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

by Inna Hardison

  The house looked the same as she remembered it. Same ungainly bushes that never seemed to grow tamely no matter how they trimmed them out front, same somewhat uneven porch, and the red front door with all the scratches on it. There was a light in the kitchen, but she didn’t hear any noise from the inside. She walked up the steps and calmed herself, and finally forced herself to knock. Riley, looking every shade of surprised, swung the door open, and took a few steps back from her, letting her in. He was bare-chested, and his hair was wet, tiny droplets of water running down his neck and chest, glistening soft gold in the light of the lamps.

  She averted her eyes and walked into the old living room, settling on the bench at the table, giving him some time, some privacy. He asked if she wanted anything. She didn’t, but she couldn’t help but look at him now. She winced when he turned around, his back full of the still-raw scars on it, reminding her too much of how he was when she first met him all these years ago.

  She closed her eyes, waiting, trying to quiet her breathing. She sat like that for a long time and finally he came back, wearing a long-sleeved thermal and carrying a pair of glasses and a large ceramic bottle of the plum wine Laurel always made for them. He set it all on the table without a word and poured them each a glass and then took his and walked to the window, leaning on it, not sitting anywhere near her.

  She didn’t think about what she’d say to him exactly, didn’t give herself any time to do that, and suddenly coming here seemed a lousy idea. She stood, Riley watching her, but she couldn’t keep her eyes on his face, couldn’t manage more than a glance.

  “I was packing, Ams,” he said softly. “I’m leaving in the morning. You can have this place back if you want it. It’s a lot nicer than where you are now.”

  So that’s how he would get back at her. She felt a hot flush of anger on her face, anger at Riley doing what he always did, something decent and honorable that would hurt her the rest of her life.

  She glared at him, but he looked back at her without flinching, and he seemed calm if a little sad.

  “Where will you go?” she finally asked, hating how shaky her voice was.

  “One of the places Stan keeps going to on and off. Doesn’t matter, Ams. The point I’m making is whatever you came here to say, this is all the time we have left, and I’m not yet done packing. Spill it, Ams. It’s all right, whatever it is.” His voice was soft, but his hands were wrapped around the windowsill so hard, they were shaking. It felt good to know that he wasn’t as calm as he sounded.

  She picked up her glass and drained it, noting that Riley’s was still untouched on the windowsill, and then took the few steps to him, stopping close enough to touch him. She saw his breathing change, but his face was impassive, nothing moving on it at all. She put her shaky hand on the side of his face, Riley not stopping her, and trailed the line of his jaw with her fingers. He was clean-shaven and she found it odd that he’d shave before leaving.

  His eyes darted down for a flash and when he looked at her again, they weren’t calm anymore. He seemed in pain. She put her hand on the back of his head, trying to pull him closer to her, but he wouldn’t budge, just kept looking at her.

  “Whatever this is for you, please, don’t,” he finally whispered, his voice so strained, it hurt.

  She dropped her hand, embarrassed. “I am sorry, I thought—” but she couldn’t find the words. She shook her head and went back to the table, slumping onto the hard bench, looking down. She heard Riley sit across from her after a while, and she felt him watching her, felt his eyes on her, so she made herself look at him, owed him that much. “I was in that cell for nine weeks. Didn’t think I’d ever see this place again or any of you. I was okay with it after a while, but there wasn’t a thing to do, so I spent an awful lot of time just lying on the stupid cot with my eyes closed. And every single time, I’d see you. I’d see that evening and what I did to you.

  “Every day for that first week I begged them to let me reach out to you, any of you, just to say the few things I needed to say, but they never did. And then one day Eryn came in and told me he would let me, if I slept with him again, just once. He didn’t rape me, is what I’m saying. It was a trade, one that I made, only he never kept his side of it.” She dropped her eyes.

  She felt his hands on her, lifting her, and she let him, and then let him hug her for a long time after that, listening to his soft voice whispering that it would be all right, that she was safe now, and it would be okay for her someday if she let it. Whispering everything but what she so desperately wanted him to say to her, only she felt she had no right to ask that of him. She let herself cry into his chest, smelling the familiar soap on him, listening to his frantic heartbeat against her, enjoying the feel of his hands on her back. But she could tell from the way he was holding her and touching her that it was nothing but comfort for him, something he’d do if she were Laurel or Brody or anybody and she couldn’t take it.

  She stepped back, her eyes still spilling water. It didn’t matter now.

  Riley was looking at her with concern, not moving towards her, waiting in that annoyingly patient way he always had.

  “If you can’t bear to be in the same place with me, I’ll leave. I am the one who should. There is only so much guilt I can take, and I can’t take that, not after everything. I’ll need a few days to figure it out, but I’ll stay in that little house, so you don’t run into me, I swear. I just need a few days,” she said quickly, and turned away from him, wiping her face.

  She saw him move towards her in the window reflection and she spun around and threw her hands up, warding him off, knowing that she’d fall apart if he touched her now.

  He stopped, breathing hard, looking at her with so much hurt in his eyes, she couldn’t keep her tears in, and suddenly, he smashed his fist into the table, not taking his eyes off hers.

  She flinched at the sound of it, not daring to move, not daring to say anything either.

  “What do you want from me, Ams?” he screamed at her, his whole body shaking, but he didn’t move toward her, just stood where she stopped him. “You owe me this much. You owe me this one bloody moment of honesty. Why did you come, Ams? What the hell do you want?” his voice quiet now, full of rage quiet.

  She wanted to run from him, more than anything, so she lunged for the door, but he moved and leaned against it, blocking it, shaking his head.

  “No, Ams. You don’t get to run. Not until you tell me whatever it is you came here to tell me. Spill it, just bloody spill it.”

  “I want you to take me back if you can bear it. I want to come back,” she said quickly and dropped her eyes. She heard him take a sharp breath, but he didn’t move. She finally looked at him, and he looked like it was hurting him to just be standing.

  He shook his head at her softly. “I can’t, Ams. I can’t give you a child by the looks of it, and I won’t take something like that away from you. I can’t do that, love. I’m sorry, but I can’t.” He walked past her into the old room they used to share, and she heard the door close softly behind him.

  She sat at the table alone, crying, drinking the too-sweet, sticky wine right out of the bottle, not feeling any kind of drunk from it, and then suddenly she was, the room swaying precariously all around her. She tried to get up, but her body refused to listen to her, her legs feeling soft, cottony. She giggled at the image of her legs being made of something as flimsy as cotton. She put her head on the table and closed her eyes, things not spinning as badly around her now that she couldn’t see them, and then they did, worse than before, and she knew she was going to be sick. She ran into the bathroom, not having enough time to close the door or turn the water in the sink on, and threw up all the purple stuff that was in her, feeling the sweat and then coldness all over her body.

  She was washing her face in the cold water in the sink when she felt him behind her, and then she saw him in the small mirror, watching her, a towel in his hand. She took it from him without looking at his face, too sober no
w not to be embarrassed to ever want to look at him again. She dried her face, and then threw the towel on the sink, not wanting to have to hand it to him, afraid.

  Riley took a step to her, ignoring her discomfort, and gently draped his arm around her. “I am going to put you to bed, Ams. Please, don’t fight me on it,” he said and then walked her into their old room, the one she hadn’t been in for so long. It was as messy as she knew it would be, but the bed was made, and there were go bags with his things in them on the floor. So he didn’t lie about that, she thought dully to herself, wishing that he had, and suddenly she was worried that she’d wake up here alone, and he’d be long gone.

  He pushed her onto the bed and took off her shoes and socks, and then turned away from her, giving her privacy to deal with the rest of it.

  “Are you still running?” she asked in a whisper, taking off her jeans and pulling the blanket quickly over herself, “you can turn around now.” She felt tears coming on again, so she closed her eyes, and put her arm over her face, hiding.

  “I am.” Riley’s soft voice reached her.

  “I don’t care about the baby, and just because it didn’t happen for the few months we tried, it doesn’t mean it wouldn’t have, but even if not…. I don’t care about that–”

  She felt his hands on her arm, lifting it away from her face, and she let him, his face so very close to hers. “Remember the one promise we made to each other all these years ago? No more secrets. We’ve been lousy at keeping it. You do care about it. I’ve seen it. I’ve watched the sadness on you before. And then when you woke up…. I can’t do that to you again. Get some sleep, Ams. I’ll be in the other room.” He stood up to go.

  She grabbed his hand, not thinking about it or planning to do it, holding him in place. “Stay with me tonight. I swear I won’t touch you or talk to you—” Her voice broke.

  Riley nodded and took his shirt off, then pulled it back on, and lay on top of the blanket, his hands at his sides, eyes closed.

  She could hear him breathing for the longest time, and she could tell he wasn’t asleep by how he did that, but she promised him. She closed her eyes, hoping she was exhausted enough or sad enough to just sleep, but it wouldn’t come, and when she couldn’t take it anymore, she opened her eyes. Riley was watching her, his eyes burning into her face, and she couldn’t help herself. She moved to her side and put her hand on his chest, feeling him go rigid, and then trailed it down to the hem of his shirt, lifting it, Riley breathing hard, but letting her. She slid her hand up on his naked flesh. He shut his eyes tightly but didn’t move away from her, his hands still in fists at his sides.

  She lifted up and her face was close to his, too close to see all the pain in it. “I am going to kiss you,” she whispered, “forgive me for this if you can, but I need to.” She leaned in and softly kissed the first lips she’d ever kissed. She put her hands on his face, feeling it go hard under her hands, but it didn’t matter that she was hurting him. She had to do this for her, had to keep this as a memory of him if it was going to be her last.

  He didn’t fight her, but he didn’t kiss her back either, and she stopped, embarrassed and afraid. He looked at her, finally, not saying a word, but not hiding.

  She could see the tension on him, could see that he wanted to kiss her, but wouldn’t let himself, so she watched him, begging him with her eyes to just let it go, whatever it was that kept him from touching her.

  “Did you love him?” he finally asked, so quietly she read it on his lips more than heard it.

  “I thought I did. I wanted to love him,” she whispered back, feeling guilty for it, but she couldn’t lie to him now, couldn’t lie to him ever again.

  “Thank you, Ams,” he said and smiled a small, tortured smile. “Thank you for not lying to me.” He took her by the face, his hands ever so gentle on her, and pulled her to him, kissing her hair and then trailing soft kisses down her face and her neck, keeping his eyes on hers the whole time. “I won’t marry you again, not now, maybe not ever. I want you to be able to walk away from me without feeling guilty or ashamed if you ever need to again. But for as long as you want to stay with me, I am here, Ams,” he said in a rush and she broke down then, crying over this boy she’d loved for all these years, and all the hurt she caused him. Crying for every night she made him sad when she was still here and then for all the days and nights that she wasn’t.

  Riley let her cry, not saying anything, just holding her close to him, his arms wrapped around her tightly, pressing her to him hard, making her feel safe. Making her feel like she always did with him. Like she belonged.

  8

  Idris

  Telan, September 7, 2244, Reston.

  “Are you ever going to tell me about her?” he finally asked. He’d brought it up gently before, but Lancer always managed to skirt around it. He knew she died when she had him, Riley told him that much, and that his father really loved her, but that was all. He wanted to know how she was, wanted a more real picture of her in his mind, so he could imagine her voice, her smile. He didn’t know if she ever did smile. He hoped she had.

  Lancer got up from the table and walked to the window, his back to him. He could see the discomfort on him and he almost told him that it was all right, that he didn’t need to tell him anything, but he’d waited for so long now, he didn’t think he had it in him to wait anymore, so he stayed silent, hoping this time he would talk.

  Lancer faced him after a while, his face serious, cold almost. “All right, I’ll tell you, but you won’t like it, not any of it. What I’m saying is you’ll likely not want anything to do with me afterward. I know I have no right to keep this from you, but promise me that we’ll talk when I’m done. That you won’t bolt if it gets too much for you. If you and I are done afterward, I will let you go, but you won’t run without facing it, without facing me…. I need your word on that.”

  “You have my word,” Telan said quietly, meeting his eyes. He couldn’t imagine this man ever doing something so bad that it would make him not want to be around him. He was stern and he’d seen him get angry a few times, but he was decent, he knew that much, deep down decent, and he didn’t see how that could change.

  “All right,” Lancer said quietly and went into the kitchen. He came back with a large glass of that awful smelling stuff he’d seen him drink on the rare occasions something bad happened in Reston. Lancer sat across from him and downed half of it in one swallow, leveling his gray gaze at him, and he could see the fear in his eyes.

  Telan felt his stomach clench and thought for a moment that he shouldn’t do this, not now, maybe not ever. That maybe it would be better for him to not know, and this way he could draw the pictures he’d always drawn in his head, a slim dark woman who loved this man she wasn’t supposed to love, and who loved him too, as he was growing in her belly. He could picture her singing to him when he was still in there, softly, sweetly. He knew her warm brown eyes and he knew how her hands were, slender and long-fingered, with the ring Ella was wearing now on her left hand. It was only her voice he could never place. Each time it was slightly different, but always soft, and there was a sadness in it when she sang to him in these imaginings, always a sadness. Maybe he was hoping his father would tell him that he was wrong about that part.

  “My mom was a psychologist who worked with gifted kids and I hardly ever saw her at all, but at suppers. She was always more a doctor to me than a mother, if that makes any sense. We didn’t talk, not in a way where she knew me, is what I’m saying. Dad was a scientist, so he was gone a lot too. They were strict with me, Telan, but cold too. It’s not that they didn’t care, it’s just I guess they didn’t know what to do with a kid like me. I wanted to be a soldier for as long as I could remember, but they wouldn’t hear of it. It was the lowest thing I could do to them, the way they saw it. They were saving lives and the last thing I was allowed to think about was anything that involved violence of any kind. Anyway, when I turned ten, I took off to this camp, camp Copley, th
at took in kids who wanted to be soldiers. I packed only a few things I’d need that I could carry on my back, left a note for my parents and I just left. Took me three days to get there through the woods.” He stopped and took a few sips of his drink, wincing at the taste of it.

  “I made it through the initial testing, and my parents came to see me a few months after that, tried to talk me into coming home, but I wouldn’t budge. That year on my birthday my mother came alone, dad was off at some conference, she told me. The next year I just got a recorded message from them, and then a few weeks after that, I was called into the Dean’s office where this man told me that Zoriners downed a flier and torched it, with everyone still on it, and that my parents were on that flight. He showed me all these burnt bodies on the screen, only I couldn’t tell one from the other, the way they were…. I did something really stupid shortly after that. I was so angry, only I was angry at myself, you know, at how I left and that I never got to tell them that I didn’t leave because of them, that it was just something I had to do for me. I never got a chance to tell them that I loved them–” He dropped his eyes for a while, not looking at him, hands fisting on the table in front of him.

  “What did you do? The stupid thing you did then, what was it?” he asked softly.

  Lancer looked up, his face hard, and shook his head. “I’m getting to that, kid. Just give me a minute.” He got up, grabbed his glass, and went to refill it by the sound of it. Lancer took his time coming back.

  He waited, hoping he didn’t hate him afterward for making him remember. Lancer paced, a glass steady in his hand, took a few long swallows, and faced him, not sitting down.