House of Silence (Poisoned Houses Book 3)

by Lyn Forester

Of course, that’s because she’s a sneaky profiteer who built her circuit around rich kids slumming it on the lower levels.

  Most of the messages are old at this point and trend from inquiries about my health after the big wreck that ended my career, to questions about when I’d return to the races, and finally trash talk about skinned knees and quitters. It puts a sour knot in my stomach. Even if I returned, it would have to be under a new name. I’d be starting over from scratch.

  A private message from a couple days ago catches my eye. It’s from a new member to the forum, Rim Jumper. The user is still new enough to have a blank badge field. I click it open with trepidation, not wanting to see another rant about my vanishing act, but also unable to look away. Instead of a tirade of disappointed entitlement, I find something else entirely, and my heart picks up speed.

  Found a new racing path I think you might like to take a look at. It will take your breath away.

  No signature, but the message comes with an attachment. I click it open to find a star map with a series of lines and circles beneath.

  It’s one of those multi-layered ones, but it’s missing the usual octagons to denote sector locations. The stars look out of alignment, too many dots and in the wrong places. I draw a circle on the screen to rotate and separate the layers.

  The level map doesn’t look like anything I’ve ever seen, either.

  Instead of the usual spoke and wheel pattern that clearly identifies Central Plaza, the Rim, and all the sectors that divide it up, it simply has a large disk, with four circles drawn onto it. The largest of the circles glows faintly, and I zoom in. Rectangles take shape, the glow narrowing to a square smaller than the rest. That doesn’t look like a racing path at all.

  I reread the message, but it definitely says this is a racing path.

  Circling the map in the opposite direction, it compresses back down to one layer, and I study it again. Did they send this to the wrong person? Is this a map of one of the other city stacks?

  Hesitant, I click on the response icon.

  Rim Jumper, haven’t seen you in the forums before. Tell me more about this new racing path. The map isn’t pinging for me.

  Breath held, I wait for a response, but after five minutes, I give up hope. Whoever the user is, they’re not on the forum right now.

  I check the clock again and disappointment runs through me. I wasted most of my time on the forums, but at least I feel more relaxed now. Looks like I just needed some space away from people to decompress a little.

  About to close the screen, I hesitate, then click on a new message. Declan hasn’t responded to any of my calls or messages, but maybe I can reach him through the forums. If he still checks them. As competitors, we never interacted directly outside of the races, but he has to have a handle on here like I do.

  I type Blaze into the message bar, and a series of options pop up, from Blazer to Blue Blaze to Blazetronics, but none of them are my missing friend. When I run a search in the main groups, I find messages outdated by a season from fans confused on why Blaze’s profile disappeared. Blank spots in even older messages indicate where conversations were deleted.

  When his secret racing hobby was revealed, his family probably did a better sweep than my father did. His old racing handle completely vanished. Another possible avenue to reach him blocked.

  The cracks in my walls spread wider, the loneliness almost overwhelming. I need Declan here, reassuring me of the path we chose, calming Felix, standing up to Garrett and Nikola.

  He was confident in making decisions, allowing me to lean on him for support. Without him here, I’m flying blind on an unknown track, and it feels like I’ll crash and burn at any moment.

  Learning Curve

  Disheartened, I close my screen, then slip my folding-port into the narrow gap between my bed frame and the side of my desk. While the new location isn’t any more secure than my bag, it feels like a less obvious place to search if someone wants to dig through my belongings. I zip the duffle back up and shove it under the bed.

  On my desk, my palm-port vibrates, and Connor’s image appears.

  Mood lifting, I hit the Accept icon and lift it to my ear. “Couldn’t do without me?”

  He laughs softly. “Just wanted to make sure you ate something.”

  My stomach gurgles in reprimand. I was too distracted by my conversation with Nikola to remember to stop at the snack room for a protein shake. “I was about to head down and grab something.”

  “I just happen to be by the snack room. Want me to bring up a basket?”

  I waffle. I’ve never had any of the guys in my room, and I’m not sure how Myrrine will feel about it.

  His voice softens. “I can just drop it off and go, Sparks. I’m not trying to invade your privacy.”

  “That’s not what I’m worried about.” I glance around our room.

  Little pops of personality litter Myrrine’s side. A pretty rock on her desk, the untidy bunch of her covers, a holo-frame on her desk that offers a long shot view of the Riellio clan’s glass spires. While not overt, it feels like someone lives here.

  In contrast, my side of the room looks as impersonal as the day I moved in.

  Rustles come from the other end of the palm-port, followed by the clink of glass. Connor doesn’t push for conversation or offer to hang up, and I listen to his quiet movements with a sense of comfort.

  His breathing changes, speeding up, and I picture his long legs taking the stairs two at a time.

  Palm-port still pressed to my ear, my feet move toward the door. I open it just as Connor arrives, and his gentle smile rolls over me, a balm for my frayed nerves.

  He lifts a small basket to reveal purple carrots, a protein shake, the silver wrapper of a mineral bar, and two jars of water. “Delivery, for one Caitlyn Lonette.”

  His soft voice echoes in my ear, and I tuck my palm-port away. “So fast. Remind me to give you a good review.”

  His smile broadens, and he holds the basket out to me. “It’s not nearly as enticing as the protein cube stew they offered at dinner.”

  “Oh, no, how ever will I survive?” I accept the basket, then lean out to peer down the empty hall. “No Felix?”

  “He went with Garret to play a round of 8-Ball, and Myrrine’s downstairs, snuggled up in her usual chair.”

  “Ah, so we’re alone.” I bite my lip with indecision.

  “We don’t have to be.” His hand brushes my arm. “I really did mean it when I said I would just drop the food off and leave. No pressure.”

  The reassurance calms my nerves. “Give me a second?”

  He nods, hands tucking into his pockets. “As long as you need.”

  I step back into the room and set the basket on my desk before pulling out my palm-port to send Myrrine a quick message.

  Caitlyn: Is it okay if Connor comes into our room?

  She responds right away, message after message popping onto the screen.

  Myrrine: If you are comfortable with it, then it is fine.

  Myrrine: I do not find him as abrasive as Felix.

  Myrrine: If it were Felix, I would return to guard you, as I fear he will take advantage.

  Myrrine: Unless you would like me to guard you from Connor?

  Myrrine: Do you feel you are in danger of exchanging DNA?

  Myrrine: Remind him Bastian can kill humans. He is licensed.

  Myrrine: Perhaps I will return with Bastian, just to be safe.

  My fingers fly over the screen.

  Caitlyn: No.

  Caitlyn: I’m not afraid of Connor.

  Caitlyn: Stop talking about exchanging DNA.

  Caitlyn: I told you that’s not how it works for humans.

  Myrrine: If you are sure.

  Caitlyn: Yes, I’m sure.

  Caitlyn: We’re just going to hang out.

  Caitlyn: Return whenever you want.

  Myrrine: I will knock loudly before entering.

  Caitlyn: No need.

  A scuff so
unds at the door, reminding me I kept Connor waiting.

  I toss the palm-port onto my desk, set the basket of food beside it, then hurry back to him. “Sorry about that. Myrrine said it’s fine for you to be in our room.”

  “Ah.” His expression clears, his hands leaving his pockets to rest at his side. “Are you sure it’s okay? I don’t want to intrude.”

  “She finds you the more tolerable one, so it’s fine.” I shuffle backward into the room. “Come on in.”

  One side of his mouth kicks up. “Should I take that as a compliment?”

  “I would.” I bump against the wall to the closet and skitter to the side, my eyes stuck on Connor.

  I’ve never had a friend over before, and I’m not sure what exactly to do. All part of the joys of being homeschooled. The only people besides servants who entered my room at Lonette Manor were Nikola and Garret, and they were more necessary evils than invited guests.

  Connor’s curious gaze takes in the small space. “My room is exactly the same.”

  “Yeah?” I stop next to the desk and bed, unsure where to sit. Making him take the hard chair feels inhospitable, but the bed too intimate. “How’s your roommate?”

  “Pretty clean and quiet.” At the base of my bed, he steps out of his shoes. “Nothing like what I’ve heard Declan’s roommate is like.”

  Deciding the chair is less risky, I leave it open and settle on the edge of the bed. “Is Trevor that bad?”

  “Complete slob. Or so I hear.” Connor lifts the strap of his school bag over his shoulder to set it on my desk and grabs the basket. “I hope you don’t mind. I grabbed extra, just in case you invited me to stay.”

  “No, not at all.” I scoot a little farther back onto the mattress to give him room. This feels so awkward. Now that we’re alone, I don’t know what to talk about. Reaching for a topic, I blurt, “Did you make any progress on our project? I’m sorry I left right in the middle.”

  “We mostly focused on our own research. I can show you what I have so far, though, if you’re curious.” He grabs his tablet, then settles on the bed next to me. “If you want to grab the pillows, we can prop them against the wall to make this more of a couch.”

  “Sure.” I scramble to do as he says, flustered that I should have already figured this out.

  Of course, that’s the proper thing to do when an actual couch isn’t available. It’s not suggestive to both sit on the bed. It’s just another piece of furniture, after all.

  I prop the pillows against the wall, kick off my shoes, then scoot back. My legs stretch out in front of me, my heels just reaching the edge of the bed. Okay, maybe not quite like a couch, but not uncomfortable, either.

  Connor passes me the basket, then crawls into place with more grace than I displayed. Once we settle side-by-side, he logs into his tablet, opens his notes, and passes it to me.

  I skim while we munch on the carrots and share the protein shake, neither of us impressed with the gritty paste. Occasionally, I ask Connor questions when certain tidbits of information catch my attention, and I make notes on the side to do more research on key aspects. His notes align with the ideas already in my head, the way we think traveling a similar path. Working in Garret’s ideas about government structure shouldn’t be too difficult.

  At some point, Connor sets the basket to the side, and I find myself leaning against his arm while we share the tablet. It makes it impossible for him to use his right hand. I shift to give him space, but our weight on the mattress makes it difficult, the indent created by our bodies naturally tilting us together.

  Connor lifts his arm as if it’s the most obvious solution in the world, and I hesitantly settle against his side. I fit easily, my shoulder beneath his armpit and my knees curled up against his thigh to balance the tablet on. I become conscious of his clean scent, and the way being like this with him feels natural.

  His hand unconsciously strokes my arm in soothing circles as he points to something on the screen.

  I read the paragraph twice, and still, my brain refuses to focus.

  “Are you getting tired?” The quiet question drifts against my temple. “I can go if you want to rest.”

  “No, I like you here.” The admission feels too bold, and I hurry to add. “But if you want to go find the others...”

  “No, I’m having fun.”

  My head lifts, and I give him a look filled with doubt. “I thought you didn’t like history.”

  “It’s not my favorite,” he admits. “But somehow it’s more fun when approached with a project like this.”

  “I suppose.” I glance back down at the tablet, but he gently takes it from my hands to set it aside.

  Surprised, my head lifts once more, and he traces the curve of my cheek. “What I meant, though, is that being here with you is fun.”

  My pulse flutters. “Oh.”

  God, could I sound any more stupid? I rack my brain for another response, a better response, and come up blank. His gentle gaze and light caress steal my wits.

  His fingers drift to my chin, lifting my head higher as his eyes drop to my lips. Slowly, he leans down, stopping with only an inch of space between us. “Is this okay?”

  My heart races and my tongue darts out to wet my lips. My voice comes out breathy and unfamiliar. “I thought it was Felix I needed to guard against.”

  He edges closer, his next words a light caress against my mouth. “You can say no.”

  In answer, I reach up to grasp the back of his neck and pull him the rest of the way down. Like before, his kiss is gentle and unassuming, allowing me time to familiarize myself with the warmth of his lips, the feel of his breath on my face, the smell of his crisp cologne in my lungs.

  Shivering, I press hard against him, wanting to know his taste. My lips part, and he mirrors the motion, his head tilting to the side to align our mouths. Hesitant, my tongue explores his lips, discovering the taste of sweet carrots and something minty.

  Again, he mirrors the motion, his tongue brushing against mine as he shallowly explores.

  My pulse pounds, heat suffusing my body with each intimate touch of our mouths. On his neck, my hand trembles, and I spread my fingers into his hair, reveling in the soft texture of the strands sifting through my fingers. A tug on my braid loosens the tie, and Connor gently coaxes my curls free before burrowing his hand in my hair.

  His tongue dips farther into my mouth, exploring my teeth before delving deeper, and I mirror the action as my lashes flutter down.

  In the darkness behind my eyelids, all I sense is Connor. The firm press of his mouth against mine, the strong arm around my shoulders, the soft hand in my hair, his mouth gentle and coaxing. Warmth pools in my stomach, and my legs shift restlessly with the need to be closer. Twisted as we are, I can’t fully feel the press of his chest against mine, the hard lines of his muscles, and I suddenly, desperately, want that.

  I moan against his lips, a low, needy sound, and the unfamiliar sound startles me enough that I pull back, eyelids popping open.

  His steady, green gaze meets mine from inches away. Pink shades his high cheekbones, and his reddened lips glisten in the bright, overhead light. His usually combed back hair rests in gentle waves across his forehead, mussed by my hands. He studies me with equal intensity, and the fingers in my hair massage the base of my skull, urging me back but allowing me room to refuse.

  Gripping his shoulder, I shift to kneel next to him, my focus shifting from his eyes to his mouth and back again. I want to chase the origin of that moan, to discover where it leads. His hand drops to my waist, steadying me on the soft mattress, coaxing without pulling.

  Everything about Connor’s actions leaves him open to me, accepting of whatever I decide, and it makes me bold. I stroke my hand over his cheek to feel the rough grate of his stubble against my palm, then touch his lips to feel the delicate heat. My knuckles bump against his glasses, and I touch their frame for permission before gently removing them and setting them next to the tablet by his hi
p.

  When my fingers smooth over his dark eyebrows, his eyelids flutter shut. Dark and sooty, his thick lashes fan against his cheekbones, and I explore those as well, marveling at their length.

  Connor’s handsome, but also pretty in a way I never noticed before, his slender body covered in lean muscles filled with coiled and unexpected strength. His fair skin and black hair make for a startling contrast, like a piece of art. Beautiful, though I’m not sure he’d appreciate hearing that.

  Slowly, I lean down to press a kiss against his forehead, then the rough bristles of his cheek, relearning with my lips what I just discovered with my hands.

  A shuddering breath escapes him, but he remains still, allowing me to explore, to map his face with my lips, to learn the shape of his expressions through touch.

  Heart pounding, I move back down to his mouth, skating mine across his full lower lip, then nibbling gently on his narrow upper. They part, his tongue sneaking out to lick the seam of my mouth, and a shiver of desire rolls through me. My thighs press together to assuage the need building there.

  Yes, I want more.

  A loud knock sounds against the door, and I blink in confusion.

  A moment later, it cracks open to allow Myrrine’s loud voice to fill the room. “Is it safe to enter?”

  My heart lodges in my throat, and I scramble to put distance between us as Connor reaches for his glasses, shoving them back onto his face.

  He slides to the end of the mattress, then stands, his back to me. “I think I’ll head out now.”

  “Yes,” my voice comes out faint, and I clear my throat. “Thank you for visiting. And for bringing food.”

  Myrrine calls out a loud warning, “I am entering the room unless you tell me otherwise.”

  “You’re fine, Myrrine,” Connor calls as he scoops his school bag off the desk, stuffs his tablet inside, then gathers up the empty basket and jars.

  He moves stiffly, his body angled to the side, and he offers me a quick smile. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  I pat a hand over my wild curls. “Sounds good.”

  He nods a greeting to Myrrine and Bastian as they enter and brushes past them on his way out.