Jaxon Prayer (Jaxon Prayer Trilogy Book 1)

by Rachel West

  I attempt to pull his hood down, but he flinches away from my touch. “Baby,” I mutter, but I let him do it himself. His hair has gotten all mussed up, spreading out like a hawktail behind his head. Laughter bubbles up in my throat. To see a Millennial, in my dingy little apartment, looking all out of sorts. Not even Red would believe me.

  I grab a small bottle of rubbing alcohol from the first aid kit and pour some onto one of the gauze pads. “I have to clean this,” I tell him.

  “Go ahead,” he says. Even his voice seems out of place in my home. Formal and deep with the hint of an accent you’d only find in Crescent City

  I suppress a shudder as I reach out and touch his face. My fingers brush the edge of his tattoos. I expect to feel a pain, a shock, something that says you are not worthy. But of course there is nothing. They’re just tattoos. Ink on skin.

  I tilt his head first to one side, then the other. Watching his face closely for any hint of pain. I’ve dealt with Red enough, after one of his fights, to know what to look for. Jaxon seems fine. His eyes stare steadily into mine, unblinking, unyielding.

  I run my fingers through the back of his hair with a steady pressure, checking for any bumps or cuts. Warmth and fire seem to fill my hands, but it’s all coming from me, not him. I feel the same heat fill my cheeks. I break eye contact, unable to look at him any longer.

  “I think you’re gonna be fine,” I declare. “Here,” I hand him two of the painkillers, “just take these.”

  He swallows them down before I even have time to offer him a drink.

  “All set? Good. Time for you to go,” I babble as I usher him towards the window. The risk of keeping him here is too great. I’ve done what I can. He’s on his own now.

  “If I leave now, someone else will find me and all your good work will be wasted,” he says.

  I’m tempted to snap a response, but I hold myself back. He’s right. The way he walked through the streets acting like he owned the place. He’d never make it until morning. Except, I don’t want to give in. Not so easily. Not to his arrogant assumption that I would just allow him to stay.

  “You can stay,” I start, my voice grows harsh as his smile grows larger, “but it’s going to cost you.”

  “No matter,” he waves away my demand, “how much do you want?”

  How much do I want? Too much and I’ll end up owing him, not the other way around. I look him over. He could probably afford anything I asked. I bet he had enough money chips on him now to feed my entire block for a month. No, it’s not his money I want. I want something that will strike closer to home. It’s vindictive and childish, but I want him to lose something to me. The Millennials have done nothing but take from the rest of us; it’s time they learned what it was like.

  “Your jacket. I want your jacket.”

  He looks at me like I’ve lost my mind then pulls his jacket it off, throwing it roughly at me. “Whatever,” he shrugs pretending it means nothing, but I spot the flash of annoyance that crosses his face. The fact that I’ve broken through his stony façade leaves me strangely pleased.

  I pull the jacket over my own small frame. It’s loose, but not too much so. Enough to wear a couple of layers underneath. The material is soft, still warm from Jaxon’s body. A sigh escapes my lips, and I quickly turn my eyes to Jaxon, to see if he noticed.

  The twitching of his lips tells me he has. I feel another blush heat my cheeks as I try to show the same indifference he does.

  “Like it?” He asks. The beginnings of his grin overtake his face in a full smile. One look and I can tell he knows this is the nicest bit of clothing I’ve ever owned.

  “Shut up,” I mutter. I pull the jacket tighter around me and relish in its warmth. I roll the too-long sleeves up until they stop at my wrists.

  “Spider-silk and cotton,” he says, as if that should mean something to me.

  “Mmhmm.” I ignore Jaxon for the moment, leaving him standing stiff and formal in the middle of my living room. As the silence stretches and my inhospitality grows more apparent, the look on his face tightens. Finally, with a roll of his shoulders, he decides to make himself at home. Jaxon runs his hands over my counters and table. He fumbles for a moment with the old-fashioned click-starter on the stove, before giving up and moving on. He opens the refrigerator and cupboards, making a stifled grunt as he sees the meager selection.

  “Sorry if it’s not up to your usual standards,” I laugh. I try to imagine what he could possibly be feeling. So use to his high tech living, in his floating house in the sky, while the rest of us scurry around below like rats. I laugh again, but this time it’s full of bitterness.

  How dare he judge how I live? I have worked for every damn thing in this apartment. I wasn’t born into wealth like he was. “Sit down,” I snap, unable to take his inspection any longer.

  Jaxon whips his head around to look at me but follows my order, returning to the tiny wooden chair he sat in before. I shove a glass of water under his nose, trying to take the sting out of my words with the offering.

  He seems to have made some decisions about his ability to trust me, because he begins speaking. “So,” he asks, “do you live here alone?”

  “No,” I lie, “I live with my three brothers. Who are professional fighters. In the coliseum.”

  Jaxon grins at me and his eyes slide over to the single bed pushed into the corner. I can tell he doesn’t believe a word of it but he lets it pass. “Your apartment is--“He pauses to search for the right word, finally settling on “nice.”

  “There’s no need for your Millennial manners here,” I try to joke, but my tongue gets caught on the words. Millennial. It hits me again and for a moment I can’t breathe. The person whom will probably get me killed is sitting innocuously in my kitchen, drawing patterns in the condensation left by his glass of water. I think of my sister and how she would scold me for my impulsivness.

  A bang outside the window causes my heart to stop. I freeze, unable to move, unable to do anything, waiting for the Praetors to break down my door. To throw me screaming to the ground. To kill me just like they killed my mother. I knew they would catch up with me, but I hadn’t imagined it would be so fast.

  I whip my head around just as the window opens. I reach to my belt and pull out the old synthblade that has long since lost its charge, but is still sharp as a razor. If I am to die, I will die fighting.

  CHAPTER 3

  Jaxon jumps to his feet and rests his hand on his waist, but draws no weapon. Will he fight too? Or merely leave me to my death with the Praetors? I can’t imagine he’d fight his own people for a girl he’d just met. No, he would welcome the Praetors with open arms; laughing as they march me to the executioner.

  The window slides slowly open. Adrenaline pulses through my whole body. I finger my blade, my grip white-knuckled and too tight.

  “Red?” I say, confused as my friend appears in the window. In his arms he holds a large box, covered in vibrant paper painted orange and yellow like a sunrise.

  “Happy Birth--“ He stops midword. Red’s face contorts. Confusion. Fear. Anger. Then nothing. Completely blank like he’ll never feel anything again. The same look I’ve seen him wear as he slips his knife into the broken body of a Coliseum challenger. The box in his hand drops to the ground with a shatter that stops time, and he pulls two long, deadly knives from his back.

  He dives at Jaxon without a word. Ready to protect me without hesitation. Jaxon doesn’t even pause for an instant, he pulls a synthblade from his waist and brings the weapon up in a guarded stance. The buzzing that isn’t quite audible but sets my hair on edge fills the room telling me it’s a live blade.

  “Stop!” I yell. I throw myself into the middle of the living room, between the two of them. Red pulls up short. His chest pounds inches from me as he struggles to control himself. I raise my hand and push him slowly back. He doesn’t fight me but his muscles tense under my touch. I remember my own reaction when I first saw Jaxon; the surrealistic numbness that s
till hasn’t faded.

  “Jaxon, put it away,” I snap without looking behind me. I doubt he’ll follow my orders. I wouldn’t put any weapons away if I had Red standing only a few feet away with his own blades drawn. Red is over six feet tall, with skin darker than night and eyes that shine with fierceness. He’s strong -- deadly-looking and scarred from the years he’s spent fighting in the Coliseum.

  The slight buzzing behind me stops. Jaxon has powered down his synthblade. I glance over my shoulder to see he still has the weapon in hand, but now it is only slightly more dangerous than your average blade.

  “Evie, what the hell is going on?” Red says into the silence.

  “I can explain.” I can’t though. Even I don’t know what I was thinking when I brought Jaxon to my home. I should have left him to the twins. I shouldn’t have allowed myself to get wrapped up in whatever trouble he brings. Reckless, I imagine my sister scolding me, never stops to think.

  Red crosses his arms while one foot begins tapping steadily. Everything about his posture screams this better be good. I swallow hard. I’ve known Red for what feels like my whole life, though in reality it’s only been a few years. When I lived down in the Hollows, deep below Haven, I had to do a lot of things I didn’t want to do just to stay alive. Things that still wake me in a cold sweat at night. Then, one day, Red showed up. Fierce and ruthless and already a Coliseum winner. And for some reason he still won’t explain, he decided to protect me. Staked a claim on me that kept everyone else away. He’s the only reason I managed to drag myself from the Hollows. He’s my best friend. My brother. Everything.

  “He’s just staying for one night,” I start with. Red’s eyes widen so much I think they’re going to pop and he makes a strangled sound deep in his throat. He grabs me by the wrist and drags me into the bathroom, slamming the door with a bang behind us.

  “What do you mean he’s staying? Are you insane?” Red argues in hushed tones.

  “The twins attacked him. I couldn’t just leave him there. I didn’t know he was a Millennial.”

  “Would that have stopped you?”

  I avert my eyes and have no good answer for him.

  “You’re an idiot. Why are you always trying to save everybody? I guess I don’t have to worry any more,” he hisses and his eyes go cold, “you’ve saved your last one. You won’t survive this.”

  “It’s only one night. I’ll be fine. He seems harmless.”

  “The synthblade he pulled didn’t seem so harmless. And trust me, he knows how to use it. I’m not leaving you alone with him.” Red slowly strokes one of the blades he hasn’t yet sheathed, as if he’s relishing in the thought of using it on Jaxon.

  “Red, don’t be stupid. I can take care of myself. Besides, if the Praetors come, at least I’ll be the only one to go down. It was my own stupid choice, I’ll pay the consequences.”

  “What were you thinking? A Millennial? Why would you help him? After everything those monsters have done to us. What they’ve done to your family?”

  “Shut up Red. I know exactly what they’ve done to us. To my family. To everyone. But I couldn’t just leave him there to die. That would have made me no better than them. And I am better than them, Red, I am better.” By the end of my rant my words spew forth between strangled sobs. Rage and fear and frustration paint the words that can never express what I truly feel.

  Red reaches out and pulls me into his arms. Tucking me in close to his body, holding me while I sob helplessly. Somehow this stopped being about Jaxon and became something else completely. Something dangerous. Something desperate. Words that if heard outside of this room, would be enough for the executioner’s blade.

  “Shh, Evie, it’s okay,” he brushes my hair down in slow, steady motions. “I know. I know.” Red mutters calming nonsense words to me until I get myself under control.

  “Well,” I rub the immaculate sleeve of my new jacket against my snotty nose and we both burst out laughing. “I guess that’s that.”

  Red gives me a minute to compose myself. I splash cold water on my face and rub at my eyes. The old broken mirror above my sink mocks me. I look ridiculous when I cry. My face is all puffy and my brown eyes are rimmed and swollen. I look like crap.

  “Okay,” I say, steeling myself and pulling open the door. I am greeted by an unexpected sight in the kitchen. Jaxon is crouched on the ground, trying to clean up the broken bits of the gift Red brought me. A bark of laughter escapes my throat. Jaxon looks so helplessly confused, crawling around on the ground.

  At the sound Jaxon turns around and with a disdainful look, gets up and returns to lounging on the chair. His indifferent smile tells me he’s pretending I never saw him, a Millennial, lower himself to doing menial labor.

  I laugh again, knowing the image is forever burned in my mind.

  I bend down to finish up the job Jaxon abandoned. Red crawls around beside me, as we pick up broken pieces of pottery. “What was this?” I ask. Some kind of vase? I snort to myself. Red really should know me better by now.

  Red grabs something small from the ground, and holds it out between two fingers. A tiny, brown pill is in his hand. A hundred more cover the ground between the broken pottery. I recognize them instantly. In the hollows we called them Life. Little pills that could keep you from starving to death. As long as you had water and a handful of these, you could survive weeks without food.

  I smile at Red. Life is expensive. To get so many of them, a hundred at least, would have cost a small fortune. Tears threaten to fall again and I wipe angrily at my eyes.

  “I don’t want you to sell these,” Red says, “Keep them. Just in case.” I smile at him. Of the two of us, he’s the practical one. Buying me a gift that can keep me alive through all of winter while I wasted my money on a stupid cupcake I didn’t even get the chance to eat.

  Jaxon picks up one of the pills and gives it a doubtful look. I tell him what it is; feeling the need to explain Red’s gift lest Jaxon think it’s some kind of drug.

  “Why would you need these?” He asks. His green eyes wrinkle up as he examines the pill like he can’t honestly imagine what they could be for.

  Red looks to me with a pinched frown on his face. I roll my eyes at him and then continue speaking to Jaxon, “In case you can’t find food. With these at least you won’t starve to death. Not for a while, at least.”

  For a moment Jaxon looks like he is going to argue with me. Over what, I have no idea. He leans forward in the chair and his mouth twists up on one side. “Oh,” he says eventually. I wait, to see if he has anything more to add, but he seems to be done.

  “Today is your birthday?” Jaxon asks suddenly.

  “Yeah,” I mutter then look at the clock. It’s close to midnight. “For a little longer at least.”

  “The cupcake?”

  “What cupcake?” Red cuts in.

  “I went to Harden’s today,” I explain. “I had to trade it to the twins.” I try to make it sound like no big deal, but my stomach burns with resentment. Red feels the same, knowing what a trip to Harden’s costs, and turns accusing eyes towards Jaxon. “Don’t,” I say before Red can start up. “Time for you to go.”

  Red crosses his arms again, like he plans to stand rooted in my kitchen all night. “Go, go, go,” I push him lightly towards the window.

  Red grabs my wrists and pulls me closer to him, half crouching down so our eyes are at the same level. “I’ll come back in the morning. Don’t do anything stupid.” He shoots an accusatory glare towards Jaxon, “Be careful.”

  “Go,” I say, a combination of pleased and annoyed, as I usher him out the window.

  Once Red is gone there is an emptiness to my apartment that wasn’t there before. Jaxon remains quietly in the chair, leaving me to do my own thing. What that is, I’m not exactly sure of myself.

  “You can sleep on the couch,” I point to the piece of faded purple furniture.

  Jaxon glances over to the couch, then looks back to me with one eyebrow raised doub
tfully.

  I roll my eyes behind his back. Of course, can’t let the Millennial lower himself to sleeping on anything that isn’t brand new. “It’s either the couch or the street,” I say, “And I’m betting the streets will kill you a lot faster than my couch will.”

  Jaxon laughs. A sound so startling and clear that for a moment my heart stops. Like cold water rushing over your face at the moment you need it most. Beautiful but sharp. Refreshing but with a chill edge. I give myself a quick shake and turn away, unable to meet his eyes for reasons I can’t explain to myself.

  “Fair enough,” Jaxon says.

  Perhaps he isn’t as bad as I thought. He only looks a couple of years older than me. Maybe he hasn’t had time to grow as warped as the rest of the Millennials.

  I drop to the ground by my bed. Stretching and contorting my body as I try to pull out the extra blankets I know are buried somewhere underneath. I can feel Jaxon standing behind me, hovering nearby, like he’s afraid to let me out of his sight. Whether it’s because he doesn’t trust me, or doesn’t trust anything except for me, it’s hard to say.

  I pull a myriad of items out from under my bed. Old knives, a coffee mug I thought was lost, a real, paper book. When my hand brushes across a large sheet of paper I pause. I tilt my head just enough to see if Jaxon is watching. He isn’t, he’s staring out the window, lost in thought.

  My heart pounds heavy in my throat as I try to slide0 out the paper as quietly and casually as possible. I think that is what gives me away. “What is that?” Jaxon asks suspiciously.

  “Nothing,” I respond, but my answer is too fast, too sharp. He knows something is up. Jaxon crouches down next to me and reaches for the paper. I’m tempted to snap it from his hands, to pull it away and hide it where no one can find it. But he’s already got his fingers around it, and I don’t want to risk tearing the delicate paper. Besides, I’ve no doubt I’m already going to be executed soon enough, what’s one more crime to add to my list?