Chosen Soldiers

by R. H. Scott

  She studied the girl’s reprimanded demeanor and felt a touch of compassion. She could remember being that age, when all that mattered was the want to fall in love with the boy who had a perfect smile. When nothing that really mattered seemed to matter at all.

  She offered the girl a small smile. “Yes, I am betrothed to Captain Dawson.”

  The girl beamed back. “You are so lucky.”

  The redheaded girl beside her nodded, leaning into her friend. “He’s so perfect . . . him and your captain, Jenna.”

  “Who’s that? Brett Crews-­Tyler?” Sloan guessed, pulled into their girlish chitchat. Brett was a friend of Jared’s and it was common knowledge that he was handsome.

  “No—­I mean yeah, him too—­but we’re talking about Captain Daniels.” The girl smiled.

  Elijah.

  Sloan practically fell out of her seat—­she hadn’t heard his name since the fight and she had been trying to keep it that way.

  But why wouldn’t they think that? she thought. He is handsome. Not like Jared, but still, definitely handsome.

  Shaking the thought from her head, Sloan stood, knowing they neared the dining hall. “Well, ladies, hopefully you’ll get betrothed to one who can fight. It’s not all looks . . .”

  The young cadet—­Jenna—­stood excitedly. “He can fight! He’s my captain and he never loses.”

  Well, tell that to Jared—­reigning Academy champion. . .

  She smiled at the girl. It was normal to idolize your captain, the way 27 did with Jared. Let them have their heroes . . . their crushes. Sloan didn’t think she had ever idolized Jared, though. She hadn’t formed some childhood crush on him; they hadn’t had a trivial exchange of uncertain feelings. She had, for as long as she could remember, a definitive understanding—­an unwavering certainty—­that Jared was the one true love of her life. More than body connected them, more than just shared thoughts or attraction. He breathed and air filled her lungs.

  The pod came to a slow stop. “Well, I hope you girls find a great match when your Calling comes around.” The doors opened and she let them rush past her into the dining hall. She watched them rush past Table 82, where Elijah Daniels sat eating breakfast. She quickly diverted her eyes up to the clock—­7 a.m. on the dot. She took a deep breath and made her way to the food-­processing row, where she grabbed a tray and took her place in line.

  She eyed her fingers, deciding which to touch to the machine. The chrome box at the front of the meal line was a blood processor. Each morning you would offer your finger for a prick of blood. The results were rapidly processed and informed the kitchen of your vitamin and nutritional requirements, and based off that, they provided a standard meal to balance your diet.

  She opted for the left middle and winced at the familiar pinch. The machine freed her hand and she waited for her results to process. She watched the head cook, John, review her printed docket.

  “Low in iron, Lieutenant Radcliffe,” he called to her. She shrugged indifferently as he ripped aluminum foil off a plate of food. He placed it on her tray, the docket on the side.

  She moved down the line but halted as the boy before her stood, staring at her face. “That looks awful.”

  “Want one to match?” Her threat hurried him off. She sighed, shaking her shoulders loose. She grabbed her coffee and took a deep breath. She needed to stay calm before joining the table. She glanced down at her tray, scanning the docket. It described her through a list of attributes—­Height: 5’9”; Weight: 56 kg; a series of facts, nutritional information, dietary notes . . .

  Everything I am can be summed up in this docket.

  She balanced her tray on one hand and crumpled up the docket, making her way to 27. Paul was back, as she expected, his arm in a sling.

  Sloan took her seat opposite Jared. He looked up at her and winked, drawing out a quick smile from her.

  “Morning, everyone,” she ventured. Sloan did not pull off friendly very well, but they were her friends. They were the ­people she had been closest to her whole life.

  “Morning.” A communal grumble.

  Paul was silent. Sloan cut up her food, eyeing him up. His face was bruised but not as badly as her own. The sling was what really revealed the fact that he had taken a beating.

  She took a deep breath—­here goes nothing.

  “Paul, I just wanted to say I am proud of you for the other day.” Everyone stopped, silenced. Erica dropped her fork.

  Paul stared at her warily.

  “I’m being serious. I know our fight escalated, but you finally defended yourself, so . . . well done.”

  I can’t chew on the left side of my mouth because you bruised me so badly but sure, well done.

  Everyone waited tensely—­and then he smiled. “Thanks. The doctors say that even with laser treatments the healing will take a while.”

  His friendly response cued everyone else to relax and she looked to Jared, who nodded approvingly.

  “If Elijah Daniels hadn’t stepped in to save you who knows who would have won,” Paul added.

  The tension returned instantly. Sloan didn’t understand why he was so antagonistic, but she didn’t have patience for it. “He didn’t save me.”

  Paul offered her a condescending smile. “Sure.”

  You avoid fighting me every chance you get and now you’re pretending you could’ve beaten me?

  “He didn’t,” she insisted, rolling her fork around with her fingers, agitation swelling. “He just postponed the inevitable.”

  Paul pushed his tray away. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means whether I was there or not she would have kicked your ass.” Elijah’s voice startled them all. Sloan looked up to see him standing at the end of their table, staring down across 27.

  “Whatever,” Paul grumbled, shrinking back.

  “Excuse me, Second Lieutenant?” Elijah asked softly.

  “Nothing . . . Captain Daniels.”

  Sloan realized she was still staring up at him. She shot her gaze to Jared and their eyes met briefly as he calmly sipped his coffee.

  Elijah leaned on their table, his hand inches away from Sloan’s, staring down at Paul. “How about as soon as that shoulder heals up you fight someone your own size?”

  He leaned over the table, smiling as he added, “In a Fight Night.”

  Sloan flicked her gaze between Paul and Elijah. Paul had never gone in for a Fight Night—­but she couldn’t remember ever seeing Elijah in one either. She looked to Jared—­Fight Night was his domain.

  Jared slowly put his coffee down, looking to Elijah. “Paul wouldn’t have beaten Sloan, and he wouldn’t beat you.” He crossed his arms over his broad chest, smiling up to Elijah confidently. “But if you’re looking to have someone knock you unconscious on Fight Night, you know I’m your guy.”

  Elijah stood up straighter. “Is that a challenge, Dawson?” Jared rose and squared off with him. His imposing form was usually enough to back someone down, but Elijah matched his size.

  “You bet it is.”

  Sloan stared at the two of them, wondering what history they shared that she somehow didn’t know about. Everyone at the Academy was either in love with Jared or disliked him with envy, in which case they were usually too intimidated to say so.

  Sloan readjusted in her seat. “Just relax, guys.” She smiled to Jared. “Fight Night is ages away.” She watched them cautiously.

  Elijah smirked, eyeing Jared up. “Yeah, it’s ages away. Gives you plenty of time to train up, Dawson.”

  Jared jolted in what appeared to be a move towards Elijah, and Sloan was on her feet in an instant, but he restrained himself, regaining his composure . . . somewhat. She saw his hands curled into fists, his whole body tense.

  Elijah turned to her, smiling. “I’m sorry about your face, beautiful.” Before sh
e could move he had touched her cheek.

  She could feel Jared’s cold stare and she recoiled from him. “Do not touch me.”

  Elijah shrugged, turning from her, fixating his stare on Jared. “See you Fight Night, Dawson.” He offered a challenging smile as he turned on his heel and left them.

  She looked to Jared. He was furious; staring at her like what had transpired had somehow been her fault.

  He grabbed his tray and walked off. She followed suit, storming after him. They tossed their trays and she barely managed to get into the same pod as him. As the doors slid shut behind them, they turned on one another.

  “What’s the story with Daniels, Jared?” she demanded. This wasn’t all some coincidence. First he intervened in her fight, made the comments he did, and now this morning . . .

  He sat down, crossing his arms angrily. “You couldn’t possibly understand . . . Like I said, just stay away from him.”

  “What are you keeping from me? You and I have never had anything to do with Daniels and now he’s showing up everywhere, telling me he wouldn’t have let my face get knocked in if I were his betrothed, challenging you to a Fight Night . . .” Her voice trailed off under his hardened stare.

  “What did he say to you?”

  Sloan sat down slowly . . . She hadn’t told him that Elijah had spoken to her in the corridor after the fight with Paul. “Nothing really. He was just being a jerk, saying if I were his he wouldn’t let me get hurt . . .”

  He shook his head at her. “Well, now who’s keeping secrets?”

  Sloan scoffed. Really?

  “You’re acting like a child, Jare.”

  “Am I? Or are you, running around speaking to Daniels behind my back, acting like a slut?”

  Her hand cracked across his face. She had reacted without thinking. A fiery outline of her fingers appeared on his cheek. He raised his own hand slowly, touching the mark she had left. Sloan inched closer to him. She had never hit Jared outside of training.

  He’s never given you a reason to, she thought, still reeling from his words.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  “No, I am. I’m so sorry. I would never call you that.” He shook his head, ashamed. “Forgive me. Please.” His voice was fragile, showing how much pain he was in, and not because she had hit him. Her slap didn’t hurt him, not the way his words had hurt her.

  He cradled his head in his hands and Sloan wrapped her arms around his wide body, pulling him to her. He leaned into her, desperate for the contact they both longed for when they were near one another. They had always possessed an indescribable ability to impact one another with their mere touch—­they could calm each another, incite one another, fill the other with passion or anger. They had always existed as if they had shared the same body.

  He shook his head against her softly. “The way Daniels looks at you . . . it’s like he doesn’t realize you belong to me.”

  And she did belong to him, just as he belonged to her. She kissed his shoulder and held his face, the mark already fading. He pulled her into his arms, kissing her hungrily, his want for her igniting her constant desire for him. The pod doors opened and they tumbled into their living quarters. She tore buttons off his shirt and he dug his fingers into her back, lowering her to the floor. She kissed his neck and he ran his hands over her hair. Jared rolled her onto her back, pinning her underneath him.

  This is us, she thought. This is how we are meant to be.

  “You’re the reason I breathe, Sloan.” She loved hearing those words, so much so that she couldn’t admit that under the weight of Jared, she sometimes struggled to catch her own breath.

  The next Fight Night was announced the following day. It would be in four weeks’ time and would involve nominated pairings of junior boys and girls and senior boys and girls. In addition, Fight Night champions were guaranteed a fight if they wanted it. But any student could enter nominated pairings, as long as the Order approved the match.

  “Please don’t nominate yourself,” Sloan urged Jared as they walked down to the outdoor circuit field.

  He locked an arm around her waist. “What are you worried about? When was the last time I lost?”

  The fact was, Jared had never lost at Fight Night; he was the reigning male champion. That wasn’t the point, though. The point was that Jared had nothing to prove, nothing to request in Winnings, no reason to enter. Fight Night was like gambling. If you wanted something—­anything—­you could request it as your Winnings in a Fight Night. If you won, you won, and if you lost, the Winnings request of your opponent was granted. It wasn’t just about winning a prize or a boon, though. Because while some students self-­nominated, there were others who were called upon to participate in order to demonstrate their physical ability for the Order.

  But Jared had all he could need; he was the Order’s favorite student, the Academy’s greatest male soldier. Sloan didn’t understand why he would enter. Just because of Elijah?

  “Jare, you have no reason to do this . . . you could get hurt.” Despite how much they worried over one another’s safety, they had an unspoken understanding that they would never back away from a challenge, never show weakness when an opportunity to show strength arose.

  Then why am I asking him to back out of this?

  Jared let go of her as they stepped onto the field. “Sloan, drop it.”

  She stared up at him, frustrated. He had never lost a fight, so what about this was bothering her so much? If he could just tell me what was going on with Elijah. . .

  She sighed heavily before acquiescing. “Fine. Where are you training?”

  He gestured to the far end of the field. “Archery with the juniors. You?”

  She hadn’t worked on her knife skills in a while. “I will be with West in weapons training.”

  “Alright, when I’m done I will bring 27 to you and we can work them together.” He smiled, running a hand through his short dark hair. Something about the ease of his movement distracted her from her ­anxiety . . . his tan skin glistened under the sun, his blue eyes watched her, his easy smile formed—­he was perfect; he was the best thing she had ever seen in every sense of the word.

  She nodded. “Alright.”

  “Say hi to the major for me,” he said, smiling. Of course she would say hi to West for him. The major and Jared were close, bonding over what had happened years ago with Carson West . . . but they never spoke about that. She began to set off when she heard him call her name.

  “Sloan, keep an eye on that bruise. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

  She smiled, nodding to him as he turned away.

  She set off towards the opposite end of the field. She tried to silence her thoughts but she couldn’t help but still feel bothered by Jared entering Fight Night. Was she afraid of him getting hurt?

  No, but you know he’ll rip Elijah to shreds . . . The thought surprised her. Why should she care if Daniels got hurt? She didn’t even know him and he had brought this on himself.

  If I just knew why they had it in for each other. Sloan wracked her mind, trying to think of anything that may have spurred this hostility between the two captains. What had she missed?

  Why won’t Jared just tell me? Because he hasn’t been the same since Carson—­he hasn’t trusted anyone.

  It was the truth and she knew that . . . What happened that day with Carson had changed Jared—­it had been the day that defined him, and they never talked about it.

  Should he talk about it—­could he? He expects me to move on from Tandy’s death but. . .

  Sloan shook her head. She couldn’t think about that now. She needed to train, to regroup and focus. Thinking about Tandy or Carson wouldn’t help right now; she needed to find out what was really going on between Jared and Elijah.

  She continued across the green, keeping a safe distance as she worked around trai
ning units. The field was divided into various areas of practice. Archers shot at rows of moving simulated targets against a backdrop of a chrome wall. In the simulator rings, students could test weaponry against artificial opponents—­combat rings where holographic weapons could be used by the less skilled, real weapons for the more advanced.

  Sloan sidestepped a group of juniors training in judo and just about knocked into General Stone, who was leading their session. She hadn’t spoken to him since breaking Paul’s shoulder, which marked one of the longest periods of silence between the two. Stone was not only her general and premier trainer, he was her mentor . . . He had overseen her development since her arrival at the Academy; he was the person who had shaped her into the soldier she was.

  She stood next to him quietly, rocking on her heels until she thought of something to say. She wrapped her arms around herself and glanced up to him. “You have yourself a nice little army, sir.”

  One of Sloan’s earliest memories of Stone had been when he oversaw a sparring session between her and Jared. “Hurt him before he hurts you,” he had advised. She had seen the opportunity to pin him and had let it pass, throwing the fight. “You lost,” Stone had chided. But Jared had smiled at her, holding her with his beautiful blue eyes.

  “No, I didn’t.”

  Stone kept his eyes trained on the students. “They are doing okay. The brunette is in for her first junior Fight Night.”

  “Fight Night . . . of course she is.” Sloan sighed heavily.

  “Since when was the reigning female champ not a fan of Fight Night?” It was true; Sloan had a streak of success equal to Jared’s. They usually entered Fight Night to request leave from the Academy, to go camping and have time alone.

  “Since Jared took it upon himself to kill Elijah Daniels,” she answered candidly. She could say anything to Stone. She trusted the man with her life and he had shown time and time again that she could come to him for anything.