The Dark Sky Collection: The Dark Sky Collection

by Amy Braun

  Fast-handed exchanges and sharp-tongued deals took place in isolated alleys. Boarded windows were pried open, slim men and women slipping back and forth with their belongings. Rubble was tossed aside as hunters dug for hidden treasure––theirs, or someone else’s.

  It was like this all over Westraven when the heavy rains hit. Stragglers and survivors of all kinds––Junkers, marauders, indentured slaves, colonists, independents––risked the freezing rains to hunt for whatever supplies they could find. Scavenging Days took place all the time, but citywide hunts like this only happened in the rainy season when the Hellions were less likely to attack. It still happened, though not as often.

  That didn’t make the streets safe.

  Everyone had something that somebody else wanted. Street fights, muggings, looting, and murder were more common in these few months than any other time of the year. Sometimes they were means of getting a resource or supply. I lost track of how many times I’d seen someone stabbed over a bag of rice. Other times, the reason was a lot simpler, and so much worse.

  Release.

  Being trapped under the Hellions oppressive and literal claw made us weak. Vulnerable. Insane. The only way we could regain a trace of the power we used was to strip it from someone else. Someone who may deserve it, someone who didn’t. To killers, the victim didn’t matter as much as the need for control did.

  Most of the time, it was marauders who used this season to kill. Eight years ago, they had power, fear, and respect. The Hellions took all of that away from them, and they would never get it back. I didn’t think for a second that I hadn’t just been lucky with my kill. If there were less Junkers to feed on, if Nash and Sawyer hadn’t distracted the Hellion from me, I would never have survived. I’d have been lying there on the ground, a piece of hollow meat with a ravaged throat, all my lifeblood filling the belly of a starved monster, leaving behind a “family” that would only sigh and say “Well, there goes that plan…”

  “Gemma?”

  I blinked and turned my head, meeting Nash’s warm, dark eyes. His face was tight with concern and fixed on me. His work shirt was plastered to his muscled body and I knew he was cold––I was freezing––but he wasn’t trying to hustle me along. He just looked worried.

  “I’m okay,” I told him.

  “Good,” Sawyer quipped. “So we can keep moving? Not sure about you, but being wet and cold is my least favorite past time.”

  I shot him a look as icy as I felt, but I didn’t have the strength for a witty comeback. I was sore, cold, hungry, and tired, all before I factored in my emotional splintering.

  I stormed across the roof, shouldering past Sawyer and trying not to feel Nash’s watchful eyes on my back.

  ***

  I split off from the men as soon as we crawled back into the Dauntless and dropped off the scrap metal. Sawyer gathered a change of clothes, some food, and a fresh lamp. He even bade me goodnight before taking the stairs to his cabin. Nash did the same, though I was sadder to see him go.

  Which was why I was so pleased to hear him return a couple hours later.

  Nash’s steps were heavier than Sawyer’s, and the reason I could tell it was him. I was wearing another dry set of his clothes, had eaten some rations, and was folding myself into the blanket he gave me. He was the most generous man I’d ever met, so I had no idea what else he could offer me.

  Another thing I learned quickly about Nash––he was always trying to give.

  The small glow from the kerosene lamps shone against his striking face. It paled in comparison to the smile he gave me.

  “I wasn’t sure you’d still be awake.”

  I shrugged in the blanket. “I didn’t intend to be.”

  Nash’s smile faltered. Smart move, Gemma, I thought. Say the one thing that will let him see you’re breaking.

  Telling myself to shut up, I sat up and curled tighter into the blanket. “Is there something you need, Nash?”

  Astounding eloquence. Why don’t you start throwing rocks at him while you’re at it?

  Nash descended the last steps into the engine room and walked toward me. “I came to check on you. Tonight was rough, and you seemed a little out of it by the end.”

  That was an understatement if I ever heard one.

  I should have pushed Nash away when he sat down next to me. But I didn’t.

  “Well, I’m still breathing,” I reminded. “So it could have been worse. What would you have done if I was sleeping?”

  Nash considered this for a moment. Then he looked right into my eyes, right into my soul, and said, “Something to take away your nightmares.”

  He almost broke me. My whole life, I had wanted someone to say something like that to me. To make me feel cared for. Even loved. Why did I have to hear it from the man I knew I was going to hurt?

  “Well,” I said, my voice more ragged than I would have liked, “don’t think that will be an issue. I doubt I’ll be sleeping a lot tonight.”

  Nash studied me for a moment. “It was your first kill.” It wasn’t a question.

  I tried to smile. It felt bitter and wrong on my face. “That obvious, is it?”

  His grin was weak, barely seen from the corner of my eye. I tightened my arms around my knees and all but crushed them to my chest. Nash sat with me, giving me casual glances every minute or two, but never saying anything. He was waiting for me to open up.

  It happened sooner than I expected.

  “Have you ever…?”

  He looked at me. “Killed a Hellion? Or killed a person?”

  I nodded.

  “Yes to the first. I was just as stunned as you when it happened. I mean, we see them as these un-killable monsters. Turns out they’re flesh and bone just like the rest of us.”

  He paused.

  “As for the second, no… But I came close.”

  My head turned. Nash seemed to find his feet much more interesting at the moment.

  “A couple times in the Crater. Most of the time we used fists, but sometimes Ryland would want to up the stakes. So he’d toss down a knife.”

  Nash’s jaw was set so hard I thought it would break from the tension. He pulled down the left collar of his shirt to reveal an inch long scar at the base of his neck, right where it met his shoulder. It was puckered and thick, stark against his dark skin. I had a sudden, strange urge to touch it and wish I could take it away.

  “Soon as I got this slice, I just saw red,” he pulled his collar up and hid the scar again. He couldn’t do the same for the pain in his eyes. “I lost it. Knocked the knife out of his hand and went at him with everything I had. By the time Ryland stopped me, I’d broken both his arms, one of his legs, and most of his ribs.”

  I winced. Nash didn’t seem to notice. “How old were you?” I asked hesitantly.

  “Sixteen.”

  My chest felt tight. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t horrified by what he’d done––how could anyone not be?––but he had no choice. Someone was trying to kill him. From what he told me about the Crater, it happened more often than not. How else was he supposed to react?

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered, though I wasn’t sure why. There was nothing I could do to change his past. Or his future.

  “Don’t be,” he replied. “I’m not. I tried to be. Every single time they put me in that hole, I hated it. But when the actual fighting happened, I didn’t really think about it. I just concentrated on surviving. Being stronger than my opponent, taking them down with everything I had, because I wanted to live.”

  Nash met my gaze again. “That’s what you did tonight, Gemma. You killed that Hellion and saved Sawyer’s life. You saved me.” His smile was gentle and kind, and it tore at my heart.

  “Don’t thank me,” I warned. It took almost physical effort to keep the shiver out of my voice.

  “Why not?”

  Because I’m using you. Because I’m going to hand you over to Fletcher and you’ll never forgive me. “Because I don’t deserve it. I�
�m not a good person.”

  He tilted his head. “What makes you say that?”

  The truth pushed against my lips, my heart aching to get it out in the open while I still had a chance, and counteract Fletcher’s plan. But Sawyer would go back to not trusting me, and Nash would do the same. Fletcher would find out, and bring the whole wrath of his operation down on us. There would be no escape for anyone. Especially not me.

  “I’m a thief,” I blurted.

  I reached for the pendant around my neck and held it up, snapping it open and showing him the locks hidden in the kit. He smirked, impressed at the little device.

  “Aren’t we all?” he teased.

  “I don’t always take from people who deserve it,” I tried, closing the kit and letting it rest under my clavicle. I was willing to tell him anything to make him walk away, so I didn’t have to.

  He read my eyes curiously. “Do you work for someone?”

  I hesitated, the last thing I should have done.

  “This person you steal for, are you running from them?”

  I nodded, not adding that it was his thugs who attacked me the night I meet Nash and Sawyer.

  “Gemma, if you need help––”

  “I don’t.” I snapped.

  Nash’s frown said he disagreed, but he backed off. “All right.” He took a breath as if he wanted to restart his argument, then decided against it. “How are your wounds?”

  “They’re not wounds. Just bruises. Nothing I haven’t gotten before.”

  Nash frowned at that. “Sonya endured a lot of suffering from the other Stray Dogs.”

  Sonya. His friend. The woman lucky enough to have known him before I did.

  “She pretended like her injuries were nothing,” Nash continued. “I could never stop it, but we had a deal. After I came out of the fights, she would visit me, patch me up. In exchange, I helped her relax.”

  “How?”

  Nash glanced at me, almost nervously. He shifted a little closer, until his leg touched mine. His hands hovered over my shoulders, but his eyes were locked on mine. “May I?”

  I didn’t know what he intended to do, so I nodded. Nash gently pulled the blanket down from my shoulders and pried it from my grasp. He set it down in front of me. “Can you lie down?”

  My defenses went up immediately. I doubted Nash would try to violate me the way Morris did, but then again, what did I know about him? After all, he was the one who pointed out that we were all thieves and desperate survivors. If Nash pinned me down, I wouldn’t be able to stop him. He was too big, too strong, too experienced in fighting.

  As though he read my thoughts, he said, “I’m not going to hurt you. I promise, this is just to help you relax. You need to rest, and this is the only way you’ll get it.”

  I frowned, looking at the blanket like it would swallow me whole. “What are you going to do, massage me?”

  A slight flush crept into his cheeks. He shrugged sheepishly, looking more like a little boy than a hardened fighter. “Nothing else, I swear. I would never go further without your permission. I haven’t… uh… it’s been a while since…”

  He chuckled and ran a hand over his short, dark hair. “Not as smooth anymore, am I?” Nash lowered his hand. “Guess I screwed up. I’ll leave you alone if you want––”

  “No.”

  We shared the same, shocked expression. I regained my composure faster. “I’ll take you up on your offer.” I tipped my chin, making myself appear as dangerous as possible. “But if you start getting wandering hands, you’re going to have to report to Sawyer with broken fingers.”

  Nash wasn’t the least bit intimidated. He even smiled at me. “I’d expect nothing less.”

  I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling back, then laid down with the blanket under my stomach. The floor was cold, but I barely felt it under my racing heart. Nash shuffled behind me, resting his knees near my hip. He didn’t straddle me or tell me to remove my shirt. The only pressure I felt was when his hands pushed against the middle of my back.

  He smoothed his palms up toward my shoulders, his thumbs grazing my spine. The shirt glided like silk against my skin. When he reached the base of my neck, he squeezed a little tighter and rubbed my muscles. The circles he made with his thumbs worked like magic against my nerves. Nash slipped his hands across my shoulders to where they joined with my arm. He squeezed and rubbed some more, stopping only when I tensed at bruises he pinched. He would pause for a moment, as if memorizing the location of the pain, then move onto another spot, being very careful not to go near the bruises again. Eventually, he avoided all of them.

  Never lifting his hands from my back, Nash drew his palms inward and traced them down my spine. I shivered as he neared the base, and he stopped.

  “Am I still hurting you?” he whispered.

  “No,” I said. “Keep going.”

  He did, drawing slow, languid circles across my lower back, to the soft skin over my hips, up to the back of my ribs, to my shoulders, and down again. I had no idea how many knots were in my back until I felt them untangle. As he trailed up again, the knots unraveled until they were threads flowing in a breeze. Something began to build in my chest, a pressure that started working its way to my throat. I clamped my eyes and mouth shut, holding back whatever was trying to break free of me.

  Nash’s hands continued their soothing circles. He pressed down on the knots, breaking them open, lifting the tension free.

  He brushed aside the hair from my neck and let his fingertips graze over my bare skin, lightly brushing the chain of my necklace. His butterfly touch became a slow caress, warm and comforting. I shivered.

  Nash paused, the tips of his fingers still on my throat. I trembled.

  “Gemma?”

  The pressure I’d been holding back trickled out of me. The steady flow became a tidal wave. I tightened the blanket in my fists and buried my face in the cool cloth. Tears burned my eyes.

  Nash stripped away all my barriers without ever knowing it. He couldn’t see my secrets. Only hear my pain. He could ask me anything right now, and I would tell him the truth. I was raw. Naked and exposed, a broken mess in borrowed clothing who couldn’t do the right thing when she knew it would save lives.

  He was looking at a coward.

  Nash’s hands left my neck. I sobbed again, knowing he would want an explanation. But what was I going to say? Where did I even start? What did he want to hear?

  A warm body lay down next to me. Strong arms slid over my back and under my chest to cup my far shoulder. Very slowly, Nash drew me into a warm embrace. I was pressed against his solid chest, feeling his body heat seep into me, hearing his strong heartbeat beyond his ribs. Those gentle fingers moved through my hair, tenderly moving the strands as though each one was precious.

  I burst into fresh tears.

  “I’m sorry,” I choked out against his chest.

  Nash tightened his arms around me. His warm, earthy smell was everywhere, and I couldn’t get enough.

  “It’s okay, Gemma,” he murmured, the deep rumble of his voice becoming a balm to the ache in my soul. “Just rest. Things will be better in the morning.”