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

by Becky Moynihan

  Now we were getting somewhere. “You actually want to complete the mission?”

  “Of course I do. Why wouldn’t I?”

  “I thought your real mission was to get us back to Tatum City as soon as possible.”

  Silence followed. And there it was—my leverage.

  I glanced behind me, noting that his shoulders were slightly hunched. “See, I can’t naively trust that you’ll keep my secret. I’m sure you understand given how you’ve ratted me out in the past. So tell me why you’re really out here, and we can call it even.”

  He huffed, shaking his head at my attempts to trap him. “Bren and I . . . we’ve known each other for many years. We were forced to do a lot of unsavory things. When we parted ways, it wasn’t on the best of terms. Probably why he pretended not to know me while we were inside Tatum City. Anyway, if I can help him complete his mission, maybe we can resolve some of the things left unsaid between us. Elite Tatum doesn’t know any of this, and I want to keep it that way.”

  I faced forward again so he couldn’t see my jaw drop. Did Bren and Ryker used to be friends? The world shrunk even more. Did Ryker know about my past connection with Bren? “This is so weird,” I whispered. Louder, I said, “Consider us even, after you let me see your injury.”

  “I told you it’s—” His pained gasp was unmistakable. I whirled around in time to see him slump against a tree. As he caught his breath, his eyes glazed over.

  With a snort, I backtracked. “You’re worse than me. ‘I’m fine. Just a little blood gushing out of my body like a waterfall that’ll magically heal without aid.’” I pointed at a fallen log in a very Bren-like manner. “Sit.”

  He looked ready to argue, but I poked him in the chest with my stick and he practically tipped over backward. He threw me a glare as he caught himself, then slowly lowered his body without comment. The tough guy didn’t like looking weak? Too bad. I contemplated feeding him a Bren line, then thought better of it. We weren’t friends—I didn’t have to play nice. I also didn’t want him to zap me.

  I sat next to him, stretching out my injured leg as I fished the first aid kit from my pack. He unzipped his coat and I gasped. So much blood. A large dark stain covered the left side of his gray shirt. “What happened?”

  “Skervvy happened.” His hand trembled as he tried to lift his shirt. “The bullet didn’t hit anything too vital though. It passed through cleanly.”

  Bullet? Passed through? I wasn’t squeamish about blood, but the thought of a bloody hole in Ryker’s stomach sent a shiver dancing up my spine. “Well, that’s . . . good. Here. Let me.” I reached for his shirt and he stilled. Was he going to push me away? I gingerly grasped the hem and, when he didn’t stop me, lifted the material.

  A large bandage that leaked blood was affixed to his left side just under the rib cage. I tried to remember the rudimentary lessons Drake had given us on anatomy so we’d know where best to strike our opponent. The stomach was on the left side of the midsection but further down. As I carefully peeled off the bandage, I remembered. The spleen. I swallowed the bile building in my throat. “When you say the bullet didn’t hit anything too vital . . .”

  “I mean that I’ll live,” he finished. “But I couldn’t stitch it up properly by myself. And I can’t reach the exit wound.”

  “Ryker,” I breathed, moving to lift the back of his shirt. The material stuck to his skin. “How are you still alive? Isn’t your spleen ruptured?”

  “Careful. You almost sound worried.”

  “I’m not—” I glanced up to see him smirking. Smirking! “This is serious,” I hissed, and panic edged my voice despite myself. I didn’t know how to treat a gunshot wound. I would probably make it worse.

  “Deadly serious.”

  My eyebrows scrunched together as I studied him. “Are you drunk?” Renold sometimes drank wine with dinner and an untimely joke would slip past his normally flawless control.

  “I might have taken something for the pain.” He shrugged. “So shoot me.”

  I pressed my lips together as a comeback formed on my tongue. This wasn’t the time to indulge him. “Stitching you up won’t fix this. You need a doctor or you’re going to die.” There. I said it. Maybe he’d snap out of the weird mood he was in and tell me what we should do now.

  He sighed and grabbed the kit from me. “Just stitch me up, Lune. I’m a lot tougher than I look.” With a bottle of disinfectant in one hand and a needle in the other, he paused. “Guess that makes me indestructible.”

  “Okay, this version of you is downright creepy. Give me the bottle.” I didn’t bother warning him of the inevitable pain to come—he seemed to have transported his brain to an alternate reality anyway.

  “I can remember the day like it was yesterday,” he mumbled, barely flinching as I began to remove the poor stitchwork he’d inflicted on himself. I ignored him as best I could, trying to steady my hands so I wouldn’t cause more damage. Then he said, “I told Bren not to do it, you know.” I paused.

  “Do what?”

  “Approach you that day at the lake.”

  I sat up straight, tugging the last of his stitches free too quickly. He groaned but my mouth had dried, shriveling up an apology. After several failed tries, I managed to say, “Wha—? How?”

  His eyes rose to mine, and for a moment, they were clear. Completely serious. My heart thundered as he said, “Because the day you were kidnapped, I was there too.”

  I gaped, frozen in place when those two-toned eyes rolled upward. Then he tipped over unconscious.

  Leaving me hanging after that kind of announcement was beyond rude. I cut him some slack, all things considered, but Ryker had some major explaining to do when he woke up. While he slept—probably dreaming of the day he’d helped destroy my life—I worked on patching him up the best I could.

  More than once, I contemplated driving the needle through his eye and being done with him once and for all. I wouldn’t do it, but the thought was there all the same. Every time he revealed a secret to me, I felt further confused and frustrated. Maybe I’d hold the pain meds hostage, refuse to give him any until he spilled his entire life’s story. I tied off the last stitch and surveyed my handiwork. Since the most I’d ever stitched was a hole in my training gear, I was quite pleased. Ryker didn’t need to know that though.

  He was currently laid out inside my very tiny, single-person tent. I had felt a shred of sympathy as I’d surveyed him spread-eagle in the snow without a coat on. The least I could do was drag his ridiculously heavy body a few feet into a tent so he didn’t catch a cold next. Now, an hour later, he was still in dreamland as I debated what to do.

  Pros to keeping him alive: he could tell me more about my past and Bren’s. And I couldn’t forget that he was the key to getting back inside Tatum City, if that was the actual truth. Pros to letting him die: he couldn’t blab any more of my secrets to Renold, he couldn’t help Bren fulfill his mission, he couldn’t stop me from running away, he couldn’t slow me down as he eventually died from infection and a ruptured spleen.

  I growled and swung my walking stick at a nearby tree. The stick snapped in two. Well, that was stupid. This whole mission was stupid. “What’s the point?” I yelled at the blue, cloudless sky, wishing the answers were written there. Ryker was dying, that’s all I knew for certain. The realization made me feel . . . helpless. Not relieved, like I’d hoped.

  Bear padded into the small clearing with a limp rabbit in his maw. He eyed me for a moment, then silently approached, dropping the hare at my feet. Tears threatened to spill down my cheeks. So much had gone wrong this past week, but this loyal dog was the one highlight. His size still spooked me at times, but his quiet friendship eased my fears. Comforted me when I thought all was lost.

  “Thanks, buddy,” I murmured. “Guess it’s time I learn how to build a fire.”

  We stayed put for the rest of the day. By sundown, Ryker still hadn’t woken, and his skin was feverishly warm. I managed to tuck him inside my sle
eping bag when I couldn’t find his. It was probably still in that ramshackle cabin we’d holed up in. How the tables had turned. Now I was the one trying to save his life. Except I was doing a terrible job at it.

  Might as well make good use of all that body heat, my callous inner self suggested. But I had to agree. The adrenaline from earlier had worn off, leaving me bone tired. Careful not to jostle him, I slipped in beside him and waited for his warmth to penetrate my icy skin. The fire I’d managed to ignite crackled just beyond the tent, a welcome sound to dispel the utter silence. My belly was full for the first time in days, thanks to my new friend. And my body was slowly warming, courtesy of a dying Ryker.

  The morbid thought punched me in the gut. I rose up onto an elbow and peered down at Ryker’s face. Still unconscious. Still drenched with sweat. But the constant line between his black brows was gone. The brackets around his mouth were erased. Sleep suited him. Maybe it offered him peace, like water did for me.

  My eyes drifted shut, but I quickly snapped them open. He needed to be watched over. What if he died in the middle of the night while I was fast asleep beside him? A shudder shook my shoulders. “Don’t you dare die while I’m wedged in a sleeping bag with you, Ryker Jones,” I whispered.

  His moon and claw tattoo contrasted sharply with his too-pale neck. How much blood had he lost on his trek to catch up with me? Guilt gnawed at my insides. Our paths might be opposing, but he was trying to protect me for whatever reason. He had saved me from both man and nature. Maybe he wasn’t entirely bad. Maybe, just maybe, I could give him a chance.

  After a moment’s hesitation, I trailed my fingers over the tattoo. “Thank you.”

  He didn’t stir.

  The last thing I remembered was tracing the edges of his tattoo, then jerking awake as a fierce growl ripped through the night. I scrambled out of the sleeping bag, too frantic to worry about disturbing Ryker. In a rush, I jammed my boots on, hissing as my injured ankle throbbed. Instead of my coat, I snatched up my bow, quiver, and a dagger.

  I recognized Bear’s growl as I burst from the tent with weapons raised, but a shrill cry drowned him out. Every hair on my body stood on end at the sound. Cat. My heart thumped madly against my ribs. And not just any cat. Saber cat. My worst nightmare.

  Stars help me, let this be a dream.

  Bright yellow eyes danced on the far side of the dying fire, squashing my hope. I almost bit off my tongue when I saw a large shadow near the flames. It was only Bear. I wanted to call him away from that hellish creature, but my throat closed. With his teeth bared, the dog inched around the campfire.

  An image of a mauled body flashed before me, first a human’s—not the girl who’d died in my Arcus Point Trial, but one more familiar, one that I tried so hard to forget—then Bear’s. My chest tightened as I blinked both the memory and vision away. Flickering flames took their place. I grimaced when I realized the terrible mistake I’d made in building that fire. It was my fault the cat had found us, then and now. But I wouldn’t let history repeat itself. I wouldn’t let Bear be the cat’s victim when it should be me.

  I sheathed my dagger and readied my bow instead, the familiar motion of fitting an arrow to the string a slight balm to my fraying nerves. As I forced my feet to move, not away from the horrific nightmare but toward, one word echoed like a shot through my head. Protect. Protect. Protect. Protect Bear. Protect Ryker. Protect myself. Running wouldn’t solve this problem. Fighting would.

  I filled my lungs.

  “Over here!” I yelled and charged into the open where I’d have a clear view of the cat—and it of me. I couldn’t think, only feel, relying on instinct to guide my body. My eyes adjusted to the darkness just enough to see the monster’s outline. The shout must have given it pause, but now that I wasn’t near the fire, now that I was a solitary human, unprotected and alone and weak, the cat pounced.

  Fear almost destroyed me in that moment. It caused me to freeze for a second too long, to aim a little too high, to blink instead of jump aside as the beast barreled into me and took me down. But instinct saved me. I tore my dagger free and plunged the blade into the cat’s side before I could blink a second time.

  The animal screamed, its finger-length canines inches from my face. With a cry of my own, I shoved the dagger into its side once more. Then again. And again. I rolled as its body slumped into the snow. Heaving in shaky breaths, I stared wide-eyed at the massive creature, not believing that it was dead. My body tensed, ready for more.

  Up until now, adrenaline had allowed me to forget my injured ankle, but as I stood, I felt the bones shift. A sickening wave of agony bolted up my leg and I fell to my knees, choking back a scream. Push past the pain! Now wasn’t the time to show weakness. I was strong. I could protect.

  What if there were more saber cats?

  At the thought, I stilled. Then scanned the area. Dead cat. Campfire. Tent. Something was missing. Where was Bear? My heart skipped a beat. “B—”

  A shape came running at me. I scrambled for my bow as the beast closed in fast. With seconds to spare, I pulled back the string, ready to shoot. My eyes widened when I recognized the tan and black markings. Bear. It was Bear! But he was coming right for me, his teeth flashing. Not knowing what to do and unwilling to hurt him, I curled into a ball, protecting my head.

  Air stirred my hair as he leapt. And landed behind me.

  Screams and snarls filled the clearing. When the fighting beasts almost barreled into me, I scrambled a safe distance away on my hands and knees. All I saw was a flurry of tan and black fur and razor sharp teeth. Bear must be one of them, protecting me from another saber cat. I prepared my bow again, but at the speed the animals were fighting, chances were high that I’d hit the wrong target.

  My stomach twisted as Bear yelped. I focused harder, zeroing in on a patch of smooth beige fur. Please don’t miss, please don’t miss. When Bear emitted a high-pitched whine, I couldn’t stand it any longer. My fingers loosened on the bowstring. At that exact same moment, the sharp report of a gun cracked across the night sky. I jerked in surprise and my arrow flew wide. The two animals leapt apart. As soon as they did, more shots filled the air.

  The cat’s cries as bullets pelted its body sounded too much like a human’s. Chills washed over me. Afraid one of the bullets would hit me next, I didn’t move. Then swallowed a shriek when fur brushed my side. It was Bear, shielding me from the new threat. I wasn’t given time to wonder at his protectiveness as several masked figures barged into the clearing with weapons trained on us.

  I dropped my bow and raised my hands, knowing that fighting would no doubt earn me a bullet to the brain. Bear pressed closer to me and growled at the approaching humans. Before I could comfort him, I heard a male voice say, “Shoot the wolf.”

  “No!” Without thought of how he would react to my touch, I threw my arms around Bear, trying to cover his body with mine.

  Fingers dug into my shoulders and wrestled me away from him. Bear loosed a flurry of snarls. His muscles bunched as he readied to strike. Then he yipped sharply and whirled in a tight circle. He whipped around again, whining and stumbling. I watched with mounting horror as he righted himself only to collapse.

  Struggling against my captor’s ironclad hold, I shouted, “What did you do to him? What did you do?” No one spoke as Bear curled into a ball and closed his eyes. My stomach dropped. “No. Bear!”

  The cry ended in a whimper as my bad ankle gave out, forcing my captor to adjust their hold. “She’s injured,” a man said from behind me.

  “I think the other one is dead,” a female voice called from the direction of my tent. Time ground to a halt. The tent. Ryker. No. No, it wasn’t true. He wasn’t dead.

  The world tilted. I blinked rapidly to clear my vision. Breathe. Just breathe. “He’s not dead,” I whispered. No one heard me.

  A tall figure dressed head-to-toe in black with only a slit cut out for the eyes blocked my view of the tent. “Hold still,” he ordered, then waved a blue glowi
ng wand in front of me. Down. Up. Down again. Up. Beep. Pause. Beep beep beep. He swore. “She’s chipped!”

  The words didn’t register. “He’s not dead,” I repeated, louder this time.

  “The other one is too,” the same female said, rounding the tall man to stand in front of me. “Who do you work for?”

  “He’s not dead,” I told her, straining once more to be free of the hands holding me. I had to see with my own eyes that Ryker was still alive. He couldn’t have died while I was out saving his life. “I need to see him. Just for a second. Let me see him.”

  The woman drew closer, halting mere inches away. There was enough light in the clearing to reveal her dark almond-shaped eyes as they glared at me threateningly. “You’re not going anywhere. Tell us who you work for and maybe I won’t shoot you.”

  Click.

  I glanced down to see a gun level with my chest. At the moment, I didn’t care. “Go ahead, kill me. I won’t be enslaved by another madman. But let me see my friend one last time. Just for a second.”

  She studied me for a good long while, then shook her head and turned toward the tall man. As they whispered, I was given a window of opportunity. An impossibly small one, but if this was to be my last moment on earth, I would make it count. I bashed my head into my captor’s face, then yanked my arms out of his grip.

  The next part—the pain of putting weight on my ankle and avoiding several grasping pairs of hands—almost dragged me to my knees. But I didn’t stop. I had to know. Only a yard away from confirming if Ryker still lived, someone tackled me to the ground. I yelled my fury and quickly unsheathed my dagger. “Just let me see him!”

  The blade slid free only for a boot to stomp on my hand. My scream was cut short as a sharp object plunged into my neck. A needle. I coughed in surprise at the sickening whoosh that filled my head, then my limbs, slowing my blood. My eyes slammed shut. Sound warped, muted. But before I sunk into oblivion, I heard a female voice hiss in my ear, “You shouldn’t have done that.”