He wedged his leg between mine, then grabbed a chunk of my hair, forcing my head back. I knew what would happen next. Every cell in my body railed against the impending violation. I would rather die. Ryker was right. Some things were worse than death. As Thane’s head lowered, I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to switch off my thoughts, my senses, escape to a place where no one could touch me.
Then he let out a loud yelp, his grip falling away. Growls and screams filled the air. I tore my eyes open in time to see a large tan and black beast take him down, immediately lunging for his neck. Blood sprayed. Skervvy yelled, brandishing a gun, but the flurry of rolling bodies held him in check.
I was hypnotized. In shock, more likely. I could feel myself shutting down. The strain of the day had worn me ragged. Everything that had happened. I felt like fragile glass about to break.
The beast gained the upper hand, trapping his prey beneath him. Bear. I knew it was Bear. He had come to rescue me again. How he’d found me after all this time, I could only guess. Thane let out a wet gurgle as Bear sunk his teeth into the man’s jugular, then tore out a chunk of flesh. Oh, stars. The spurting blood . . .
My stomach roiled. I retched, shaking uncontrollably as the action pulled at the blade still in my arm. After wheezing in a breath, I looked up to find Bear staring at me. His ears pricked forward as if to say, Are you all right? That moment. That split second of time when clear devotion shone in his bright yellow eyes—maybe even love. I would remember it forever.
The gunshot came a second after, obliterating that look.
I watched, helpless and heartbroken as Bear’s eyes dulled, as he slumped on top of Thane. Dead. I cried then. Fell to my knees as my strength gave out. I wished for oblivion, especially after Skervvy shot Bear two more times, just to be sure. I wished for nothingness to take me far far away when he yanked the knife from my arm.
But I remained awake through it all.
I was forced to shoulder my backpack and trudge behind my captor, hands tied and a rope around my neck as he led me into Asheville, the Recruiter Clan’s den of nightmares.
Into hell.
The darkening streets were alive.
Celebratory.
The air stank of their excitement, their euphoria at having captured new prey. I was paraded up one street, down the other, until I could have sworn we’d trekked the entire city. Exhaustion couldn’t even begin to describe what I was feeling. Not only physically, but mentally and emotionally. I was unraveling.
Rest. I needed rest before I passed out in the street. Maybe that was what they wanted—to see me broken. I wouldn’t give them that pleasure.
Up ahead, the dull brick buildings shown brighter. Laughter and catcalls rose into the night, sounding like wild, untamed beasts. I hadn’t spotted a single woman, and that was the worst sight of all. If they weren’t in the streets, then where were they? What was the clan going to do with me? The possibilities sent shivers racing through my body. I bit my lip to hide a pained groan as the action pulled at my still-bleeding arm.
Skervvy hadn’t bothered to clean the knife wound. He’d simply tied some material around my bicep to slow the blood flow. What mistreatment would I endure next? I had dealt with plenty of torture over the years, but at Renold’s hands, it had been controlled and precise. I doubted I’d get that courtesy here.
The last thing I was prepared for though, the very last thing, was the sight that awaited me up ahead. A roaring bonfire, twice the height of a man, dominated the clearing we walked into. Several people, mostly teenagers, threw objects into the fire, whooping whenever one exploded.
A solitary figure, removed from the action but still close to the fire, stole my attention. There was something odd about his pose, like he was reaching toward the sky . . .
I felt the rope around my neck tighten as Skervvy picked up the slack. He tugged me to a stop and I closed my eyes, relieved to have a small break. “Looks like payback came early, girly. Recognize anyone?” he said, his voice slick as oil and full of wicked amusement. He jerked on the rope, and the sudden pain forced my eyes open.
The flickering flames made the figures around it dance in unnatural ways. I squinted at the shadowed faces, but my mind whispered at me to ignore them, to seek the one figure that stood out from the rest. Because it knew before I did who that figure was. I couldn’t clearly see his face—not when it was cast down in what looked like defeat. I couldn’t make out his clothing since he was naked from the waist up. I saw then that the man’s wrists were tied, his arms stretched between two posts. And the people weren’t just throwing objects into the fire, but at him as well.
My heart beat wildly, spurred on by the knowledge of who that man was. I wanted to shake my head in denial, pinch myself until I bled, until I woke up from this living nightmare. Because the man slowly lifting his head, the man turning my direction and opening golden eyes I would never again forget . . .
Was Bren.
Please. Stars, please.
This couldn’t be real. They would kill him, kill him for having deserted them. I could see it in the way they circled him, the way they spat insults I was too far away to hear. His suffering called to mine, devastating in its intensity. I answered it without hesitation, regardless of the consequences.
With a cry of pure heartache and desperation, I swung my bound fists at Skervvy’s head. They connected. He had been too busy gloating to expect an attack, so he stumbled sideways and tripped over his own legs. The impact sent a fresh wave of agony through my injury, but I clenched my teeth and charged toward Bren. I swerved as someone tried to tackle me. I was yards away now. Close enough to make out the panic on Bren’s face. The fear.
He grasped the ropes above him and pulled, his biceps bulging from the strain. As I continued to run, a part of me knew that we would lose this battle. Weak and injured as we were, greatly outnumbered, there was no way we’d escape this. But if I could just reach him. If I could just wrap my arms around him, kiss him one last time, it would be enough. I could handle the rest knowing that I had lived. Knowing I had loved.
I would cling to the moments we had stolen from a cruel world. If I could just steal one more . . .
My head whipped back as the rope jerked me to a halt. My feet flew out from under me. I hit the ground with a sickening thump. Air couldn’t breach the fire searing my throat where the rope dug in. I rolled onto my side, reaching both hands toward my neck as I struggled to breathe.
Through a dense fog, I heard my name being shouted over and over. My limbs shook as I turned toward that voice, the voice that never failed to comfort me. If he kept speaking, maybe I could endure whatever was to come. I managed to fill my lungs, to blink away the darkness crowding my vision, only to hear Bren scream. My heart seized at the terrible sound. I sought him out. He was still tied up, but . . . but . . .
“Holy crap,” I whispered rawly.
He cried out again as he pulled against his restraints, the veins in his arms and neck protruding from the effort. The ropes snapped. In a rush, he crossed the space between us and gathered me into his arms. I allowed tears to fall as I pressed my face to his chest, soaking up his scent, his warmth, his nearness. I felt the rope stretch taut, tugging me away from him. My bound hands grabbed the rope and yanked hard, allowing us one final moment.
Our lips found each other, the kiss filled with all the fear and despair coursing through us. But more than that, it was filled with an endless hope. Because we wouldn’t stop trying to be together no matter how many times this world tore us apart. I would find him again. And with that hope burning inside me, I managed to say, “I love you, Brendan Bearon. Now save yourself.”
The agony that twisted his face was unbearable. So I made it easier for him. I let go. Without my resistance, the rope dragged me back several feet. His mouth formed the word “No.” I saw the way his muscles bunched to run toward me. Silhouetted by the roaring fire, shadowy figures surrounded us in a loose circle. They hovered, shifting as though ner
vous, unwilling to bridge the gap. Were they afraid of Bren?
My eyes narrowed, focusing on his as I willed him to listen. To fight for a better tomorrow. “I dare you to run,” I whispered, but I knew he could hear me over the chaos. “And don’t you dare stop.”
Disbelief and pain etched jagged lines into his skin, carving tears down his cheeks. He shook his head, but my stomach twisted when I saw that my words had sunk in.
I’d dared him.
His body trembled as he warred with himself and the impossible thing I’d asked him to do. When I couldn’t stand it any longer, I opened the connection between us, forming the bond almost immediately in my desperation.
I know you’ll come for me, no matter what, I spoke into his mind. He sucked in a gasp. And if you love me, I need you to go. Now!
For one heart-stopping moment, I thought he would back down from the challenge. I thought he would give up and let them tie him again. Kill him. All because of me. Then, with a roar I could feel in my bones, he leapt to his feet. He narrowly dodged a fist as the clan finally closed in, avoiding several more swings as they converged, blocking his way of escape.
He was actually doing it.
He was saving himself.
I couldn’t breathe as he bellowed his fury and fought to be free. For a split second, the way cleared. For a split second, my hope soared.
Then the ear-splitting ring of a gunshot destroyed my dreams.
Bren fell.
I gathered the ragged pieces of my heart and screamed his name into the night. Again and again until my voice gave out. The rope took me away from him, farther and farther until the mob swallowed him whole. I didn’t know if he was alive or dead.
Skervvy sidled up alongside me and hissed, “Now we’re even.” And when he prepared to knock me unconscious with the gun that I knew, just knew had shot Bren, I knew the pain would be nothing.
Because the agony of not knowing if Brendan Bearon had survived.
The not knowing . . .
It was the most excruciating thing I’d ever feel.
Cool, gentle fingers slid across my brow. The touch was soothing. I almost decided to keep my eyes closed and pretend to be asleep just so the fingers would stay. Why did I want someone touching me? The old me, who would have grabbed and twisted the offending hand, warred with the new as I continued to lay still. But at the soft whispers, at the light straining against my eyelids, telling me it was morning, I pried them open to slits.
Someone, dressed in a pale print dress, was hovering beside the bed I laid on. Instead of peering up at the face I assumed was female, I scanned the airy room. Lacy curtains covered the many windows, which I noticed had black bars over them. Women dotted the room, most older than me. Some conversed in small groups while others were curled up with a book or other solitary activity.
My eyes slid shut again as confusion assaulted me. All of those horrible memories pushing at my brain that were demanding to be let in, to be felt . . . were they a dream? Maybe I’d had one of my waking nightmares. It had been so real though. They always were. But this one—the agony, the rage, the feeling of my heart being ripped out of my chest. I would never be able to scrub those emotions from my memory.
That kind of pain—the anguish of losing a part of your soul—couldn’t be forgotten.
The fingers feathered across my forehead once more and, for some reason, I didn’t question their presence. I welcomed them. Needed them. Especially after everything I’d—
“LuLu? Are you awake?”
At that soft-spoken, musical voice, my eyes shot open. I tried to look everywhere at once, frantically searching for that voice, a voice I hadn’t heard in so long that I’d forgotten what it sounded like.
And now everything came back with painstaking clarity.
I was a little girl again, waking up on the morning of my seventh birthday.
Only, when I found the owner of the voice, she didn’t look the same. She was older, maybe by a decade or so. Fine lines outlined her mouth and eyes. Her cheekbones were sharper. But her hair was still a dark brick red. Her smile was still teasing and kind. Her eyes. They still looked like mine. I reached up and, with a trembling finger, touched her face. Real. It was real. She was real.
How? How was this possible?
My voice shook in awe and wonder as I whispered to the woman I hadn’t seen for eleven long years, “Mum.”
To be continued in the epic, heart-stopping conclusion . . .
Dear Reader,
Thank you for continuing this journey with me! Sorry for the cliffhanger. Don’t hate me!
I want to thank everyone who left a review for Reactive and shared the book with others! With your help, my author dreams are becoming possible.
I hope Adaptive was an equally fun adventure for you! If it was, I would be forever grateful if you could write a short review on Amazon (doesn’t have to be fancy, every review makes a difference).
I’m happy to say that Immersive, the final book in this series, is available!
Get it here!
Note from Lune: Never give up.
Thank you ALL for reading!!
Love, Becky
God knows I needed to tell this story. With each book, I put a little bit more of myself in, and I’ll be forever grateful that God gave me the ability to articulate the words I wanted to share.
But I wouldn’t have been able to get the message across as clearly without the help of my incredible critique partners and beta readers! Tyffany Hackett, Grace Kathleen, and Melissa McMurry, thank you for always reading my work and giving me honest feedback! Your comments give me life, but also challenge me to make my work better. Oh, and thank you for being my friends. I so value that! I’m also super grateful for Virginia See’s keen eye. I’m always shocked at the stuff you find, lol! And I’m so happy to have added two new betas, Haven Holt and Kate Anderson, who both “get” my storytelling. Nothing makes me happier!
And to my critique group—Stephanie Moore, Lyn Hawks, and Russell Johnson—thank you for pointing out that I forgot to add Lune’s name to chapter one, ha! You guys keep me grounded and focused, and I always look forward to our meetings!
I also wanted to thank my long-time friends and family for your support. I am overwhelmed by your enthusiasm and willingness to follow me along on this journey!
Becky Moynihan is the bestselling, award-winning author of The Elite Trials trilogy (a YA dystopian romance), and co-author of the Genesis Crystal Saga (an NA urban fantasy series), with author Tyffany Hackett.
She lives in central North Carolina with her family.
Find more info on Becky’s website:
http://www.beckymoynihan.com
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Adaptive: A Young Adult Dystopian Romance (The Elite Trials Book 2) Page 27
