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

by Becky Moynihan

  He pressed his lips together, then barked a laugh. I tried to stay strong, but ended up joining him a few seconds later. “Lune Avery,” he said, still chuckling, “I will never grow tired of that sassy mouth.”

  My laughter died. Crap. I was thinking about lips again. I needed to punch something. Like right now.

  Thankfully, Brendan’s state of mind was more stable than mine at the moment. He turned, crooking a finger at me to follow. “I’d rather just show you what I can do. It’s more fun that way.”

  Why did that statement send heat flooding into my cheeks?

  When we arrived at the gym, the lights were off. Instead of flicking the switch on, Brendan strolled into the pitch black room without pause, quickly disappearing from view. I stopped at the door, unsure what to do. “Brendan? Is this another attempt to scare the crap out of me?”

  At the answering silence, I huffed and felt along the wall for a light switch. Argh, where was it? As I continued to sweep my hand along the stone, the air in front of me became heavier, the darkness denser. My heart pounded and, instinctively, I threw an arm out, expecting to hit flesh and bone. Nothing but empty air. Now I felt stupid.

  “You missed,” a voice whispered in my ear and I couldn’t hold back a shriek. I whirled around, swinging a fist this time, but no one was there. Light flooded the room and I squinted as I searched for the person who had just earned himself a butt-kicking. Something tugged my ponytail and I whipped an elbow back. Nothing there. I turned, slowly this time, to find Brendan leaning against the wall near the light switch, an infuriating smirk on his face. “Don’t feel bad, little bird. I can see in the dark and have heightened reflexes.”

  I crossed my arms. “I’m not the one who should feel bad. Who’s the one picking on a helpless girl with an injured leg?”

  He laughed softly. “You’re anything but helpless. And the old you would smack the new you for playing the victim card, by the way.” He pushed off the wall as my mouth fell open. Did he just chastise me? Well, now I was ticked off.

  “Since you know so much about me, then how, pray tell, would the old me react to this situation?”

  Snatching up two pairs of gloves, he put one on, then tossed me the other. “She would have taken my words as a challenge and made me eat them by overcoming the obstacle I’d just put in her way.”

  “Huh. She sounds tough.” I jammed on the gloves. “Or stupid.”

  With a sigh, he beckoned me forward. At first, I stubbornly held my ground, then realized how childish I was being and moved. Slowly. He waited until I raised my eyes to his, then said, “She was strong and brave.” He lightly tapped the side of my head with his glove. “And she’s still in there.”

  “What if . . . what if she isn’t?” I asked quietly, admitting to a fear that had been squatting in the back of my mind.

  “She is,” he said with conviction, not a trace of doubt in his tone. “I won’t accept anything else.”

  His words warmed me, filled me with a new boldness. Ask. Now’s your chance. I bit the inside of my cheek, trying to ignore the prodding. But a moment later, I blurted, “What was she to you?”

  There. I said it. No take-backs. But as his expression pinched and he looked down at his gloves, I squirmed with the need to run. Talking about personal stuff must not come easily for me—something he and I seemed to have in common.

  The moment for his reply came . . . and went. Awkward silence reigned. The urge to drum my foot on the ground, to release some of this, this tension, zipped through me. Brushing past Brendan, I made a beeline for the punching bag that hung in the middle of the room. Wham! I poured all of my frustration into that punch, the impact a satisfying jolt of pain up my arm. Still, the heavy leather bag barely budged. I could do better.

  I let loose a flurry of punches, not caring if I was doing it wrong. My blood was heating, pumping strong through my veins. That’s all that mattered. For several minutes, I lost myself to the mindless rhythm of whacking the bag, unconsciously counting each hit. Sweat beaded my brow and rolled down my spine.

  An insane desire to grin overcame me.

  “It’s the adrenaline.”

  I paused mid-swing, surprised he was still here. “What?” I said, maybe with a bit too much attitude. An image of his face appeared on the bag, swaying. Mocking. Whack!

  “Your new habit—the restless leg thing. It’s because your body was craving an adrenaline release.”

  I straightened, softly panting, then finally looked at him with a frown. “What does that mean?”

  His lips twitched knowingly, which just made my frown deepen. “It means,” he drawled, “that you’re an adrenaline junkie. You’ve been training nonstop since you were ten years old. You’re not used to inactivity.”

  “Are you calling me an addict?”

  He shrugged. “There’s no shame in it. I get cravings too. They’re a bit different than yours though.”

  “Like what?” As soon as I asked the question, I knew he wouldn’t answer. I could practically see his shoulder muscles go rigid. “You know what? Never mind.” I about-faced and struck the punching bag with renewed vigor. One, two, three. Whack, whack, wham. Four, five, six—

  “Hit me instead.”

  I grabbed the swaying bag and glared at him. “What?”

  His lips tipped sardonically. “I said to hit me instead. I can always tell when you want to. And, boy oh boy, do you want to right now.”

  The goading undertone. The challenge flashing in those gold eyes. I bared my teeth and marched to him, halting a yard away. “And how can you tell? Do you read minds, is that it? You never did tell me exactly what your abilities are. Oh wait, is that a secret too?”

  Yeah, I was challenging him. Taking the gloves off—figuratively. Daring him to play this game that I couldn’t seem to back down from.

  He approached, pinning me in place with a look that both thrilled and scared me. Predator, my mind screamed. Run! I locked my limbs. Even when he slowly began to circle me, I refused to move. Goosebumps skittered down my arms and legs as he came up behind me, as he whispered into my ear, “I can sense your anger. Smell it, taste it.”

  I couldn’t breathe.

  His arm brushed mine as he circled in front of me. “I can hear your thundering heartbeats. Smell your adrenaline and fear. Sense your ability trying to project.” He paused, swallowing audibly. My hands shook with the need to . . . I didn’t know what. But holding still right now was torture of the worst kind.

  Behind me once again, I felt the moment his fingers, now free of gloves, met my back. My first instinct was to stiffen and pull away, but my body had other plans. I all but melted, unconsciously leaning into the touch. My eyes slid shut. “I could track you to the ends of the earth,” he continued, his warm breath fanning my neck. “All because I can’t resist your scent. Your ability calls to me, tugs at me, pulls me. It’s my craving.”

  His hand fisted the back of my shirt, making my stomach muscles jump. I gasped softly, unable to move even if I tried.

  He groaned, yanking gently on the fabric until my back met his chest. “Don’t do that.”

  “Do what?” My voice sounded embarrassingly weak.

  I could feel his chest expand, then contract. A shudder rolled through him, passing through me as well. “Don’t torture me,” he said breathlessly. For a moment, the world ceased to exist as I let the feel of him wash over me, consume me. I hardly knew him, and yet, I’d never felt so connected to someone. And right now . . . I wanted to be closer.

  My face turned toward the warmth of his breath, seeking what it wanted. My body buzzed with sureness, more certain in its goal than anything I’d known since waking up in this place. I turned around fully, facing Brendan until a mere inch separated us. A small movement was all it would take to claim what I sought.

  As my nose brushed against his chin, and he inhaled shakily, I knew why I wanted this so badly. He made me feel alive. He was my own personal spark plug. And I wanted to explode. I stoo
d on tiptoe, determined to do just that, when he jerked upright. Swearing softly, he grasped my shoulders and eased me back a step. “I’m—I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. It’s not right.” He blew out a harsh breath and released me, creating more space between us.

  My brain slowly clicked back on. I blinked, searching his face, hoping for something to make sense. But all I felt was—

  “I know. I screwed up and made things even more confusing for you. It’s just . . . we’re not in Tatum City anymore, and . . . circumstances are different now. More complicated. I—I can’t.” With that, he strode out of the gym like he wanted nothing more than to erase what had just happened.

  And now, all I felt was numb. And cold.

  Polite detachment.

  That was how Brendan handled our time together for the next three days. I told myself over and over that it didn’t bother me, that spending my free time with his sister was good enough. But there was an ache, an empty hole behind my ribs that I couldn’t fill no matter how busy I made myself, or how often I burned off excess energy.

  If I was being completely honest with myself, it was a Brendan-sized hole. Nothing else could fill it. Was this a sign that I needed therapy? Because these feelings seemed . . . obsessive. But how could I ignore them when I spent several hours with him every day?

  A thought whacked me upside the head and my eyes flew open.

  Dominic sighed, but not in annoyance. He was too good-natured for that. “You’re still fighting my attempts at unlocking your memories. Your mind needs to be clear, focused. Where’s it at this morning, Lune? It feels scattered.”

  “Sorry.” I shook my hands out and uncrossed my legs. Meditation must not have been something my old self did. The position felt entirely unnatural to me. “Can we take a five minute break? I think I finally figured out why I can’t focus.”

  His eyebrows rose but he unfolded his limbs and stood, offering me a hand. I smiled my thanks and quickly left the soundproof cubicle. It didn’t take much searching to find my guard. He was leaning against the Ability Center’s outer wall, his eyes already trained on me as I approached. Did he ever get bored of guard duty? How had he spent his time before Tatum City and the Elite Trials?

  I was doing it again. Distracting my mind with thoughts of Brendan Bearon instead of focusing on manifesting my ability and unlocking my memories. I sighed through my nose. There was only one way to fix this problem. I stopped several feet away, making sure there was lots of space between us. Not knowing how best to say this, I went with blunt honesty. “I want a new guard.”

  He pushed off from the wall but didn’t come closer. I noticed his jaw harden though. “Why?”

  Ah crap. I hadn’t thought of a proper explanation. “Because . . . because I can’t have distractions right now.” Ugh, nope. Try again. “Look, I don’t think babysitting me is what you want. If your heart’s not in it, then why not pass me off to someone else? I’m sure your ability is needed for far more important things anyway.”

  There. That was rational.

  Then why did I feel terrible when his expression shuttered, like he was protecting himself from the blow my words had just dealt him? I opened my mouth, not knowing what to say but wanting to fix the look on his face. It almost looked like betrayal. Before I could speak, he cleared his throat, then said softly, “If that’s what you want.”

  It wasn’t. “It is,” I replied, already mourning the loss of his future company.

  He gave a curt nod and broke eye contact. “I’ll speak with Dr. Moore, but for today, I’ll ask Jaxon to watch over you.”

  By the time I willed my lips to form a thank you, he was gone.

  Two days later, I had a breakthrough.

  With a wave of nausea, the vision hit me, then forced me to watch a little girl slip and crack her head on the ground. A large pool of blood grew beneath her as the mother screamed. I dropped my food tray, too stunned to cry out, and the scene vanished.

  No blood. No screaming.

  The girl was upright again, whole and alive. Running toward the slick spot that would make her fall. But the sound of my plate shattering startled her. She stopped and turned toward the noise. Everyone did. A tremor went through me and I doubled over, fighting the urge to throw up.

  Jaxon, now my official guard, was calling my name. Maybe I went into shock then, because I straightened and walked all the way to the Ability Center without remembering the trip over. Dominic wasn’t there. He must be at lunch. I curled into a ball in the farthest corner of the enormous room and switched my thoughts off.

  That was how Brendan found me. I knew it was him when he knelt in front of me, but I knew that if I looked into his eyes, I’d lose it. My control was unraveling and I kept winding it back up, forcing myself to keep it together. A warm hand rested on my bent knee. His hand. No, no. Stop. He couldn’t comfort me right now.

  I’m not fragile glass. I’m not breaking . . .

  Her eyes had been glassy.

  Dead.

  Pain speared through my chest. Then heat. The heat warmed my cheeks too. No, those were hands, tilting my face up, making me look at eyes brimming with concern. Alive. The eyes were alive. So were the girl’s. She’s alive. It’s okay. You’re okay.

  I became aware of Brendan’s voice telling me to breathe. I focused on the deep, rolling timbre, on the comfort the sound brought me. And then it all spilled out. “She—she tripped. The blood. So real. So much of it. I—she died, Brendan. Just like that. Gone.” He stared at me and I couldn’t read his expression. Did he think I was crazy? “What was it? A hallucination? I—I don’t want it. I don’t—”

  My chin wobbled, cutting off my disjointed words. Brendan’s face fell. He tugged me into his arms. My cheek ended up pressed to his chest, and I listened to the reassuring sound of his heartbeat. I allowed myself a moment of comfort that only he could give. It was selfish. But I fisted it tightly with both hands.

  Then I let go, knowing I needed to pull myself together before anyone else saw. If this was part of my ability, I’d need to deal with it and fast before it swallowed me whole. Before I became crazy and dangerous like everyone here was waiting to see happen.

  “What happened?”

  I pulled away at the sound of Dominic’s voice. “I’m fine,” I said, peering at him over Brendan’s shoulder. My legs trembled slightly, but I managed to stand on my own and smile, even though it was fake and lasted all of one second. At least I hadn’t shed any tears. “I just—I wasn’t expecting it. The vision, I mean.”

  Dominic’s face split into a huge grin. “You had a vision? Tell me everything: what you were thinking about before it happened, what it felt like, how you reacted. The more information you can give me, the better I’ll know how to train you.”

  So I did. I recounted the entire terrible event in detail, staring at my hands the whole time so I wouldn’t have to see Dominic’s exuberant expression, or Brendan’s troubled one. Jaxon was there too, looking serious for once. By the time I finished, exhaustion weighed heavily on my shoulders and a headache pulsed at my temples.

  Dominic turned his handheld off after he’d tapped in the whole story. Said we’d test a new theory he had on how to jump-start my ability first thing tomorrow. I couldn’t muster any enthusiasm because there was only one thought clanging through my skull right now. This ability of mine was a curse. If it wanted to show me people dying, then I really would go crazy.

  I begged off all activity for the rest of the day, saying I had a headache. I did, except I knew the excuse for what it was: a way to shut out the world. Maybe I’d take a long shower—water always seemed to help drown my thoughts. But when I entered my room, my feet steered me toward the bed instead. A quick nap sounded heavenly, an activity that I bet the old me didn’t indulge in very often. Just an hour . . .

  Knock, knock.

  Bells came barging into my room in a flurry of wavy dark hair and rustling fabric. After flicking the light on, she waltzed to my bed and dumped
an armload of material onto my prostrate body. “What are you doing?” she said, hands on hips as she threw me a quizzical look. “Even my four-year-olds don’t go to bed this early.”

  I huffed and yanked the blankets over my head. How long had I been asleep? “That’s because they haven’t manifested yet.”

  “Actually, one of the boys just did. He picked up a book of mine and started reading it to the entire class, marking him as an Intellect.” She paused and I peeked over the blanket at her face. It was turning bright pink. “Anyway, the book wasn’t age appropriate. I hope I don’t get reassigned to another job.”

  With a sigh, I threw the covers back. “They wouldn’t do that. You’re so good with those kids.” Which made me think of the girl who’d almost died this afternoon. Did Bells know her? She would have been devastated.

  “I heard about what happened,” she said sympathetically. She must have felt my mood, guessing at my train of thought. “When I first manifested, I cried a lot, like several times a day. Feeling another’s emotions is scary and overwhelming, especially when you don’t know how to turn the ability off. Sometimes it’s so strong, I can hear people’s thoughts, like they’re shouting the words inside my head. My parents thought there was something seriously wrong with me.”

  I sat up and swung my legs over the bed’s side. “Your parents?” Brendan’s parents too, I assumed. Maybe they’d be more willing to answer my questions about their son. “Are they here?”

  “Oh.” She looked down and fiddled with her handheld. “They died when I was five. I barely remember them, but Bren tells me stories. He was eight when it happened.”

  At the news, a deep ache spread through my chest. Not expecting such a strong reaction, I rubbed at the pain clutching my heart. “I’m sorry to hear. I—” I swallowed past the lump in my throat. “I don’t remember my parents. I, um, Brendan said I have a sister though. Iris.”

  Bells’ face brightened. “Oh, I heard about her! Bren can’t talk much about his missions—too many moving parts, he says—but he told me about you and Iris and your charger when he came home. Cleopatra, right? What’s it like to ride such a ferocious beast?”