Shadow Boxer: NA Fantasy/Time Travel (Tesla Time Travelers Book 2)

by Jen Greyson

  A beam of lightning rises from the floor a few feet away, and I toss my banana peel on the coffee table and rub my hands together briskly to get the goo off. The beam becomes Penya.

  “How is your progress? I am finding things in the lab. Things we need to know.”

  “Like what? I thought you agreed to stop keeping me in the dark.”

  “I am trying, but there is still so much I do not know. I tell you what I can.”

  “Which has been nothing. I’m starting to think this is a spa day for you. You don’t seem to care that you’re his prisoner.”

  “I am making the best of a bad situation, niña. You would have me rail against him and get myself further locked down?”

  I cross my arms. “Fine. Tell me what you found.”

  “For starters, it all connects to Nikola. I think I know how Ilif manipulates the arcs.”

  “Manipulates?”

  “Yes. He did it to your father, and I think he is affecting this one. He really wants Nikola’s patents. I do not know which ones, but you must continue to earn Nikola’s trust. We must control all his papers. Neither the FBI or Ilif can get them.”

  I think about his small notebook, and the sparseness of the Colorado lab. “I’m not sure he keeps a lot of notes.”

  “Trunks go missing after his death.”

  “Before or after the run-in with the FBI?”

  “That I do not know, but it would not surprise me if they were involved. Has he said anything to you about where he keeps all his documents? Even now, in my time, they still surfacing as private citizens locate his hiding places.”

  “Hiding places?” Nothing about that jives with the guy I’ve been hanging out with. Something must happen between Colorado Springs and his death to make him incredibly suspicious.

  That nagging queasiness that I’m missing the obvious settles again in my hollow stomach. “You don’t think there’s something else about this alteration?”

  “Like what?” She looks startled.

  I stand and pace the room. “I don’t know. If Ilif is making changes to the alteration, isn’t there an original one beneath it?”

  “I suppose it is possible.”

  “So which alteration flings me home for the final time? How will I know when I’m finished?”

  She shakes her head. “You will not know until that moment. For now, I continue researching on this side.”

  “Helpful as always,” I mumble.

  “Have you been to see your father?”

  “I’ve tried,” I say, defeated.

  She sighs and leans forward until our faces are inches apart. “You cannot hide from the things you fear. If you do, they manifest in darker, more sinister places. What you fear begins to control you, shapes decisions you make.… We cannot afford that kind of risk. Not until we know what Ilif is up to and until you figure out the real alteration. You must go see your father.”

  “What if he blames me?”

  “You are to blame. If you had not taken him to the river to save Rom, he would not have gotten hurt. But hiding from him does not change what happened or how he feels.”

  I look away and take a step back. “I know.”

  “Look at what it is doing to you. You are not yourself. You second-guessing your efforts”—she waves at a stack of things on her side I can’t discern—“the alteration. Fix it, Evy. Fix it now.”

  Her image vanishes.

  I flop onto the sofa. If what Tesla says about my emotions is true, then my fear may be what’s impacting the arc more than anything Ilif could do. Tears burn my eyes. I’ve done a good job until now of keeping busy, staying away, convincing myself that he was recovering and didn’t need me.

  No one seems to need me. Nikola is busy with the next iteration, Penya is busy with her research and won’t let me find her, Papi is busy with work and getting better, Ilif is busy with who knows what, and even Anna is busy planning her wedding.

  Constantine’s life is full of Aurelia.

  I chew my lip and stroke the couch cushion, drawing abstract images in the nap. I’m not myself. Haven’t been since Anna’s little pep talk. I don’t like that I’ve gone from not caring what anyone thinks to caring what a whole lot of people think. I don’t understand how a lifetime of apathy becomes a need for approval. Maybe Penya’s closer to the truth than I want her to be. Maybe if I go talk to Papi everything else will fall back in place like it’s supposed to be.

  My gut clenches. I’m not ready yet. Because what if he hates me?

  Sparks crisscross the cushion, darkening creases in the leather.

  Used to be that I had a way to work things out. Of eliminating everything until only the truth remained. I’ve been so busy trying to fit myself into everyone else’s life I’ve forgotten how I fit into my own.

  I lean forward, dragging the long curl of lightning with me. With a short twist of my wrist, it folds back on itself and curls into a ball. Holding it between both hands, I stare into its depths and notice for the first time all the layers of strands, the minute color changes. It’s more complicated than I’ve given it credit for. Maybe riding is, too. Maybe it’s not always as cut-and-dried like killing Viriato or saving Aurelia. Maybe there are layers.

  Blackness smothers me and I breathe in the nothingness, relish the absence of roles, responsibilities, and letdowns.

  Tall trees rise on my left, my favorite Spanish training facility to the right. Overhead, the moon is high and full in an ancient sky, mimicking nights lost to me now. I don’t stuff the sorrow, or the disappointment. Instead, I let it fuel me. Twin ropes dangle from my palms, extending four feet on either side, bright and crackling. Every movement I’ve made on this field rises up in my vision, and I replay them all now in a ballet of light and raw emotion.

  I drag my left rope forward and rotate it overhead like an electric bullwhip. My right hand retracts against my ribs, protective and ready, the rope shorter and thicker.

  At the end of the field, two rows of targets stand ready for the archers.

  With a downward flick of my wrist, I unleash a trio of bursts from the compact lighting in my right hand, and take out three targets on the left. They explode in a rainstorm of sparks, illuminating the darkness. At the apex of my swing, I snap the whip and take out a couple on the right. They collapse and smolder. The night air is thick with the roasting stench. I spin and roll, taking out another on the right.

  With each strike, the emotion burns up, turning to ash inside me. Taking off in a run, I swing wide around the backs of the decimated targets on the right. Racing past the last row, I blast them without slowing, one by one. At the end, I somersault and come up with my hands spread wide, balls of lightning in each.

  My breath is fast and shallow, and my heart is pounding.

  Behind me, someone claps in a slow and methodical beat.

  I whirl around.

  Constantine stands at the edge of the field, his features unreadable in the flickering light. I snuff my lightning. He shouldn’t be here. He’s supposed to be in Rome with Aurelia and Anna. I glance at the moon as if I can figure out what year it is.

  He drops his hands and crosses the field until he’s two feet away.

  Now I have to explain why I came.

  “I wondered when I’d see you again.”

  “How—” I cough and clear my throat. “How long?”

  “Since you were at my house? Since you were on time for a training? Since our meeting on the dock?”

  There’s a crispness to his voice. I can’t tell if he’s mad or busy or what. “Um, since we trained.”

  “Two years.”

  “And you’re here again now.” I didn’t mean for it to be so long. I wanted to… train with him.

  A sharp nod. I can’t get a read off his emotions—not that I ever could, but tonight his warrior mask is on tight.

  He toes the crispy remains. “Impressive work.”

  “Sorry about that.”

  He shrugs. “We have more. If my men
fought like you… ” His words trail off and he lifts his gaze to mine, searching me.

  I wonder if he still sees a stranger. The complete opposite of who I see. My heart twists and my guts knot. For a few days by the river, I let myself believe we could have something, even if it was just us starting over while he helped me figure out my lightning again. Anna’s insight about his lonely wanderings only added to my illusion.

  I was a fool.

  I need to go.

  And never, ever come back.

  The corners of his eyes crease, and the left edge of his mouth lifts. “I’m glad you came.”

  But before I go, I want to live these moments to the fullest. No matter what we are to each other now, there’s one place where we can come together without question or apology. Where lost time slips away, uncounted, unmourned. “Will you train me?”

  His voice is a whisper. “I already did.”

  “You remember?” Tears spring to my eyes. I’m not sure if he’s remembering an afternoon three years ago, or something we did a few days ago. I’m terrified to ask.

  His sword sings against its scabbard as he unsheathes it. “Let’s find out.”

  This is what I need. He is what I need. I laugh and race to the middle of the field.

  When the gap between us widens to something I think I can defend, I spin around, wrapping coils of lightning around me like a force field.

  He grins. “Cheater.”

  “You taught me to win at all costs.”

  He tips his head in silent agreement. “Yes, but you’ve been practicing.”

  “Only in my head.”

  “A warrior’s best training field.”

  My lightning is rotating slowly, but so is Constantine, looking for a way past it.

  “Does that mean you surrender?” I tease.

  He looks away from the lightning and the warrior sternness in his features is far from defeat. If he remembers my fighting, he’s forgotten my teasing.

  “Standing behind a barrier is not winning. Are you surrendering as well?”

  “Not a chance.” I lift my chin.

  “Then drop it and fight me with your weapon.” He takes a few steps back and lowers his sword. There’s nothing relaxed about his posture. If I drop my shield, he’ll charge me.

  And I know I can handle it.

  Without changing the coil in my left hand, I flip my right hand open and make another whip. He widens his stance.

  In a single motion, I drop the coil and bring my hands together. He ducks and rolls.

  He dives behind me, but I leap to the left and turn, throwing a ball simultaneously. He grunts and I smile. We cross the field, trading the upper hand back and forth. When he rushes me, my aim is still inconsistent. It’s my only weakness, but he hammers at my Achilles’ heel. Again and again he speeds toward me.

  He backs me into the targets and I trip over a broken one, landing hard on my side. My breath bangs from my lungs and I gasp, desperate for a drink of air. I roll to my back and cross my raised arms in defense. He launches himself and buries his sword in the ground next to my head. Knees on either side of my hips, he uses his weight to imprison me. I gasp and choke.

  “Slow breaths,” he says. “I didn’t hurt you.”

  I try inhaling again and my eyes water.

  He rocks back on his heels, taking the pressure off my hips. Tiny molecules of air make their way into my lungs and I wheeze.

  If I weren’t on the verge of dying, I’d roll my eyes. If there’s one thing I’ve never managed around Constantine, it’s being classy.

  He leans closer. “Are you alright?”

  “Yes,” I croak, letting my arms fall out to the sides. I drink in three more huge gulps of air.

  His fierce look relaxes, and his mouth softens. He brushes strands of my wild hair out of my face and behind my ear, but doesn’t take his fingers away. He trails them across my jaw.

  I shiver. This was a thousand kinds of dumb, coming here to torture myself. Even if he hadn’t been here, being on this field would have made all the memories resurface anyway. Having him here is making it infinitely worse. Training in Rome, I can kid myself into making this work—can pretend we’re nothing more than teacher and student.

  I should have left ten minutes ago when I figured that out. Staying here isn’t helping me to get over him and move on.

  His touch feathers the length of my nose, and traces my hairline. My breath hitches at the back of my throat. I’m afraid of making even the slightest movement.

  He licks his lips. “I remember other things.”

  “Y–you do?”

  “Even though I know it’s not possible, as I read the journal, my images are memories. I’m not reading a stranger’s account, I’m replaying something that happened.” He shakes his head slowly. “I hear the sounds, see the colors… ”

  “Like what?” I croak. I want to hear it. I want to hear him tell me what he remembers. Even though I know there’s no way he really could be remembering. But I have to know.

  Because there’s not a single moment with him that I’ve forgotten.

  The pad of his thumb rubs my bottom lip. I press my tongue into the back of my teeth to keep from licking him. Or worse.

  His fingers rest on my pulse, rising and falling with each heartbeat. He mirrors that hand with his other, cradling my face. I swallow and blink at least a dozen times. To our left, a night bird sings a lonely song.

  My song.

  He closes his eyes.

  I dig my fingers into the damp ground beneath me. Tendrils of lightning impale the earth, ready to send me home when I demand.

  And I’m going to…

  In one more second.

  I memorize his face. The sharp angle of his eyebrows, the uneven hairline where a scar on his forehead extends, the crooked tilt of his nose, the brush of his eyelashes against his cheeks, the way his lips never quite touch in the center, like a secret entrance to somewhere sacred.

  My eyes burn.

  This is goodbye.

  CHAPTER 19

  BEFORE THE DARKNESS takes me, he sighs and lowers his face. “I remember this.”

  Soft, firm lips cover mine, giving me back life. Every muscle in my body is taut, and my hands curl deeper into the ground. He deepens the assault, suckling my lower lip and tugging it between his teeth. One hand sweeps into my braid, and the other traces the line of my collarbone and down.

  I inhale and open myself to him.

  His hand covers my right breast, softly palming and lifting until I arch into him. He kisses the corner of my mouth and makes a trail to my earlobe, rimming the edge with his tongue. I moan. A warm puff of his breath fills my ear and flows down the back of my neck, raising the tiny hairs at the base of my braid. I bite my lip and grasp fistfuls of dirt.

  “I remember this,” he whispers, licking and kissing the length of my neck. His thumbnail rakes the side of my breast and down my rib cage. At my hip bone, his fingers slip beneath my shirt and he brushes the skin at my belly button, making my insides jerk. He slides my shirt up, exposing my bra. His head lowers and he tastes my nipples through the blue lace.

  I arch off the dirt and grab fistfuls of his hair. Startled, he lifts his head. A slight smile plays on his lips.

  I want to tell him he’s impossible to forget, but I tug his head up to me instead. My tongue dips into his mouth and I finger his curls. He rolls over, taking me with him and flattening my body along his length. His hands slide over my bare spine, pressing into my skin. Fingers dip beneath my waistband, skimming the edge of my panties. My legs drop to the sides of his, and I tuck my feet beneath his knees, pressing us closer. He slips a hand beneath my bra, and fabric rips. My shirt is over my head and a cool breeze lifts goose bumps across my back. Then his hands warm them away, leaving a trail across my back and through my core.

  Hands caress my sides and tighten, pulling me so he can taste my bare nipples. I moan and brace my hands on either side of his head. I grind my hips against h
is and open my eyes to watch his slow travel from breast to breast.

  Moonlight bathes us in a silvery glow, and if I don’t look away, I can convince myself that we’re floating on a cloud somewhere where time stands still and I don’t have two very big responsibilities knocking on the door of my mind.

  Strong fingers wrap around my ass, hitching me higher until our bodies fit together, and he lifts his hips into mine. I moan.

  Just a vacuous girl, enjoying a simple night with a man.

  He deepens the kiss and obnoxious thoughts won’t leave me alone. Is this what our relationship is now—I show up every couple of years, and we try to kill each other then rip each other’s clothes off?

  Do I care?

  He presses harder against me. I don’t want to care.

  But I do.

  I break away and prop my elbows on his chest, burying my face in my hands. “I can’t do this.”

  He skims his fingers up and down my arm. “I remember telling you I’d come with you.”

  I look away. I remember that, too.

  “There’s too much I still don’t know. Penya is still missing.”

  He jerks upright. “What?”

  I tumble to the dirt and he scoops me into his lap. While he’s settling me, I reach for my shirt and drape it across my chest, tucking the ends under my armpits.

  “When?”

  I study him. “You really don’t know?”

  “I saw her today.”

  I do quick math. The timeline for us is so confusing. It makes sense that if I’m here before I was here and we haven’t killed Viriato, Penya is helping him win battles, and she hasn’t been kidnapped.

  “When I come back later, Ilif kidnaps Penya—”

  “Who is this Ilif? Why can’t we eliminate him before that happens?”

  My chest tightens until I can barely suck in air. “How do you always do that?”

  He lifts an eyebrow.

  “You ask the questions I don’t ever think of… the obvious ones.”

  “Does that mean I can kill him?”