Stolen

by Ella James

  “What?”

  “You said you’d take me to see Cayne today. I want to see him.” When Nathan opened his mouth, she held up one hand. “I’ve been very cooperative, even after that weird ceremony where I had my super-aura-seeing freak out.”

  He narrowed his brows, and she went for the jugular. “You left me with her. With Dizzy. You know she’s a freak. Admit it!” Julia had seen his eyes as he left; she knew guilt without having to peek at his aura.

  “Dizzy is a freak?” he said stupidly.

  “YES. Please don’t lie to me. It’s not your thing. I know it’s not. So keep your promise from yesterday. Take me to see Cayne.”

  To Julia’s complete shock, Nathan flattened his lips, exhaled out his nostrils like an angry horse, and said, “Fine.”

  For a moment she was too shocked to respond. Then she nodded. “Thank you.”

  She’d expected a tense, unpleasant walk, but Nathan was surprisingly communicative.

  She followed him through what felt like ten miles of identical tunnels, enduring his questions—which, while not ferocious or insulting, were delivered in a hard, flat tone. “Did Mer take you to the infirmary?” (“No. I wasn’t sick. My powers just went crazy.” Mer, she thought, and raised her brows.) “Did you ever get breakfast?” (“Do you care?”) “Are you…angry at me? For bringing you here?” (“No, I love it here, Jim Jones.” To which Nathan said, “Jim who?”) “Um, were you born here?” she asked. Her stomach flipped as soon as she said it. Moron, moron, moron! Why would she ask about his childhood?

  “No, I wasn’t born here.” He gave her an odd, wide-eyed glance—one that made him look surprisingly vulnerable, maybe even almost emotional—and Julia held her breath, waiting for the blow. The accusation. The bit about his dead family, slain by a Hunter. It didn’t come.

  Instead his shoulders slumped, his face went very flat, and when they started walking through walls—and Julia had to pretend she’d never done it—his hand around hers felt stiff and heavy. As they Floated through the wall together, she felt a surprising, unpleasant wave of serious Nathan sympathy. Which seemed an awful lot like Cayne skepticism. Something she so did not want to feel right now. Not when she was finally getting to see him again.

  She was glad when they emerged from the wall and Nathan dropped her hand. When she had the wherewithal to look around, she found herself in the most narrow hallway she’d ever seen. Seriously—it was only wide enough for people walking single file. The walls were curved, the ceiling arched, the echo making Julia feel that at any moment it would close on her.

  Then she realized that in an escape situation, it probably would.

  Nathan waved her forward. “You can go first.”

  Julia shook her head. “No way. This place is freaky.”

  She could feel the freakiness. The bad vibes. The tunnel-hall didn’t sound or smell any different than any other throughway—it was that same shimmery, pale stone—but something about it made her stomach tie itself into a pretzel.

  Nathan shoved past her, mumbling, “Alright,” in a kind-of hostile tone she thought might have masked something more melancholic.

  After walking for so long she was afraid he was luring her to something else, Nathan stopped at what at first appeared to be a random spot. Then she noticed the square cut into the wall and watched him press his hand on it. A beam of golden light shone between his fingers, and she was able to see his face, tight and pale.

  He was nervous. And that made her super nervous.

  In the flash of a second, a copper-looking door appeared in the wall; she glimpsed a dark color through the small, barred window, and then the door peeked open, revealing a huge man dressed in a black guard jumpsuit. Nathan said something Julia didn’t catch, and the wide metal door squealed open wide.

  Nathan waved her inside. “See ya,” he said, trying and failing to sound flippant.

  “But—”

  “He’ll tell me when to come back.” And then Nathan was gone, leaving Julia with an annoying feeling of abandonment.

  The guard didn’t nod or even look at her; he shuffled down another hall, his shoulders brushing the walls as he moved.

  The walls looked like copper—one big, long sheet of copper, until finally they partitioned off into large squares with copper bars, copper hinges, copper keyholes.

  Julia’s heart was in her shoes; she felt desperate to see Cayne and also afraid to see him. She saw “waste” (not waste; she hated that term) and a dirty-looking Nephilim with long, scraggly black hair. She saw a short, stout Nephilim with a buzz cut and vacant eyes. She heard a wrenching scream and stopped. The guard turned, grunted. She walked forward on wobbly legs and… there he was.

  Cayne.

  The simple sight of him made her flush from hair to shoe soles. Her stomach clenched so hard she almost doubled over.

  Cayne Cayne Cayne Cayne Cayne. Oh, Cayne.

  He was lying on his back on a hard stone slab, arms and legs chained. His loosely fisted hands, curled up on his chest, were stained with dry, cracked blood; the stuff dripped from his wrists onto his pecs.

  She paused for a minute, trying and failing to reconcile her drool-worthy boyfriend with the setting—prison; Cayne was in prison—and then the guard grunted something and gave her the evil eye.

  She met his gaze—blue eyes, hook nose. “I want to go in.” His unibrow arched, but he fished a key out of his pocket and stuck it in the door.

  The rattling noise made Cayne’s head turn. When his eyes locked onto her, his too-hard face lit up: eyes bulging, jaw dropping, mouth pulling into such a wide smile he looked like someone else. Someone radiant.

  He tried to jump to his feet, but his chains only let him get halfway.

  At first, she didn’t think she could get to him fast enough. She glided in, feeling woozy, already imagining her arms around him. Then the smell of mildew hit her nose, and her legs locked up, eyes holding his while a riptide of emotions cross his face. Suddenly Julia was uncertain. Even after the door slammed shut behind her and the guard’s footsteps stopped echoing back to her, she couldn’t make herself move.

  Cayne settled on the edge of his cot, staring at her like she was the only thing in the world. His bare shoulders were wide, his arms sinewy with muscle, his stomach flat and hard, but everything covered in bruises.

  Looking her over, his face had gone soft, concerned.

  “Are you hurt?” he rumbled.

  That beautiful, deep, sort-of Scottish voice brought a familiar wave of comfort, and Julia’s hesitation vanished. She was at his side in two seconds tops, wrapping her arms around his warm, hard form. His big hands smoothed her hair. Those warm lips kissed her forehead. His voice vibrated her skin. “Julia,” he said, half-groan. “Are you all right?”

  “I am, but you!” She pulled away and grabbed his right hand, softly touching the raw skin beneath his shackles. “I’m so sorry! This is my fault!”

  “No, it’s mine.” He drew a deep breath, and Julia said, “Do be ridiculous. You couldn’t have fought everyone off. There were so many of them, and then they put us in different—”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  Julia caressed his blood-stained hand. She reached up and touched his face, loving the familiar warmth of him, his short hair, those green eyes that seemed almost as familiar as her own.

  Being beside him was incredible. Julia hadn’t realized just how much she missed him until she had him again. She rubbed her face on his arm. “Cayne, I feel so terrible.”

  “Don’t.”

  “I do. You had no idea what you were getting into—”

  “But I did.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I…” He took another deep breath, his green eyes dodging hers. “I know about the Stained. Some, at least. I could have—I should have warned you.”

  “Warned me about what?” Her fingers, around his, slowly uncurled.

  “The Stained. They’re…militant.”

  “Ye
ah, they really are. But it’s not like they have much choice,” she said, surprised to find she felt slightly defensive. “They’re just trying to stay alive.”

  “No, you’re right.” The way he said it was so somber—his manner so different, so subdued—Julia knew she had to ask him.

  Her heart started to pitter-patter, falling into a too-fast rhythm and sticking to it. She clenched her fists, focusing on that rather than the thinning air in the room. She was so nervous she didn’t think she’d be able to speak. But she choked it out.

  “I want to know what else you remembered. About the Stained.”

  He opened his mouth. Closed it. He looked guilty; shamed, and her head got so hot she thought it might explode.

  “They told you,” he whispered.

  Julia struggled to swallow, struggled to breathe; she tottered back and wrapped her arms around herself. He stood, too; tried to, but the chains prevented him. She could feel the despair rolling off him in sick waves.

  Her mind screamed no! He wasn’t as bad as Nathan said. She knew him. Cayne.

  “So, what?” She sounded shrill. “What happened? Is it all true? You…killed a bunch of Chosen?”

  He opened his mouth to answer, but his face said everything.

  She was surprised to feel her temper flare. “I took up for you. I trusted you!” You were all I had.

  “I tried to tell you…” His brows were clenched tight, pulled down almost comically. Except it wasn’t funny. His face had gone slack and stark and the scar on his throat glowed, white hot. “I wanted to tell you—” He shook his head, his mouth a bitter twist. “I knew I should tell you, but… I didn’t want you to look at me like you are now.” He clasped one bloody hand over his bare knee, staring at the floor a second too long before meeting her gaze. She got the feeling he was going to say something else, but he just swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing as his jaw worked.

  Julia wondered how bad they were—the things he’d remembered. The things he’d done.

  She didn’t even think about looking at his aura. Suddenly she was just doing it. Peeling back the layers of knotted chains—the knots of his wounds—to see the underneath. The familiarity of him startled her. Of course he would be familiar—but he wasn’t all the same. His colors had been reduced to green and black. The gray-green of regret, the somber darkness of shame.

  She felt so sorry for him, it made her stomach hurt. But more than sorrow—anger. At what he’d done. At what they’d lost.

  “Tell me something else,” she begged. Her voice shook. “Please say this is some kind of mistake.”

  He was looking down at the dirty floor. “It was long ago,” he whispered, “but it was me.”

  It was me.

  Did that mean he still hated Chosen? What was she thinking?! It didn’t matter. He had murdered them. Murdered alongside Samyaza.

  But you knew that.

  “You’re a Hunter.”

  “Yes.” His eyes, on hers, were burning embers.

  “You can’t quit being one.”

  “No.” The word was so soft, she could barely hear it.

  “We did all of that together…but I don’t really know you, do I? Not at all.” She stepped back, almost stumbling. “I feel like I can’t trust you anymore. I don’t know what to do.” A sob built in her throat, but Julia swallowed it.

  “How many of them did you kill?” Her voice was hoarse, but she pushed on. “Were you just like Sam?”

  He was shaking his head, his green eyes wide, and the sob inside her throat burst out. She curled into herself, feeling so stupid. So naïve. She heard the rattling of chains, but she didn’t look up at him.

  “Oh, God. Oh God.” This was worse, she thought. Worse than losing Suzanne and Harry.

  “What do I do now?” she cried. “You can’t stay here!”

  He stared through her, still as stone.

  “Do you deserve this? Really?”

  His eyes held the answers—answers she didn’t want!—and Julia was so furious she lunged forward and shoved him. Just planted her palms on his chest and threw all her weight into him.

  Cayne stumbled back. His arms rose, palms out, his face a mask of guilt.

  She was out the door before another sob burst out.

  Chapter 13

  A sharp knock brought Julia awake. She’d been sleeping in her clothes, under the covers. She’d been dreaming about Cayne. He was somewhere dark and terrible; she could see his outline against a flickering light, but not the space around him.

  Rap, rap!

  He was stuck; trapped. And she couldn’t get to him, because she had no legs.

  Rap, rap, rap!

  “Ughh.”

  The dream swirled away, forgotten as Julia wondered what new horrors awaited her today. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know, but she dragged herself out of bed and spied Nathan’s shape behind the textured glass door.

  Rap, rap, rap, rap!

  “Coming. Geesh.”

  She pulled open the door, nervous about seeing him again after he’d escorted her tear-stained self back to her room the day before. But he seemed focused—and not on her. Without so much as a “How do you do” he said, “I need you in the Commons. There’s a Gathering.”

  She waited for him to say more—like what the heck a Gathering was—and when he didn’t, Julia rolled her still-red eyes. “Is that where the stone sprites come out of the walls and all the good faeries dance around their May poles?”

  “What’s a—” Nathan snapped his mouth shut, but it was too late.

  “They don’t teach you anything here, do they?” He shuffled his feet, looking uncomfortable; the unguarded expression lasted for only a second before he clenched his brows and looked at her bare feet. More like glared at them.

  “Come to The Commons,” he snapped. “Come in the appropriate attire.”

  He started to shut the door, but Julia caught it. All she could think about was how she’d been about to tease him (“Okay, dorm mom, I’ll put on my chastity belt, too,”)— tease him like Meredith was always doing—and it made her feel so strange. Instead, she asked, “Do you even like it here?”

  His eyes lit up, and she could have sworn his posture actually got more rigid, like an Army recruit at basic training. “Our headquarters is my home (sir, yessir!), the appropriate place for Chosen (sir, yessir!). My purpose is here (sir, yessir!).”

  “Yeah, I get that, but do you like it?” She was surprised to hear a note of concern in her voice. Clearly, hell had frozen over.

  “What’s not to like?” he said flatly.

  She opened her mouth to tell him, but he cut her off. “Now, please, report to the Commons.” And then without so much as a “See-ya,” he left.

  Julia closed the door, eyeing the bed where she’d had so many nightmares and reimagining the horror of the day before. Grief sparked inside her chest, but before the spark could turn into a wildfire, a little girl came through the door, carrying a platter loaded with cookies and clutching a tall glass filled with something purple.

  She bowed, holding the platter out like a waitress. Julia stared at her, and her pale blue eyes flicked up. “Y-you may take the offering, my lovely Candidate.”

  Julia did, because she wasn’t sure what else to do. She opened her mouth, struggling to say…something liberating?, when the girl bowed again and darted out the door.

  There was a note under the cookies.

  protein snacks and power drink, to maintain energy during Task AND AVOID WHAT HAPPENED PREVIOUSLY. –N.

  How weird…

  She ate a couple, because why not, but her stomach was churning because there were plenty of reasons why not. Starting with the complete and total creep factor of this place. Between that and the yawning hole carved in her chest by her conversation with Cayne, she’d never felt more like a fish out of water. For a second, as she chewed, she eyed the bed again, thinking maybe she should crawl back in and never climb back out. Her life was a wreck—and that felt like
an understatement.

  As she walked down the tunnel-hall toward the Commons, she wondered why Meredith hadn’t come to get her. Truthfully, she felt a little disappointed. If she’d ever needed a friend, now was the time. She tried to identify her feelings—call them out, in hopes that they might disappear, or at least lose some of their intensity. First in line was disappointment. Oh—it was a wrenching disappointment. Not disappointment at all, she amended, but loss. And right behind that, shame. That this was what she’d waited for. That this was “what” she was. And Cayne… She wouldn’t go there now. Not when she was about to be in a crowd.