Unchosen

by Katharyn Blair

  She gives me a squeeze, and my heart swells. I didn’t know I could love someone like I love my sisters. But this—Thomas, Rielle, Seth, even Lucia—this is real in a way I haven’t felt in a long, long time. She lets me go, and I’m barely out the door when I hear Lucia cackle. “Seth?” Rielle hoots, and I slip out into the hallway to the sounds of their laughter.

  The Curseclean have filled up all the extra rooms, and even spilled into the hallway. I maneuver around them. Seth comes to the bottom of the stairs, and I stop when we lock eyes.

  But then a familiar voice calls my name.

  “Charlotte?”

  I turn.

  Alan, huddled among the passengers, his brown eyes wide. I’m walking toward him before I even fully realizing I’m moving. He was with Dean, that night on the beach. They were loaded onto the same ship.

  “Charlotte! Shit, what are you doing here?” he asks, rushing forward to pull me into a hug, and I notice angry red cuts on his dark skin—a remnant of the fight above.

  “Where is Dean?” I ask, my heart stuttering in my chest. A thousand terrible scenarios play out in my mind, things that could easily explain his absence.

  I pull back from the hug and look Alan in the eye, searching for a hint of pity or sorrow.

  “Where is he?” I ask again, fisting my hands in his shirt.

  “He’s fine. He’s okay, Char—” He grabs my wrists, and I realize how hard I was holding him. Alan speaks slowly, trying to break through the terror that has a hold on me.

  “We escaped the next day—several of us. Any of us willing to risk the waters for a chance at life. We traveled together for a week or so, and then we found Vanessa and Harlow at the rendezvous.”

  I stop, everything in me stilling. Vanessa and Harlow. They got away. I’ve been holding that hope in the back of my chest, not willing to look at it for weeks. I could not even entertain the thought that they weren’t both safe.

  I would have lost my mind. More than I already have.

  My knees give out, and Alan kneels with me. “They’re alive,” I breathe. All of them. My sisters. Dean. They’re alive.

  “They’re headed to the Torch,” Alan says. “We were all going to go together, but we got separated. And, well. I guess I picked the losing road.” Tears slip down my cheeks, and I wipe them off with the back of my hand. I nod.

  “Charlotte. They’re saying . . .” Alan lowers his voice. It’s so soft, it’s almost reverent. “They’re saying you’re the Chosen One.” I don’t meet his eyes, afraid that he’ll say something. That he’ll call me out.

  “She is,” a voice says from behind me. I turn, looking up at Lucia. I wait for a smirk or a snide comment, but she doesn’t give one. It’s just a tentative expression, caution wrapped in hesitation. I stare at her.

  It’s like an uneasy truce. She was with me when I found the keys. I push myself to my feet, and I see it in her face—she knows what I did for Seth, and she knows that Abel is safe. She’s not my friend. Not yet, but as of this moment, it doesn’t seem like we’re enemies.

  That is, unless Alan gives her reason to believe that I’m lying through my teeth.

  But he lets out a small laugh. “That’s why Harlow never wanted you to go on supply runs,” he says, and it’s everything I can do not to bristle at the connection. “That’s why she was so pissed when you and Dean ran off the day we got raided. Wow. It was all there—I just didn’t see it. She was so scared that you were going to get caught or hurt. She treated you like glass.”

  I force a small smile, even as my insides are churning. Yeah. Harlow acted like I was made of glass. But that’s because she’d seen me shatter. I nod, and Alan nods, too, like he’s just figured out a riddle.

  I bite my tongue as heavy footsteps sound behind me. Seth walks up behind Lucia, leaning on the wall as he stares down at me. I look away because I don’t trust what he’d see in my face right now.

  “Dean was so worried about you, Charlotte,” Alan continues. “He was sick with it. We all saw you run for him across the beach that night. And then that Runner tackled you. We just . . . we didn’t know what was going to happen.”

  I feel Seth’s eyes on me, and I glance up. It’s everything I have to hold his gaze as something flickers across his face. Recognition. Understanding.

  And underneath? Anger. It’s been simmering since I stepped out earlier. He has plenty of reason to be, because I didn’t listen. I didn’t stay safe. I came out on the deck. Then I announced that I was the Chosen One. And then I jumped off the ship after him. So, it’s safe to say I kind of went my own direction on that one.

  I straighten my shoulders, a wordless conversation ripping between us as Alan keeps talking: “Charlotte Holloway. The Chosen One. Whoa.”

  I need to move. I can’t stand here anymore, especially now that I hear murmurs behind me. All around us, people whisper.

  The Chosen One.

  Her?

  She can end this.

  I slip into my room and close the door behind me. I’m alone for two seconds before it opens. I pivot, expecting Rielle. But Seth closes the door and meets my eyes. Blood stains his white shirt, which is still soaking wet, though the bleeding on his head has stopped.

  “What the hell was that?” he seethes.

  I match his gaze, defiance flaring in my chest. I don’t say anything as he stalks closer.

  “I told you to stay down here,” he whispers dangerously.

  Something in me snaps. “Well, it’s a good thing I didn’t, because you would be flotsam wrapped around the Cobalt’s rudders if I had. You’re welcome, you ungrateful asshole—”

  Seth’s eyes light up as he advances on me, but I don’t step back. This is my room. My life, and my decisions. I’m tired of being treated like glass.

  By Harlow. By him. By everyone. I can take care of myself.

  Seth shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter what happens to me, Charlotte. Don’t you get that?” he barks.

  “I didn’t get caught. The world is still safe.”

  His eyelids flutter for a moment as he processes my words. Like I’ve said something strange.

  But that’s what he meant, isn’t it?

  Seth does the right thing. And caring about me—about helping me save the world—is the right thing.

  But for a moment, just a moment, I let myself read into the way his jaw ticks as he clenches it shut, and the way he opens his fist slowly at his side. I let my eyes search his face.

  “Don’t ever do that again,” he whispers, and his voice breaks—it’s not an angry sound. I stop, looking up.

  I was cold a moment ago, but the look in his eyes sends a jolt of heat up my spine. I drop my gaze to his lips—the salt in the cracks of his dry skin. Water drips down his shoulders.

  I want to shove him back and tell him to leave, but my hands are stuck at my sides, pinned by the simmer I see in his eyes. The rage has cooled, hardening like molten metal into something different.

  And that’s the thing here. The shadow with no name—the coiling at the base of my spine. I don’t want to know why it hurt to breathe when I couldn’t find Seth on the deck of the Cobalt. Why my eyes raked over the crowds of people, searching for him. And how it felt when he’d gone in the water—like my lungs were brittle, all of a sudden, and my scream would shatter them.

  I finally find my words.

  “The last time I checked, we were partners. You don’t tell me what to do,” I bite out.

  “You’re right,” he says. His eyes drop to my lips, and he swallows. “You’ve saved all of us. Saved Abel. You don’t need my permission. You never did.”

  I open my mouth to shoot something back, but his eyes find mine again, and the look in them steals all the breath from my lungs.

  “So. I’ll just ask, then,” he murmurs. I’ve never heard his voice this soft before. It’s like fingertips threading through my hair. It’s the heat of a fire on freezing skin. He leans in, and I shut my eyes as his breath slips over the
dip in my shoulder.

  “Please, Charlotte.” His beg is no more than a whisper. “Never . . . never do that again.”

  “Because I’m the Chosen One,” I breathe.

  He pulls back, his amber eyes finding mine, and I must be imagining the look of hunger I see there.

  “No,” he says finally. It’s a tortured sound.

  He leans closer, and I feel his breath hit my lips. I don’t know what will happen if I tilt my head up. But I feel a thrum in my chest, and my head feels light. My hand moves on its own, and I grab the side of his soaked shirt, bunching my fist in it as I lean closer.

  Seth’s breath hitches as the space between our bodies disappears. The tip of his nose brushes against mine, and my knees shake. His hand cups the side of my face and travels to my neck, and I don’t know what’s happening, but I want it to keep going. Maybe it’s adrenaline from the fight. Maybe it’s knowing that Dean is alive, and that this charade has to end soon.

  Or maybe it’s just because Seth Marsali does something to me, and I haven’t really wanted to admit it.

  I brush my lips softly against his and then pull back.

  I can’t believe I just did that. I look up at him, my mouth opening and closing as I struggle to find words. None come, and I feel his hand tighten around the back of my neck as he presses his mouth to mine.

  I’ve been kissed before. Once at the movies, and a few times with a couple of guys in Harlow’s circle. Even at the settlement, I’d had a couple of make-out sessions in the empty classrooms. But those were something born of need. My basic physical need, and a deep, unyielding need to try and get over what I couldn’t have.

  But kissing Seth is different. Because with him, I don’t think about anything except the soft feel of his lips, and the warmth of his tongue as he slants his head, deepening the kiss. I twist my hand, wrapping his shirt tighter as I try to pull him closer. I wring water out of the fabric, and it pelts the top of my shoe.

  He lets out a soft moan, and his hand slides down my back as we kiss harder. Faster. I pull back slightly, fighting for breath, and he drags his other hand up into my hair and it’s like he can’t stand not touching me. I sink into the kiss again, loving how his stubble is scraping my face raw.

  I could lose myself in this kiss. As we back up and my calves hit the bed, I know I could lose myself in him. In this. And I want to. I don’t want to think about anything else. I don’t want to think about Dean, or the lies I’ve told, or how this can’t last.

  And I realize, all at once, how much it means to me, and how much it’s going to hurt when I lose it.

  I let out a soft cry as I wrench myself free, stepping backward until I trip onto the bed.

  “I can’t,” I whisper through deep, staggering breaths.

  Seth is frozen, his chest heaving. He blinks a couple of times, like he’s snapping back to reality. His breathing slows, and he takes a couple more steps back, toward the door.

  “It’s him, right?”

  This isn’t about Dean. Not at all. But that’s an easier answer than the truth.

  “Yeah. It’s . . .” I need to burn this bridge. I need to make sure that whatever embers he’s just kicked up in me don’t catch fire at two in the morning, when I know he’s across the hall. “It’s him.”

  Seth takes a deep breath as he runs a hand through his hair. He nods, swallowing hard.

  “Okay,” he says. Like that’s sufficient. Like one syllable will cauterize whatever gaping thing he’s just opened up in my chest. There’s a beat, and then he slips back out through the door without another word. It’s everything I can do not to sink to the floor as his footsteps fade.

  Chapter 28

  THE DAYS BLEND TOGETHER, SWIRLING INTO ONE just like the blue of the sky and the sapphire of the ocean at the horizon. I become a ghost, haunting this ship and fading into the background as much as a Chosen One can. Seth spends a lot of time with Abel, helping him get his strength back up.

  The bow becomes a balm to my soul, the frigid sea air biting into my skin as we tear north.

  Rielle tries to talk to me a few times, but she can see the faraway look in my eyes and knows that I’m not in the mood to talk.

  And I’m not.

  Dean is safe. He’s with my sisters.

  There is no reason for me to be going to the Blood Market, especially since I will be leading Seth, Lucia, and the others into danger for no reason.

  I’ll walk them up to a place filled with Runners and countless other dangers just to turn around, shrug, and tell them I have nothing. That I’m a liar.

  I sit in my room and stare at the papers where I’ve scribbled down the prophecies, begging them to tell me something, anything, as I listen to the rhythmic beating of waves outside my window.

  I count the footsteps as they track above, and I’m getting better at knowing who is who.

  The decisive walk belongs to Lucia. She doesn’t stop once she’s got a destination. The ones that scrape slightly are from Rielle, because she’s constantly turning to answer questions. Thomas rarely makes footsteps, because he’s always swinging from the rigging to the railing and not even bothering to touch the deck.

  And Seth’s steps—they are heavy. I hear them in my chest, because he walks like he has the weight of the world on his shoulders. We haven’t talked since the night we took the Cobalt. Part of me wants to believe it’s because he’s focused on Abel and the plans they’re making to get him back to the Torch, but I know there’s something deeper. Something changed that night.

  Thud. Thud. Thud.

  I shut my eyes.

  I didn’t expect to need to pull the plug on this plan so early, but now I’m faced with the reality that I always knew was coming.

  There was going to be a time when I had to admit what I’ve done. A time to run. I hoped, as everyone does, that when the time came, I would be ready. That I would handle it well.

  But it’s here, and I’ve opted for the postapocalyptic version of teenage cowardice: a note.

  And once we pull up to the safe house, which Thomas tells me is somewhere in the redwoods just on the border of California and Oregon, I am going to leave.

  It’s almost dawn as we reach the shore of Damnation Creek Beach, and the feel of the rock-covered coast under my boots is foreign enough that it takes a moment for me to remember how to walk. The air is crisp, the sky clear as gulls let out sharp cries from overhead. The smells of damp earth and tang, pine, and salt weave through my hair as the wind whips it over the goose bumps rising over my skin. I look back at the ship—the one I won’t be seeing again.

  I stumble, my boot catching on one of the rocks. I stop myself on one of the smooth black stones, thanking God that it wasn’t one of the razor-sharp ones that jut from the shore like daggers.

  Seth appears next to me then, crouching to grab my elbow.

  “You okay?” he asks quietly. I don’t need to look at him, because I know what I would see. He’d have his captain’s face on—the one that he’s had on for the past several days. The one that matches the blades slung over his back I see out of the corner of my eye. His voice is professional. Detached.

  I nod, pulling my elbow back against my side.

  In front of me, Rielle ties her hair into a knot as she talks to Alan. Abel walks in front with Thomas. The rest of the Curseclean lace up their boots and zip up their jackets against the harsh gusts.

  Lucia ties the rowboat behind us, and I look up the steep trail. She comes up beside me. “It’s about six miles to the safe house. Mirrors up. If you see outsiders, shout it down the line,” she says.

  I’m relieved to be back on the shore. Land, where my lies were born and where they can die. We walk, and the burn that bites my calves feels good after days of sitting. I need more of it.

  I push on, slowly making my way to the front of the pack next to Rielle as we press deeper into the redwoods, the trees rising on either side of us like giants. Everything in my heart feels dark and dreadful, poisoned
by the lies I’ve told, but the beauty of this place coaxes wonder out of my weariness.

  I find myself smiling as I spot a family of deer grazing in a clearing just off the trail. Butterflies flit on the wind, completely unperturbed by the oily, evil mess man has made of the world under them.

  “Is that a smile?” Rielle asks, her cheeks flushed as she looks over at me. The sunlight breaks through the clouds, making shadows across her beautiful face. Her yellow eyes sparkle as she grins over at me.

  “Yeah. I guess,” I say softly. This is almost over. I’ll leave, and then this whole crew will be able to get on with their lives. Abel Lassiter is safe, and he’ll be able to call the Torch from the safe house. I’ll find my sisters, and Dean.

  No one else will have to get hurt.

  “Dean is safe, I hear,” Rielle says, and I look down at my feet.

  “He was a couple weeks ago, at least,” I say. I have tried to dampen the hope in my chest—to lessen my expectations so that if I’m wrong—if everything isn’t okay—I won’t completely fall apart. But that was a pointless effort. Dean and Harlow are together and safe. There’s nothing they can’t do together. They’ll keep Vanessa safe. They’ll all be fine.

  “I still want to hear that story,” she says, half joking. “How long have you been in love with him?”

  I search for words, remembering my talk with Seth. How I’d left, and how the skin of his touch burned even hours later. My love for Dean is a refuge, all of a sudden, and the look of Rielle’s face is asking me to lean into it. So I do.

  “I don’t know,” I say, the words feeling good in my mouth as I let the memories roll in the back of my mind. Dean, his shoulders peeling from sunburn. The weight of his body on mine as he picked me up and threw me in the pool. The way my veins vibrate to the sound of his voice.

  “Oh bullshit. Everyone knows the moment they realize they’re in love with someone,” Rielle says, smiling.

  Seth is quiet behind me, though I hear his rhythmic breathing.

  “Maybe Charlotte doesn’t want to talk about her Dean,” he says, his voice hoarse. It’s the first time I’ve heard him talk this whole trek. I chance a look over my shoulder at him, irritation filling my gaze.