by R. H. Scott
“If you ever need anything, just shout, okay?” he offered, looking down at her from the bank.
Sloan was unsure what he meant, but said, “Sure, thanks.” She then watched him disappear over the sloping escarpment. Their exchange had been odd, but she didn’t get a bad feeling from Edward. He seemed sincere. Had her decision at Fight Night had an unexpected impact on the others? She smiled at the thought. She had been treated like a pariah since that night, and she hadn’t done what she did for anyone to favor her . . . but it felt good to know some people were thankful.
It felt good to know her fighting abilities hadn’t just been responsible for death and pain. They had also saved people.
Her stomach grumbled loudly, turning over in cramping pain. She lurched herself from the water, returning to the bank just in time to fall on her knees in front of a bush—throwing up violently.
“I hear you aren’t feeling well,” Stone spoke, leaning against the wall in her cabin. Sloan pulled her hair up into a ponytail, her skin still flushed.
“I’m fine.” She shrugged, sitting on the sofa to lace up her shoes.
“Elijah says you’ve been sick to your stomach for the past two days.”
She leaned back on the couch, looking up to him. “So? I’m still training.”
Some stomach bug wouldn’t slow her down—if that were even what it was. Sloan knew a lot of information had been thrown at her on this excursion. There was a lot of tension amongst the group and nerves could easily get the best of them—even someone as trained as herself.
“Alright, well I’m going to send Kane in to take a look at you,” he insisted.
“Edward?”
Stone nodded, uncrossing his arms as he stepped towards the door. “He’s a second year in the Infirmary—he’ll have brought his equipment with him.”
Sloan, ready to protest, stood up quickly—too quickly—and immediately grabbed the sofa to steady herself. Stone was at her side in an instant, ready to support her. She sighed heavily, lowering herself back down to the sofa.
“Sir, it’s just a stomach flu—I’m fine,” she insisted. He nodded skeptically.
“Then you shouldn’t worry about having Kane confirm it.”
She tensed her jaw in frustration—she didn’t need to be babied. But she knew he wasn’t taking no for an answer. “Fine.”
Sloan sat on the edge of the bed, watching Edward rifle through his bag. He pulled out small metal rods, silver containers, laser pens—nothing you wouldn’t find in the Infirmary. Elijah and Stone waited by the sofa, arms crossed, watching carefully. Elijah had been attentive during her sickness but they hadn’t spoken about their recent argument. Edward finally stood, holding a large silver bracelet—a chip scanner, just like the ones used at the gates of the Academy. Attached to this one, though, was a small glass pane, the size of her palm.
“Alright, I’m just going to get a read on your chip and that will let us know what’s going on,” he explained. He hesitated before slowly turning to face Stone and Elijah. “Elijah, sir, you two can wait outside.”
Elijah looked shocked—Stone taken aback. Edward didn’t concede—staring at them until they moved. Sloan didn’t care if they stayed or not; either way they would see that she was just fine. “No—let them stay and see that I am fine.”
Edward turned to her, arching his brow skeptically. “That’s not a good—”
She shrugged off his concern, interrupting him. “I said it’s fine. Now let’s just get this over with.”
He pursed his lips at her insistence, but carried on. She offered him her chipped arm and after a moment of fiddling with the bracelet, he ran it over her hand, up her wrist, over her forearm and back down. Once off, she lowered her arm, waiting. Edward held the glass pane up into the light and Sloan could see lines of orange script appearing. She couldn’t decipher the alphanumeric codes but she watched Edward’s eyes widen. He shot her a concerned glance.
What’s wrong?
Quickly, he lowered the pane, kneeling to the ground and shoving his belongings back into his bag.
“Well?” Stone asked first, taking a step towards them.
“She’s fine,” Edward answered curtly, standing and looking at her now. “You’re fine—like you said, it’s nothing.”
Sloan sighed heavily—relieved and smug. She turned to Elijah and Stone. “Told you.” She shrugged.
“Alright—good. Thanks for that, Kane.” Stone nodded. Sloan stood from the bed, stretching out.
“Sorry you had to waste your time.” She shrugged to Kane. He looked her over and slowly nodded.
What’s wrong with him? she wondered, noting his concerned look. She ignored him, turning to Stone and Elijah.
“Let’s go get some training done before we have to head out.”
They had managed to get a few sparring sessions in before they had to leave—although, to her great annoyance, Stone had insisted she just advise and not partake. She had argued with him, saying Edward had told her she was fine, but he insisted she take it easy for the day until she was fully back on track. So she had spent the morning instructing and envying Elijah. Having a purpose had given him momentum—he sparred constantly, solidifying bonds with the others and creating camaraderie—just as Stone had hoped would happen. And now it was time to go back.
“Let me give you a hand with that.” Edward’s voice surprised her. He had been watching her from a small distance all morning. Quickly, he was bending down to grab her bags.
“It’s fine, I’ve got it,” she argued, reaching for her belongings, but he got ahold of them first, tossing them into the vehicle.
“It’s cool.” He shrugged. “Just trying to help.”
Sloan nodded, leaning back against the vehicle. He crossed his arms and studied her thoughtfully.
“So . . . how are you feeling?”
She stared at him, confused. “Fine—you saw that I was fine.”
He nodded slowly, about to speak, when Chase’s voice called out. “Ah—Edward and the alleged champ.”
Sloan arched her brow, watching him stride over confidently, a bag hanging over his shoulder. Alleged? “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He dropped the bag at his feet. “You’ve spent most of this time not sparring—a Fight Champ who won’t fight seems odd to me.”
She rolled her eyes at him. “Consider yourself lucky I haven’t been feeling well.”
Chase took a step towards her. “Tell me, Sloan, if you’re feeling fine enough to order us around, how are you too sick to train?”
“Back off, Chase,” she growled, standing up straighter.
He smiled, dramatically rolling his eyes at her. “You’re supposed to be the best—Stone’s favorite—the big bad of the Academy. You don’t look all that dangerous to me.”
Sloan uncrossed her arms. “Then you aren’t looking hard enough.”
She didn’t know what his problem with her was—but she could wager a guess. She had spent her life growing accustomed to these kinds of insults; her status at the Academy had made her a target for vicious taunts and provocations. But she had put down every person to ever challenge her—she had proven her abilities again and again. If Chase wanted to test that, she would happily put him down too.
“Leave it, Chase,” Edward interjected, stepping closer towards the other boy.
Chase laughed. “She’s a Fight Champ screwing another Fight Champ.”
Sloan took a quick step forward. “What did you just say?”
Edward quickly moved in between the two of them. “What are you getting at?”
“I don’t think she needs your protection, Kane.”
She didn’t need protecting—she sidestepped Edward, narrowing her gaze on Chase. “What is your problem?” she demanded.
He shrugged. “Just tell me why you haven’t been sparring. Because you’re Stone’s favorite you think you can just stand around telling us what to do?”
She spoke through a tensed jaw. She was growing tired of this. “I told you already—I haven’t been feeling well.”
She didn’t need to put up with this; she didn’t need to be harangued by some guy she barely knew. She had been dealing with his attitude for days and she was sick of it.
“You know what, Chase—” she began, but he cut her off quickly.
“First Dawson, now Daniels—would you screw me too if I were a Champ?”
Sloan lunged, but Edward beat her to it—swinging so quickly Sloan was almost knocked over in the process of stepping back. Chase fell to the ground, holding his jaw.
“What the hell, Edward? I was just messing with her!” he said, slowly getting to his feet. Edward’s fists were still tight, his broad body towering over Chase.
“It’s not funny, Chase. Mess with her again and you’ll deal with me,” Edward growled.
Sloan didn’t know Kane very well but she had been shocked to see him transform from this relaxed, intuitive guy into someone ready—someone dangerous. Chase looked from her to Kane, shaking his head. Heeding Kane’s warning, he pivoted around, grabbed his bag and walked off. Edward turned to face her, and she was amazed to see his calm demeanor had already returned.
His gaze fell on her and she felt . . . embarrassed. She couldn’t believe Chase would say those things to her—did everyone think that about her? That she was sleeping with Elijah, that she was attracted to whoever held a champion title?
She tried to shake off the feeling, holding Kane’s stare. “I wish you hadn’t done that—I can handle an ass like Chase.”
He arched his brow at her. “I’m sure you could—normally.”
Sloan studied his critical expression. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He shook his head at her, lowering his voice. “I know.”
She looked around, confused by his sudden attitude. “Know what?”
He almost laughed, acting as though she were playing games with him. She really didn’t know what he was talking about. She stared up at him, waiting for him to elaborate.
“I know, Sloan. I know you missed your CI this quarter—so I know you know why you’ve been feeling sick, and it has nothing to do with nerves or flu.”
She had stopped listening at the words CI. She thought back to the letter she had received from the Infirmary, to making a mental note to go by there—to forgetting to ever do it at all. Her CI—her contraceptive injection.
She stumbled away from him, in shock, falling against the vehicle. No, no, no . . . Her hand immediately flew to her stomach—she could have thrown up right then and there at this realization. Edward’s face changed from knowing and accusatory to stunned.
“You didn’t know?” he demanded, his voice quiet.
How could she have been so stupid—how could she have let this happen? She shook her head. “I’m . . . I’m not . . .”
“I’m so sorry—I thought you knew and were keeping it quiet . . . How did you miss your CI?” he rambled.
She glared up at him. How had she forgotten to go into the Infirmary? Maybe because she had been busy raging against the world, maybe because she had been angry and depressed, disconnected, reeling from losing Jared and still in shock from finding out the truth about her life. Jared.
She would need to tell him—wouldn’t she? And then another name crossed her mind—Elijah. He was going to kill her. Her refusal to have that sort of relationship with him upset him enough; now he would know she had gone back to Jared that day . . .
She forcefully grabbed Edward’s arm. “If you tell anyone—” she began, ready to threaten anything he held dear, but he shook his head earnestly.
“I wouldn’t do that. Even if I wanted to, which I don’t, I’m bound to doctor-patient confidentiality.”
She nodded slowly, releasing her grip on him. “Good—no one can know. I mean it, Edward, do not tell a soul.”
He nodded, looking her over with sincerity. “I won’t, Sloan—but you should. This changes everything. And it might not be so bad—I think Elijah might even be happy.”
She shook her head. “I’m certain he won’t be.”
CHAPTER 13
As the weeks passed by, Stone reported to Romani that his special group were keeping their ears and eyes peeled, but that any would-be defectors were lying low since Donny’s execution. They weren’t certain Romani bought the story, but he hadn’t found anything to convince him otherwise, and for the meantime, he seemed content with the status update. Meanwhile, Sloan had kept her mouth shut about everything.
She had been busy avoiding Edward—who was consistently trying to get her to come into the Infirmary. He wanted to check on her—on it—by running tests. But she refused. Tests led to confirmation, led to documentation, led to something that could be used against her. So she busied herself with West in the shooting range. He didn’t entirely understand her revitalized interest in the range, insisting she was already one of his best marksmen, but he had been happy nonetheless to spend time with her.
She had avoided sparring and any kind of fighting—just because she wasn’t accepting of the news didn’t make her an idiot. Once again, Elijah responded well to her newfound pacifism, believing it to be a mark of happiness and growth. She let him think that but the reality was that she was going stir crazy without her usual training. She hadn’t let him touch her in weeks, not so much as a hug, but for some reason, he still persevered, certain she could be worn down.
Avoiding Jared had been the hardest part. He was insistent on seeing her or speaking to her and it took everything she had to not break and tell him the truth. She couldn’t tell him without telling the Order—and whoever else listened in to every word uttered in these halls. She knew her body was yet to change, she still had her taut abs and slender frame—but Jared knew her shape better than she did. She was paranoid that he, being so in tune with her body, would miraculously figure it out.
The stress of it all just made her want to spar more . . .
So, she had taken to spending all of her time with the Others, mainly Sava and Jo. Their lives distracted her from her own—and Sloan couldn’t deny that they shared a bond in knowing the truth about the Academy. When they finally received word from Stone that they would be going back on excursion, there was a flurry of both excitement and concern amongst the group. The only reason they would be called back out was if Stone needed to tell them all something in a safe place. If that didn’t worry her enough, knowing that she would need to abstain from sparring again would draw more unwanted attention from the Others.
Maybe it’s time to visit Edward.
He had sworn to not document a thing—nothing would be put in her file regarding this visit. He had booked her into a room under a different name and had ensured the floor was abandoned before shuffling her into the examination area unseen. She appreciated his understanding—more than she could express.
“It will only take a few minutes. Just try to relax,” Edward said, sitting opposite her. She sat on the white-sheeted bed, drumming her fingers nervously.
Unable to wait in silence, she asked, “Is Jo packing for you two?” hoping to distract herself.
“I hope not—my betrothed wouldn’t take too kindly to Jo being in our living quarters,” Edward laughed.
“I thought . . .” Sloan began, but realized she didn’t know what to say. She had thought Jo was with Edward. They were always together, whispering, laughing or sharing moments.
“It’s complicated.” He shrugged. “Jo and I are both betrothed to people who don’t want to be with us as much as we don’t want to be with them. It happens, but that’s what Nuptia decided.”
; She thought about her own experience with the Betrothal Calling and couldn’t help but sympathize. “I know how you feel . . . Being apart from the one you love can kill you.”
She immediately regretted her candor—Edward was a good friend, but she didn’t know how he would handle her inference that she still loved Jared when she was supposed to be devoted to Elijah.
He studied her thoughtfully. “Missing Dawson?”
She shrugged, shaking her head. “I’m just saying the Calling messes up people’s lives,” she pressed on before he had any opportunity to question her. “How much longer is this going to take?”
Edward spun on his swivel chair, flicking buttons on a chrome box until a holographic display of codes appeared against the white wall beside him. “We should be just about good to go . . . Yep, it says it right here . . .” he rambled, scanning over the words and images.
She stood up. Her heart was racing and she wished she could read the machine’s output just so she could know what he was about to say. He spun back around, nodding his head. “About nine weeks in.”
Sloan shook her head, backing away from the truth he had to offer her. “No.” The single word—a refusal to accept this—fell from her mouth. Edward stood.
“Sloan, it’s going to be just fine. You can tell the group; we’ve got your back,” he offered, smiling supportively.
“No—I cannot tell the group. I can’t fight like this, I can’t protect myself . . .” she rambled, grabbing the bed to steady herself. A thousand thoughts raced through her mind. This was bad—really bad.
“The group can protect you.”
Sloan’s hands curled into frustrated fists. “How many times do I have to tell you I am not telling the group?”
He shook his head, confused at her anger. “Well, you should at least talk it over with Elijah.”
