Adaptive: A Young Adult Dystopian Romance (The Elite Trials Book 2)

by Becky Moynihan

  Wolf?

  “Why is it not attacking us?”

  Ryker shrugged. “I'm guessing he's someone’s pet. Or used to be. He could have run away from the Recruiter Clan. Can’t blame him.”

  “You seem to know a lot about dogs. Did you used to have one?”

  I was surprised when his eyes shuttered, as if he were reliving a terrible memory. He cleared his throat, wiping away the dark expression. The abrupt noise startled the mutt and he danced farther into the woods, then peeked at Ryker from behind a tree.

  “We should go. Nightfall is in less than two hours.” With a last glance at the dog, he took off in the opposite direction.

  Question and answer time was over. I must have struck a nerve. Did tough guy Ryker Jones have a weak spot for puppies? Nervous laughter pushed at my throat but I didn’t let it out. I had a gut feeling that if I poked fun at him, I'd end up slow-roasting on a spit for dinner.

  We were practically jogging as the gray sky darkened.

  Ryker’s earlier swagger was gone, and he carried his bow now. We flitted from building to building, sticking to the narrow passes in between and ducking beneath the black windows. It was almost as if he was scared. Well, crap. If Tattoo Boy was afraid, then maybe I should be worried. I touched my daggers’ cold hilts, their solidness reassuring.

  We should be stopping soon and setting up camp, but he showed no signs of slowing. Finally, I couldn’t take it any longer. “Shouldn’t we stop for the night? The temperature is dropping and visibility is getting low.”

  Without comment, he rounded a red brick building. I followed, only to find him hunkered down behind a large, faded blue metal box. I sneered at the stupid color that reminded me of the Tatums, but crouched next to him. When I looked at his face, he was glaring at me. Nothing unusual there. “What did I say about talking?” he hissed. I could tell he wanted to yell instead.

  “That you think I do it really well?” In reply, his jaw clenched. Ugh, he has no sense of humor. I refused to answer his bossy question. “By the sound of things, we’re the only two souls passing through this city. What is there to be afraid of?”

  He snorted softly. “Everything. This city comes alive at night. The last place we want to be is within the city’s borders when its occupants crawl out of their holes.”

  Icy goosebumps rippled down my legs.

  “If it’s so dangerous, then why are we here? Why not skirt around it?”

  “Because Bren came through here.”

  At the sound of Bren’s name, my heart decided to skip a few beats. I ignored the feeling as best I could, focusing instead on the skepticism building in my gut. “How do you know?”

  “I’m tracking him,” he answered, an impatient edge creeping into his voice. Huh. He must not like being questioned.

  “Is he leaving a special trail only trackers can see?” I snarked. Because I still hadn’t spotted any signs of him.

  “Something like that,” Ryker said evasively.

  My eyes narrowed. “How did you get so good at tracking?”

  “How did you get so good at being annoying?”

  Oh. Short temper. I curled my lips into a fake smile. “Everyone’s got to have a hobby, right?”

  His teeth ground together, like he was restraining them from ripping into me. A long sigh fled his nose. “You—”

  “What deal did you make with Renold? What’s in it for you?” I prepared myself for the inevitable brush-off. No one wanted to reveal their secret plans with the devil.

  He laughed drily. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to.” And on that cryptic note, he peered around the metal box and tensed, as if listening to noises I couldn’t hear. “The city’s northeast border is two miles away,” he said, his voice extra low. “Beyond that, there’s a two-story white house that backs up to the woods. Our destination. If we get separated, meet me there. It’s on Orchard Street.”

  “Separated?” I whisper-yelled. But he didn’t respond, already up and moving. My heart thumped double time. Something strange was going on with this city if we were taking these precautions. And how on earth would I find Orchard Street?

  Ryker made a soft chirping noise. He gestured at me to join him. I did, squinting through the growing gloom as something stirred in the shadows across the snow-dusted street. I strained to see what it was. Ryker tapped my shoulder and I immediately stiffened, whipping my gaze to his.

  My breath hitched at the sight of his irises, almost glowing in their intensity. He pressed a finger to his lips and I nodded my understanding. Pointing at me, then up the street, he waggled two of his fingers and mimicked running legs. I frowned and shook my head, carefully backing up a step.

  No way was I darting out into the exposed street with an unknown thing lurking in the shadows nearby.

  Ryker bared his teeth and buried a fist in my coat. I almost squeaked in shock as he hauled me to the edge of the brick building. My stomach roiled a warning. Danger. He latched onto my arms, positioning me in front of him. I ached to ram an elbow into his gut and hide behind the blue box once more. “Northeast.” His words were barely a wisp of air. “Two miles. White house.”

  I fiercely shook my head again even as I searched the street for signs of life. None. Only the shifting shadow across from us.

  A sound like breaking glass burst the silence and I flinched. “Go,” Ryker breathed. What? Blood roared in my ears. He couldn’t be serious. “Now!”

  With a not-so-helpful nudge, he forced me into the open. Just as I was about to whirl around and demand we stick together, the shadow thing stilled. Adrenaline zinged through me. I bolted. Not back to Ryker, but down the street. My trembling legs pumped as fast as they could while encased in heavy boots and carrying an even heavier backpack. I couldn’t tell if I was being followed. My breaths and footfalls were peals of thunder. Too loud. Death tolls. I glanced behind me only to see a figure dart into the street.

  It wasn’t Ryker.

  Air seized in my lungs. My instincts went haywire. Run. No, hide. Run. Hide! I kept running. And then the street ended and I wanted to pass out from panic. Left or right? Left or right! I went left. Northeast. Two miles. Don’t forget. Don’t forget. Don’t look back. Don’t look . . .

  I looked back.

  Another figure joined the first and, with a loud whoop, gave chase. Stars, help me!

  It was the cackling noise that did me in. It sounded too much like Lars, and the thought of people like him out here, unimpeded by rules, scared me to death. I darted into a doorless building and was immediately doused in darkness. Bad idea, bad idea, bad idea. Ice coated my insides as I lurched forward, following through with my bad decision. Too late to turn around. The cackling drew closer. Glass crunched under my leather boots and I grimaced, trying to lighten my tread.

  Blood thumped painfully in my skull. I quickly sucked in a breath, then another. The ache lessened. I bumped into a metal structure, maybe shelves, and latched on, using my hands to guide me along the cold length. All too soon, I came to the end. Beyond, nothing but dead air.

  Then I realized the cackling and pounding of feet had stopped. I held my breath again, listening. Silence. Utterly . . .

  Crunch.

  I ducked behind the shelves and squeezed the bottom one until my fingers ached. Two human silhouettes framed the building’s entrance, blocking my only way out. Trapped. I was trapped. Oh stars.

  “You sure he went in here?” a deep male voice asked.

  “Of course I’m sure,” a tenor male voice snapped in reply, then cackled. “What, you don’t trust me?”

  “I trust that you’d dump rat poop into my food, Skervvy.”

  A man—I assumed Skervvy—guffawed. “Oh, ye of little imagination. I’d slip strychnine in your water. Much more entertaining.”

  “You’re sick, Skerv dog. Now stop your yammering and find our target.”

  The taller, skinnier man gave a dog-like yip, then slunk forward, glass grinding under his shoes. He sucked
in a lengthy inhale. “Oh man, Thane. This one’s fresh! Smells like snow and . . . flowers? Maybe apple blossoms. Do you think . . . ?” He hooted. “It’s a girl, I’m sure of it! I get credit this time. You got the last one.”

  Thane, the stockier of the two, snorted, then shuffled farther into the darkness. “Doesn’t work that way, dog. Whoever presents her to the boss gets the reward.”

  “Do you think she escaped?”

  “What? No. You think one of those weak little slips could best one of us?”

  “Hey, never underestimate determination and the wily ways of women.”

  Thane grumbled in agreement.

  Something struck the metal shelving I still gripped; the friction jolted through my fingers. I curled into a tighter ball and slowly drew my right dagger. How could he smell me? I cursed myself for indulging in a hot, scented bath this morning. Had it only been a handful of hours since I’d mourned my fate of being stuck inside Tatum City? And now . . .

  No. Despite the dangers, I was still glad to be outside of those toxic walls. The men were arguing in earnest now, their playful banter replaced with vile threats.

  “I’m warning you, man. I know where you get your water.”

  “I swear, if you touch my water supply, Skervvy, I’ll cut off your—”

  “Shh! Did you hear that?”

  Silence. Painful, ear-splitting silence.

  Cackling laughter made me jump. “She’s scared out of her mind. Her heart is hammering like a wee rabbit’s.”

  “Which direction?”

  More silence. I willed my heart to stop beating.

  “Left. Toward the back.”

  “Divide and conquer?”

  My heart jack-knifed in my chest.

  “Divide and conquer,” Skervvy agreed. “But she’s mine, man. Fair is fair. I sniffed her out.”

  “We’ll see,” was the only reply as, to my left, Thane crept into the gloom and out of sight.

  The faintly glowing and now unobstructed exit beckoned as the men descended, slowly yet surely boxing me in. But maybe I was faster than them. Maybe I could slip down the middle and bolt through the door and . . . and . . .

  The wait was killing me. Now. Go now! I jumped up and hurtled for the front end of the building, hoping, pleading for a stroke of luck. For a—

  A heavy weight tackled me to the floor. Pain zipped through my knees and hand as I braced against the fall. I whipped my dagger back and felt the blade connect. A man screamed—I didn’t know which one. “She’s armed!”

  Skervvy.

  I jerked an elbow into his face. He reared back, cursing up a storm, and I wriggled free. On my feet again, I staggered away, all of my focus on that patch of dying light. Almost there. Almost there. Almost—

  From the left, hands shoved me. I collided with the metal shelves, and the world tipped. No, the structure was tipping. No, no, no! Gravity pulled me down. As heavy metal crashed with a resounding clang, my body bounced off the shelves. I wheezed in air, momentarily stunned. My coat had cushioned the impact, but I knew my ribs would be sporting a new bruise.

  A set of hands—no doubt Thane’s—grasped my backpack and yanked me upright. I clenched my teeth against the pain and brought my dagger up, but he whirled us around before I could thrust it in his face. He was behind me now, tightly gripping both my arms. Rage stole over me, heat flaring up and down my body.

  “Drop the weapon, missy, or I’ll have to hurt you,” he purred in my ear, like he would enjoy doing so.

  I stared at that patch of freedom, so close yet so far away, and let the dagger slip through my fingers. It clattered at my feet.

  “Good. Now, don’t mind me,” he said, wrenching my arms back and gripping both wrists with one large hand, “but I’ll need to search you for more weapons.” And I let him. I remained perfectly still as his meaty paw, brazen and groping, trailed down my front. I didn’t twitch a muscle as that hand traveled down, down, brushing my thigh. As his chest pressed up against my backpack, as his breath stirred my hair . . .

  I struck.

  My skull plowed into his nose with a sickening crunch. Thane shrieked and staggered back, dropping my wrists. I scooped up my dagger, then charged for the exit. Just five more steps. Four. Three. Two. A sharp bite of pain lanced through my calf and I stumbled out of the building.

  I didn’t stop to check the injury. As I veered left down the deserted street, Skervvy’s voice rang out in an eerie singsong, “I know your scent, girly! You can’t hide from me for long. I’ll find you!” His cackling laughter was the last thing I heard.

  The night was pitch black. No sign of the moon.

  If it weren’t for the snow, I’d be walking blind. The faintly illuminated ground allowed me to pick my way through the city without smashing my head into buildings. Hours. It took me hours to reach the northeast borderline. Ryker had been right: the city came alive at night. On occasion, I’d see an orange flickering ball. I learned to avoid them at all costs. Black shapes hovered over those orange flames like bugs around a lightbulb.

  More than once, a pop pop pop noise would rend the air. It had been over eleven years since I’d last heard that sound, but there was no mistaking the gunshots. I had briefly stopped to check on my wound—Skervvy had nicked my calf with a blade—but I didn’t bandage the cut. I couldn’t. The crazed man’s final words batted at my mind and spurred me onward. I’ll find you! I believed him.

  Now, I stared with uncertainty at a rural stretch of weathered houses. I figured the faded green signs with words on them were street names, but I couldn’t recall which one Ryker had told me to find. My heart sank. Besides, I could barely read, never having received more than a seven-year-old’s rudimentary knowledge of spelling. Longer, complex words tripped me up. I was lost and the air was frigid. A headache had bloomed behind my eyes from all the chattering my teeth were doing.

  Maybe this was my chance to be free of Ryker. He’d probably get me killed anyway. He had shoved me at those up-to-no-good hoodlums and then took off for who-knew-where. Somehow, I had to track Bren on my own. I would find him, convince him to complete his mission, then head back to Tatum City. To Iris, my sister. I couldn’t let Renold have her. He would destroy her. She wasn’t like me, raging and fighting to break free of injustice. Iris was soft-spoken and gentle. Meek. She wouldn’t survive his torture techniques.

  Resolve filled me. It warmed my insides, giving me the boost of strength I needed to turn from the row of houses and—

  I came face to face with Ryker. His glaring eyes startled me so badly, a squeak slipped past my lips. He clamped a hand over my mouth too late. I flung his hand away, snarling, “Don’t. Touch. Me.”

  His gaze narrowed even more, running along the length of me. I fought the urge to cross my arms. Those unnerving eyes latched onto my wounded leg before returning to my face. “Where were you going?”

  I gestured at the houses. “I forgot which street the white house was on.” Better to admit that than my altered mission of excluding him.

  “No, you were turning away. You were going to ditch me.”

  “So what if I was? You’re the one who ditched me earlier.”

  He forced out a clipped sigh before reaching into his pocket. I stiffened, instinctively grasping my daggers’ hilts. “I didn’t ditch you. It was a test. And you failed.”

  Before I could see what he pulled out of his pocket, before I could make sense of the determined look on his face, a jolt of white hot agony streaked up my spine. It speared through my neck and bounced around in my skull. My body locked. Shook. I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t move. The sensation was like being struck by lightning. Like being zapped with . . .

  Ah crap.

  My eyes rolled upward against my wishes. Helpless. I was helpless as my body lost control. Helpless as I tipped sideways, as I fell. Down, down . . . But I didn’t smack into the snow.

  No. Ryker caught me.

  Then all went black.

  Click.

&nbs
p; Click.

  Click.

  The metallic sound woke me. Was someone trying to unlock my dorm door? Out of habit, I reached for the knife underneath my pillow. Or tried to. My arms wouldn’t cooperate. Neither would my wrists. They were being restrained.

  As the realization sunk in, my eyes popped open. I waited for my surroundings to take on familiar shapes, but . . .

  I wasn’t in my barracks dorm room.

  The room’s walls weren’t cement but a dingy, flaking yellow plaster. I quickly looked around—the action drove pinpricks of pain through my skull. My wrists were tied to the wood-slatted headboard of the bed I lay on. Bed. I was in a stranger’s bed.

  My breathing sped up. Think, think, think. Where am I? Renold would never allow a room in Tatum House to fall into such disrepair. There weren’t even curtains. I inhaled sharply. The windows were boarded up. Trapping me. Making me a prisoner. Always a prisoner.

  A scream got stuck in my throat. Don’t alert the kidnappers, you idiot. Free yourself! I fisted my hands, then pulled and twisted and yanked against my restraints. The delicate skin of my wrists burned, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. I had worked too hard, day in and day out for eleven years to contend in the Trials. No one would take away my chance at freedom. No one. Not even—

  I gasped and a tear slipped down my cheek as memories came to me.

  Bren. The Trials. My sister—Iris. My new title, Elite Guardian.

  The mission.

  My ultimatum.

  It had already happened.

  I was . . . I was somewhere else now . . .

  “Took you long enough to wake up.”

  My head jerked toward the room’s open door and there stood Ryker, holding a gun. His thumb repeatedly flicked a lever on its dull black side. Click. Click. Click. I doggedly tracked the movement as my brain tried to make sense of everything. At the next flick, it all clicked into place. Especially the memory of an electrical charge rendering me unconscious.

  I suddenly couldn’t breathe past the raging fire in my chest. “What did you do?” I rasped. My throat was dry and my tongue felt three sizes too large. I spoke anyway, more forcefully this time. “What did you do?”