Bloom: A Dark Romance (The Order, 1)

by Nikki Rae

  “A Vulture got his claws into me.”

  Why would he say that? Show me the evidence of such a thing? Was it just something he said to make me believe he was just as out of control of his life as I was? But then if he was on my side, why had he continued to treat me as a slave when no one was looking? No, it didn’t make sense. Especially now that I knew what he had been planning to do with me. It was just another sleight of hand he and men like him used to trick my eyes. And fuck him, it had worked.

  For a second I thought he could have been hurt by the same people who had hurt me my entire life. For a second, I had believed there was more to him than what he allowed me to see. I saw past Master Lyon. For a brief moment in time, he was simply Elliot. Someone who had learned to stomach the situation into which he was born the best way he could. The same as me. That was the reason I’d let him touch me last night. No matter how much I told myself the reasons were selfish, for my own steps towards freedom and nothing else, I couldn’t convince myself that I hadn’t wanted it. That deep down I hadn’t wanted it to end. That I liked being close to this man and unfolding him like the tightly closed petals of one of his plants.

  I physically shook my head as more tears threatened to form behind my eyes. Well, that was all over now. No matter how genuine he’d made me believe his actions were, now a light shone down on them, exposing this man for who he really was: just like the rest of them. He was no better than a Vulture himself.

  We had made it to a small clearing surrounded by dense brush at around midday. The sun was high in the sky now and warmed my chilled nose as cold breath left my lungs in a fog. It wasn’t nearly as cold as the first time I’d been outside, and the warmth the sun provided definitely helped, but the small worry of when it got dark was beginning to creep in. I wished I’d brought some matches for at least a small fire but then again I didn’t need any other signs pointing to where I was.

  Fuck.

  The tracker.

  My hand flew up to my chest where the little mound of machinery lay. I’d almost forgotten about it with all the new information in my head. I searched through my bag for the letter opener and once it was in my hands, I tested its sharpness.

  It was pretty dull, but it would definitely do a better job than the paperclips and I didn’t have any other options. I contemplated climbing off the horse, but I decided against it, too nervous that once my feet made contact with the ground it would abandon me. So there I sat, on top of this thing that was as tall as me, digging a dull blade into my chest. I didn’t expect it to hurt more than it had when the last one was removed, but it was somehow worse. I knew it couldn’t be anywhere near my heart; that it was only under the first few layers of tissue—just enough to make things difficult. If I was careful and didn’t go too deep, I could avoid the risk of bleeding out. But then there was infection to worry about, and I was in the middle of the wilderness.

  My blood trickled down my chest, soaking into the shirt and onto the leather of the saddle. I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from crying out or screaming. I had to keep reminding myself to breathe so I wouldn’t pass out. When I thought the wound was deep enough, I took a breath and dug my finger into it, almost immediately finding the bit of metal that could have blown my escape.

  The pain was the most intense when I wrenched it from my body, but once it was out I felt lighter, and I could tell it was only partially due to the stress, blood loss, and fatigue. I wanted to take my time studying the thing but forced myself to throw it as deep into the trees in the opposite direction as I could. Then I set to work ripping off the excess fabric from my shirt and wrapping it around my shoulder and chest to staunch the bleeding.

  I wiped my hands on the stolen jeans when I was done and ate half a protein bar despite the fact that I wasn’t hungry. I knew whenever the endorphins I had created waned, I needed to avoid going into shock.

  It was thick, chewy, and oddly bitter, but I choked it down and willed myself to drink only a few sips of water to get rid of the artificial sugar taste coating my tongue.

  As soon as I was finished, I focused on putting more distance between me and the tracker. There were many things I wished I’d had time to grab before I fled: matches, more water, a better weapon, and above all else, I found myself regretting not being able to swipe something that could tell me the time. There was no way of knowing how many minutes or hours had passed besides the sun, and already it had tricked me into thinking it was later. Every time the clouds rolled in and made things darker, I was convinced it was getting towards nightfall and I needed to figure out if or where I would sleep. Then inevitably, the clouds would part and the bright winter’s day returned.

  It was a long time later when the horse began to act out again, refusing to go any faster when he slowed down and he wouldn’t respond to my prodding as he had before. I glanced around and could see nothing that could have spooked him and there wasn’t a source of food or water that would make him want to stop either. Still, he wouldn’t budge. When we finally did, it was in the opposite direction of where we had been headed and he wouldn’t stop. I jerked his mane and kicked harder as he sped up, but it was as if I wasn’t even there. I had to duck to avoid low hanging branches and wrap my arms around his neck for fear of flying off. He moved faster than he had before, and it began to make me sick and terrified. My heart pounded in my ears and I had to close my eyes to protect them from the biting cold wind.

  When I opened them, we were in a different clearing—not shady anymore, the sun brighter than I’d seen in a while. The stream trickled water and the grass was high. It was too close to where I’d thrown the tracker. In less than a few minutes, we were back to where I had been trying to get away from.

  Then, suddenly, the horse finally slowed down and began to graze as if nothing had happened.

  “Stupid animal.” But there was no threat in my voice. I didn’t have the strength to try. I didn’t want to linger here, so close to where I could be discovered, but the horse was as stubborn as its owner, refusing to give in to my demands until he was done doing whatever he wanted. Out of sugar, I was tempted to pull out one of the apples from my bag when he perked his head up, ears twitching as if searching for a sound.

  In the silence of the trees, straining to hear what he did, I finally caught something faint. At first I thought it was just the breeze creating the whistling, low and drawn out. Then it changed to three high pitched, short chirps. It was too tinny to be a bird and I’d never heard wind make such a sound, so that only left one explanation: someone was making it.

  Before I could panic, the horse was off again, racing through the trees faster than before. I tried my hardest to make him slow or stop, the fresh wound aching, legs burning with the effort of kicking it, but he wouldn’t listen.

  When it was becoming clearer and clearer that we were not only heading in the wrong direction, but back towards the estate—and who was most likely blowing the whistle—I had no other choice.

  I had to untangle my feet from the stirrups and jump.

  Instead of checking my surroundings and hesitating, I took a deep breath, tucked my body into itself as tightly as I could, and leaped.

  The hood of the jacket cushioned my fall enough so when I hit the ground I didn’t black out, but I still managed to scrape my face on a large rock. I spent some time staying completely still, in a daze and at the same time making sure the horse was moving towards its owner and not me before I moved.

  The steady thud of the earth beneath my ear grew farther and farther away, assuring me of this. However, when I tried to sit up I saw stars and a pain so sharp hit me that it kicked me right back into the dirt. It constricted my chest, making my already labored breathing more difficult.

  So I couldn’t sit up just yet. Maybe I needed a few more minutes to collect myself. I lay on my back and waited for the pain to subside, watching the branches of the trees sway above as the sun glinted through any cracks between their leaves. My heart was racing hard and fa
st, the only thing I heard for a long time. My eyes shut on their own and I concentrated on the sound. It was a steady, fast beat that told me I was alive. I’d done this before, when I first ran away. As I lay in the clean white sheets in that cramped room of my saviors. As I felt the beat of my heart in the wounds all over my legs, when the pain was unbearable. Boom, boom, boom; I’m free, I’m free, I’m free.

  I would be able to get up. I would be free again.

  SEVENTEEN

  It seemed as if I had only blinked when I opened my eyes again, but that couldn’t be right. The sky above me had darkened and this time there were no clouds blocking the sun. Had I passed out after all? Fallen asleep?

  My chest felt tight and when I pressed my palm to it, I felt that I was bleeding again—or had I stopped in the first place? Could that be why I was so tired? Why it was hard to move and my head was pounding so hard?

  No. It wasn’t my head. Although it hurt, I could tell the sound wasn’t coming from me. This was something unrelated to any injuries I’d incurred. It was familiar, too. Steady, drumming thumps against the ground.

  Hooves.

  The horse was coming back. But why? He’d run off just to return? No, there was something else. My head was so foggy and I was having a hard time putting together everything. Then it hit me all at once: the whistle, the owner of the horse…and me.

  No. This would not happen.

  Not again.

  I managed to roll over so I could get to my knees, but again the pain shot through my torso, white hot and sharp, and I was on my belly in no time. I’d have to crawl. I glanced around frantically, searching for somewhere to hide; there was no way I could lose him any other way. To my right, beyond the clearing, there was a small depression between two fallen logs. I could slip into it if I could make it.

  I didn’t get the chance.

  The hoof beats had stopped, replaced by steady, sure footsteps, boots breaking through the brush and branches. No. I had to try. I dug my hands into the ground, dragging myself forward. Something in my right shoulder popped, sending a vibrating wave of pain down my elbow, through my wrist and fingers. My arm gave out completely and I was too shocked to scream. I tried to continue with my good arm, but it sent a shattering fire through my chest and cut off my oxygen.

  I hadn’t realized how close the footsteps had gotten until I heard him kneeling beside me. My fingers curled in the mud, useless but still needing to do something.

  He didn’t touch me. I couldn’t see him since my eyes were fixed forward, refusing to shift anywhere else. I could tell he was close though. I could feel his presence looming over my back like a shadow cast by some ominous fairytale villain.

  Then I heard him sigh. “Tu es fini?” Are you quite done?

  Tears threatened to spill over as I spotted my bag, my good hand digging into it like it was an accident, but my fingers wrapped around the letter opener.

  Just in time for him to move me.

  He flipped me onto my back, and at first I couldn’t see anything but the sky, the trees above, intermittent black spots appearing before my eyes. Then I saw his chest, jacket nowhere to be seen and only in a deep blue shirt. The neckline was in the faint shape of a V. It would be easy to plunge the pilfered weapon into his chest—especially with the new rage boiling within me. Without thinking, I struck, squeezing my eyes shut so I wouldn’t have to look.

  It was futile; as useless as a butterfly flapping its wings into his face. No more than an annoyance he could easily bat away.

  “That’s enough, Doe.” It was no more than a whisper. When I opened my eyes, he was staring directly at me, my wrists captured in his large hands. “You’re making everything worse the more you move.” He was on top of me, thighs on either side of my waist.

  My breathing was so labored and strained I was practically wheezing. I bucked beneath him, trying to use my legs, but they were too heavy and he had too much control over me already.

  “Enough,” he repeated, some of his hair flying loose in the breeze and into his eyes. If it weren’t for his slightly disheveled appearance, his calm, even tone would have fooled me. “You tried, Doe.” His features softened as if he was upset that I hadn’t succeeded. “You failed. Accept it now and be still so you don’t hurt yourself more.”

  My hands shook as I tried to get free of his grip, but even if I wasn’t so weakened, I wouldn’t have been able to fight him off. Too easily, my body went limp. All he air left my lungs in a puff of smoke and my head sank into the damp earth. I had lost. I had almost escaped and I’d failed. Just like last time. Only now, instead of going back to the Compound, I was being returned to the jaws of the dragon. I was quite literally back to where I had started.

  His hands loosened around my wrists. “Are you going to be still?”

  My lack of an answer seemed to be enough. I didn’t think I could speak right now if I tried. He shifted his weight until he was sitting beside me and I heard him sigh again. This time, it sounded more exhausted than annoyed.

  “You’ve made quite a mess,” he murmured, unzipping my coat and exposing my bleeding chest underneath. “Onyx is better trained than you.”

  I wasn’t sure if he was speaking to himself or trying to get me to lash out at his words. Too bad he was too late. All of my fire had disintegrated to ash, extinguished.

  “I don’t suppose you can sit up,” he said.

  From the corner of my eye, I saw him pull something from his back pocket. The same high-pitched whistle filled the air; one long note followed by three shorter ones in the same tone. After a moment, I heard the clomping of hooves heading back in our direction.

  How could I be so stupid? He had trained the thing to respond to a fucking whistle. It was something I hadn’t thought possible—it hadn’t been in any of the books on riding he’d given me—and maybe I would have if I hadn’t been so hasty. If I had planned more. I could have bided my time. I could have let him teach me about the horse and most likely learn about this trick had I been patient. Now there was no choice. I had ruined everything.

  “Keep your hands at your sides and don’t move.” His tone was still soft, not even out of breath from our struggle, but the command was undeniably sharp. He placed my arms on either side of me as he stood. I heard him take a few steps away.

  My chest and shoulder had begun to hurt so badly that I was starting to feel sick. I laughed quietly. Maybe I could vomit and choke on it. That would be a suitable way for a girl like me to die. Then I wouldn’t have to worry about this man or any other. All I’d have were the dirt and the insects to contend with, which wasn’t far from where I was now, but at least it would be quiet. No worrying about a future I would never have. No wondering what would happen or who would hurt me next or how.

  I gingerly lifted my hand to my aching chest. It was soaked. I couldn’t tell if it was sweat or blood.

  He’d come back, hand once again around my wrist, tighter, more threatening than before. Now his face was in my direct line of sight, and my neck hurt too much to turn away. His eyes were the most intense I’d seen them and I couldn’t tell which emotion they were trying to convey; disappointment, confusion, pride, concern. I saw them all there in the matter of an instant.

  “What did I say?” he scolded as he set my arm back down at my side.

  Then his face was gone and he was kneeling beside me—I could faintly feel his knee pressed into my thigh. He had something with him. Something he unzipped and went into.

  “You’re lucky I have a posture collar.”

  I couldn’t believe his amusement at what he probably thought would be my embarrassment and shame. My failure. If I wasn’t positive that it would fall back on me in this position, I’d spit in his face. I truly had nothing left to lose. Nothing a beating or any other form of punishment could deter me from.

  He came closer again, leaning over me. He didn’t speak as he lifted my head, placed the back of the thick, stiff leather underneath my neck and then set my head back onto the gr
ound. Fire raced through my skull, down my throat, and echoed down into my right shoulder and ribcage.

  He clasped something that sounded like some sort of buckles in the front, under my chin. I could see the muscles in his jaw working as he contemplated what he should do next.

  “It’s going to be a long, painful ride back for you,” he said, and I couldn’t tell if he was teasing or stating a fact. Then without another word, his arms were underneath me, lifting my limp, useless body and sending shards of glass throughout it.

  I must have made some pathetic sound—I couldn’t hear over my own pulse. I could only feel it irritating my already raw vocal cords. I couldn’t see much because I was dizzy and his shoulder blocked most of my view, but the tall dark horse was hard to miss.

  He paused as soon as we were close, most likely thinking of how he would get us both onto its back.

  “Can you hold onto the saddle with your good arm?” he asked.

  Good arm. So one of them was so damaged that he could tell already. I figured my good one was the left; the one that hurt the least. He positioned me so my hand was near the saddle and I gripped it as hard as I could. Everything in me told me to disobey, to refuse, but he would get me onto the horse regardless. It would be less painful this way, so I would do it. The motion sent an aching vibration through my arm, but I had a good hold. Then he slung my body over the horse’s back like I was nothing more than a sack of seeds, knocking all of the oxygen from my lungs. This time, I heard myself cry out a strangled, raw sound I didn’t think I was capable of producing. I could feel him climb on behind me, not wasting any time to let me catch my breath before he picked me up and leaned me backwards so I was leaning against his chest, arms on either side of me as his hands rested on the mane of his well-trained horse.