Velocity: The Gravity Series #2

by A. B. Bloom

  “Genevieve!” The shout made me startle and the horse beneath me whinny in protest. My riding jacket was constricting my throat, the buttons high and uncomfortable. The hat on my head was making me sweat. It wasn’t seemly for a lady to sweat. One was supposed to ignore it’s happening, as one would ignore the servant bringing the steaming water to wash in. I mopped at my brow with my riding glove. The cloying scent of leather lingered in my nose along with the crisp freshness of the morning frost. Ladies didn’t accompany the morning hunt, but then I knew my dad was no longer sure if I was truly a lady or not. The previous week he'd branded me a She-Devil over the evening meal. It happened.

  I spurned my horse on. Pushing the grey gelding beyond her comfort zone, unwilling to wait for Matilde to catch up with me. She was always there, five paces behind, judging my every move. All I wanted was to feel free.

  I moved away from the crowd, ignoring shouts and hollers of the rest of the party. I pulled the hat from my hair, yanking free my curls from the pinch of the pins. I didn’t care about the pain. The pain felt like a release. Something real.

  I was concentrating on the net in my hand wondering what to do with it, so I didn’t see the wild boar charge from the dense undergrowth. Alarmed by the hunt, it charged for Angel and sent her rearing and snorting in the air. With a shriek, I clutched hold of the reins, trying to find some balance at such a tilted angle. When Angel landed, her hooves thundering into the crisp mud, I slid off with the impact. I grabbed at the saddle as the running boar squealed and set Angel off at a full gallop. My fingers clung on for dear life as we charged through the forest. Twigs and boughs grabbed for my hair and clothes, tangling and pulling. I knew somewhere the Fairclough lands backed onto a cliff, I just had no idea where the cliff was. The floor dashed under the thundering hooves of the mare. For a long, elongated moment, I had all the time in the world to consider my looming demise.

  “Whoa,” a black gloved hand shot out and grabbed the reins. In my confusion I couldn't work out where the hand had come from. Angel slowed. She shook her mane, shaking with frustrated annoyance, as she snorted misty blasts into the dark forest air.

  My breath came in ragged breaths. My eyes settled on the path teetering over the cliff, just a few paces away.

  “I believe you dropped this.” The black gloved hand thrust my black velvet hat and net under my nose. My breath shuddering against my bodice as I tried to reign my embarrassment under control. Steeling myself and righting my shoulders, I looked my saviour in the eye.

  A young man sat on a fine dark stallion, his dark clothes echoing the sleek outline of the horse. “M’lady.” he nodded, and I grabbed the hat sharper than I intended.

  “Thank you.” My cheeks flushed as I found eyes of an intriguing hue rising from my labouring chest to my face.

  “You are welcome, although you should stay with the party. It’s not safe.”

  I bristled. Good manners, instilled from birth, meant I couldn't be rude to the man who had saved my life.

  To my surprise, he flashed me an impertinent smile that made his whole face light into handsome warmth. I looked closer at his attire, it was all smart and fine. I smiled back, lost in the moment, until calls from the party filtered through the dense undergrowth.

  “And you are, Sir?” I proffered my hand. “So I should know who to send my thanks.”

  He flashed a smile, catching my hand and raising the kid leather casing to his wide lips. “Nikolas.” His eyes churned with a depth that reminded me of mother's old jewels. “At your service,” he added.

  “Thank you for rescuing me, Nikolas.” My blood heated with his name on my tongue.

  His eyes held mine and I caught my breath. “Always.”

  By Thursday, the dreams were taking their toll. It was always him. Always. And I was always meeting him, just like I had in the street along from the dress shop. But the meetings in my dreams were different. They were joyful, and connecting, playful and sometimes romantic. In the street in Cornwall on a cold misty September day it had felt like he hadn’t wanted to meet me. So why was he always there on the edge of my peripheral vision?

  After English I trooped down the stairs, my steps dragging. Connor grabbed me by the arm. “Now this is not the way a girl excited to be attending a dance with my fine self should be walking.”

  I chuckled. “No? How should I be walking.”

  To my horror he skipped down the stairs, his arms swinging side to side. I giggled as I ran down to catch up with him.

  “You are the most embarrassing person I know.” I told him.

  “Hey! You haven’t even seen my dance moves yet.”

  I opened my eyes wide. “I’m not sure I want to know!”

  “Come on, Tara, where’s your enthusiasm for life?” I wanted to tell him my enthusiasm for life had diminished the moment I started conjuring up dreams more enticing than life itself. But I held myself in check.

  I was on the bottom step when my stomach felt like it was turning inside out. A sharp tug pulled deep within the depths of my stomach. I gasped and clutched onto the banister. Doubling over, I gripped my middle like I was hoping I could hold it together with the strength of my arm.

  “Shit, Tara?” Connor stepped forward and placed a hand on my back. His fingers rubbed circles along my shoulder blade. I glanced up at him but my eyes pulled towards a smudge of black leaning against the wall by the school office. I batted away Connor’s hand. I didn’t know who the boy in black was but I felt he should be the one soothing my back. It was inexplicable but I could almost sense the disapproval from across the hallway.

  “I’m fine.” I straightened, ignoring the terrible dragging sensation in my stomach.

  Connor smiled at me nervously. “Are you trying to get out of the dance? You know I won't accept any excuse.” he contemplated for a moment. “Except death.” He nodded. “Yep, death is a good rain check.”

  I tried to smile, he was being sweet after all. But my head was all over the place, and that didn’t even cover what my body was doing as I sweated and shook where I stood. I recalled the dream from the previous night, ladies don’t sweat, and my head reeled again. Why did the dreams seem more centred in reality than me walking through this school hall? My deja vu metre was off the scale.

  “I’ll be there,” I assured him. I blinked and tried to clear the fog filling my vision. “I think I need to go home.”

  “Let me take you.” He stepped forward to take my arm but I dodged his approach.

  “It’s fine. Tell Celeste I’ll text her later.”

  I made my way to the school office, and made my excuses. By the time I’d filled out the sick form, the boy in black was gone.

  I slammed in through the front door. I could sense dad was home even without seeing him, how I knew, I couldn’t explain. I also knew he wasn’t alone. He didn’t call out with the bang of the door so I snuck forward. I seemed to be creeping around my own house a lot of late.

  “It’s making her sick,” said the voice I would recognise anywhere. It sang to me, echoing in the memories of my dreams.

  “You’re clutching at straws,” replied my dad.

  “No. You don’t understand; I’ve seen her like this before.” he sounded desperate. “The others have never seen her at her weakest, but I have. She will start to splinter and deteriorate soon if you don’t let me help her.”

  “And have her walk around with a target painted on her back again? Is that what you are suggesting?” My dad’s voice rose but in frustration, not anger. It tightened the notes of his voice like an overturned Violin.

  “I’ll protect her.” The other voice said. The ache in my stomach vibrated down to my knees.

  “You can’t.” My dad shouted. “If you two are together, every single person looking for her will sense you both.”

  “And what about the other one? What are you going to do about her, or is she forgotten about now?”

  There was a beat of silence. “No. But it’s better this way. The o
ther one has nothing and neither does Tara. It’s even.”

  “It will kill her, eventually.”

  “Better death than being used by the hunter.”

  “No.” The word ripped like the hiss of a poisonous snake. “I won't let you. She’s mine.”

  “She doesn’t even know who you are.” Dad sounded defeated.

  “Doesn’t she?” I could sense the boy in black was taunting.

  “Stay away from her.”

  “Oh, I am. Can she stay away from me though?”

  The fall of footsteps made me jump but I was too slow to move and hide. Although the only furniture in the hallway was the slim table holding the phone. I don't think that would have provided adequate cover.

  The boy in black's eyes widened when he saw me. I stood there with my mouth open. It was the first time I’d seen him, properly. His eyes were a brilliant violet, the same hue as the heather left on my pillow the other morning. I gasped loudly and flung my hand over my mouth to stifle the noise so dad wouldn’t know I was there. The boy in black, whose face was more striking than my dreams had given him credit for, winked at me. One hand grazed a stroke along the length of my cheek. “Don’t look for me, Bronte.”

  Who’s Bronte? I wanted to call after him but then I didn’t want my dad to know I’d been eavesdropping. He walked out of the door and I slipped through after him but he was gone, evaporated into thin air.

  I didn't know why he thought I was Bronte, but I knew I could never agree to what he said. Now I knew he existed in my dreams and in real life, I would never stop looking for him.

  With my heart pounding, I turned for the door and banged it shut. “I’m home!” I hollered.

  Dad strode into the hallway his eyes darting. “What’s up, honey?”

  “Mm. Just poorly, I think. Headache, stomach ache, that kind of thing.” His eyes scanned over me critically. “I think I’ll go lie down,” I added, turning for the stairs.

  “Sure, honey.”

  I shut my bedroom door quietly and turned to find a sprig of heather on my pillow. I grasped it with desperate fingers, my stomach pulling and clenching until I bent double and curled on my side on the mattress. What was going on?

  And who the hell was Bronte?

  A burning fury rushed through his body. The strain of containing the need to lash out tensed his muscles until it felt like they may explode.

  This was killing him. Let alone what it was doing to her. He could see it, her body was rejecting mortality. He’d had a long time to think about the state he’d found her in before, and now he understood it. She couldn’t survive as a human. She was destined to be half a star.

  Well, once, her destiny had been more.

  He turned his memory away from his greed and the selfish actions he'd taken thousands of years before. He’d spent all eternity since, trying to make up for it. Trying to keep her soul for his own; trying, but always failing.

  This was different. She wasn’t meant to be human. This was his chance to re-write the punishment he’d been set. He didn’t know how but he knew this may be the only opportunity he would ever get. He knew he needed to find solid facts, evidence he could use. But he also knew he could never leave her, not now he’d found her, again.

  Burning fire consumed whenever he thought of her attending the dance with Connor. Connor was pushing his luck and he knew it. If he touched her, even laid one finger on her, he knew he wouldn’t be able to control himself.

  They all had this wrong. So, so wrong but he knew they were only trying to save her. Still, they had it backwards. She was stronger as her true self. Rather than disintegrating under a swathe of glamours, mistakenly created to protect her. Only he knew how strong she was and that was because her energy was burning through his veins like nothing he'd ever known.

  He was close. Close to going against the council and giving her all the many things he wanted to: her energy, her knowledge, her memories, his kiss. But what would their punishment be this time? He didn’t see how it could get any worse than what he’d already lived through. Losing your soul thousands of times was more than any one person should have to bear. Could she take it? If she knew the truth, could she take it? He wasn’t thinking about the current fake life she was blindly living. His thoughts ran deeper, back to a time when innocence had been theirs, and their only mistake had been to want something they weren’t allowed.

  If she knew, what would it do?

  Could he tell her? Could he change their destiny? Could he save her one last time?

  He had so much that he could teach her, show her. For the first time in all these long, tiring years he could be honest with her. Give her one hundred percent of himself. It seemed almost too good to be true. Hell, it was too good to be true, because they would not allow it. Fate had it's own plan.

  One thing he knew was that their futile attempts to deceive her would not last long. She was surfacing close to the truth. She saw him everywhere he went. The question was, should he let her find it by herself, or should he help her on her way?

  He kicked away from the wall outside her house. He’d been listening to her breathe and dream for the last three hours. He smiled to himself when he thought that she was dreaming of him. Let Connor have his five minutes, because when it came down to it, nothing could come between her and him. They were one. One.

  He’d let Connor take her to the dance, but he’d be there ready to move in once Connor stepped too far. And he knew he would. It was Connor, he wouldn’t know how to play the long game if it came and landed with instructions on his lap.

  “I’ve got the GHD’s” Celeste twirled them again and I ducked from their whipped approach.

  “If you’re going to make me go to this thing, then I don’t want to turn up with a black eye.” I’d stayed home from school. When I’d woken, I’d felt weak, my legs feeble, my hands unstable. I’d hoped that maybe dad would say I couldn't go to the dance. Not that I was particularly keen to stay home with him. Not now I knew he was having continuous secret conversations at the house with people I didn't know. Still, staying home seemed the better option than going to the dance. He'd assured me I was fine to go.

  Now Celeste was subjecting me to her makeover skills. There'd been an alarming moment, when I thought she would step into the shower with me, to ensure that I’d exfoliated in the correct manner. Thankfully, I’d batted her away with my towel and locked the door before she could step in.

  Through the bathroom door, I had heard her grumbling about the blue dress.

  “I like the violet one,” I’d shouted back. Before she'd arrived, I'd hidden the stash of heather in the top drawer of my bedside cabinet. I hadn’t wanted to explain to Celeste why there was a growing collection of fauna in my bedside drawer. Nor the fact I didn't find a boy in black coming into my room nightly, at all worrying. I’d tried to catch him but I never could. Although what I would do when I did, I wasn't sure. There was no plan that covered that scenario.

  “Just sit down and let me work my magic,” she said, forcibly pushing me towards a chair. I groaned and threw myself down by the mirror. I was learning fast that there was little point in arguing with Celeste—she would just do what she wanted anyway. She sashayed over in the plum chiffon—how she’d got ready in the time it took for me to shower was beyond me. But still, there she was, looking stunning. I frowned at my reflection. It didn’t matter. I had to keep reminding myself that it truly didn’t matter. I wasn’t going to the dance because I had any interest in Connor other than friendship. I was sure that the person I had my interest focused on wouldn’t be attending the school dance. It didn’t seem his type of thing. Cryptic conversations and hanging around street corners seemed to be more his thing.

  In what felt like a few moments, Celeste had finished my hair. I admired it open mouthed. My hair hung in sheets of glossy espresso layers. “Are you for real?” I asked, glancing up into the mirror. “How on earth did you do that?” I reached for the straighteners and inspected them. “W
hat are these? No straighteners work that fast on my hair, it takes three goes at the least to get it to sit straight.”

  “I’m highly skilled. I keep telling you.” She laughed and pulled my dress off the hanger. “Come on, Connor will be here soon.” I grabbed the dress and padded to the bathroom where I slipped out of my robe and pulled the dress on. It looked good. Surprisingly good. The violet brought out the darkness of my eyes and picked up the tones in my hair. With a last check in the mirror, I turned back for the bedroom. Celeste was watching me, a crease between her eyes.

  “What’s up?” I asked. “Does it look terrible?”

  She shook her head and smiled brightly. “No. Violet suits you.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Told you so.”

  “Hm.” Her body didn’t relax any with her smile.

  “What’s wrong, really?”

  “Nothing. It’s just nice hanging out that’s all. You know, doing normal stuff?”

  I raised an eyebrow. “As opposed to all the not normal stuff you got up to before I arrived?”

  She grinned. “Yes, that exactly.” A loud toot made us both jump. “Come on, that’s Connor.”

  I grabbed my purse. “Promise me you won’t leave me with him.” She turned. “I don’t want him to think this is a date.”

  “He’ll be wishing this was a date,” she muttered under her breath as she pulled me through the door.

  "Don't talk to strangers." Dad eyed me with an unusual level of parental authority.

  "I know, Dad," I sighed, fidgeting with the hang of the dress. It was getting all caught up on my hips in a way that wasn't flattering and made it feel all twisted and constricted.

  Dad turned his attention to Celeste. "Watch her."

  "Dad!" I cringed with embarrassment but he smiled and tugged on a strand of my now straight hair. "She doesn't mind, she knows you've been sick."

  Celeste nodded her eyes serious. "Yes, Sir."

  "Yes, sir?" I spluttered. Another toot of the horn blasted. I grabbed Celeste's arm, eager to get away from the weirdness that was developing in the hallway.