The Offering
Page 32
Our backyard is the biggest in the neighborhood—not that we have any neighbors. We chose this house for the yard—the size of it and the number of mature trees.
Cori cracks her neck and her knuckles. The way her eyes light up before she fights… It’s breathtaking. She purses her lips trying not to smile. I want so badly to kiss her right now and take her back inside, just the two of us. But I’ll have to wait.
Cori allows Eli to strike first, and then she comes alive. As the two of them grapple, wearing soft padding over their knuckles, they move around all over the place, getting space between them only to pounce later, stalking each other like animals.
Last night I hid their sparring weapons in various places around the yard, and Eli’s the first to find one—a wooden sword he swipes to knock Cori’s feet from under her. She rolls out of his reach before he can tap her neck with the sword. He tries again, but she’s too quick. She leaps, gripping a low-hanging branch and heaving herself up only to wrap her legs around Eli’s neck.
He taps her shin.
“Point,” she says.
And they continue on for another half hour until both are panting and Eli is winning.
“How many is that, Em?” I ask. She’s now on the porch steps propping her elbows on her knees.
“Eli has twelve,” she yells out, causing Eli to smile.
“You’re only up one,” Cori tells him, darting across the yard and climbing a tree. She is about to find the soft foam nun chucks I hid up there, but Eli catches her leg and pulls her to the ground. Slipping behind him, she wraps an arm around his throat and her legs around his waist. He pries himself free and flips her onto her back, crosses his legs over her chest, and pulls her right arm into an arm bar. She taps out in less than five seconds.
Both of them lie on their backs afterward, looking up at moving clouds.
“Good match,” Cori finally says when the soreness of losing wears off. She hops up and walks toward me. “That should do it. We can go now.”
“All right, then.” I smile and take her hand. The four of us head to the front yard, load into our car, and drive to Mercy.
Before we head to my new laboratory we stop in to see Karen and Tony, Cori’s half-brother. He has the same brown eyes as Cori and their father, but everything else is all Karen. Round face, slender nose, curly hair. And Karen’s a terrific mother.
“We missed you guys.” She hikes Tony up on her hip, but he squirms to get free. Once down, he grabs Emma’s hand and the two of them rush off to play with the other kids.
Inside the lab, I prep Cori for her harvest. Sometimes this is the only privacy we get, so I take my time getting her settled in on the table. I squeeze her hand before I begin, then slide my hands into gloves and pull my tray closer, straightening the items I’ll need.
“Thank you,” I say—my ritual before every harvest. It’s a lot to ask of her, but it’s the right thing to do. And she wants to. So I thank her. Most people don’t know what we do here and she prefers it that way. She hates attention.
I developed a port and installed it last year so I no longer have to use general anesthesia on her. I’ve been working with one of the doctors from Delilah as well as Nicolette here in Mercy to fully synthesize the drugs we need, but we aren’t there yet. I’ve been back to the Burke building in The City a few times looking for compounds and data, some of it helpful.
Eli has offered more than once to let us do testing on him to see if Cori’s theory was true about the people from The City. He’d be happy to share the burden, he said, but she has refused every time he’s brought it up.
I attach the line to the port, checking one last time to make sure everything is connected correctly and tightly.
I believe someday we’ll find answers. Our environment is changing, growing less toxic, and I hope sincerely that one day we won’t even need these medicines.
Until then, we’ll keep doing this. Whether it’s once a month like we’re doing now, or more often or less, Cori will do what she can, as long as she can. And through it all, I’ll be the one to make sure everything she does is on her own terms.
* * *
Acknowledgements
This book would not be what it is without Sara Benedict. She was a wonderful sounding board, was the right amounts critical and supportive, and even inspired a good twist or two. Thank you, THANK YOU for the awesome friend and critique partner you have become.
To my publicist/editor extraordinaire, Sara O’Connor … thank you for representing me, teaching me, making me better, and giving me opportunities to work, learn, and grow with the GG team. Shout out to the editing team at Gliterary Girl Media! Thank you!
Special thanks to all of my beta readers. Your input is invaluable to me and I appreciate all your thoughts, opinions, and critiques of my work. Go team!
I would like to thank my brothers and sisters for inspiring the camaraderie upon which The City was built. I love you all! And I can’t miss the opportunity to thank my dad who came up with the title of this book. You are the Anthony Cole of my heart.
My husband … you are amazing, and I love and appreciate you more each day. It is a privilege to share this life with you. Thank you for your endless support and love.
Most importantly, thank you to my Heavenly Father for blessing me with an incredible baby boy and with the grace to finish this book despite his best efforts to monopolize his momma.
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Go to the next page for a sample from Transgression, a short prequel to the Sovereign Series.
Transgression
Tick tock. The clock in my head is counting down impatiently as I stand here warring against it just to get some coffee. Coffee I don’t even want. The douche in the blue suit taps his shiny dress shoe against the floor, almost in perfect time with the ticking in my head. The elderly woman in front of him moves aside, warm beverage in hand, and he steps forward.
He tosses a few bills onto the counter. “Small soy half caf latte. Two regular sugars, two raw, half packet of Sweet and Low. No foam, with a dash of cinnamon on top, and throw in one of those cute little stirrers you always forget.”
In a fraction of a second, my blood pressure skyrockets. My pulse thrums in my ears as I do everything within my power not to tackle him. I lean to the side to see the barista’s face. Meredith looks up at him through her dark lashes, an embarrassed frown messing up her otherwise perfect face – dark tanned skin, plump lips, deep brown eyes. Her black hair is in a stick-straight ponytail down her back, a few wispy pieces framing her beautiful face. This guy’s not even close to worthy of her attention. He has no right to humiliate her.
Meredith’s fingertips slide across the counter and drag the money toward her. She handles his transaction on the machine and lays his change down just far enough that he has to reach for it. Good girl. Her eyes flit up to mine briefly and I wink, keeping my face composed despite the rage beneath the surface – it’s a talent of mine. She smirks and turns around to make the drink. It takes forever because it’s a ridiculous order.
I kind of wish looks could kill because the one I’m drilling into the back of his head the whole time he stands there tapping his foot is murderous. When he takes his drink, I lean in before he can speak and point to the portion of countertop dedicated to extra items like coffee stirrers, napkins, and entire packets of Sweet and Low. I clear my throat.
“Can I help you?”
“No.” I smirk. “You can help yourself … right over there.” I tap my watch. I’m not kidding – the man sizes me up. I don’t know what he determines but he does nothing. Could be he doesn’t want to get his wannabe designer suit dirty. Could be the concealed weapon that I’ve exposed on my hip by leaning toward him, the flap of my coat hanging open. Don’t know for sure. Don’t really care.
Mere
dith’s hand grips the top of the register and I kick myself for scaring her. She probably thinks we’re about to throw down. I step back and let the man pass, flashing the lovely barista a sheepish look. She’s why I’m here – I can’t have her frightened. So I pretend nothing has happened at all.
“Caramel macchiato, layered, with an extra shot please.”
“I know,” she smiles, already grabbing for the cup. I didn’t even have to tell her what size. While she makes the drink I pull some cash from my leather wallet. When I’m paid up and she gives me the change, I slip a twenty into her tip jar. She rewards me with another smile. Having gotten what I came for, I tell her to have a nice day and I leave. I faintly register another employee greeting her on his way in.
I come here every weekday. She’s the highlight of my day. She doesn’t even know my name. Sad but true. I only know hers because it’s on her name tag. None of the above will ever change. Until she stops working here and disappears, which I never let myself dwell on because it’ll happen someday and when it does I might lose my mind. But for now, she’s my constant.
On the sidewalk, I glance up at my father’s building across the street. Taking in a lungful of cool, moist air, I close my eyes and savor the breeze. I’m not in any particular rush to get where I’m going, though I probably should be. I haven’t yet convinced myself today will go as I want it to. The occasion would be better paired with an alcoholic beverage instead of a caffeinated one.
I glance down at the steaming cup in my hand. Nope, not interested. Not even today. I take a few paces toward the black metal trash bin on the sidewalk. The coffee is about two seconds from plummeting into the receptacle when I hear her clear her throat.
I glance over my shoulder. Meredith stands there with her arms crossed over her chest and one leg bent, looking at me with her right brow cocked. Her lips are pursed and the look is a lot more enjoyable than the frown from a few minutes ago. I want so badly to smile at her, especially considering how much I’m loving her attitude. But I keep my face straight, devoid of emotion.
“Yes, Meredith?”
Her eyes flit down to the cup in my hand. “Were you about to throw that away?”
I look at it again. “Of course not.” I slip the folded napkin from between the cup and my pinky to display it for her, then drop it in the trash. She shifts her weight. Arms still crossed. That’s a good girl, stay angry.
“What’s your name?” She tucks some loose hair behind her ear with long slender fingers that match her long slender body. If I were to allow myself the indulgence of courting a woman, it would be with someone like her. If I were the lucky type, it would actually be her.
“Nathan Burke.”
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright & Credits
Dedication
Contents
Preface
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Links & Back Ad