Reactive: A Young Adult Dystopian Romance (The Elite Trials Book 1)

by Becky Moynihan

  “When I first saw you, you were on the highest balcony of Tatum House, precariously leaning over the edge with your arms spread wide. Like a little bird about to fly. Even now, you seem poised for flight at any given moment.” He flashed a quick grin.

  I focused on my lap and picked at a slight chip on the cup’s rim, embarrassed yet oddly pleased at the comparison.

  “You remind me of someone.”

  My head snapped up so fast spots of bright light interrupted my vision. I hastily blinked them away and pushed aside the new flare of pain. I schooled my features as best I could before replying, “Who?”

  He scratched his neck and sighed heavily. “I met her a long time ago. I had just turned eight and she was maybe a year younger, but taller than me.” He smirked at the memory. A swallow got stuck in my ever-tightening throat. “She had long, dark hair that shone a deep red in the sun, like yours. Large, hazel-green eyes, and . . . and these cute little freckles on her nose.”

  Bren searched my face. Hard. Like he was reading. And then in a soft whisper, said, “It’s not possible.”

  I was still as death. Only muscle memory kept me breathing in that moment. He shook his head and looked at the floor, then started to pace. His nervous energy permeated the room, mingling with mine.

  “But the thing is, I couldn’t save her either. Like today, when I couldn’t save you. And so . . . and so you remind me of her. The girl I failed.” He stopped pacing and stood in the middle of my room, shoulders slumped. Heavy shadows masked his features. But I saw, in the glow of his eyes, raw torture. Honest pain. And my throat tightened even more.

  Could it be that my kidnapper was haunted by what he had done? Kidnapper. He didn’t sound or act like a manipulating liar. Not anymore.

  I was so screwed.

  Half an hour later, my stomach was eating itself. Getting beaten up must increase metabolism or something.

  It was still dinner hour and I had encouraged Bren to head on down. I even told him I wasn’t hungry, so he wouldn’t feel guilty for leaving me alone. Now I faked sleep, not fooling anyone, least of all my stomach. If I were honest with myself, I was actually hiding. I didn’t want to face the trainees who had witnessed my embarrassing takedown.

  How would they look at me now?

  I tossed my blanket aside and jumped to my feet, instantly regretting the abrupt movement. The room pitched sideways. My hand braced against the cold wall until the dizziness subsided. After a deep inhale, which caused my ribs to ache fiercely, I shuffled to my dresser and wiggled open one of two drawers. Blue greeted me, of course. Cursed blue.

  Besides training gear, I kept three outfits at the barracks. I’d never worn them. Fancy clothes weren’t needed here—completely impractical. But tonight, I felt like wearing something nice. I laughed at myself. You’ll only draw more unwanted attention! And yet my fingers reached for the fine fabric and held it up to the lamp’s pale light.

  The bell-sleeved azure blouse floated over my head as I slipped it on, my ribs protesting each tiny movement. Thin straps kept the off-the-shoulder material from exposing cleavage. I didn’t want that much attention. Black stretchy pants and knee-high boots completed the ensemble. I dared a peek in my small, cracked mirror and wished I hadn’t. If I kept this up, my entire face would be a purple bruise.

  I shook my hair free of its tether, letting it hang down my back in soft waves.

  Before leaving the room, I gulped down several large breaths. Added steel to my nerves. Tonight, I would make a statement. I might have been beaten but I wasn’t beat. Tonight, I’d hold my head high.

  You cannot break me.

  “Ready or not, here I come.” My smile no doubt looked crazy, but it was a smile nonetheless.

  He wasn’t there.

  I rescanned the mess hall. It was hard to miss a giant.

  Nope. I was alone. Just me and a pack of starving hyenas. Oh, and Iris. She saw me and gave a shy wave. I returned the gesture, then picked up a metal tray and made my way through the cafeteria line. In a different world, I would sit next to her at dinner. But in this world? Too dangerous for her. I didn’t look at her again.

  My neck tingled, and I knew most of the room’s occupants were staring at me. I felt naked under the intense scrutiny but continued dishing food onto my plate, focusing more on the room than on the task before me.

  As soon as I turned, I knew someone was coming at me, but it was too late. The collision smashed my full tray of food into my chest. The plate’s hard rim dug into my tender ribs and I gasped. I leveled out the tray and peered down at my shirt. It was covered in a food apocalypse. “Awesome,” I muttered under my breath.

  “Oops. I didn’t see you there, Princess.” Catanna’s deceptively sweet voice rang loud and clear in the ensuing silence. Great, we had an audience. Her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh no! Your beautiful shirt is ruined! But I’m sure Daddy will have a new one made for you, right? After all, he gives you anything you want.”

  I knew to expect the barbs but they still struck home. Tears weren’t an option, not in front of a group that was hungry for my demise. So, I did the unthinkable. I broke down laughing. I laughed so hard my head and ribs throbbed in time to the jerky movements. I was a slave to laughter.

  Any second now I’d be rolling on the floor.

  Catanna snarled, “You don’t deserve trainer status, you freak. Just look at you. Pathetic.” I saw her hand dip into a pile of what looked like mashed potatoes still clinging to my plate. Splat! She plopped the food on top of my head. A large warm dollop landed on my bare shoulder.

  My laughter shut off like a switch. I dropped the tray and the crash echoed off the walls.

  With bated breath, every soul in the room waited for my reaction. I remembered the promise I had made to myself earlier. How tonight I would make a statement. How I wasn’t beat.

  Okay then.

  I’d show them all what I was capable of.

  “You know, Catanna,” I crooned, inching a hand behind me. “You really need to lighten up a bit. Your complexion is looking a tad mottled.” My hand sunk into a platter filled with a soft, gooey substance. Too perfect. I whipped my loaded hand forward and slapped a palm against her chest, then spread the mystery goo around with a flourish.

  I stepped back, surveying my handiwork. Her eyes were huge, but her ever-widening mouth was the predominant feature on her shocked face.

  “See?” My finger made a circular motion around my own smug face. “Your skin is turning this weird purplish color. Wow. You might want to get that checked out. Doesn’t look healthy.”

  She shrieked like a banshee and swung a fist, which I quickly smacked aside. “Now, now, Catanna. Don’t bring a fist to a food fight. That’s against the rules. How about we settle this like ladies, hmm?” My hand went in for seconds and this time shoved the runny goop up her nose.

  The room broke out into deafening hoots and hollers, but I was on a roll now. Nothing would stop me from cramming food down that big mouth before this was over.

  Long, muscular arms wrapped around me from behind, snapping me out of my food-crazed haze. The pressure was light against my ribs, but the contact still hurt. Without hesitation, I jabbed my booted heel into a kneecap. There was a grunt of pain, but the arms didn’t loosen their hold. My head whipped back, seeking a nose, but bounced off a hard jaw instead. Bright shooting stars danced across my vision.

  “Lune, stop attacking me!”

  I would know that growl anywhere, even hyped up on adrenaline. I sagged in his arms. A tremor of nerves and fatigue shook my body.

  “You need to get out of here,” Bren practically yelled in my ear, the room still in pandemonium. There might have been a food fight or two taking place as well—it was hard to see anything clearly. I nodded. “Come on,” he said, and tugged me backward. I let him, never taking my eyes off a seething Catanna. Her teeth were bared. Her dark eyes promised retribution. A pale glob of goo trickled down her chin.

  I smirked.


  As soon as we rounded the corner, Bren released me, then promptly latched onto my right bicep. He marched me down the hallway at a fast clip. I practically floated along, feeling unhinged. Invincible.

  “You should have seen her face, Bren,” I all but cackled. “A whole apple could have fit in that big mouth. If you hadn’t stopped me, I might have tried it!”

  He muttered something under his breath. Before I could try decoding the words, he ripped open a door and shoved me inside a pitch-black room. The door slammed shut, encasing me in complete darkness. A sliver of fear leaked through my adrenaline high. Where was I? Had he decided to get rid of me after all?

  With a clink and buzz, a row of flickering light bulbs illuminated my surroundings. I was in the barracks gym.

  And I wasn’t alone.

  Bren prowled toward me, fire in his eyes. “What were you thinking?” He kept coming, until his body was inches from mine. I held my ground, but he didn’t stop, reaching for my shoulders. Finally, self-preservation kicked in and I backpedaled. He pursued me across the room, never once taking his eyes off mine. They burned me from the inside out, but I wouldn’t look away.

  Tonight, I was stronger. I was stronger than them all. Including him.

  My back thumped against the far wall; blue padding cushioned the impact. I had nowhere to go. I should feel panic. Fear. Anger. But I didn’t. As he crowded in close and trapped me between his arms, both hands splayed against the mat on either side of my head, I raised my chin and clenched my jaw.

  His nostrils flared as he said, “Do you have a death wish?”

  My hands shook as they formed fists at my sides. “Of course I don’t!” I yelled louder than planned. “It’s called defending myself. I might not be able to avoid a beating from my trainer, but I’m done taking them from my peers.”

  My whole body vibrated with pent-up aggression. I couldn’t get enough air in my lungs. I wasn’t beat. I wasn’t beat! I might have been tricked and mistreated as a child, but I was stronger now. I was done staying silent. The temptation to reveal our past connection, to clear the air once and for all, was a thorn in my tongue. I wanted to rip it out before the wound could fester a moment longer. But I didn’t. I bit my tongue.

  Stars, why can’t I do it?

  Bren watched me, utterly still. Holding his expressionless gaze felt like forever. Suddenly, he looked defeated. His eyes slid shut and his head drooped forward, a long sigh puffing from his lips. Hair fell over his forehead, shadowing his face.

  But I needed to see. I needed to see what he was thinking. I needed to know if he understood, or if he thought I was insane. Because if it was the latter, I would walk out of here and never speak to him again. Screw the consequences, he could train himself for all I cared. A beating from Renold would be worth it.

  And so, I unclenched a fist. And, with trembling fingers, I reached up and touched his hair, slowly sweeping it aside to reveal his face once again. He inhaled sharply. Then his eyes snapped open, so close to mine. I stopped breathing at the sight of those eyes burning hot with emotion. If his were swirling with such intensity, what did mine look like?

  I let go of his hair as he captured my fingers with his, keeping our interlocked hands close to his face. Too close. Too close.

  Then he pressed his lips to my scarred knuckles.

  Warmth pooled on the back of my hand and slid up my arm, traveling all the way to my neck and into my cheeks. And still I held his gaze, never looking away. My frantic rage from earlier was replaced with a bewildering calm. It eased into my veins, leaving me weak and breathless. I slumped against the wall.

  Bren’s lips curved into a crooked grin. “What’s on your hand? It’s delicious.”

  I blinked stupidly, not understanding. “Huh?”

  His tongue darted out as he licked his bottom lip. “Hm, I want to say . . . applesauce? You should try it.”

  My lips parted at the abrupt topic change and his gaze fixed on my mouth. His expression intensified. He almost looked hungry. My spine snapped straight and I slid to the side, disengaging our hands. When several feet of space separated us, I turned around and looked at him. He had tracked me with his eyes, one hand still propped against the wall.

  Time to wipe that expression off his face. With a wicked smile, I replied, “As much as I like applesauce, this batch is bad. After all, it was up Catanna’s nose.”

  Pure revulsion was the last thing I saw. And despite my bruised body, I twirled and waltzed out of the gym, head held high.

  “Your turn.” I crossed my arms and studied Bren’s near-perfect form as he nocked an arrow. Did he have to be good at everything?

  He stilled, breathed in, and on the exhale, released the arrow.

  It missed the target completely, sailing into the trees beyond.

  My jaw unhinged. “Um . . . was that intentional?”

  He smirked. “Nope.”

  He would fail the Arcus Point training at this rate. That little nugget of knowledge sent a bolt of victory sizzling through my insides. I hid a satisfied grin and, a second later, felt guilty for wanting him to fail. I squashed the pesky emotion. He’s competition, stupid!

  “Try again.” I placed another arrow in his palm.

  He readied his aim and, this time, I stepped in close behind him. “A little higher.” My hand raised his left arm an inch. “You can’t just aim and shoot—you have to feel it. Let your instincts guide you.”

  There was a hitch in his breathing. His arm tensed where my fingers touched.

  “Close your eyes and relax.” My voice lowered. His bunched muscles unwound. “Feel the smooth bow in your hand. Feel the tautness of the string. Feel the sturdy arrow between your fingers. They are an extension of your body—your neck, arms, shoulders and spine. Memorize how this feels.” I paused a beat, then, “Do you feel it?”

  “I feel it,” Bren rasped.

  Something stirred inside me. I took a steadying breath before saying, “Then open your eyes, sight down the arrow, and release.”

  With a controlled exhale, he fired.

  Twang, whir, thud.

  A near perfect bullseye.

  Crap! I jerked away from him, fists clenching. Why had I helped him so much? He was my competition. My competition! I took a step back, needing room to breathe, and collided with a body.

  I bounced off, then pitched forward. Bren’s back broke my fall. Why does this sandwich thing keep happening to me? Normally I would mumble a quick apology and be on my way but, when I turned around, an arctic glare pinned me in place, freezing the words on my tongue.

  Ugh. It was the guy with the striking neck tattoo who had elbowed me in the back days ago. I hadn’t seen him since.

  “You,” he sneered. Oh. He remembered me, too. “Do you make a habit of running into people?”

  “Technically, you ran into me that other time . . .” I trailed off as his lip curled, revealing clenched teeth. As he took a threatening step toward me, I fought to stand my ground; my knees locked.

  Bren laid a hand on my shoulder. “Who’s your friend, Lune?”

  I rolled my shoulder to dislodge his hold. “He’s not. We’ve just run into each other a couple times. Literally. I don’t even know his name, so I’ve decided to call him Tattoo Boy. What do you think? Too obvious?” I tilted my chin until Bren’s face came into view.

  He grinned. “Nah, I think it’s perfect.”

  The men’s gazes clashed, hot and cold, sending a shiver dancing along my spine. Something passed between them, like they were having a telepathic conversation. And then the man with the shocking blue eyes looked away. “The name’s Ryker,” he growled, pushing past us. “Don’t forget it.”

  As soon as he disappeared, my fists slowly unclenched their death grip.

  “Look, you chased off another one,” Bren teased, and I felt a tug on the braid running down my back. “We’ve got to work on your people skills.”

  If I wasn’t stuck training him, I’d have chased him off for pulling my h
air. Instead, I flipped the braid over my shoulder and out of reach. “Sounds great,” I replied, syrupy sweet. “You can teach me as soon as you learn how to avoid my knee in a fight.”

  He laughed, maybe a tad nervously. “So, now that I hit the target, do I get to practice in the cage?”

  I broke eye contact and reached for an arrow, quickly nocking it to my bow. “No. You’re not ready.” The question had caught me off guard and my fingers trembled. Show no weakness. Show no weakness. After a long inhale, the tremors lessened. On the exhale, my hands were steady. I released the arrow.

  A week later and I was out of excuses.

  “I think I’m ready,” Bren said.

  The late morning sun was especially warm today. I finished tying my hair back, basking in the feel of air hitting my exposed neck. “Ready for what?” I played dumb. I knew what he referred to, what he had been working toward. The final piece of his training.

  But, I wasn’t ready.

  “I want to enter the cage. My archery has improved the last few days and I’d like to test it out on something moving.” He was leaning against the steel locker that contained the Arcus Point bows, watching as I grabbed ours from their mounting racks. His casual pose was deceiving. I knew he studied my body language, curious how I would respond.

  “Sure.” I hated that my voice sounded higher than normal.

  “Lune.”

  “What?” I started collecting the supplies we’d need, anything to keep my hands and mind busy.

  “Lune, please look at me.”

  I paused. Sighed. Forced myself to meet his imploring gaze. I was beginning to discover something. Something I was most definitely not comfortable with: he could read me better than I could read him.

  His eyes narrowed knowingly. “Are you okay with this?”

  My eyebrow arched, daring him to question me again. “Of course. Let’s go.”

  When we arrived, Ryker was preparing to enter the cage. Curious about his skill level, I beckoned for Bren to join me up in the watchtower, but he didn’t see the hand gesture. No, he was too busy sidling up to the man with the tattoo. I sighed and shuffled after him, only to hear him say something that made me want to retch. “Mind if we join you?”