Fifty metres to go.
‘I knew it. There’s nothing in the water.’ Elle’s voice is quiet, but it cuts through the still air.
She’s wrong. She said stories are true when we believe them, and everyone believes there are monsters in the rivers.
‘I wouldn’t be so sure.’
Thirty metres to go.
My breathing is hard. My muscles tense with each stroke. I feel something, a change in the current, below my legs.
‘Faster,’ I say.
She looks over her shoulder, sees my expression, and quickens her pace.
Twenty metres to go.
The temperature drops, and something brushes against my leg again. I kick it.
Ten metres.
She senses it too. But we’re almost there.
‘Hurry up,’ I say.
She drags herself up onto the riverbank, coughing black water onto the ground. She turns to me. Her eyes widen as something grabs my foot and pulls me down.
I inhale water, and my lungs burn, and I’m drowning again. I kick as hard as I can and tear through the surface of the water, gasping for breath.
‘Jay!’ Elle grabs my arm as I’m yanked down again.
She pulls, and I thrash against the current before grasping onto the riverbank. I taste the air. Elle has both hands under my arms now, her face flushed as she fights whatever is dragging me back into the water.
‘Come on, Jay. Please.’
I wrench my upper body onto the concrete riverbank and kick again. This time, my boot makes impact with something hard. Whatever the fuck has a hold of me lets go, and I fall on top of Elle.
Her eyes widen on something behind my shoulder, and a shadow looms over us. I roll us both over as a huge black hand smacks the bank where we were moments before, something glistening around its little finger.
‘WHAT THE FUCK?’ I roar.
Then it’s sucked down into the black water, leaving nothing but ripples in its wake.
I’m breathing hard, holding myself up on my forearms so I don’t crush Elle. She rests her head on the ground, her chest rising and falling fast.
‘What the fuck was that, Elle?’
She swallows.
‘Ink,’ she says. ‘It looked like ink.’
Chapter Thirty-Four
Elle
It looked like ink.
My heart hammers so hard against my ribs I feel it might burst out of my chest. I can’t control my breathing. Jay’s face is inches from mine, his large body engulfing me. He’s hot despite his wet clothes and the chill in the air. I should push him off me. I should get us out of here. We’re not safe. Yet I don’t want to move away from his heat. Not while cold adrenaline pumps through my body and river water seeps into my bones.
Jay’s eyes are intense as they hold mine. He’s trying to contain his emotion. His gaze drops to my lips, and I think he’s going to kiss me—hot, hard, angry kisses as his body pushes me into the dirt. For a moment, I want him to. I want to grab his neck and sink my teeth into his bottom lip and taste his tongue. I want to dig my nails into his shoulders and hear his low, primal grunt vibrate against my mouth.
I want to feel him. I want to make sure he’s really here. Because I thought I’d lost him. I thought he was dead.
I want to take out my anger on him too.
Because I don’t like how much the prospect of his loss hit me—how something cold and dark scraped and hollowed my insides as my muscles screamed and my heart pounded like a frightened animal.
I am not afraid.
Stories are true when we believe them.
‘Ink? What the fuck, Elle?
‘I don’t know.’
‘What do you mean, you don’t know?’
‘I mean I don’t understand it either.’
‘Fuck.’
The cold river breeze brings with it the faint sound of shouting from Draft Two. The Blotters must still be searching the factories for us. He looks over his shoulder, and I touch his chest, feel his skin burning beneath the sopping wet material. He breathes in sharply, and his gaze snaps back to mine.
‘We need to go,’ I say.
‘Yeah.’ He moistens his full lips. ‘Yeah.’
He pushes himself to his knees, taking away his damp heat, then he gets to his feet. I jump up too, grabbing my rucksack laying haphazard on the ground. By the time I’ve swung it over my shoulder, Jay has turned away, a large, menacing silhouette against the backdrop of concrete skyscrapers across the river, water dripping from his clothes, jeans clinging to his thick legs. He’s looking warily into the depths.
He really is curious for a Blotter.
My attention is drawn to the black marks on the bank of the river. Were the monsters of ink created by the Creators many years ago, protecting the borders from those trying to illegally pass through? Or do the Creators know we are here?
I have so many questions. Their answers are not tangible; they are muffled and confused—forgotten words on the tips of tongues, nameless melodies drifting through memories. I don’t understand. I want to understand.
But we’re not safe. I get back up and grab Jay’s arm. ‘Let’s go.’
‘Yeah. Right.’
Ahead, a collection of abandoned warehouses look out onto the river. I try not to shiver as we walk towards them. I don’t want to look weak, but my breath mists in front of my face, and my feet squelch.
We’ll be okay. We’ve made it into Draft Three. I can see the skyscrapers puncturing the starless sky in the distance. We’ll shelter for a while and figure out what to do next.
‘Ink. For fuck’s sake.’ The line of Jay’s jaw is hard, and I feel the tension in his muscles as his shoulder brushes against mine. His face is wet, and his vest clings to his chest. He’s obviously had enough.
I have an urge to reach for him, to run my hand down the side of his face. I want to retrace the scar across his eyebrow, the memory of the pain he does not want to talk about. A mark that’s different to the symbols inked on his skin, but the mark of a Creator all the same. A Creator who thought nothing of beating a child. Why would he? Why would the Creators who deny us the stars think twice about hurting someone innocent?
My eyes flick to the black tattoos curling up Jay’s arms and neck. He is not innocent anymore, yet the thought of losing him physically hurts me. Why is that? How could I be so stupid to have let myself feel this way?
Fearing what he will see in my eyes, I fix them ahead on the mass of derelict buildings by the bank of the river.
‘We’ll dry off a bit and figure out what to do next,’ I say.
‘Right.’ The word comes out gruff and forced.
I touch his arm. ‘It’s going to be okay, Jay.’
‘No, little Twist. It’s not.’
He’s wrong. I’ll make him see that. Once we’re inside, we can figure this all out.
I take us down a path between two vast concrete buildings and stop by the door of one of them. When I try to open it, though, it doesn’t budge.
I push again, and the lock rattles. I swallow the emotion building in my chest, but my throat is tight. I clench the handle so hard it hurts and try again and again. Why won’t it open?
‘Little Twist . . .’
I barge my shoulder into it, feeling my skin bruise beneath my sodden jacket. And still, it doesn’t shift.
‘Hey—’
Rage burns through my body, and I’m going to scream. I slam myself into the wood.
‘Elle!’
I’m lifted off my feet and pushed into the wall. Jay’s body engulfs me. He tightens his grip around my arms.
‘What the fuck, Elle?’
‘Get off me,’ I say.
‘No.’
My chest heaves. ‘Get off me.’
‘No.’
I meet his eye, and his face softens. He releases a breath that tickles my skin. It does nothing to ease the hurricane building in my chest.
‘I can’t open the door,’ I say.
> ‘No shit. What’s wrong with you?’
‘I’m cold.’
‘You’re acting like a maniac because you’re cold?’
‘Yes.’
‘That’s not the reason.’ There’s a glint of amusement in his eyes now. It makes me want to lash out at him—bite him, tear my fingernails down his back—something, anything to relieve this pressure in my chest. ‘Look at me, little Twist.’ He puts a finger under my chin. The humour is gone now, and only darkness remains. ‘I think you’re acting like a maniac because you’re scared. And you should be.’
‘I’m not afraid.’ I take a deep breath. ‘But we were almost burned alive, and we had to run for hours, and there was that thing in the river. And I thought you. . . I thought you drowned. And I’m cold and wet. And all those people died at the Circus. And I need to think. I want to go inside. I want to go inside so I can think.’
Jay stares at me for a minute. ‘Okay.’
‘Okay?’
He steps back, and I shiver as the cold wind hits my skin. ‘Let’s go inside.’
He’s more relaxed than before. It’s as though my loss of control gave him an opportunity to take it. He barges into the door, and it crashes open as if it’s made of paper. He nods at the entrance, a curious look on his face.
I release a breath as I walk past him. ‘Thank you.’
It’s dark. There are cargo boxes on the floor and a stairway ahead that leads to a balcony overlooking the main space. Jay comes up behind me, warm and solid.
‘Happy now?’ he asks.
‘Yes.’ I sigh as I glance through the shadows at the row of doors on one side of the space. I walk towards them. ‘Or I will be. Let’s . . . let’s see if there are any heaters or anything in the rooms. Then—’
Jay abruptly hooks an arm around my waist and wrenches me into his body. A strangled sound escapes my lips, and he clamps his other hand over my mouth. My whole body tenses.
He bends down to my ear, his soft, rough words tickling my skin. ‘We’re not alone.’
Chapter Thirty-Five
Elle
My breathing quickens as I catch the moving silhouettes on the balcony. Jay is like a statue behind me, still and solid. The only thing that reveals he isn’t made of stone is his heart beating fast against my back. One of his hands holds my stomach; the other clamps over my mouth. His muscles are tensed.
‘Let her go, Blotter,’ says a woman.
And then beams of light criss-cross the darkness and spotlight us. The woman steps forwards and leans on the balcony railing. I squint up at her. She’s mid-thirties maybe. Her dark hair is pulled back from her face to reveal a scar across her cheek, and she’s dressed in black. Teenagers stand on either side of her, holding torches. She’s aiming a pistol at Jay’s head.
‘Walk away, Blotter, and we’ll let you live,’ she says.
Jay’s arm tightens around my waist. ‘Point that thing away from me, and I’ll let you live.’
I grab his wrist and try to pull his hand off my mouth. They’re clearly not a threat, but he doesn’t seem to notice.
‘I’m afraid we can’t do that, Blotter. Last warning.’
I bite Jay’s palm, tasting salt and flesh. He doesn’t react for a moment. Then he drops his hand. He keeps the other wrapped around my waist.
‘That’s it. Nice and slow. Now, send her over here and you can be on your way.’
‘Are you serious—?’
‘It’s okay,’ I say, and all the torches point at me. ‘It’s not what it looks like.’
I don’t manage to hide the shiver that comes from the water in my boots and my hair, even though Jay is like a furnace behind me. It makes me sound weak, and I steady it before saying anything else. I notice the woman has a tattoo on her muscular arm.
‘You’re Darlings, right?’ I say. ‘We are too.’
Jay tenses as the light moves to his face. ‘He’s a Darling?’
‘No—’ he says, and I elbow him in the side.
‘He would have killed me by now if he weren’t.’
She frowns. ‘How is that possible? And why are you wet?’
I breathe out slowly. ‘It’s a long story. We’ve come from the Circus at the Edge of the World. And—’
‘It’s real?’ A hint of hope breaks through the hardness of her tone.
‘Yes. But Blotters found it.’ A whisper travels around the balcony, and the energy shifts from hope to sadness. I sigh. ‘You were looking for it.’
‘Yes. We were.’
‘We’ve had a rough night,’ I say. ‘And we’re dangerous to be around. But if we could just shelter awhile and get some food and fresh clothes, if you have any, it would be appreciated. In exchange, we’ll tell you our story.’
The woman stares at us, eyes unreadable and glinting in the beam of the torch. Jay, clearly tiring of this situation, runs his thumb across the wet material of my top. I grab his wrist and still his hand. These people could help us.
Then she puts the gun in a holster on her belt. ‘Angie and Philip, get a fire going. Jamie, see what food we have to spare. Peter, come with me.’
The teenagers spring into action, and the woman walks down the stairs. A tall, skinny boy with curly ginger hair follows her.
‘Thank you,’ I say as they approach.
‘It’s no problem. But if you’re dangerous, you can’t stay long,’ she says. ‘I have people to protect, and if we can’t get to the Circus, we may be stuck here longer than I hoped. I’m Priya, by the way.’
‘Elle,’ I say. ‘And this is Jay.’
Her gaze lingers on his arm where death marks his skin. Then she looks at his hand, gentle on my stomach. ‘Elle, come with me. Peter, take our guest Jay and find him something dry to wear.’
Peter’s face drains of whatever colour it had, and I give Jay a warning look.
‘Be nice,’ I say as he looks at Peter distastefully. I grab his arm, and he brings his gaze back to mine. ‘I’m serious, Jay.’
Priya shakes her head as I follow her to one of the doors. ‘A Blotter and a Darling. That sounds like quite a story.’
Ten minutes later, I’m standing in an old storeroom beneath the dim light of a buzzing bulb, waiting for Jay. I’m almost dry in a fresh white T-shirt a couple of sizes too big for me and a pair of shabby but dry grey worker trousers. My wet clothes hang off the side of an old wooden crate, and there’s a puddle of water collecting beneath them.
I wander around the space, the concrete cold against my feet, studying the dusty boxes and the remnants of past Darlings who must have stayed here. There are a couple of food bar wrappers, a holey sock, and a box of matches.
Then I empty my rucksack, lining the items by a metal chair in the corner so they can dry. One of the spray paint cans leaks onto my hand as I set it down, leaving a glossy blue blob on my palm. I use it to draw a small dandelion seed on the grey wall with my fingertip.
The door shuts, and I turn.
Jay stands there. They’ve given him trousers like mine and a long-sleeved black shirt. It’s a little tight around his chest and shoulders, but the colour suits him. It emphasises the blue of his irises and the darkness of his hair.
He notices the smudged painting on the wall, and his expression darkens. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Painting.’
Something stirs inside me as I take in the rise and fall of his chest. This evening, I’ve faced Blotters and fire and that thing in the river. I thought I’d lost him. I’ve been wound up and on edge since. From the way he’s looking at me, I can tell he feels the same.
‘Painting?’ His voice is rough. ‘Can I not leave you alone for five minutes without you doing something illegal?’
‘It seems not.’
He stiffens, his large body dominating the doorway. Then he crosses the space between us, and his masculine scent washes over me. I grab the front of his shirt, and he moves a hand to the back of my neck and pulls me closer.
And then his mouth is on mine,
hot and greedy. My back crashes into the wall beside the painted dandelion seed, and I sink my teeth into his bottom lip. He groans against my mouth as I reach for his trousers and clumsily pull down his zipper. I take him, hot and hard, in my hand.
In a sudden movement, he yanks down my trousers and grabs me beneath my thighs, hoisting me up against the wall as if I weigh nothing. I tighten my legs around his back, and my fingers dig into his shoulders. A low, raw sound rumbles deep inside of him.
‘Fuck, Elle. What are you doing to me?’
I kiss him harder. Pressure builds between my legs, and I rock my hips against his body, desperate for the friction. One hand holding me up against the wall, he shifts between my legs and slips my underwear to the side with his fingers. He groans when he touches me.
And then he pushes inside. My cry is echoed by his low, raw groan. His forehead falls against mine, hot and damp. His movements are slow at first, but they become faster and more urgent as my pulse quickens. I dig my nails into his shoulders, and his eyes focus on mine, dark with heat and curiosity.
‘I need you to come for me.’ His voice is strained.
I pull his face closer, and he moans against my mouth. The low, gentle sound along with his body rocking against mine does something to me. It builds until it takes over my body in powerful, hard waves. I cry out as I melt into him, and it’s not long before he joins me in release, a low animal sound escaping his lips and adding to mine.
Gradually, he stills. He holds me, both of us breathing hard, and his eyes don’t move from mine. His expression is softer than usual, relaxed. Then he pulls out of me and slowly lowers me to the ground.
I release a breath. My mind feels all fuzzy and blank, and I search for something to say.
‘So . . . you . . . you got some dry clothes then?’ I sound breathless.
His lip twitches as he looks down at top. ‘Yeah.’
‘You weren’t horrible to Peter, I hope.’
‘Nah. But the kid’s fucking terrified of me.’
I laugh. ‘You’re not so scary.’
He smiles. It lightens his face and makes him look younger and softer. He shrugs. And the way he is looking at me, his gaze like an anchor, causes that same spark of panic I felt when I was in the water.
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