Immersive

by Becky Moynihan

  The pain paralyzed me.

  Push past the . . .

  Just one more second . . .

  My fingers wrapped around my salvation. A metallic whine rang in my ears as I whipped my dagger free and brought the handle down on Dr. Stacey’s head. Crack! She immediately sagged, crumpling to the ground unconscious.

  I stared at her for several seconds to make sure she wasn’t faking, then released a delirious laugh. “Take that, you needle-wielding, backstabbing traitor.”

  Bren found us two minutes later, his wild-eyed gaze scanning every inch of me. I was flat on the ground, my ankles crossed and fingers laced over my stomach. A firmly trussed-up Dr. Stacey was still knocked out cold nearby.

  “Ousted your traitor,” I called up to him casually, watching his face filter through a gambit of emotions. “I spared her for questioning. Thought you’d like that. How’s Dominic?”

  “Don’t know,” he muttered distractedly, folding his long legs as he sat down next to me. He reached out and, when I didn’t flinch, gently trailed his fingers over my bruised cheek. A ghost of pain bloomed.

  “You’re hurting,” Bren said, his voice reed thin as if my pain were his. “Where else are you injured?”

  “I’m fine,” I began, but he cut me off.

  “Don’t do this, Lune. Don’t prove to me how tough you are, how nothing can break you. It’s okay to tell me you’re hurting. Physically. Emotionally. I can feel it. Right”—he pounded a fist over his heart—“here.”

  I brought my hand up to cup the side of his face. After a moment, he turned into the touch and pressed trembling lips to my palm. I ached to erase the worry lines on his brow. To erase the hurt between us.

  “I can feel your hurt too,” I whispered. “I’m sorry for what I said earlier. I had to find out who was working for Renold.”

  He sighed against my skin. “I’m sorry too. I can’t expect you to trust me if I keep you in the dark. I’ll ask Dr. Moore for permission to tell you everything. I don’t want there to be any more secrets between us. Deal?”

  “Deal.” A weight I’d carried for far too long lifted. “Now please let me hold you.”

  Without hesitation, he lowered himself beside me. My arms shot out and wrapped around his neck, hugging him fiercely despite my injuries. “Only if I can hold you back, little bird,” he murmured, drawing me even closer.

  That night, we mourned the loss of a friend and mentor. By sunrise, my eyes were nearly as swollen as my wrist. Bren took Dominic’s shocking death the hardest. I cried for him as well. Another adult in his life snatched from him too soon. We quietly agreed to bury Dominic beneath a towering pine, knowing we couldn’t transport his body to The Ridge anytime soon.

  We had to press on with the mission—he would have wanted us to. But it wasn’t easy, not when his killer was yards away, still breathing.

  And I knew it was unrealistic, but when Dominic had taught me to believe in the impossible, I had foolishly hoped that maybe, just maybe, we would all make it through this alive.

  “What was in the syringe? Answer me. Answer me!”

  The shout thundered through the clearing. I flinched, despite myself. The heat, the rage rolling off Bren, put me on edge. I didn’t fear him. I only feared how his actions would haunt him later. But I didn’t interfere with the interrogation. Dr. Stacey had valuable information and I hoped Bren twisted every last drop of it from her.

  Yukiko cleared her throat before he could shout some more. “Take a breather, Bren. Your emotions are too high.”

  He turned and growled at her. She growled right back. I couldn’t stop myself from smirking. Stars, that girl had balls. I’d give her a fistbump if Bren wasn’t watching.

  She shoved their communication device at him. “Radio Dr. Moore. He needs to be briefed on the situation, and we need to know whether our orders are still the same.” She glanced at me. “After Dominic’s impression, I’m thinking not.”

  Oh, right. Dominic had clearly said I needed to be in Tatum City to stop Renold.

  The reminder only made Bren more angry. I thought he’d explode—maybe tear apart the camp since he couldn’t tear into our prisoner—but he simply marched for the treeline and disappeared from view. I lingered for a moment, then decided to go after him.

  Jaxon grasped my elbow before I could. “Just let him have a few minutes to blow off steam and punch things without an audience,” he said quietly so Dr. Stacey couldn’t overhear. “Dom meant a lot to him. And then there’s that vision about you. The last thing he wants is for you to be in Tatum City again.”

  “I know,” I whispered, my throat tightening with grief. “I don’t want to go, but I have to. And not just because of Dominic’s vision. My sister’s in there.”

  He nodded his understanding, but there was an undeniable sadness to him as he wandered a short distance away. I had the urge to comfort him too, but Yukiko chose that moment to start up the interrogation again.

  “Why did you kill Dominic?” Her tone was even, the complete opposite of what Bren’s had been. And instead of towering over Dr. Stacey’s chained, disheveled form, she crouched to meet her at eye level. “How could you kill someone so kindhearted? Someone who only wanted to help others?”

  Dr. Stacey’s usually pulled-back, tidy hairdo was now a brown, matted halo around her bruised head. Despite her disheveled appearance, I’d never seen her look more confident. She swallowed with difficulty, her throat no doubt bone dry. We hadn’t given her any food or water, a fact that didn’t make me feel guilty. “I didn’t want to, but he gave me no other choice,” she rasped. “The high dose of opioid I injected him with was quick and efficient. He didn’t suffer for long.”

  Her explanation was so clinical. No sign of remorse. Did she even care about her patients, or was that all an act too? The thought made me sick.

  “What about Lune?” Yukiko went on, still managing to conceal her emotions. “Is that why you tried to kill her at The Ridge? Was she a threat to your plans?”

  Dr. Stacey’s expression hardened. “I didn’t try to kill her—only scare her into leaving Blue Ridge Sector. After Dominic confirmed Lune as the girl from his prediction, it was too dangerous to let her learn how to use her abilities. But she stayed. Now she’s even more of a threat to the Supreme Elite’s master plan. I should have disobeyed his orders and eliminated her when I had the chance.”

  Ignoring the last bit, I stepped forward, capturing her attention. “When’s the last time you contacted him? Does he know about his brother’s death?”

  Her stare was cold and unblinking. Unnerving. I switched tactics, playing on her ego. “What is Renold’s plan anyway? Form a brainless army? And then what? Make a few Trials contenders conquer more territory for him so he can expand his city? Sounds a bit delusional to me.”

  She laughed coldly. “I wish I could tell you, if only to see the look on your face. Unfortunately, I can’t say a thing.”

  “Can’t or won’t?”

  “Can’t,” she purred with a smirk.

  Yukiko swore, then stood. “She must have programmed and injected herself with a restraining chip.” She paced while Dr. Stacey looked on in amusement. As if she’d won.

  “I’ll cut it out of her,” I said. All eyes jerked my way. I shrugged, feigning indifference even as my stomach rolled. “What? I’m good with a knife. Just tell me where to cut.”

  I made to unsheath one of my daggers, watching as Dr. Stacey’s eyes rounded. Then, as if in afterthought, slipped a hidden knife free of my pants pocket. Jaxon started protesting, but his girlfriend held up a hand.

  “It’s a good idea,” she said, observing me closely. “Can you manage with your left hand?” A strangled sound left Jaxon.

  I fiddled with the wrap around my right wrist. “The incision might not be as clean, but I’ll make do.”

  The diamond stud in Yukiko’s nose winked as her lips quirked. Without a word, she stepped aside, allowing me access to the prisoner. As I approached, I flipped the
knife a few times, noting the way Dr. Stacey’s throat bobbed.

  I hunkered down in front of her, cocking my head. And studied her clinically. I pointed the blade’s tip just beneath her chin. “Is the chip lodged near the vocal cords? I should be able to reach it without nicking an artery. Probably.”

  “Yeah,” Yukiko said. “Just don’t slice too deep or you’ll damage the cords. We need her to talk afterward.”

  Dr. Stacey was noticeably shaking now. I felt a tremor in my own limbs, but I wouldn’t let that stop me. We desperately needed the information she possessed. I steadied my hand before resting the blade against her pale skin. She flinched away, the action causing a thin line of red to bubble up.

  “I suggest holding still,” I murmured while positioning the knife over her vocal cords. “You’re a doctor. You know how delicate the throat area is.” Without further warning, I cut into her flesh. Despite my words, she jerked against her restraints. I grimaced, holding in a hiss as blood spurted, some landing on my face. “Yukiko, hold her down!”

  A hand clamped over Dr. Stacey’s shoulder. The other captured the back of her neck and squeezed. “This is for Dominic, you slimy worm,” Yukiko growled. “Finish it, Lune.”

  The blade dug in again and Dr. Stacey screamed. A cold sweat doused my skin as she tried to thrash and buck, further injuring herself. Doubt set in. Panic. What if I killed her by accident? Too much blood already ran down her neck and into the black V of her shirt. I bit my lip until the taste of iron coated my tongue.

  Maybe I couldn’t do this after all.

  When a voice panted, “I can’t do this,” I paused, thinking I’d spoken aloud. But then came the words, “I’m sorry, darling, I just can’t. I’m not . . . I’m not strong enough after all. I’m not worthy. I—” Dr. Stacey let out a wail, gnashing her teeth together. She seized up. Convulsions shook her. I slid the knife free.

  “No!” Yukiko shouted, grabbing the woman’s face. Shock ripped through me when I saw white foam at Dr. Stacey’s mouth. Was she having a seizure? But I hadn’t nicked anything vital. She should be fine. This shouldn't be happening. Yukiko shouted some more and Jaxon was suddenly there, his face sallow as he looked on helplessly.

  “Suicide pill,” he whispered. “There’s nothing that can be done.”

  It was all over in seconds. Dr. Stacey’s green eyes stared sightlessly at the blue sky above.

  Nausea barrelled through me. As saliva rushed into my mouth, I stumbled to my feet and lurched toward the woods. At the first bush, I heaved up my breakfast, simultaneously coughing and sobbing. After last night, I didn’t think there were any tears left in me. But here they were, pouring down my face as I plunged into the trees, needing to escape those eyes and what I’d just done.

  Too much death. I didn’t care if she deserved it. I just wanted the deaths to stop.

  For several minutes, I wove an aimless path through the woods. Or so I thought. I’d unconsciously followed my gut to Bren, stopping a few yards away only to stare at the long line of his spine. He’d taken his shirt off and sat at the grassy bank of a stream-fed pond.

  Such a beautiful display of life on a day so full of death.

  Water cascaded over a rock ledge on the far side, masking the sound of my approach—to an ordinary human’s ears. Bren’s shoulders tensed when he heard me, but he didn’t turn. My eyes traced the slightly raised scar in the middle of his back. Where Skervvy had shot him.

  Another dead person.

  I made a sound. Half whimper, half sob. Bren immediately whirled, jumping to his feet. When he saw me, the device in his hand hit the ground with a faint thud. He swallowed the space between us in three large strides. His hands lifted but froze, as if uncertain where to touch first.

  “So much blood.” Panic tightened his voice. “What happened?”

  Steel bands of guilt wrapped around my throat. I shook my head.

  Frustration lined his eyes as he yanked trembling hands through his hair. I caught sight of his knuckles. Bruised. Bloody. “I can’t do this, little bird. I just can’t. Not with you. I’m not strong enough.”

  I sucked in a gasp, feeling lightheaded at his choice of words. So similar to Dr. Stacey’s. Another dead person. “Please,” I whispered. “Please, don’t say that.”

  He cast me a helpless look, letting his arms fall. “I can’t control it, Lune. My instincts scream at me to protect you. It’s so strong that I can barely think straight. I’ve been distracted and making mistakes, causing more harm than good. All I want to do is wrap my body around yours and shield you from the world.”

  His shoulders drooped. “When you’re hurt, I go mad with fear. I’m not strong enough to fight my reactions, and I know they push you away. They only make you want to prove how strong you are on your own.”

  He dropped his gaze in defeat. “Never in my life have I been so scared of losing someone. Dominic’s loss is a stab wound that’ll heal. If I lose my sister, I’ll keep on living but the wound won’t ever fully heal. But you? Losing you would rip out my heart. I couldn’t survive that. And now you’re a part of the mission. You’re returning to the very place I can’t protect you, and I . . . I don’t know what to do, Lune. Please tell me what to do.”

  Don’t go on the mission, I so desperately wanted to say, but that would make things ten times worse. We were both set on going, and nothing we said to each other would change that.

  His pleading words filled me with the worst kind of guilt, though. Saving others was his purpose, his path to redemption, and I was walking right into the lion’s den. But it was more than that. The more he loved someone, the more he feared for their safety. I hated that I was forcing him to carry this burden, but I also worried that fear of loss controlled him.

  If he didn’t face that fear, it could drive him insane.

  “Bren?”

  I almost told him. Almost shared my own fears—the fear of losing control and becoming a monster, the fear of others paying the price for my freedom. But he would worry. He would beg me not to return. And I had to. I had to go back for those very reasons. I wouldn’t cower in the face of fear any longer.

  So I sought comfort in a way that would ease our worries without words. In a way that could be considered cowardly, but I needed this. I needed him. And he needed me. “Please hold me, Bren. Touch me, kiss me. Just hold—”

  He took the offering, cupping my face before placing a gentle kiss on my mouth. His touch was achingly sweet, but I wanted us both to forget, just for a moment, that fear and death and missions that could go terribly wrong existed.

  I pulled away. His look was both surprise and dejection, but he quickly caught onto my intentions as I fumbled to unbuckle my dagger holster. He reached to help me, but hesitated.

  I captured his hand, slowly guiding it to the leather strap across my chest. His eyes flared bright as he deftly undid the buckles, his gaze heating with each passing second. The holster gave way and I let it thump to the ground. I silently communicated what else I wanted out of.

  “Jaxon or Yukiko might come looking,” he said hoarsely, even as his fingers drifted south toward my shirt’s hem. I wordlessly lifted my arms in challenge, and I could have sworn he purred. He took his time, which annoyed me at first. I wanted everything off. Off! But he made the wait worthwhile, trailing his fingers up my stomach as he went, setting off a flurry of wings inside of me.

  By the time my bra and shirt hit the ground, I was a trembling mess. I quickly tugged at my pants, but he wasn’t finished with the torture. He stilled my frenzied movements by curling his fingers into the waistband. I let out an embarrassing moan as his fingers dipped further in before releasing the button. When he slid my pants down, he lowered himself as well, dropping to his knees before me.

  “I know what you need,” he said softly, undoing my shoelaces, then slipping my boots and pants off. “You need loving. And maybe tomorrow, you’ll need saving and protecting, but right now”—he leaned forward—“you just”—he pressed a kiss
to my navel—“need”—his tongue circled the area, leaving a trail of delicious warmth—“loving.”

  Yes, I internally groaned, digging my fingers into his hair. I want to burn. A rumble from low in his throat vibrated through me as he kissed my stomach harder, his stubble scratching the sensitive skin.

  My head lolled, eyes drifting shut as I reveled in the feel of his lips. They kissed a straight path upward, until they got distracted. Noises came out of me—weird, awkward ones—but I couldn’t seem to care. His hands joined in, rubbing up my thighs and hips, smoothing over my rib cage. The more he touched, the more I wanted. And I wanted to touch him too.

  I urged him to stand, but when my hands found his skin, there was no restraint. I grasped his face and kissed his mouth hard, pulling away only to come back for more. My teeth grazed his bottom lip and he groaned. Wanting to hear the sound again, I sucked his lip into my mouth and bit down. He came alive with a roar, pressing my body so tightly to his, I lost the ability to think.

  Sharing this closeness with him was unlike anything I’d ever known—a dizzying mix of weakness, euphoria, and power. I had all the control, yet had none. And I was beginning to crave the feeling. Bren hurriedly removed his pants, the last item of clothing between us falling away.

  When he swooped me into his arms, I yelped. His steps were sure, swift, as he carried me to the pond’s edge.

  “Bren, what are you—?”

  I squeaked as he plunged into the pond without pause. The cold water struck my backside and I squirmed to be let down. But when I scrambled for shore, he caught my waist and dragged me to deeper depths. Despite the shivers racking my body, I couldn’t help but laugh a little.

  Playful Bren was exactly what I needed.

  My laughter ended in a gasp as he lifted my left thigh and slowly guided our bodies together. At the sensation of becoming one, my lips parted, eyes sliding shut. I let him take control, let him love me the way he wanted to. I was malleable, a creation of his making. My raging heart beat for him. His world was mine, and nothing else existed.