white sheets and curtains.
Did I die? Death was annoying.
The beeping wouldn’t stop. It was then that I noticed the multitude of tubes and wires attached to my body. The beeping intensified.
Ugh.
With a swipe of my hand, I detached the intrusive objects. The beep became a solid blare. I couldn’t stand the obnoxiousness a moment longer. I rolled off the bed and hit the floor. Literally hit the floor as my legs gave out. “Stars, I feel like a pile of crap.” I groaned, muscles shaking as I stood upright, or as close to upright as I could force my body.
Bruised ribs? Check. Splitting headache? Check. Possible mild concussion? I assumed that’s what the beeping was for: to monitor my vitals. Well, I had somewhere to be. Sorry, doctors, ready or not, the patient is checking out. They hadn’t removed my clothes or shoes, which made me think I hadn’t been unconscious for long. I gently probed at my left temple. My torn stitches had been repaired.
Through a slit in the curtains, I waited until the hall emptied of traffic. There was some rushing around, chatter about removing an eye, then silence. I sucked in air. Had I missed Bren’s Trial segment? I didn’t know if his was first or last. Was he injured, or . . . ? I lurched into the hall, pulling my hair down around my face. No one noticed me until it was too late.
“Miss Tatum? Lune Tatum? Wait, we haven’t—Wait!”
But I pushed through the exit door and scurried down the short hallway that connected the medical wing to Faust Night’s main amphitheater. A small part of me was ashamed at causing them worry. They might even be disciplined for losing me. And then they were the last thing on my mind as I heard the crowd chanting a name.
“Bren! Bren! Bren!”
For a moment, I felt relief that they weren’t focused on me anymore, but that meant Bren must be in the cage. And I was missing his Trial.
I sped up the ramp toward the crushing mob, my headache keeping time with Bren’s shouted name. No one saw me slip into the throng, awkwardly trying to protect my ribs from getting bumped by enthusiastic body parts. That is, until a hand squeezed my shoulder. My elbow slammed into someone’s gut before I could stop myself.
The unfortunate person coughed, wheezing out, “Lune, it’s me. By the way, your elbow is super pointy.”
I twisted around and drank in the sight of Asher’s friendly face, and almost wrapped my arms around him. But, my ribcage whimpered at the thought. I had to raise my voice over the ruckus. “Do you know how I got here?”
Even as I asked, I turned toward The Pit’s occupants. There, in the middle of the glass cage with a su-yari clutched in his hands, was Bren. He was dressed neck down in pure white, except for a blue number seventeen that was stitched onto his back. I couldn’t help but note he looked good in white. Well, better than good. His tanned face and hands practically glowed bronze, his hair like a crow’s wing.
“Bren carried you here after we chased off those guys.” Asher started laughing. “You should have seen Bren. He was like this raging beast when he confronted them, and then he went ballistic when the guards wouldn’t let him into the medical wing. Kept babbling about being your doctor or something. I said I’d look after you when you came out and that seemed to settle him down some. I knew you’d find your way out sooner than later.”
Two men, one dark as night,
the other with spiked blond hair, had Bren backed into a corner. They seemed to be teaming up. I’d never seen teamwork in the Trials before, not even when a past contender had attempted to win Title of Choice. But these Trials felt different, and I couldn’t figure out why.
The three engaged in a flurry of strikes, blocks, and kicks. I could hardly tell who was who. My eyes flew wide as the su-yari whipped in an arc, the wood shaft cracking against Spike’s skull. I knew Bren was dangerous with that stick, but stars above.
I was distracted watching his body move with deadly grace, so I didn’t notice the other contender until his heavy ax was practically an accessory in Bren’s back. Ice shot down my spine. I couldn’t help him. But he pivoted at the last second and the ax sailed past him, along with the man attached to it. The su-yari kept twisting and swept the man off his feet.
I sucked in a gasp and whipped my gaze to Asher. “Iris. Where’s Iris? Is that how you found me?”
“Oh, she’s fine. Went to stand with the other tier one contenders. And no, it wasn’t her. This serious guy with creepy blue-black eyes told us you were in trouble, actually.”
I blinked. Ryker? No way, it couldn’t be. “Did he have a dark tattoo on his neck?”
Silence. Asher’s mouth popped open as he stared, riveted, at something in The Pit. Those around us wore matching expressions. Dread ate a hole in my gut as I focused on the cage once more.
Bren was looking down at his stomach. There was a tear in his suit.
Everyone held their breath, waiting for the suit to chime. I stared at the punctured material but couldn’t see blood. Did a weapon open his skin? Still, no chime. Apparently Night, the dark-skinned ax wielder, wasn’t going to take any chances because he swiped for Bren’s neck. With a flick, the su-yari glanced off the man’s wrist and sent the ax clanging across the floor. Then Bren drove his fist into the man’s mouth.
Reactive: A Young Adult Dystopian Romance (The Elite Trials Book 1) Page 25
