Saven Denial (The Saven Series Book 3)

by Siobhan Davis

  One of the white-masked men shoves my dress up to my waist, exposing my white cotton panties. Prying my legs open, he pokes a vein in my inner thigh and plunges a sharp needle into my flesh. My ear-shattering screams fill the room, but the experimentation continues without interruption. A second machine lowers over my stomach, and my screams grow louder and more insistent.

  Axton looks on the verge of exploding. Releasing my hand, he rushes his mother and shoves her hard into the wall. Guards seize him, dragging him kicking and screaming from the room. My screams have turned into high-pitched wails as I cry out for him, over and over again.

  I close my eyes, unable to watch any more. Sharp nails dig into my cheeks. “Eyes open,” Griselda demands. Hesitantly, I reopen my eyes. The scene has moved on, and the frenzied pounding of my heart diminishes a little. I’m a couple of years older again in this memory. I’m in some sort of training gym, facing off against a grisly-faced man dressed in head-to-toe black.

  “Arms, Sadie!” he barks. “In position.”

  I pull my arms into a combative stance, bending slightly at the waist. We circle each other, trading jabs. I duck and sidestep each blow with notable skill. Sweat glistens on my brow, and my black and pink vest and shorts stick to my body like a second skin. My dark hair is long, streaked with thick ash blonde panels. Quiet footsteps enter the room, and I’m momentarily distracted. Axton winks at me and I grin. The distraction costs me. The instructor slams his fist into my solar plexus, and I stumble backward, falling awkwardly to the ground, my back smacking against the cold hard floor. A wounded moan escapes my mouth.

  “Shista, are you okay?” Axton asks, squatting down beside me. His hair hangs like velvety-soft curtains around his shoulders. Hefting an arm underneath my back, he helps me to stand.

  “That was sloppy, Sadie. You are far too easily distracted.” The instructor shakes his head in annoyance, fixing Axton with a snide look. “Dismissed. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Back in my room, I’m freshly showered and Axton is helping to apply some lotion to my back. His fingers loiter on my skin and my cheeks flush red.

  I squirm uncomfortably in my seat, feeling like a voyeur in my so-called life. I’m terrified I know where this is going, and I don’t think I can bear to watch.

  “Any better?” he asks in a deep baritone voice, twirling me around to face him.

  He towers over me now, and I have to crane my neck to look up at him. “It helps, thanks.” I worry my lip between my teeth.

  “Good.” He traces a line across my face with the tip of his finger, and a moment passes between us. Our eyes feast on one another as his finger continues its journey, carefully caressing my lips. My mouth parts slightly. Leaning down ever so slowly, he holds my gaze as he captures my lips. I stand on tiptoe, pressing my body against his with unashamed abandon as I circle my arms around his neck. The kiss continues, developing passionately, as his hands snake around my waist and he draws me in flush to his body until there is no gap between us. No barrier to our physical need.

  I jerk my head to the side, refusing to watch any further. I’m embarrassed, horrified, traumatized. A million other emotions threaten to breach the surface. None of this feels real. It’s like an illusion, or as if I am in a theater watching actors that look like us perform before an audience. I remember none of this. For all I know, this could be some type of trickery. Except that, deep down inside, a part of me acknowledges him, is comfortable in his presence, believes him when he says he won’t hurt me, and knows that I can trust him. It’s that sentiment that alarms me the most.

  “Don’t,” Axton pleads from somewhere behind me. “You need to see this. To understand what we mean to each other.”

  I bite the inside of my cheek as I force my eyes back to the memory. Mercifully, the image has changed, and I breathe a sigh of relief. This time I’m in a classroom, alone amid a sea of desks, absently watching a screen.

  A formidable-looking woman leans against the edge of the window scrutinizing me, ankles crossed casually at the feet. Logan’s image fills the screen. He’s presenting ideas to a room full of peers. A banner with the words 6th ANNUAL HEIR’S SUMMIT digitally displays on the wall behind him. His hair is slightly longer and styled more casually than I’m accustomed to, tucked clumsily behind his ears. He still has a childish look about him though his jawline sports a flimsy coating of stubble.

  His startling blue eyes penetrate deep to my soul, and I find myself straining toward the memory, anything to feel close to him again.

  The woman freezes the screen on a close-up shot of Logan. “What have you learned about the crown prince from this holo?” she asks as she rounds the desk at the top of the room and takes a seat.

  “That he’s passionate about the things he believes in.”

  “And?” She elevates a brow.

  “He’s a natural leader.”

  “And?” She drums her fingers impatiently off the desk.

  “He doesn’t suffer fools or injustice.”

  She slams her fist down hard on the desk. “Griselda didn’t send you here to swoon over the crown prince! If I didn’t know better, I’d swear she sent you to test my patience!” she shrieks, tossing her hands dramatically in the air. “What the hell is wrong with your brain? You are still far too human.” She flicks a scathing look at me as she gets up and paces the room.

  “That’s because I am human,” I retort.

  She lunges at me, putting her face right up in mine. “Only part human. You are one of us now. Supposedly.”

  My heart rages against my ribcage, and my stomach does a funny twisty motion. Tiny hairs prickle the back of my neck.

  Returning to her seat, she tugs at the hem of her jacket and straightens in her chair. “You know,” she says, in a calmer tenor, “I could always advise Griselda to run more tests, inject more Tor DNA. That would stamp out this moralistic bullshit.” She smiles conceitedly.

  I stiffen, as I clear my throat. “That won’t be necessary.”

  “No?” She pins me with a victorious look.

  “No.”

  “Well, then. I’ll ask you again. What does this recording demonstrate about the crown prince?”

  “That he’s arrogant, full of his own self-importance, loves the sound of his own voice, and thinks he knows better than everyone else.”

  A smug grin lights up her face. “And?”

  “He entertains foolish notions of changing the world.”

  “Yes.” She fist pumps the air, and that seems to anger me if the look on my face is any clue. “Anything else?”

  I spot a glimmer of devilment in my eye as I speak. “He’s hot.” A smirk spreads across my lips as the woman’s face contorts in anger. A massive crash has me bouncing in my chair. My head whips around. Axton stands in the doorframe, his face set in a hard line, steam practically billowing out of his ears. A desk lies at his side overturned on the floor. I stand, opening my mouth to say something, but he is out of the door in a flash.

  The image changes sequence several more times, and I’m shown more memories of painful experiments and lectures focused solely on studying Logan, his mannerisms, his beliefs, his hobbies and interests, absorbing all available intel. Other scenes showcase progressive workouts in the gym with a multitude of kick-ass trainers as my physical prowess enhances and one-on-one sessions with Griselda as she repeats the criticality of my mission over and over again.

  Gradually my look changes, until my hair is completely ash blonde and my blue eyes have paled to gray. Axton is a regular fixture in my life, and unless this is some form of illusion, there’s no denying how close we were. While I’m shown no more kissing scenes—thank the stars—he is always there, watching over me, supporting me, and holding my hand when the pain of the experiments I have to endure almost become too much.

  But there are glaring holes in this show-and-tell. I never ask about my family, and I appear to accept this new reality without argument. Why? What are they keeping from me? How are t
hey guaranteeing my cooperation?

  The holoscreen eventually retracts, and I slump in the chair, exhausted and severely emotionally drained. Griselda removes the discs from my forehead and replaces them in the clear case. She arches her back on the stool. “Now, do you understand? Do you see the years of training and preparation that have led to this point?”

  “How do I know this is real? Why don’t I remember any of it?”

  “Before we returned you to Earth, we erased memories of your time with us. It was too risky to return you to your four-year-old body with them intact. You wouldn’t have been able to process them, and we were fearful you would speak out of turn to your family.”

  My stomach drops to my toes. “How long was I here?”

  “Twelve years,” Axton replies quietly. “You were sixteen when I last saw you.”

  I gasp as intense shuddering rocks me to the core. This beggars belief. “You kept me here for twelve years, experimenting on me?” My eyes taper to slits. “Doing things against my will? And when I was sixteen, you took me back in time, returned me home? Back to the very bed you abducted me from? I—” I falter mid-sentence, incapable of properly organizing my thoughts. Of processing this. Of understanding exactly how it worked. Although it does explain certain things. “How were you able to return me as a child when I was already grown up? How was that even possible?”

  “The Tempo is the most sophisticated form of time travel in the galaxy. Ordinarily, when operatives travel through the Tempo, it is in their current body. However, the technology enables us to insert people into certain timelines at the exact same point in their lives,” she explains. My brow creases, still a little perplexed. Griselda sighs dramatically. “Put simply, because you already existed in that world, at that particular time, we could insert you back into your life at the same age you were when we took you. Obviously, you had changed, both internally and physically, but by inserting you back at that exact point in time, we were putting you back into your life as if nothing had altered. It’s sheer brilliance, of course.” She gives herself a virtual pat on the back.

  Trust her to think like that.

  In effect, what she has said is that I have lived two lifetimes in the span of my existence. Mind. Blown.

  My brain bleeds.

  My heart aches.

  My body withers.

  I feel like crying but the well is dry. I have nothing left to give. I’m an emotionless husk, shock and fear numbing me to all sensations.

  “You said it would be easier with this knowledge,” I say, tilting my chin up at Axton. “How is this easier?” My wrists flex against my restraints, and my breath snicks out in panicked spurts. “Get them off me.” I’m hyperventilating, borderline hysterical.

  Axton obliges without question, quietly removing the binds on my ankles and wrists. I rub my wrists in turn, as I sit upright. “It would have been easier to let me keep my memories,” I mumble, shock still rippling through me. “Wouldn’t it?” I look at Griselda, pleading, lost, confused, and scared. “Wouldn’t it have been easier to deliver my mission if I truly understood?”

  “Perhaps,” she acknowledges, cocking her head to the side. “But that was another risk we weren’t prepared to take. You are still part human, and humans are so fickle. There was a chance you would change your mind. Plus, we couldn’t risk Logan discovering your true identity and revealing your agenda. King Adjani taking those bloods was unexpected, and we were too late to stop him from body profiling you on the STSS. Once he got your work-up, he knew your heritage. Lucky for us that Dante decided to kill him before he had a chance to share that intel with Logan or do anything about it,” she says, her eye twitching ever so subtly.

  Funny thing is, Logan does know. What exactly, I’m unsure. But he was starting to explain it to me yesterday when Griselda invaded my mind and chaos ensued. My eyes dart wide in sudden realization. Nothing she has outlined so far explains how she was able to do that. She is holding stuff back.

  New resolve takes control of me. I need to keep a clear head so I can figure out a way of taking charge of this situation. Right now, I need to find out as much as possible about what was done to me. Griselda has to be stopped, and I need to identify some way of foiling her plans.

  “What did my blood work show?”

  “That your genetic makeup was half human half alien.”

  This is the part where I should fall asunder, consumed with shock, rage, indignation, terror, horror and any number of other emotions. But I’m as cool as a cucumber. It’s hard to admit to myself that I’m not overly surprised. Because, deep down, I’ve always known I was different, that something wasn’t quite right.

  In part because my own family labeled me a freak so many times that I’d subconsciously adopted that stance, but mainly because of all the little things that never added up: my exotic looks; my photographic memory; the speed-reading ability; and lack of childhood illness even though my siblings regularly brought contagious diseases into our apartment. I was always the one who evaded it.

  Always the one on the outskirts. Until Thalassic City, and more recently my trips into outer space. It’s only now I realize how much more comfortable I’ve been surrounded by aliens.

  In all honesty, I’m not that shocked. What I’m feeling now is more akin to relieved, which I don’t want to explore in any great detail. Fearful for what exactly it means and what it says about me.

  I push my analytical interiority aside. There will be plenty of time to consider it later. Adequate opportunity for a delayed freak-out. Focus on the practicalities, Sadie. “How did you do that to me? What were you injecting me with?” I ask, unhappily recalling some of the experimentation scenes.

  “You have undergone systematic intravenous DNA infusion. We stopped once your genetic makeup was equally balanced. We couldn’t risk it any further in case it became too obvious that you were not altogether human anymore. The physical alteration to your appearance was challenging enough.”

  “My mom knew.” I clamp a hand over my mouth. Oh, God. That’s what Dad meant when he said she was scared. They put me to bed one night with dark hair and blue eyes, and in the morning, they woke to find a silver-blonde-haired little girl with pale gray eyes. No wonder they were so terrorized.

  “Yes. We tried to fix that, but she’s a stubborn woman with a strong mind.”

  I half-snort half-laugh, until the veracity of that statement sinks in. “What did you do to her?”

  “We tried cognitive whispering to erase the doubts from her mind, but it never stuck, irrespective of how many times we tried.”

  Recollections of nightmares surge to the forefront of my mind. “You did that to me, too.”

  “Yes. It was necessary on occasion to reinforce certain messages in your mind. Especially during that period in Thalassic City, when you first met Logan. We needed to remind you of your mission, to keep your head focused.” She snorts, her lips pulling into an obvious sneer. “You almost proved as stubborn as your mother, if not for your previous conditioning. We’ve drilled the objective into every facet of your being. Although your conscious mind may not remember it, your subconscious does. All it required was a few gentle nudges to set you on the right track.” And an ability to somehow take control of my mind, but I don’t articulate that thought. Let her think I am ignorant of that fact, for now.

  “Good God.” Air whooshes out of my mouth. “You are a monster. A horrid monster.” I slant a searing look her direction.

  “I beg to differ. I am a genius. Look at what I’ve created.” She flings her arms out theatrically, gesturing at me as if I’m some science experiment she’s won accolades for. She is completely delusional. “Despite your obvious failings, you demonstrate what we are truly capable of. It offers so many distinct possibilities, ways for us to manipulate the future, to mold it to our advantage. With you, it worked even better than we anticipated, though your willful disregard of your primary objective is disheartening but reconcilable.”

  Di
smissing her grand posturing, I focus on the key piece of information in that statement. “How did it work better than anticipated?”

  “Haven’t you figured it out yet?” She purses her lips and sends me a derogatory smile.

  “Obviously not. Must be the fickle human part of me.”

  She chooses to ignore my smart-ass remark. “The Eterno connection. Logan never stood a chance.”

  I pull my knees up to my chest and loosely wrap my arms around them. “You … manufactured that?” Crunching pain shuttles through my skull at the thought that what we’ve shared may not be genuine. I always suspected it was too good to be true.

  “Actually, no. At least, not on purpose,” she admits.

  Axton scowls before walking to the corner of the room and sinking to the ground. He leans his head back against the wall and closes his eyes. An almost overwhelming urge to comfort him accosts me out of the blue. Thankfully, I come to my senses before I act on it. I refocus my attention on Griselda, fearful her talkative mood may be drawing to a close. “What are you saying exactly then?”

  “We only discovered this after you and Logan met in Thalassic City and he shared his thoughts with Haydn. I don’t believe in all that mumbo-jumbo crap, but he does, and that’s all that counts. However, I was as intrigued as King Adjani to discover how it was possible, so I ordered an investigation. It appears that the DNA sample we had set aside to use on you was swapped out for a different one—”

  “By who? Why?” I interject.

  She sighs in exasperation. “If you are going to interrupt me, our conversation is done.” She stands up.

  “No! Wait!” I hop up. “I’m sorry. I won’t interrupt you again. Promise. Please, I need to know this. To help me wrap my head around everything.”