Shadowed (Fated)

by Sarah Alderson

  ‘Huh,’ he said, his eyes running over the bedposts. He smiled to himself a little ruefully. ‘But I was good, right?’

  Evie’s mouth fell open. Did she need to make it any clearer that none of those notches was her? That they’d never slept together? How would she know if he was good or not? Though judging from Darcy’s thousand SMS messages and the squeals she emitted every time she saw him, she had to concede, grudgingly, that he probably was.

  ‘I mean at fighting,’ Cyrus added quickly, seeing her expression. ‘Was I good at fighting?’

  He looked a little like a lost child and Evie had a sudden and unwanted urge to brush his dark-blonde hair back off his face. It was odd hearing Cyrus ask for reassurance. She was tempted to withhold her answer, as she would have done with the old Cyrus, to say something sarcastic just to annoy him. But she couldn’t, not when he was looking at her with such a stricken expression on his face.

  ‘Yeah,’ she said softly, ‘you were good. You saved my life. I never got to thank you.’

  His eyes narrowed. He was looking at her again as if she was some kind of puzzle, or an object whose value he couldn’t quite work out. She wondered what he was thinking.

  ‘You’re welcome,’ he finally said. Then after a beat, ‘Do you know why I did it?’

  Evie shook her head. ‘No. I’ve been wondering about it for all this time, wishing I could ask you. And now I get the chance, you don’t even remember.’ She shrugged helplessly.

  The cheeky grin was back. ‘I thought maybe it was because we …’

  ‘No,’ she said, cutting him off again, at the same time trying to fight a smile, something she found herself doing more and more around him.

  They sat in silence for a moment, Cyrus frowning at his lap as if trying to remember the night at the Bradbury and what his motivation might have been.

  ‘Just before you did it you told me that chivalry wasn’t dead,’ Evie said.

  Cyrus looked up. ‘That’s kind of cool.’

  ‘And your last words were, I’ve led a charmed life.’

  ‘Shakespeare.’

  Evie shot him a quizzical look. ‘You remember?’

  ‘No, I just know the quote. Macbeth, right? I bear a charmed life.’

  She stared at him in amazement.

  He shrugged. ‘I can remember random stuff like that – quotes and things I learnt at school. Like I remember my Spanish. I just can’t remember other stuff. The stuff that matters …’ He paused, scowling, ‘Like who I was.’

  ‘I can’t remember who I was either,’ Evie said after a pause, thinking of how much she’d changed in just a few short weeks. ‘I think that’s OK though. We change. People change. But the core of who you are stays the same. You’re still Cyrus. There are things you do which remind me of the old you.’

  ‘Like what?’ he asked.

  ‘Like the way you smile,’ she said turning to him, ‘and the way you walk.’ And the way you look at me like I’m some kind of prize, she added silently. Though the old Cyrus had looked at her as some kind of prize to conquer, or a steak he wouldn’t mind grilling and eating, and now he looked at her as if he couldn’t figure out if she was the loser’s prize or not. ‘And you still know how to fight,’ she added because he was still watching her, expectantly.

  He didn’t speak for a while, his brow furrowed. Then he said, ‘You miss him.’

  ‘I’m sorry?’ she asked, thrown by the question.

  ‘Lucas,’ Cyrus said. ‘Vero and Ash told me about him. About what happened. I’m sorry.’

  She had to look away. She chose a spot on the far wall and focused on it, trying to breathe through the fizzing pain shooting through her insides.

  ‘Did you love him?’ Cyrus asked.

  Evie bit her tongue, fighting her instinct to lash out at him, reminding herself that it wasn’t the old Cyrus asking. She’d already had this conversation with him months back, had tried and quickly given up explaining the concept of love to him – to someone who’s understanding of love involved a one-night stand with a waitress whose name he couldn’t even remember the morning after.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, the pain of loss taking another savage bite out of her. ‘I loved him. I still love him. I’m never going to stop loving him.’

  She dropped her head into her hands and tried to obliterate the image that had appeared in her mind’s eye of Lucas lying in her lap, his hand tracing her lips and then falling away, vanishing forever.

  She startled suddenly, feeling a hand come to rest gently, almost tentatively, on her back. For a moment she tensed at Cyrus’s touch. And then the loneliness and the emptiness got the better of her and she dropped her head onto his shoulder.

  ‘It’s OK,’ Cyrus whispered, his lips grazing her ear. ‘It’s going to be OK.’

  Chapter 22

  Lucas was standing in front of her, bare chested, in jeans, staring at her with smouldering grey eyes. Evie gasped.

  He took a step forward and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her hard against him, so that she could feel the flat of his washboard stomach against her ribs. He was alive. He was real. And he was here! She couldn’t begin to understand it but he was here. She closed her eyes and felt the scorch as his lips touched hers and every thought in her head evaporated. It didn’t matter why he was here.

  His hand slid under her T-shirt, searing hot against her stomach and his other hand traced up her back. Then he lifted her. She wrapped her legs around his waist and drew in a sharp breath as he started kissing up the bare length of her neck. Her fingers started pulling at his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against hers. His kisses grew more frantic, sending shivers down her spine, and then all of a sudden he stopped, pulled back.

  Evie opened her eyes, ready to urge him on, and found him staring at her, his expression solemn. ‘Wake up, Evie,’ he said, in a voice layered with both sadness and urgency. ‘Wake up.’

  Evie shot upright in bed, slamming her head into the top bunk.

  ‘Ow!’ she yelled.

  ‘Wake up!’ someone hissed, pulling her by the hand, dragging her from the bed.

  She started to protest, to yell, but stopped herself, realising that it was Cyrus who had woken her, who was now pulling her towards the bedroom door.

  ‘What? What is it?’ she cried, already feeling the surge of adrenaline pumping through her body.

  ‘They’re outside,’ Cyrus whispered, throwing a pair of jeans at her.

  ‘Who’s outside?’ she asked, her head snapping up.

  ‘Them, those things … unhumans.’

  Even before he said it Evie’s senses came screaming to the fore and a bolt of nausea made her head spin. Her heart seemed to be hammering a thousand beats a minute all of a sudden. Her hands started to shake as she fumbled with her jeans, trying to button them. Cyrus had his back to her, was waiting by the door.

  ‘Come on,’ he said, glancing over his shoulder. ‘Hurry!’

  ‘Where are the others?’ she asked as she knelt quickly to pull on her shoes.

  ‘They’re grabbing whatever weapons they can.’

  ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Just gone midnight,’ Cyrus answered.

  ‘How did they find us?’ Evie asked, grabbing her bag off the chair and strapping her blade to her waist.

  ‘We’ll figure that out later. Come on, out!’

  Vero and Ash came sprinting from the other end of the hallway, clutching several swords and the flamethrower.

  ‘They’re almost through!’ Ash yelled as they heard an almighty crash coming from the direction of the elevator. It sounded like a dozen people were trying to tear through the metal grille with their bare hands.

  ‘They’re in the elevator?’ Evie asked. ‘How are we going to get down?’

  Cyrus pulled her towards the far end of the corridor. ‘This way.’

  Vero and Ash were right behind them as they tore into the bathroom adjacent to Cyrus’s bedroom.

  ‘What are we doing in here?’
Evie yelled, spinning around to Cyrus. ‘I hate to tell you, but hiding out in the bathroom isn’t going to fool these things.’

  Had he lost his mind? Yes, she remembered too late that he had. Crap, and now they were going to die. She headed for the bathroom cabinet – maybe they could make some weapons out of all the hair products and a lighter. But Cyrus grabbed her by the arm and pulled her towards the bath.

  ‘This way,’ he grunted, climbing on the rim of the tub and pushing his palms against a skylight set in the roof above. The glass flew open and Cyrus heaved himself quickly up and through the gap. A second later, his head reappeared. He reached a hand down. ‘Move!’ he shouted to them.

  Evie pushed Vero towards the bath. ‘Drop them,’ she shouted as Vero glanced up at the window and then at the swords in her arms.

  Cursing, Vero dropped the swords into the bath and reached her hand towards Cyrus. He grabbed her by the forearm and hauled her through the window.

  ‘Ash,’ Evie called as she stepped onto the edge of the bath, ready to follow Vero, ‘get over here.’ He was standing guard by the door, the flamethrower in his arms.

  She felt Cyrus’s hands close around her wrists and she swore through gritted teeth as the Mixen burn under her bandage caught fire. From below she heard the sound of the elevator grille crashing open into Cyrus’s apartment and footsteps thundering down the corridor towards the bathroom.

  Cyrus pulled her through the gap and she rolled, scrambling to her feet as he bent for a final time to haul Ash through. They were on the roof of the building. Evie sprinted over to Vero who was standing on the edge and peered down at the alley running between the warehouse and the building opposite. There were at least twenty Thirsters and what looked like some Scorpio and Mixen on the ground, covering all the exits.

  ‘Are they Originals?’ Vero whispered.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Evie whispered back, pulling her blade close. ‘I don’t think so, though.’ If they had been Originals then they wouldn’t have taken so long to break through the elevator grille.

  Cyrus appeared just then behind them. He slipped his hand into Evie’s.

  ‘This way,’ he said.

  ‘Where are we going?’ she asked.

  ‘Just trust me,’ Cyrus answered.

  She glanced sideways at him. Was he grinning?

  They reached the opposite edge and Evie’s stomach plummeted the four floors to the ground below. She had been right. They were surrounded and trapped. More Mixen and Scorpio paced the alley below them. She glanced up at the sky. Unless Cyrus had a helicopter or a stealth jet hovering overhead ready to rescue them they were screwed.

  ‘Take hold of this,’ Cyrus ordered, suddenly thrusting something into her hands.

  Evie barely had time to glance at it before he shoved her hard in the back and she went flying forward off the roof. It took a second of heart-stopping terror before she realised that she was attached to some kind of zip line. She cut off the scream before it burst free, drew her knees up to her chest as the opposite roof came hurtling towards her and braced for the collision. She cleared the ledge and threw herself forward, scrambling quickly to her knees. The other three were standing, silhouetted, on the far roof. She grabbed hold of the handle bar contraption and with all her might sent it whipping back along the line.

  Vero was next, a small, dark shape that barrelled towards Evie’s outstretched arms. Twenty seconds later Ash landed in a crouch beside them, the flamethrower slung across his back.

  ‘Shit!’ Vero hissed.

  Evie glanced up. Three unhumans now stood on the roof opposite and more were climbing through the skylight. Cyrus had turned to face them.

  ‘He’s not going to try and fight them, is he?’ Evie asked nervously, as they began to edge towards him. That would be so like him, to think he could handle that many on his own.

  He looked like he might be considering it and Evie was about to yell across at him to move his ass, when he grabbed hold of the wire with his left hand and took a running leap off the roof, swinging his blade over his head as he jumped.

  They watched in horror as the zip line was severed and Cyrus, clinging one handed to the end of it, smashed into the wall of the building on their side. He braced himself, taking the hit against his forearm and the side of his body. The Thirsters and Mixen below and on the opposite roof started howling and yelling as Cyrus started climbing, scrambling up the wire towards them.

  Evie remembered all the ropes hanging in the loft and how she’d once watched him shimmy up them like a spider monkey. Was that what he’d been preparing for? This eventuality?

  Cyrus heaved himself over the ledge, collapsing in a heap and grinning up at them. Ash offered him a hand and he took it, jumping to his feet.

  ‘There’s a part two to this escape plan, right?’ Evie asked, shouting to be heard over the screams from below.

  Cyrus stared at her, his face paling. ‘Yeah, but I’ve forgotten it,’ he said.

  Panic started to claw at Evie’s throat. Great. The amnesiac had got them this far, and now they were just as screwed.

  ‘Just kidding,’ Cyrus smirked, elbowing her in the ribs. ‘I told you to trust me, didn’t I?’

  She stared after him in irritation as he held the door to the fire exit open for her. ‘After you,’ he grinned.

  She brushed past him, glaring, and felt his hand coming to rest in the small of her back as he followed her down the stairs, urging her on. She upped her pace, leaping down the stairs three at a time behind Vero and Ash.

  At the bottom, Cyrus shouldered his way past them and smashed through a heavy door into a garage. It was empty except for two gleaming black and red motorbikes, parked facing a set of double doors.

  ‘What are these doing here?’ Vero asked, turning to look at Cyrus in astonishment.

  ‘Waiting for an emergency like this one,’ Cyrus murmured, running over to the furthest one. ‘I seem to remember I left the keys in the ignitions.’

  Vero straddled the one closer and jerked her head at Ash. ‘Get on,’ she yelled.

  ‘You planned all this?’ Evie asked as Cyrus swung his leg over the second bike.

  ‘Yeah. Not just a pretty face, huh?’ he said, giving her an all-too-familiar grin and holding his hand out to help her on behind him.

  She grimaced at him, trying not to smile back. It might encourage more of the old Cyrus to come out and she was getting to like the new one – sort of. She settled behind him, careful not to press herself too close, but his hand closed around hers anyway, pulling it around his waist and pressing it there, hard against his stomach.

  ‘Ready?’ Cyrus called.

  ‘Ready,’ Ash answered, revving his engine, blowing exhaust fumes all around them.

  Cyrus hit a button on a remote and the garage doors started to rise.

  ‘Hold on,’ Cyrus said over his shoulder as he gunned the engine and they went tearing out of the warehouse.

  Chapter 23

  Cyrus felt Evie grab on tighter as he accelerated down the alley. He managed to cut between two Thirsters, ramming the back wheel into one and bringing him down with a satisfyingly painful scream.

  Evie let out a yell and he grabbed for her wrist, thinking she was about to topple off the bike, but she was fine, clinging onto him with both hands now, her face pressed against his shoulder blade. That could be a dangerous distraction, he thought, as he gunned the bike through the next alley, putting as much distance as he could between them and the small army of unhumans chasing them.

  The warehouse was clearly a no-go zone from now on. He wasn’t sure he minded that much. It had felt like living in a playboy mansion – one that had been decorated by a pre-pubescent boy. Though, granted, the notches in the bedpost had been kind of impressive. He just wished he could remember any of the actual notching. It was Murphy’s law that he could remember details about exit routes, Spanish tourist phrases and where he’d left his keys, but he couldn’t remember anything he might want to remember, like no
tching.

  He couldn’t remember any girls. Except for Evie. She was the only person who appeared clearly in the swamp fog that was his brain. Despite what she’d said to him last night he knew something had happened between them. Her lips looked just too damn tempting, but more than that, he could remember exactly how they’d felt – exactly how she tasted.

  ‘Cyrus.’

  He turned his head slightly and the bike swerved.

  ‘Cyrus,’ Evie said again. ‘Slow down. We’re clear.’

  He eased off on the gas and slowed the bike, marvelling at how it moved so fluidly beneath him. He really knew how to ride a bike. He was glad he could remember that at least, even if he couldn’t remember the same experience with a girl.

  He came to a stop at the side of a road and put the kickstand down, helping Evie off. She fell forward, against his chest and for a split second he held her there, feeling a rush of something that was way more than the adrenaline dissipating through his body. But before he could savour it she snatched her hands away as if he’d burnt her and crossed instead to Ash and Vero who’d parked behind them.

  He couldn’t figure Evie out. One minute she was so vulnerable and broken – like she had been last night when she’d talked about Lucas – and the next moment she was about as approachable as a scorpion.

  When he’d rushed in to wake her she’d been totally out of it. Her hair pasted across her face, her body warm and floppy. He’d had to shake her hard, and her head had fallen backwards exposing a pale stretch of neck and flushed cheeks. She’d been smiling in her sleep, and the look of her, the total tempting sultriness of her had almost made him forget why he was coming in there to wake her up. But as soon as she snapped awake, the softness vanished, the sultriness went completely AWOL and she was all business as usual. Though, he had to admit, she couldn’t stop being sexy if she tried.

  The only problem was that she was clearly still in love with the dead guy. So why then did he remember kissing her? And why did it feel so good when she wrapped her arms around his waist like she had done just now? Hell, he’d wanted to keep driving all night. And why – this was really the crux of it – why had he given his life for her? Well, not given his life, because he was still alive, thank god, but he had intended to, and that was what counted. He’d been ready to die for this girl. Had he really done that for someone who didn’t give a rat’s ass about him? It was possible, he supposed. But it didn’t sound like he’d been that sort of guy.