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

by Becky Moynihan

  The crowd gasped when Night spit out a bloody tooth, then roared when he flashed his new snaggle-toothed grin. Insane. They were all insane. The blond man, Spike, must have thought Bren’s attention was still on Night because he lunged forward with his heavy sword, only to be met with a fist between the eyes. I didn’t even see Bren move. For a full five seconds, the blond man teetered, then tipped backward, until his skull bounced off bare cement. I winced. He would have a wicked headache when he came to.

  Bren’s su-yari bit into Spike’s bicep. His suit chimed.

  There was no sand on the cage’s floor, I now realized. Nothing to cushion a fall, but also nothing to blind you. What elements would Bren face? No sooner had I thought of them than they exploded from the vents, quite literally. A pillar of fire shot up between Bren and his remaining opponent, the blast knocking them off their feet. Thank the stars, it wasn’t water. But as I watched Bren climb to his feet, clearly in pain, I wished it had been. There were burn holes in his suit; the skin on his arms looked angry.

  People jumped and cheered, as if watching someone get burned was the most exciting thing they’d ever seen. I bit my tongue, so I wouldn’t rail against the sea of idiots I was swimming with. If only I could stick them in the cage and get my hands on those elemental levers.

  Night and Bren were back at it, and Night got a lucky shot in: a kick to the back of Bren’s knee which drove him to the cement. Get up, get up, get up! The wicked-looking ax swung for Bren’s neck again, but he launched himself into a forward roll.

  The dark man roared and chased after him, striking out with blind ferocity. Crack! His ax chopped downward, splintering the su-yari in two. Bren paused, for a moment looking put out that his precious stick had broken, then reverse-gripped the two short spears with a wolfish smile.

  I snickered.

  He exploded, undulating like a snake, his moves a hypnotizing dance I had no desire to contend against. A tiny part of me felt sorry for the ax-wielder, but only for a millisecond. His clunky weapon thunked and clanged against wood and steel; sweat rolled down the man’s face. The pace was unrelenting and . . .

  I rolled my eyes. Stop playing with him, Bren!

  It was over ten seconds later, Bren’s prey bent at the waist heaving great gulps of air, a shallow cut on his right bicep.

  I let out a loud whoop, then shoved a fist against my lips, hiding a smile. Surrounded as I was by a bloodthirsty mob, cheering for my enemy probably wasn’t a bright idea. My attention strayed to the other two contenders fighting in the far corner. Particularly to the brown-haired man ramming a boot into his opponent’s gut. I practically jammed my fist into my mouth to control the rage and fear his appearance unlocked inside of me.

  Lars. My upper lip curled.

  Despite the shaggy hair in his face as he hunched over a contender laying lifeless on the floor, I knew it was him. Knew it in the way he gripped his victim’s suit while pounding a fist into his unconscious face, over and over again, the poor man’s features bloodied and bruised. Lars was sick and he needed to be stopped.

  My eyes flitted to Bren again—he was the only one who could end this brutality. I tried to force both fists into my mouth when I saw that he was already on his way to the far corner. Lars dropped his unfortunate victim, then stepped over the body, his red knuckles glistening. He jabbed a finger at Bren, then at the bloody contender at his feet. I couldn’t hear what he said, but I could guess.

  Bren seemed unfazed, leisurely rotating his neck and shoulders. Lars’s expression changed, the arrogance morphing into fury. Now he gestured at something outside the cage, in the direction of the medical wing. Bren’s calm vanished. I’d so rarely ever seen him angry, but I watched as his spine stiffened and knuckles whitened, face etching into deep lines.

  What was Lars saying to him?

  His movements, usually so precise and carefully controlled, were now unhinged. It was like watching myself, which scared me. He threw his short spears down and lunged at Lars, who was the picture of arrogance once again. Bren barely avoided a kick to the gut in his haste, and his attempt at a leg sweep was sloppy. Lars simply hopped over it. Then he drove a fist into Bren’s temple for the trouble.

  My hands trembled, in shock and anger and fear—so much fear. What had Lars said to unravel Bren like this? Why wasn’t he using his weapons? He was going to lose the Trial if he didn’t snap out of it soon. They exchanged a series of vicious blows, each taking hits. Bren regained some sense and managed to plow a foot into Lars’s stomach, sending him sprawling, but the wiry cretin popped up on a handspring.

  They both froze mid-step when a wall of orange burst from the floor vents. The heat must have been intense based on their cringing expressions. Bren and Lars stared at the wall of waving fire as if expecting it to do something. And then it did. Fireballs shot at them like bullets exploding from a gun. But they were huge.

  Impossible to dodge.

  A scream climbed up my throat as both men sprinted for the far wall and the fireballs gained on them. They were trapped; they would burn to ashes. They jumped, running up the cage’s wall as high as they could while the fireballs smacked into heat-resistant glass. The impact obscured them from view. Time slowed to a crawl, the noises around me muted as I waited . . . and waited.

  Two figures burst through the smoke, both mid-backflip. They cleared the fire, just barely, landing on solid cement. The crowd whistled and stomped their feet, but all I could see was Bren’s suit on fire. I lurched forward, needing to help him, only to earn a wayward jab to my sore ribs. Even as my body curled around the pain, I was pushing past it, pushing past everyone until the glass wall stopped me.

  I splayed my hands on the surprisingly cool surface and watched, stunned, as Bren tore the upper half of his suit off and flung it into a corner. Lars rolled on the ground nearby, extinguishing the flames licking at his legs, but I couldn’t part my eyes from Bren’s bare skin. His chest and stomach. His back as he twisted. He was flawless, with sculpted muscles only an angel should possess. I could feel the fire’s heat after all—it seared my face first, flickering down my neck, where it then burned something fierce in my gut.

  “Are you okay?”

  I flinched, a squeak slipping past my lips. The skin on my face was all but melting. I peeked up at Asher, almost guiltily. “Yes. It just got . . . intense there for a second. They, um, they seem to be all right, though.”

  Asher snickered, as if he knew, and I quickly glanced away. Oh my stars, awkward.

  Lars at last picked himself up, his pants smoking and ruined, though still covering the important bits. His earlier arrogance was gone, and so was Bren’s fury. Nothing like a close brush with fire to cool a temper. They launched into more kicks and punches, feints and jabs—both would be heavily bruised after this match. Sweat slid down their faces, dampened their hair. It must be a sauna in there. Bren had a split lip, Lars a nosebleed.

  And then they tangled, bodies pulled to the ground where they grappled for top position. Bren excelled at ground fighting, but apparently so did Lars. With his arms and legs pinning Bren to the floor, he leaned so far in, their noses practically touched. The arrogance was back, his mouth twisted in a mocking jeer as he said something, something that made Bren freeze. Lars took advantage of the moment and bashed Bren in the nose. Blood spurted. I growled.

  I was going to accidentally break Lars’s nose after this.

  But he didn’t stop at one shot. He pummeled Bren, like he did with the other faceless contender. In the eye, on the cheekbone, on the chin. He kept going and going, and Bren wasn’t moving, and I was pounding on the glass wall with my fists, shouting until my throat was raw. I didn’t care if my ribs burned or my head exploded or my knuckles split—I just wanted Bren to get up, get up, get up.

  “Fight, Bren!”

  And maybe he heard me, or maybe he remembered why he was doing this, even if I didn’t, because he bucked his hips while Lars’s arm was cocked for another blow. Lars tipped forward, hands s
played on either side of Bren. He was wide open for a—

  I screamed, this time with satisfaction as Bren head-butted him. He ripped his arms free next, slinging one around Lars and flipping him onto his back. Blood dripped from his nose and onto Lars’s face as his lips moved. Oh, how I wished I could read lips. The moment didn’t last long. Calm once more, Bren clocked Lars in the head so fast, I almost missed it.

  The arrogance vanished. Lars was barely conscious as he watched Bren pick up his weapon, a thin silver saber. Bren hovered over the defeated man, as if deciding where to mark him. I held my breath. With careful precision, he dragged the blade’s tip across Lars’s left cheek. Then did it again, carving a red X.

  I waited in the shadows.

  The wait wasn’t long. I knew he would come.

  When the door softly clicked shut behind him, I whisper-yelled the chant.

  “Bren! Bren! Bren!”

  He spun toward me. The dim light of my bedside lamp just barely illuminated his eyes. I watched as they flicked up and down my body, as if making sure I was still in one piece. Then he was reaching for me and the chanting stopped. A sigh escaped my mouth as he wrapped me in his arms, cradling me to him carefully. Too carefully.

  “I won’t break,” I whispered against his skin. I burrowed my nose into his shoulder and breathed in the scent of clean shirt with just a hint of smoke. He shuddered. Even though it hurt my ribs, I stood on tiptoe and curled my arms around his neck, molding my body to his. A sigh gusted from him, stirring my hair.

  Time was a gift and a curse when he held me like this. I wanted the embrace to last forever, but it would end all too soon.

  “I thought I was going to lose you,” he spoke softly, roughly. “When Ryker said that Lars had you, I—I couldn’t breathe.”

  The confession tightened my throat. When Lars was pounding on Bren’s face, I couldn’t breathe either. My arms slowly unwound from around his neck and I leaned back. It was so dark in this corner of the room, I couldn’t see the damage that had been done. “I need to . . . Can you let me see what Lars did to you?”

  “Yes, but don’t scream when you see how incredibly frightening I look, okay? It’ll hurt my ego, maybe even cause permanent damage.”

  I rolled my eyes as he shuffled us toward the light, his arms still banded around my lower back.

  As we shifted positions, shadows no longer hiding his features, my first impulse was to gasp. I swallowed the sound. He may have been joking, but his eyes had a vulnerability to them I wasn’t used to seeing. An ache swelled inside my chest, a desire to make that vulnerable look disappear.

  One of my hands slid into the hair at his nape, tugging him closer. And when he bent down, I rose on tiptoe once again. My lips gently touched his jaw, kissing the bruise there. His breath hitched, and my heart skipped in response. I moved on to his left eye where a purple crescent darkened the skin underneath, and swept a kiss there, too. Black lashes fluttered against my sensitive mouth. His nose was in the worst shape, swollen at the bridge, and I ran my lips down to the tip.

  I saved the cut on his lip for last, giving him plenty of opportunity to pull away if he wished. But he didn’t. In fact, with my mouth a mere inch from his, I could hear and feel his breath quivering, as if he were restraining himself. My pulse thudded in the silence, lips tingling with want, with need, and I finally erased the small distance between us. His mouth, soft and warm, molded to mine, and my insecurity melted away.

  My body would have stayed this way forever. But I needed to see his reaction, so I broke the kiss. I met his eyes, their color deepest amber, and cracked a smile at what was written there. That sliver of vulnerability was gone, and in its place . . . Stars help me. I swallowed thickly. “Well, I think you look dashing, like a rogue pirate.”

  He loosed a strangled laugh. “What’s with you and pirates?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. Something to do with water, I guess. Mermaids fascinate me too. Someday, I hope to see the ocean, find out for myself if they’re real or myth. I’d invite you to come along, but I don’t think all that water would be good for your health.” I smirked, but I knew my words were weighted. I was fishing, sharing my dreams in hopes that he would share his.

  Bren smiled, but it looked pained. My hope floundered. He cleared his throat; his arms dropped to his sides. “You should rest. You’ll need it for the final Trial tomorrow.”

  He shuffled backward and I panicked. This was the last night we could be together, just him and me, nothing separating us but a contract stating we weren’t allowed to have what we had already taken. I just needed one more night of this, whatever this was, before I had to give it all up. Because I would have to, I realized now. If I won tomorrow and chose freedom, he wouldn’t follow me.

  Not only because he couldn’t, I didn’t think he wanted to.

  “Stay?” I asked, so softly the word was barely a sigh. My heart was naked before him, and if he left tonight, leaving it bare and bleeding, I was certain it would never heal again.

  He was quiet, so quiet, and I could feel my heart begin to crumble. I was about to turn away when he moved, pulling off one shoe, then the other. I tracked him with my eyes as he crawled onto my bed, laying down beside the wall as if he knew I wouldn’t want to be trapped against it. I continued to stare, not sure what to do now that a man was in my bed.

  I blinked. A man is in my bed.

  Bren waggled his eyebrows and crooked a finger, effectively breaking the tension.

  Even as I mock-huffed, my heart felt ten times lighter when I laid down, this time facing him. Okay, now I was a little bit nervous, or maybe a lot. He was studying me and I him, our bodies close but not touching. “If you keep staring at me like that, I can’t be held liable for my actions,” he purred.

  I was going to jump out of my skin any second now. “Bren?”

  “Hmm?” His hand inched toward my waist.

  “What did Lars say to you earlier that made you so angry?”

  His hand stilled. Everything in him froze. I held my breath as I waited for his reply, if he replied at all. But surprisingly, he did. “That night, when you got dragged into the river? Well, that was his idea. Catanna was the one who found you wandering the halls, and the one who stabbed you. But Lars? He wanted to drown you, slowly, without actually killing you. Same with your encounter in the stables. He wants you rattled.”

  “Wow.” I laughed, not because it was funny, but to disperse some of the heat coming off Bren. Maybe I shouldn’t have brought up the subject. “Did he say why he has such a personal vendetta against me?”

  “No. Just that he wants you incapacitated, but not dead. And if . . . and if—” He blew out a breath and looked up at the ceiling.

  “And if what?” I whispered, brow wrinkling.

  His jaw clenched. “And if I’m not around when the Elite Trials are finished, he has plans for you. Plans much worse than death.”

  My brain skimmed over the words but didn’t land on any of them. They were all too awful. “Hey.” I reached over and touched his flexing jaw muscles. “He can try, but he won’t break me. And you’re going nowhere. We’re both making it out of that Trial tomorrow, and—and . . . Bren, stop looking at me like that. You’re not going to die.”

  “And neither will you. I’ll be there, and I won’t let anything hurt you. And if that means—”

  “No,” I interrupted. “Look at me. You can’t fight my battles. Otherwise I won’t—” I cut myself off with a groan. Flopping onto my back, I flung an arm over my face. I couldn’t win the Trial if he fought for me, no matter what Renold had said. The only way to win was to fight alone. “It isn’t supposed to be like this.”

  A hand gently grasped my arm, pulling it aside until all I could see was Bren hovering above me. “You’re right. It’s not supposed to be like this. But you and me? Now that makes sense. And I’m going to do whatever it takes to keep us from being torn apart, even if that means breaking all the rules and upsetting the Trial gods.”
I gaped at him. His voice lowered to a growl. “Starting right now.”

  Oh stars.

  As he pressed his warm lips to mine, I melted into nothing. My toes curled at the dizzying rush of heat, at the perfect taste of him on my tongue. I grabbed his shirtfront and yanked, drawing him closer. The hand not holding my wrist splayed on the mattress next to me, his body my shield.

  His mouth lifted, and I whimpered a protest, only to sigh a second later when that mouth trailed kisses along my jaw. He softly breathed into my ear, his teeth nipping at my earlobe. My spine arched off the bed, then his lips were on mine again, torturously slow, exploring every curve and dip.

  This.

  One night of this.

  “You are my weakness,” he murmured against my lips, kissing gently, reverently. I felt a spike of alarm at that, remembering words from earlier today. But before I could frown, tell him how dangerous that was, he finished with, “But more than anything, you are my strength.”

  The viewing screen dimmed. Arcus Point’s arrowhead insignia replaced the horrific images. But I still saw red. The reddest of reds. Thick and dark. Oozing.

  Nothing was redder than fresh blood.

  Ryker had won the first Arcus Point segment, single-handedly shooting down five out of the ten beasts. But not without casualties. He’d earned a dislocated shoulder and several gashes. Even miles away from the Trial site, watching safely from the middle of Antler Hill Village Square, the large viewing screen couldn’t hide the horrors he’d just went through. Despite his tenacity, he’d struggled greatly to survive.

  And now my confidence was shot. In fact, I felt downright lousy.

  “Hold this.” I thrust my meat pie into Bren’s hand and stumbled to a low shrub mashed between two buildings. My body shook, tears forcefully torn from my eyes as I expelled what little food had been churning in my stomach.

  If Ryker had barely made it out alive, how could I, with my phobia of mutated beasts, walk out of this last Trial in one piece? I retched into the scraggly leaves again. A large hand smoothed down my back and my stomach unclenched, just a little. I needed more of his comfort. I needed to wrap my body around him and sink into his warmth. But I couldn’t. We couldn’t. Eyes were everywhere, watching us even now. I straightened, swiping my mouth on a sleeve.