Alliance: The Complete Series (A Dystopian YA Box Set Books 1-5): Dystopian Sci Fi Thriller

by Inna Hardison

  “Don’t,” Loren finally whispered, not hiding from him.

  He dropped his eyes, not wanting to see any more pain on his face.

  “I can’t go back on the oath I took. I could have lied to you to keep you…. I knew you’d leave me for this, knew it when I saw you look at me the way you did when I was holding Riley,” he whispered and looked at him again.

  And he felt the hurt in him, the ache at losing someone. He put his head on his chest, listening to his frantic heartbeat, and shut his eyes. He felt Loren’s fingers in his hair after a while and he let him. He felt drained, exhausted from all the sadness in him.

  “I’ve no more right to ask you to do something you can’t do than you do of me. If you truly can’t … I won’t fight you on it, I swear, but you need to at least let me walk you home,” Loren asked after too long of this silence between them.

  He stepped back from him and nodded.

  They walked the five blocks to the little house Brody found for him, Loren not saying a word to him, but keeping his hand on his arm, squeezing gently, and then he let go. They stopped at the small gate to the still neglected front garden, Loren not following him, looking at him, waiting for him to finally say it. But he couldn’t do it yet. He took him by the hand and walked him into the house, leaving him in the small living room, and ran into the kitchen.

  He found a bottle of plum wine Laurel made him, dragon wine, he called it now, and two small, old-fashioned glasses and brought that over, poured each of them a glass, Loren watching him, surprise in the sad eyes.

  “Drink with me, Loren.” He handed him the glass of the syrupy, purple liquid, only Loren shook his head at him.

  “I’d rather be sober for this,” he said quietly and took a step to him.

  Brandon drained his glass and poured himself another one, draining it just as quickly, and lifted his eyes to him. “Alright,” he finally said. “I don’t know how to do this with you. Never thought I’d be with someone again, and I was okay with it…. What I said to you earlier, I didn’t say it to hurt you. I watched Keran die, watched him get shot full of holes and die bleeding right in front of me, and there wasn’t a thing I could do about any of it. I couldn’t even hold him as he died. What I’m saying is I can’t ever do that again. I would have rather you lied to me before…. So here we are. I can’t stay with you, and I don’t have the courage to tell you to go.” He dropped his eyes, embarrassed.

  “Look at me, if you can,” Loren asked.

  He did, the man’s face so close to his, he could feel the heat of him.

  He held his breath, afraid he would touch him or kiss him and knowing that he wouldn’t be able to let him go then; that he’d be too weak to do it.

  “It’s all right. You don’t need to say it”—Loren stepped away from him—“maybe someday when all of this is over, we can let ourselves again. I’m sorry I couldn’t lie to you.” He dipped his head and then abruptly turned and went to the door.

  Brandon shut his eyes, not wanting to watch him leave, but he couldn’t block the sound of his measured steps through the house and a barely audible click of the door being pushed into place from the outside. He wished he would slam it hard enough to shatter the old, wood frame. Wished he would run, so that he knew he, too, was hurting; that he, too, felt the rage at leaving him. And he wished, more than anything, that he would come back and throw his arms around him, and tell him that it didn’t matter about the stupid oath, didn’t matter about any of it.

  He heard Loren open the latch to the gate, every muscle in him wanting to bolt after him. He heard the gate close with barely a clang behind him and he couldn’t help himself, he ran after him, screaming his name through the darkness, struggling with the damn latch, and then just jumping over the bloody gate, Loren still walking away, straight-backed, graceful, ignoring him. He ran out in front of him and put his hands up, stopping him, looking at the face he knew so well, not trusting himself to touch him for all the hurt on it.

  He dropped to his knees without thinking, looking up at him, not hiding anything.

  Loren was breathing hard, his whole body tense, and he wanted to comfort him, take away some of the hurt, but he didn’t have all the words yet.

  “Don’t, Brandon. Get up,” Loren said harshly and took a step to him, offering his hand. He looked angry or maybe embarrassed, his face turning colors.

  He couldn’t do that, not yet, not until he said what he needed to say to him, so he shook his head, keeping his hands in tightly coiled fists at his sides, Loren watching him. He forced himself to keep his eyes on him and finally let the words tumble out of him: “I can’t promise you that I won’t fight to keep you from dying, but I can’t do this… I can’t let you go. I’m sorry I hurt you….” He dropped his eyes, clenching his teeth to keep from crying, not finding the right words.

  He felt Loren’s arms around him, lifting him, holding him steady, and he knew he’d fall if he let him go, could feel it. Loren must have sensed it. He gripped him hard by the shoulders and took him back into the house, and then pushed him into the old, ugly chair. He heard him rummaging through the cupboards, making an awful lot of noise with the stove and the dishes. He sat still, not closing his eyes to keep the room from spinning, regretting the two glasses of dragon wine he downed.

  He saw a blurry form of Loren walk towards him, looking shaky for some reason, and then he remembered it was him who made everything shaky and looked down, embarrassed. Loren handed him a steaming mug of something that smelled of smoke and fire and he drank it without fighting him, feeling his head clearing bit by bit, enough to recall everything he’d said to him, enough to remember the hurt on him, and the anger and pity on his face when he ran after him, kneeling in front of him, begging…. He set the empty mug down on the floor with a clank and stood up, Loren steadying him, but he was all right to stand now.

  He glanced at him quickly and averted his eyes, and Loren let go of his arm. “I have no right to make you stay like this. I won’t run after you again, is what I’m saying. I am all right now, I swear. Forgive me, if I embarrassed you,” he said quickly, quietly, without looking at him, walked to the window and wrapped his fingers around the windowsill. He didn’t hear Loren move, but he didn’t trust himself to look at him, so he stayed as he was.

  Loren let him be for a long time, long enough for the waiting to get to him.

  He spun around, Loren standing just a few steps away from him, watching him, his eyes tired, serious. “I need to know if you’re sober now,” Loren asked in his clipped soldier voice.

  He felt he was, so he nodded, forcing himself to keep his eyes on him.

  “I can’t go through what we just went through again. I won’t come out whole from it, and I don’t think you will either. I want to throw my arms around you instead of what we are doing now… but I can’t, don’t trust myself to. I need to know if we are okay or not, you and I,” he asked very quietly.

  He took the few steps to him, Loren breathing like it was hurting him to be this close to him. He put his hand on his chest feeling him go still, but he didn’t move, letting him, and he could tell for sure he was hurting him by how his face was. He dropped his hand then, looked him straight in the eyes, and whispered, “I want us to be okay. I want that more than anything in the world if you’ll let me.” And he lowered his eyes, more afraid of what he’d do or say than he ever remembered being with this man, with anybody.

  He felt the heat of him before he ever felt his hands on him, stroking his face ever so gently, the way he did it the first time he ever touched him, the first time he ran from him…. “Let’s never talk about this again,” he asked, looking up at him, watching his face relax little by little.

  “All right,” Loren said, and then smiled at him strangely, “I’ll take that wine now if you can tolerate my company for the night. I don’t trust you not to disappear on me yet.” He sat calmly at the table, poured both of them a glass, and drained his as if it were water. Brandon watched him drin
k, not getting any drunker for it, but his face was flushed after a while, and his hands weren’t in fists anymore. He didn’t want to drink any more tonight, didn’t need to. He let Loren finish the bottle and took him by the arm into a spare room he had set up for him a week ago, in case he ever stayed over, only he never did.

  Loren looked at him, surprised. “I won’t do anything but hug you, but I’d rather not sleep alone tonight.”

  He didn’t want to sleep alone tonight either, but he didn’t trust himself not to touch him, and it felt wrong to do it after what they just went through. But he walked him to his room, not finding the courage to say ‘no’ to him.

  He undressed down to his boxers and lay on his back, pulling the blanket quickly over himself, feeling afraid and not a little embarrassed of the way his body was betraying him. He couldn’t quiet his breathing for the life of him, and he had to curl his hands into fists to keep them from shaking as he waited for Loren to get in and turn the light off.

  Loren smiled at him, and finally climbed in, wearing everything but his socks and shoes, flicked the light off, and without asking, threw his arm around his naked shoulders, ignoring the shaking he was doing, and pressed him close, not moving a muscle after that, keeping his word.

  He woke up to the smell of freshly brewed coffee and soap. Loren was sitting on the edge of the bed, wearing nothing but a towel around his waist, smelling of soap, a mug of coffee in his hand.

  Loren pointed at another mug on the bedside table and watched him take the first few sips in silence. “I am sorry for making you uncomfortable last night. When we finally do spend the night together, it’ll have to be without all the guilt, or the liquor and with the lights on. I won’t touch you if you are ashamed to let me see you,” he said quietly, his face serious.

  He blushed, couldn’t help himself, set his coffee down, and without thinking, threw the blanket off, keeping his eyes on Loren’s. He was breathing hard, but he couldn’t help that.

  Loren shook his head, not looking at anything but his face. “I’m not going anywhere, I swear to you I’m not. I am okay with not ever touching you beyond what we’ve done if that’s how it goes for us…. I know how hard it is to let anyone see you as damaged, only I never did think that of you,” he said softly.

  He reached over and took Loren’s hand in his and without letting himself unthink it pressed it over his chest, over the ugly burn marks that were there, looking into Loren’s eyes and suddenly seeing fear in them. “I’m okay with it, I truly am,” he whispered, and leaned back, keeping himself as still as he could. Loren still looked afraid, so he let his hand go and he felt his fingers brush over his skin then, feather-soft, barely touching him, and after a while, he didn’t think he would die from this touch.

  He closed his eyes, letting himself enjoy the feel of this boy’s hands on him, and suddenly, he felt his lips on his chest, and he didn’t flinch when he did that. It didn’t hurt now, just made him feel warm everywhere he touched, not burning like it did the first time when Keran did it, but soft kind of warm, the way the sun in late afternoon caressed the skin without burning it. He opened his eyes, surprised, and Loren was smiling at him, looking much younger than he did last night, younger than he ever looked to him before.

  “Not damaged, Brandon. Remember that,” he said softly and got up, leaving him be.

  Loren was fully dressed when he finally came out into the kitchen, face serious again.

  “Brody pinged me a minute ago. Ams woke up,” and he could see the sadness in his eyes, could tell there was something else, something he wasn’t telling him. “She lost the baby,” Loren said in a small whisper and turned away from him.

  4

  Unbroken

  Selena, August 27, 2244, Reston.

  The woman wouldn’t talk to anybody, not even to Riley or Ella, and she felt for this slight young woman with strange gray eyes. She asked her for her name the first time she was with her when she was awake and hasn’t said a word to her after that. She watched over her whenever Ella asked her to, and she knew enough by now to give her her meds on time or to give her something to help her sleep if she seemed to need it, but she wished there was something else she could do for her, something that would take the sadness away.

  The woman opened her eyes and looked at her for a brief moment and then closed them again, tears running down from the corners in streams. She talked to her every day, telling her things about Telan and Lancer and everything else that happened here that she knew before they got her back. She never said anything or asked anything, just lay there, with her eyes shut, and she could tell she wasn’t asleep when she was like that. She’d told her everything she knew by now, so she stayed silent, hoping Riley or Ella would come in, and maybe they could do better with her, get her to want to get up or eat or say something, anything but this awake but not quite alive thing she was doing.

  She’d brushed her hair earlier when she was asleep, and she looked at it now, all shiny, coppery streaks catching in the light. She was pretty. Not in the way Laurel was pretty, but the kind of pretty one didn’t notice right away. She saw the few freckles on her cheeks and a few tiny lines at the corners of her mouth, and she could tell she would still be pretty when she was older, that it wouldn’t change her the way it changed the mistress at the orphanage or anybody else she knew who was old.

  “Did they execute him yet?” the woman asked suddenly, and it so surprised her that she spoke to her at all, she had to stupidly repeat the question. “Eryn, did they execute him yet, or is he still here?”

  “He is still here, at the council building,” she said softly.

  “I want to see him. Tell them that. I want to see him, as soon as they can make it happen. I don’t care if they bring him here under guard or take me there,” the woman said sharply.

  She got up and ran out of the room, looking for Ella or Riley or somebody, only nobody was in the Med wing that she knew. She asked one of the older nurses to please sit with her while she was gone, and ran to Riley’s.

  He didn’t say a word while she talked, looking at her in that patient way he had, nodding. “All right. Let’s go get him then,” he said quietly, and she followed him to the council building. He left her outside while he went in to get this Eryn, and his face was different when he came back out, tense.

  She saw a guard push a young, light-haired man forward, his hands tied behind his back. His long hair fell into his eyes, covering most of his face, and he looked thin, the way little orphan kids looked when they didn’t have enough food for a month or more. He smiled at her when he saw her, the guard jabbing at his back with a gun for it.

  She stayed outside the room when they all went in, only Riley and the guard came out after just a few seconds, the guard closing the door quietly behind him. She knew the man was the one who did this to her, who almost killed her and who killed the baby she had in her, and she couldn’t, for the life of her, think of why she’d want to see him, not ever. Riley didn’t say a word, but he seemed lost in his thoughts, his hands clasped so tightly, his knuckles were white.

  “Why did she want to see him?” she finally couldn’t help but ask.

  He looked at her and sighed. “The baby was his. I think she needed to tell him that he killed it after all…. What he did to her,” and he shook his head, looking down, “it’s not something people get over. She wants to get back at him in the only way she knows how, I think, and we have to let her.” She didn’t know what to say to that, couldn’t imagine what she would do to somebody who did that to her.

  Riley looked at her after a while and told her softly to go catch a few hours away from this place and she was grateful for that.

  Telan would be in the training room with Brody, but she didn’t care. She desperately needed to talk to him or if she couldn’t do that, hug him, and have him tell her it would all be all right for her, that she didn’t need to carry everybody’s brokenness in her the way she did. She needed to hear that from him now, even if sh
e never quite took it to heart. He saw her before anyone else did, and he excused himself, Brody letting him go without a word, nodding to her. They ran to the woods, the way they always did as if by an old habit, not trusting buildings not to have ears.

  She slid down a birch and he sat in front of her, not saying a word, waiting in that old, patient way he had, Riley way. She told him about Ams, and how she was, and the baby, and that she demanded to see the man who almost killed her and then about Riley telling her that it was his baby he killed, and she sobbed then, couldn’t help it. Telan reached over and hugged her and she let him, staying close to him, crying into his chest, not feeling the least bit embarrassed about it.

  “What if this place does it to you, Telan? Drake and Ella don’t have any little ones, Laurel and Brody either…. What if nobody here trusts it enough to have kids, because when they do, they lose them?” she whispered at him, looking into his much-too-serious eyes.

  Telan stood and turned away from her. “Are you running again?”

  She didn’t mean that— not when she said it. She put her hand on his shoulder and he faced her, head down, but eyes on hers. “I wouldn’t run without you and I know that you can’t, so no, I am not running, but it’s not that… I don’t know if I trust it enough, this place. I go to sleep sometimes and I think that when I wake up this whole city won’t be here anymore, and you and I and a few others will be lying under bits of rubble, with these big black birds flying over us, waiting for us to give up and die. It’s like none of this was meant to happen somehow…. Us being here. It feels like an accident, and most everyone I’ve met is sadder than the saddest orphan I’d grown up with, and I don’t know how to be okay with it.” She dropped her eyes.