I jerk my head back. “Help you how, Darian? Cause I’m fresh out of time machines to change the past right now.” Here I go running my mouth again.
He looks at me, and I think I see a sliver of amusement in his eyes. “Right. That’s just what I meant.”
I want to laugh. How does he possibly think I can help him…or that I would even want to?
Darian yawns and glances at the clock on my nightstand. “Desiree, I swear I didn’t kill my parents. I couldn’t kill anyone—at least not unless—”
“There’s an actual clause to that statement?” I interrupt, wide-eyed.
Darian sighs dramatically and throws his hands up in the air. “Well, yeah. C’mon. You’re telling me you wouldn’t kill to protect your family, or someone you love?” He squints at me as if I’m a lab rat he’s studying.
Honestly, I’ve never thought about whether I’d kill someone or not. It’s not an idea I’ve ever had to worry about. The Protectorate ensures our safety at all times.
I cringe the moment I think it, realizing how unsafe I am stuck in a room with an escaped murderer. But yeah, now that I think about it, I probably would kill anyone who tried to hurt my parents.
“I guess so,” I mutter. I want to add including you, but decide against it.
Darian crosses his arms and shifts back on his heels. “The Protectorate isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, you know.”
My whole body tenses at his blatant use of words that make him Noncompliant. “Don’t say that.”
He chuckles, but then quickly composes himself. “I didn’t kill my parents. All right? The Protectorate framed me.” He clamps his mouth shut and I watch his jaw work as he watches me for a reaction.
I shift a step in the direction of my door while attempting to distract him. “But why? Why would The Protectorate frame you?”
A flicker of amusement crosses his face and the corners of his eyes crinkle. His moods shift from playful sarcasm to rage so fast it unnerves me. I wonder if the Terrorscape has permanently affected him somehow.
He cocks his head to one side. “The Protectorate isn’t what it seems. I’m telling you the truth. Did you forget about Sophia?”
Sophia…the name runs through my mind like a whisper from across the room. The kind that makes you stretch your neck out to pick up the sound better. It sounds familiar, but I can’t seem to place it. “Sophia?” I ask, curious. “Who is she?”
“Who was she, you mean.” Darian raises his eyebrows. “You really do forget, don’t you?” He looks toward my Syncro-Drifter attached to the Dreamscape, stifles another yawn, and looks back at me. “Look, I just need sleep. That’s why I came.”
But I don’t answer. My mind is still racing over his latest bomb.
Sophia, Sophia, Sophia. The name rushes through my head like the ringing of wind chimes in the breeze. Images of twisting shades of gold and copper, mixed with bouncing ribbons of hair so black it almost looks blue, flash behind my eyes, but there is no face.
“Desiree?” Darian is beside me now, shaking my arm and gently breaking me out of my trance. His face is softer, weary. “I didn’t kill my parents. I wish you’d believe me. I won’t sit here and beg, but I promise if you just let me sleep this one night, you’ll never see me again. I’ll head into the metro in the morning and disappear from your life forever.”
An actual twinge of pity rushes over me. I imagine him experiencing what I witnessed Coral and Owen going through earlier. Except with Darian it had been two years of the Terrorscape hell.
But then I remember the home invasion last night. I tug my arm away, disgusted with myself for my lapse of judgment. “It was you, wasn’t it? You’re the one who broke into that house last night. To use the Dreamscape.”
Darian shrugs. “I’m not gonna lie. Yeah, it was me. I’m exhausted, okay? You know I can’t sleep without that contraption.” He tips his head back, closes his eyes a moment, and drags in a long breath.
I want to slide past him, get far away—but I’m drawn to the silver-gray scar shimmering down the side of his neck.
When I look back to his liquid-blue eyes, I find them watching me again. A sudden memory of the days we spent at Lake Briar as kids flashes in my mind. The lake is one of the few places left untouched by The Protectorate, in the vast expanse that surrounds Tower called the wastelands, and where the water is still clear enough to swim.
The lake sits on several acres of land Darian’s grandfather passed down. The times we snuck off there were sacred. I remember feeling guilty for not telling Laken about it, but Darian made me promise not to tell anybody. He said that if I did, all of Tower would overrun it before we could even blink. I remember the tire swing he made for me, and how he’d push me on it until it felt like I reached the sky, the sun wrapping around me, tickling my skin. Then he’d call me chicken until I’d jump. After, he’d show off and climb to the top of the tire as it soared into the air, laughing as he did a backflip into the lake.
Present-day Darian shifts, rubbing his neck where the scar is, and I know he’s caught me staring.
I tug my lip between my teeth, feeling my cheeks flush. I look away, ashamed that I dug up those memories and angry with him, as though he purposely hypnotized me with those eyes of his.
“Well?” he says, and I can tell from his forced smile that he’s trying his best not to look too pushy.
“They’ll know something’s up.” I scrunch my eyebrows. “You know The Protectorate will read the brainwaves and detect a problem.”
Darian reaches into his backpack and pulls out a chrome-colored cylindrical device. He holds it up and casts a devilish grin. “Not with this.”
I bite my lower lip and raise my eyebrows. “Is that—”
“A mixer, yes.” He taps it lightly against his head and continues, “It distorts the brainwaves so The Protectorate won’t be able to pick up that it isn’t you all snug in your bed.” A satisfied grin hitches his lips. “They may notice something is a little off, but if anything they’ll probably think you’re stressed out and amp up the pleasurable dreams over the next few days.” He chuckles under his breath. “I mean, come on, there is a murderer on the loose. Any pretty young girl like you would be nervous about that, wouldn’t they?”
Wait. Did he just call me pretty? I can’t even think about that right now, or why it made my heart flutter when he said it. It takes a moment for the idea of him having a mixer to sink in. I shift my hair back away from my face and think. I’ve heard about those mixers, but I wasn’t even sure they really existed. I can only imagine that it’s contraband from Olympus Jail, but I don’t bother asking.
A wave of nausea rolls in my stomach, but I finally sigh and nod in agreement. If I’m caught, I’ll be convicted of being Noncompliant, but that damn childhood memory from Lake Briar weakened me. I wrap my arms around my waist.
“Thank you, Rae.” Then, as if he can read my mind, he says, “I’ll make it look like I tied you up…you know, just in case.”
“One night,” I tell him, anxious about being caught and strangely worried over what will happen to Darian after tonight. I shake it off and meet his gaze. “Then don’t ever come back.”
As I sit in a chair, mock tied up beside my bed and watching Darian sleep, I begin praying in my head. Please don’t let my parents walk in. Please don’t let us get caught. I twine my wrists around the rope a couple more times for appearances, knowing I can tug them out at any time.
The hum of the Dreamscape taunts me, making my eyes feel heavy. I wish I could sleep, but the moment I close my eyes and begin to drift off, my skin suddenly prickles painfully, like I’m being poked with a series of needles. I jolt upright with a muted yelp. As much as it hurts, I’m thankful for the prevention incorporated into our bodies that prevents us from falling asleep on our own. If things were like they were in the Manic Age, I’m sure I’d have a horrible nightmare after everything that’s happened.
I blink my scratchy eyes. In the morning, I plan to tell my
parents I’m sick so I can catch a couple of hours myself in the Dreamscape. The thought of lying to them makes my stomach flip.
The Dreamscape’s Syncro-Drifter hovers above Darian’s head, and it’s as if someone has erased a world of worries from his mind. A soft glow seems to emanate from his face, and he actually smiles in his sleep. The mixer is magnetized, and clings to the side of the Syncro-Drifter like dead weight.
The severity of the situation weighs heavily on me, and I will the mixer to work, and pray that we’re not caught. I’m not a troublemaker and this situation skyrockets off the troublemaker charts. A pang of guilt grips my stomach.
With Darian’s eyes closed, I can’t help but stare at him. I notice the outline of his dark buzzed hair around his perfectly symmetrical face, and the bit of stubble above his full lips. I notice the leanness of his body as his too-small shirt rises above the low rise of his jeans, revealing a trace of fine hair that extends below his navel in a straight line. His faded jeans are also a size too small, but somehow they still manage to look good on him. They’re unbuttoned, and the gentle rise and fall of his exposed, toned stomach is mesmerizing.
I sit in my chair until the sun begins to sneak traces of light into the room and I decide I can’t take it anymore. I untwine my hands, rub my eyes, and slowly stand beside the bed. Pressing the off switch on the Syncro-Drifter, I close it down and cautiously nudge Darian awake.
He bolts upright as though hit with a hot poker and snatches both of my wrists. He pulls me on top of him in one forceful tug. His face is hardened, his eyes blurred over as if he’s somewhere else. Somewhere that frightens me.
A small squeal escapes from my lips as pain shoots up my arms, and suddenly Darian sees me—really sees me. His face is awash with recognition and he’s back. He lets me go and I push myself off him and stumble back to my feet.
Darian jumps out of bed. “I’m sorry, Desiree. I…I didn’t mean to.”
I rub my wrists and back away, hoping his grip won’t leave bruises I’ll have to explain. He reaches toward me hesitantly, a pained expression on his face.
Unconsciously, I shuffle backward a couple more steps. “Don’t worry about it,” I say. “It’s okay.”
Darian chews the corner of his lip. “No, it’s not. I just…you know…never know what to expect when I wake up, and when you touched me I thought…” He stops speaking. His jaw tightens as he bends over and snatches up the rope. He twists around and pockets the mixer.
He’s angry again and I don’t know if it’s at me, at himself, or at the whole world in general. Darian stuffs his feet back into his white sneakers, grabs his backpack, and heads toward the window. Halfway there he stops and spins around to face me.
“Asher? Seriously, Desiree?” A sardonic grin twists on his lips. “If that doesn’t tell you how messed up The Protectorate is, then I don’t know what else will.”
I realize he saw Asher in my dreams and my stomach roils. I hadn’t thought about that. If anyone knows how much I hate Asher, it’s Darian. Knowing he saw the most private parts of my dreams is completely humiliating. I don’t know what burns more, my wrists, my face, or my ego.
“You’re seriously gonna be bound to that dickhead after everything he did to you?”
I can’t react. Doing so would only let him think he’s gotten to me, or that I care what he thinks at all. Instead, I stand my ground and simply nod.
His eyes skim down to my wrist, where the bracelet Asher gave me feels as though it’s burning a hole straight through me. I already feel bad enough about my chosen binding mate. I don’t need Darian to make me feel worse. I cross my arms over my chest and narrow my eyes.
He cracks a slight smile and raises his hands, palms up. “Hey, who am I to question true love?” He bats his eyelashes. “’Cause that’s what it is, isn’t it? The Protectorate, in their omniscient wisdom, wouldn’t dare make a mistake, right?”
“Just. Leave,” I say, biting each word out sharply. “It’s not like you’ll ever know anything about it.”
He chuckles softly and shakes his head. “Wouldn’t want to, not if it’s like that. I was lucky enough to miss the whole revelation of who they planned to stick me with…you know, since I was arrested shortly before I turned sixteen.” He lifts an indifferent shoulder.
The minute he says it, I wonder if The Protectorate has re-bound Darian’s chosen mate with someone else. But the only way that could have happened is if another young guy had died before the pre-binding or had been jailed permanently. Otherwise, Darian’s intended mate would have to remain single her entire life. In that moment, I feel bad for that girl; sometimes fate can deal a sad blow.
More light enters the room and my heart races with worry that Mom or Dad could come in at any moment. “Please go, Darian, okay? Like you said you would.” I force a smile. I can’t be caught with an escaped murderer in my room.
Darian cracks open my window. “You know, you really should lock your window. A lot of nasty people are running around Tower.” His full lips twist into a crooked smirk, then slip into a genuine smile. “And thank you. I mean it.” Then he nods to the city in the distance. “I’m heading into the metro part of Tower. Take care of yourself, Rae.” He holds his gaze on me a couple of seconds and winks.
I furrow my brows and watch him slip away into the crisp air, stealthily as a shadow.
After I secure my window and chastise myself for letting Darian get to me, I scribble a note to Mom and Dad, crawl into bed, and activate the Syncro-Drifter, setting it to shut down at nine a.m.
I don’t think about what he said anymore, not as the Dreamscape lulls me to sleep with its soothing voice and pulsing rhythm like a warm embrace on a summer’s evening. And in this one moment I push aside the bad thoughts about Asher, about Coral and Owen, and about Darian’s indigo blue eyes that are as deep as the ocean.
Chapter Eight
“Here to keep you safe…” A soft, misty voice drifts off, mingling into the hum of the Dreamscape before silence envelopes me for one solitary moment.
I’m sitting on a red blanket, stuffing my face with my favorite fruit—strawberries—while taking in the scenery around me. Green grass spreads out as far as my eye can see. It’s only broken up by the trickling blue spring a few feet in front of me. Coming to Shanty Springs has always been my safe place. I lick the remaining strawberry juice dribbling down my fingers, pluck a daisy from the grass beside me, press it to my nose, and inhale its fresh, earthy scent.
Mom pulls wrapped sandwiches and scores of assorted pickles out of the wicker picnic basket placed in the center of the blanket. I scoop up a sandwich and watch Dad set up his archery target. He tugs his crossbow out from its case and walks several yards away before twisting back to face the target. After setting his stance, he aims to perfection, hits the bull’s-eye, and lets out a roar of victory.
I’m not sure how many times he repeats this before I rush to the spring that pours out from the side of the mountain. I dip my head into the cool water that sprays down, and water splashes over my clothes. I fill my mouth, enjoying its clean taste.
A squeal pierces the quiet, and I glance toward the sound. Shia is screaming and laughing as Dad twirls her through the air. The Monroes have shown up as they always do on days we go to the spring.
Behind Dad and Shia, Mom hugs Coral while Owen digs through the picnic basket, searching for the salami sandwich with horseradish that Mom has made especially for him.
Something flickers inside me as I catch Coral’s gaze. She smiles and waves at me like she always does when she arrives, her red dress fluttering in the warm breeze.
But there is something different—
I have the sensation of a bug worming its way through my insides, twisting and gyrating. I grip my stomach and the feeling leaves as quickly as it came, as if I’d imagined it.
But I know I didn’t.
Asher calls out from behind me and extends a yellow rose—yellow apparently indicates the promise of a new begi
nning. Then, a familiar smirk crosses his lips and he extends his other arm. My binding necklace dangles from his palm.
I wake up.
The dreamscape shuts down, but I don’t budge. I keep my eyes closed for several minutes.
The video-com buzzes and I startle, but don’t move to answer it. My bedroom door creaks and I peek through heavy lashes to see Mom rushing in. I let my head sink deeper into the pillow. I don’t want to talk to anyone right now, especially Mom.
I don’t know what that feeling was in my dream, but it gripped me so hard it was tangible. The dream was as beautiful as ever, down to every scent and taste, so why did it cause my stomach to churn? Could it be that watching Coral and Owen’s punishment disturbed me so badly it affected me in my sleep? Or was it seeing Darian in the flesh after all this time, and what he said about that girl, Sophia, that I can’t seem to place?
It has to be because of my lack of sleep. That or the darn mixer Darian used messed up my Dreamscape machine. Either way, I’m afraid Mom will be able to read the worry on my face. I just need a few moments to pull myself together.
The video-com beeps as Mom hits the on button. “Hello?” She shifts something on my nightstand and I know she must be reading the note I left for her. “Yes, this is Verity Four Haven.” A pause. “Yes, all is okay. May I ask why you’re calling?” Her voice comes out shaky, and I wonder who it is. Then she croaks out, “Slight variation?”
It’s like a fire alarm blares in my head. It’s an official. They know.
Mom reaches over and places the back of her hand against my forehead. “Well, I’m reading a note here that she left, saying she’s not feeling well.” Another pause. My heart jerks radically as I wait for her next words. Maybe there’s a new way of detecting mixers and they’re onto me. Maybe they are informing her that I’m under arrest or something. She draws a sharp intake of air. “Oh no, no. I can assure you we agree with their punishment. It’s just that, you know, we’ve never had to witness friends—neighbors—in the Terrorscape before,” Mom explains.
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