Immersive

by Becky Moynihan

  “But I can’t give you up that easily,” his voice rumbled in the scant inches separating us. “This thing between us? It’s not over. Once we find a way out of this, I’m fighting to win you back. And I’m fighting for keeps, because I won’t share you. Not even a sliver. I want every. Last. Piece.” As if to punctuate the words, he fitted himself even closer. He was all around me, yet not a single part of him touched any part of me.

  Shock rendered me speechless. Even after my kiss with Ryker and the agreement to become his mate, Bren still cared. Still wanted me. It was plainly written on his face. The sight caused an ache to build low in my gut, followed by a deep yearning to fuse my mouth to his. I lifted my hands, wanting to slide them up his bare chest and into his hair. Before they could make contact, he jerked back. Retreated a step.

  I swallowed a breathy whimper and dropped my gaze, the sting of rejection hitting me hard. I deserved that. It was too soon. He probably couldn’t get the image of me and Ryker kissing out of his head.

  Self loathing dragged me down, threatening to yank tears from my downcast eyes. I didn’t bother hiding my misery. We’d come too far for pretense. If he wanted to keep his distance, then he had the right to do so—even if it destroyed my heart.

  “I can’t touch you right now,” he said quietly. My eyes jumped to his. “You’re bonded to the prince, and if I were to lay a hand on you with seductive or violent intentions, my life would be forfeit. But more than anything, I want to touch your soft skin,” he breathed. “I want to press my lips to every last perfect inch of you until Ryker is but a memory and mine is the only name you know.”

  Wait. Whoa.

  If my body wasn’t propped against the fence, I’d have joined the murky puddle at my feet. His words continued to strike me mute. And by the slow grin spreading across his face, I knew that had been his intention.

  That smile. It twisted my insides yet filled me with warmth. Oh how I’d missed it.

  He tilted his head in a follow me gesture, stuffing his hands into his pockets as if embarking on a midnight stroll. I automatically followed him, mesmerized by the straight lines of his body and the sureness of his step. It clicked then.

  I’d given Brendan Bearon a challenge. A purpose. Something to fix.

  And so his cocky, egotistical self confidence had returned.

  Tears burned my eyes.

  It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.

  No, please don’t. I didn’t do anything. I didn’t do anything!

  I exploded upright, a scream lodged in my throat.

  “Iris,” I panted, frantically searching for her. “Iris, I’m coming. I’m com—” No, I realized with a sinking heart, I wasn’t. We were still miles apart. Fear, her fear, continued to tremble through me as I shoved aside sleep-mussed hair. I stumbled across the room and yanked open the door.

  Only to sprawl headlong into the hallway as I tripped over something large and solid.

  Oof!

  The landing should have hurt more. I glanced down and there was Bren, groggily blinking up at me. But the longer I lay sprawled on top of him, the wider his eyes became. For a second that lasted an eternity, I froze, gobbling up the sight of his freshly-shaven face and clean skin. And, stars above, he smelled good. Wait, were his hands on my hips? Yes. Yes, they were. It felt so right, yet so wrong. But I couldn’t remember why.

  And then I did.

  “Crap!” I rolled off of him, instantly regretting the move. By the look on his face, so did he. We had broken the no-touching rule, but all I wanted to do was reverse course so I could sniff him again. Yeah, I was probably addicted to his sunshine smell by now. “What are you—?” I began, then stopped as I recalled our current living situation. Our very awkward living situation consisting of two angry men, one bed, and a girl stuck in the middle. They had both insisted I take the bedroom.

  Bren had an apartment one floor up, but the space had been pillaged except for a few articles of clothing that he now wore. They were a bit snug across his chest, but I wasn’t complaining. After a few terse words with Ryker last night, he’d been allowed to stay here. He was sleeping on the floor though, accommodations he was probably used to at this point.

  I felt terrible that he was hunkered down in the hallway right outside my door. To be closer to me?

  The soundproofed room didn’t have windows, but I could see from the living room window that it was around midday. I suddenly remembered my dream, so real that it must have been a vision. “Iris is in trouble.”

  Bren sat up while Ryker stirred from his spot on the couch.

  “Renold’s torturing her. I couldn’t see what he was doing, but—but I could feel her fear. She’s all alone, and—” I blew out a breath. “I have to get back in there. Right now before it’s too late.”

  My eyes met Ryker’s calculating stare. “I need unrestricted access to this city. There’s a certain something that I have to find. What will it take for that to happen? I’ll tell the boss whatever he wants to know. Swear whatever oaths or honor any deals he wants to bind me with. Just . . . tell me what to do, Ryker.”

  It could have been a trick of the light, but I could have sworn he glanced at Bren with unease. His gaze swiftly returned to mine, now neutral.

  Then he said two words I never expected him to say.

  “Marry me.”

  My mouth popped open. Deafening silence settled between us as reality smacked me upside the head. Marriage. I was being asked—more like told—to marry Ryker. This was real. Really real. I could finally feel it, like a swarm of angry bees in my stomach. Before I could stop them, my eyes flitted to Bren’s. But his were downcast, glaring at the floor near his boots.

  Surely he knew how I felt about this. If there were any other way . . .

  Ryker stood from the couch and stretched leisurely as if those two words had been a simple “good morning.” Bren and I remained on the floor as he strode for the kitchen, rummaging for something edible to eat.

  “There’s no quicker way to earn an entire night of free rein,” he said over his shoulder. “Rollie created this kingdom, and with it, a set of rules. One of the most elaborate revolves around what you must do before claiming a mate. On top of that, the female is given a small window of opportunity—she can stand by her intended mate, choose another, or reject them all by running.” His jaw hardened. “Not that the men ever honor her rejection.”

  “So,” I drew out the word, trying to settle on what to say. Something safe, since we weren’t enclosed in the soundproof bedroom. “Once I’m married to you, I’ll be given a measure of freedom?”

  “Not exactly. The night before the claiming, there’s a ceremony.” Ryker cleared his throat. My stomach bottomed out when he had the nerve to look uncomfortable. What didn’t I know? Ah crap, something told me this was going to be bad.

  “I’m assuming it’s nothing like a traditional wedding ceremony with flowers and music and fancy dresses?” I quipped, though the words came out higher-pitched than usual.

  He opened his mouth, but Bren chose that moment to stand. As he stepped over me to get at the food Ryker had found, I stood as well. Then promptly crossed my arms with a huff and leaned against the wall. Dried meat again. For breakfast. Yuck.

  Before Ryker could answer my question, Bren slanted him a look, saying, “The ceremonial ritual is so dangerous that not many clansmen dare go through with it. Besides that, it’s barbaric. To be considered worthy of a mate, the male must fight to claim his female. For one night, anyone can pursue her. She can choose another, but he too must fight to keep her.”

  He pinned that look on me, slowly approaching my position. “And if he can survive the night and no one has stolen her away,” he said, stopping close enough for me to feel his body heat, “he is free to claim her as his mate. That is the ceremony.”

  A shiver worked its way down my spine. “What if the female doesn’t want to be claimed?”

  “She can run and hide, but the choice is usually taken
from her.”

  Fury was a whip slashing through my blood. “So women are just prizes to be won? That’s sick.”

  “Still want to become Princess of the Recruiter Clan?” Ryker mocked around a mouthful of mystery meat.

  I turned to him. “Is this what happened to your mother?”

  He bared his teeth, but ignored the question. “You will be given from dusk until dawn to roam the city. As long as you’re not caught, no one will question why you’re alone in the streets unescorted.”

  This was crazy. Any number of things could go wrong if I agreed to this animalistic ritual. But it was the perfect opportunity to enact my plan. One step closer to freeing my mum and returning to Tatum City. To Iris.

  “Ryker?” He lifted a brow in acknowledgment, but it was Bren’s eyes I sought as I said, “Tell your father that I want the ceremony done. Tonight.”

  I avoided a group of boys huddled around a flaming barrel. They were too busy arguing about something to catch my scent though. I purposefully slogged through several rain puddles, still uncertain how keen a Sensor’s abilities were. But the more I could throw them off my trail, the better.

  Thankfully, the rules mandated I be given a head start.

  Good thing too, because the men who wished to challenge Ryker’s claim on me had arrived at Pack’s Tavern an hour before sunset—all two dozen of them. I was the prey, the lone contender against a pack of hungry mutant beasts. It was the Arcus Point Trial all over again. But this time, I was weaponless and didn’t have Bren fighting beside me.

  When I left the tavern, his tall frame had been lurking in the shadows where he silently observed the restless men. I hadn’t dared ask him if he would challenge Ryker’s claim. I was afraid that he would and jeopardize my precarious deal with Rollie. I was even more afraid that he wouldn’t.

  Foolish heart. So willing to risk everything for a heroic, albeit twisted gesture from the one it loved. Which was why I repeatedly considered leaving him clues so he’d discover me first. I kept thinking of him whisking me out of the city where we could start a new life.

  A fresh beginning.

  Just the two of us.

  I clung to the selfish and unrealistic thought a moment more before letting it slip through my fingers.

  My goal tonight was to find that box of memory serum. Ryker hadn’t seemed worried about the ceremony’s outcome, but what if everything went wrong? What if he and Bren were killed during this fight-to-claim-your-mate thing? What if I was caught stealing the serum? Either way, we needed that serum. It was the only way back inside Tatum City when the time came.

  The next part of my plan hinged on Jaxon. Well, the entirety of Blue Ridge Sector, actually, but I was counting on Jaxon to be my spokesperson. He had a special way with words. I assumed Bren had told them about the women and children being held in the correctional center. If they meant to stop Renold from starting a war, then making a deal with the Recruiter Clan was a step in that direction.

  My plan could so easily fail. Dr. Moore could refuse to listen, as could Rollie. Trust was hard to come by in this world. But if Blue Ridge Sector and the Recruiter Clan formed a mutually beneficial alliance, then destroying Renold and freeing those I cared about wouldn’t just be a dream.

  It could really and truly happen.

  The thought sent adrenaline zipping through me. I put on a burst of speed and lost myself to the city, weaving through broken doorways and rusted cars. I touched everything, leaving false trails and marking passages that lead to dead ends. Just like I had in the Abilities Competition during my time spent at The Ridge.

  I held my breath whenever male voices or footsteps reached my ears. Kept moving even though my body urged me to hide. When my chest heaved and lungs burned, I pressed on, ignoring the pain in my sides and calves. I ran for miles, creating a confusing patchwork of trails across the city. And when I finally stopped, it was to find myself back where I’d started.

  Pack’s Tavern.

  The dogs weren’t at the entrance. Probably out searching for me.

  Was it too much to hope that the building was empty?

  I knew one thing for certain though. The serum was here. If someone caught me snooping, I could pretend that I was searching for a good hiding spot. I snuck around back, quieting my harsh breathing. Now if only there was an outer ladder like the one I’d used—

  A rickety black stairwell emerged, glistening dully under the waning moon.

  Jackpot, I inwardly crowed, knowing Jaxon would be pleased with my word choice. The stairs led straight up to a second story window—exactly the place I needed to be. This is too easy. It has to be a trap.

  Or maybe Renold simply hadn’t told his little brother how important that box of serum was. Maybe Rollie wasn’t guarding it because he didn’t care. Which would make its theft all the easier to pull off.

  With one last look down the narrow alley I was crouched in, I dashed for the stairs. The first problem presented itself right away. Noise. The metal shrieked when my boot made contact. I bit my lip. Hard. By the time I reached the second floor landing, I tasted blood on my tongue. But there were no shouts. No whoops of glee from the savage men spotting their prize. Just silence. And one very clean window.

  Surprised, I hesitated.

  Trap, trap, trap, my mind chanted. The boss wants you to find the serum so he can call your bluff and put a bullet in your head. Or Bren’s.

  I batted my paranoia aside. Tonight, I was given free rein of the city. No one would question my reasons for sneaking in here. If I was going to steal the serum and use it to present my case for an alliance, it was now or never.

  My fingers gripped the window and pulled. Stuck. No. Locked. I hissed, mentally ticking off my options. Entering from the ground floor wasn’t happening. A rock would make too much noise. I eyed my borrowed jacket, wishing it was leather like the one Ryker wore. I prepared to ram my elbow through the glass, already wincing from the pain that was to come.

  I drew my arm back. As my muscles tensed for the strike, the window scraped open. A hand shot out and grabbed a fistful of my jacket. No sound left me as someone yanked me inside. I hit the floor hard, my shoulder barking in protest. But I was up and spinning toward my attacker a second later.

  If one of the two dozen clansmen tried to claim me tonight, then he was in for a smackdown. When feminine features suddenly popped up before me, I couldn’t stop my fight or flight reaction in time. My fist flew toward a jaw—a decidedly female one. I heard the fleshy smack right before her head whipped to the side. I gasped, an apology already forming on my lips.

  As I reached out to steady her, I caught a flash of straight black hair and deep blue eyes. Then a fist, followed by shooting stars. I reeled under the return attack, slamming into the brick wall behind me. My head glanced off the bricks and I groaned as more stars exploded across my vision. I wasn’t given time to recover before the fist was back, burying itself in the front of my jacket.

  “Shh,” the woman hissed, giving me a little shake. “They’ll hear you.”

  I didn’t respond, too busy blinking away the floating lights. Soft fingers touched my cheek and I flinched, swallowing back another groan.

  “Sorry,” she whispered. “Knee-jerk reaction to being punched in the face.”

  “I’m sorry too. I thought you were—”

  “I know, I know,” she interrupted, moving to slide the window shut. “We don’t have much time. Tell me why you’re here.”

  “Uh . . .” This was happening way too fast. Who was this woman?

  She looked back at me impatiently. “You’re my son’s intended mate, yes?” My mouth formed an O. She stuck out a hand. “I’m Evangaline. Ryker’s mother. You can call me Evie.”

  Ryker’s . . . mother.

  I raised a limp hand and she shook it firmly.

  “No time for chit-chat unfortunately,” she went on, dropping my hand to usher me farther into the room. Which, I could see now, was an apartment. A very clean one, but ove
rwhelmed with stuff. Paintings on the walls, clay figurines, bowls, plates, jars. Practically every surface was covered. “Tell me.” Her hurried voice recaptured my attention. “How is my son?”

  “Uh, he’s well? As of a couple hours ago anyway.”

  She snorted, a sound that I’d heard Ryker make often enough. “He’s fine then. The men are too eager for a good chase and won’t be focused on taking him out. But I must know why you’ve come here. Has he . . . has he informed you of his plan?”

  I debated whether to trust her or not. I didn’t know what kind of relationship she had with her husband. She could very well tell him everything.

  “Ryker is my world. If he picked you, then we’re on the same side,” she pressed, darting a quick look to a red door covered in painted flowers. “So I’ll ask again. What is it that you seek?”

  I noticed her tattoos then. They weren’t in shades of black and gray like the men’s. Like mine. They were vibrant. Beautiful. Traveling up both her arms before disappearing beneath a green flowy top. She had to be an artist—one that was trapped in a tower, which reminded me of another fairy tale story Mum had told me.

  Something about that comparison made me let down my guard enough to say, “Have you seen a couple of backpacks lying around?”

  Her midnight blue eyes brightened. Without a word, she scurried into another room. I could hear her grunt and curse a few times, but I didn’t move—in case she came back with a gun and I’d need to throw myself out the window. A minute later, she returned, carrying three familiar packs. “My husband thinks he’s so clever hiding these under the floorboards,” she puffed, dropping the load at my feet, “but I know every inch of this place.”

  My hands started to tremble as I crouched and unzipped the packs, quickly rifling through their contents. A grin tugged at my mouth when I caught sight of my twin golden daggers. I ran my fingers over Bren’s book. No sign of my bow and arrows, sleeping bag, or tent though. Worry shivered through me as I wondered what else they’d kept for themselves. I ripped open Bren’s pack.