by R. H. Scott
Elijah turned the bike off; it lowered slowly to the ground. “Mount up,” he ordered and she leaped on. She ran her fingers, still sore, tentatively over the yoke. She touched the scanner pad; she squeezed the cool metal with her legs.
“Good—now turn it on.”
She lowered her chipped arm to the scanner and gasped as the bike came to life, raising her off the ground with ease. He let go of the yoke, mounted his own bike and turned it on. “Ready?”
She nodded keenly. He ran her through the instructions again, having her follow him in slow circles. She leaned, the bike leaned; she rested back and it slowed. She found the machine easy to control and in a fit of inspiration, she jerked her body suddenly, causing the bike to turn in a full circle. She couldn’t contain a laugh.
“You’re a natural.” Elijah smiled, drawing her attention back. He nodded in the direction of the woods. “Let’s go.” He leaned his strong body forward and took off. She watched him for a minute before flying after him.
They zipped over bushes, weaved through trees, flew over the glades. Sloan didn’t know how fast this bike could go—but she wanted to find out. She leaned sharply and took off—the wind beat through her hair, the sun streaked after her. She quickly overtook Elijah, soaring through the woods, navigating around the foliage, taking sharp turns around errant tree trunks.
She bolted upright—they had reached the lake. She eyed the water suspiciously.
Can I . . . ?
“What are you waiting for?” Elijah’s voice laughed out as he flew past her, confidently navigating the machine over water, creating rippled waves. Sloan didn’t hesitate, leaning in and taking off after him. She performed sharp turns, donut circles, and raced forward. She laughed uncontrollably, loving the sensation, loving the speed.
Loving the freedom.
She flew across the water, back into the far end of the woods, leaving Elijah far behind. Leaving everything far behind: the cabins, camp, the Academy, Jared—it all fell behind her in a storm of whipped-up leaves and dust.
Pulling into a clearing, she brought the bike to an abrupt halt. The glade was beautiful—a small brook veined through tall matted grass. The sun glinted against the verdant shades—gold and green, like Elijah’s eyes.
“Elijah.” The name fell easily from her lips.
“I’m here.” His voice startled her. He was hovering behind her in the tree line, happily watching her. She watched him over her shoulder.
“I thought I’d lost you.”
He smiled, regarding her with reassurance. “Not for a second.”
Sloan let Elijah grab her wrist, helping her up the escarpment. For their last day they had decided to go for a hike, trying to avoid conversation about the Academy and all he had said. They had swum in the lake and her damp clothes clung tightly to her. She followed him up the massive boulder and stripped her outerwear off to dry. Looking around, she realized she had been here before—this was the rock she had jumped from with Jared. That seems like a lifetime ago now. . .
She glanced over the edge, the lake far below them. She retreated, pushing the memory from her mind. Elijah lay on the stone, baking in the afternoon sun, and Sloan lay beside him. She glanced at his face, his bare chest—his bruises were slowly coming down, his cuts slowly closing. This time was healing.
“I will need to speak to Stone when we get back,” she announced, breaking their promise to avoid serious conversation.
Elijah nodded, eyes closed. “He’s expecting it.”
Sloan rolled onto her side and watched him. “What’s going to happen when we get back?” She thought of Romani, of the Order, of Stone and Jared . . .
“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he answered confidently, turning to face her. Sloan could take care of herself—that wasn’t her concern—but it was nice to hear someone say those words anyway.
Suddenly, she leaped to her feet. She could face anything that came at her; she wasn’t afraid. If this past week had taught her anything, it was that she could take the pain.
“Want to jump?” She broached the ledge confidently. Elijah was on his feet in a second, reaching out for her.
“Don’t! Students have died jumping from here,” he warned her, his voice panicked. Sloan couldn’t help but smile at his candor—he had told her what Jared had long ago kept a secret. Again.
“I know,” she said, inching towards the edge. He was by her side in an instant.
“I don’t want you to get hurt.”
She shrugged her shoulders. “I know . . . but it’s a little too late for that.”
He grimaced at her words.
“You don’t have to jump, but I’m doing it,” she declared, determined, turning towards the edge.
He grabbed her hand tightly, and for a moment she thought he was going to haul her back.
Instead, he simply said, “Where you go, I go.”
And then, without any hesitation, they leaped together.
They hadn’t spoken since the fall, but their silence was comfortable. She pushed against a tree trunk, winding over a bush. A light breeze chilled her bare arms. “I forgot my sweater,” she gasped, picturing the garment resting on the boulder.
Elijah halted. “I’ll get it.”
She shook her head. “It’s fine. I’ll meet you back at camp.” Before he could object she turned on her heel, quickly taking off back towards the rocks.
She took a deep breath, making it back up quickly. She took tentative steps on the boulder, pushing herself up higher. She threw her body up and was on her feet, spotting the sweater exactly where she had left it. She scooped it up, shaking it out before pulling it on. She glanced to the ledge, thinking of their jump. He had held her hand all the way down. He had held her hand as he wrenched her up from the water, gasping for breath too.
An unnatural crack of squawking broke through the silence of early dusk. She turned on her heel, seeing a black swarm of birds fly out from the trees near the cabin—they had been scared by something.
“Elijah . . .”
Sloan flung herself over the rocks, ignoring any pain. She jumped from the last boulder and took off with an urgent speed. She weaved through trees, leaped over logs and ducked branches. She cleared the distance faster than she could have ever thought possible. As she pushed through the bushes she saw the cabins ahead—and she came to an abrupt halt. She fell to her knees, ducking behind a bush. Slowly, she pushed the leafy twigs aside.
Elijah was kneeling by the fire pit, his hands behind his head. Standing in front of him was a white-clad Academy sentry. In one hand the sentry had a gun, in the other, a signal jammer, its flashing green lights playing through his fingers. She crept forward, inching closer, coming up behind the nearest cabin. Eventually, she got near enough to hear what the guard was yelling, all the while waving his gun at Elijah.
“ . . . contraband! As soon as I tell Romani, you and your girlfriend are as good as dead!”
Sloan was chilled at his words, and yet she couldn’t imagine what a lone guard was doing out this far. Did Romani suspect something? Had he been sent here with purpose or was this a routine patrol?
“She doesn’t even know I have it,” Elijah yelled up to the guard. “She had no clue.” But the guard was having none of it, and struck Elijah with his weapon. Elijah swayed, spitting blood. The guard trained the gun on Elijah’s head, fidgeting at his hip for his radio.
If he turns it on, we’re done for.
Obviously thinking the same thing, Elijah made a move, leaping at the guard—but he was too slow. The guard jumped back, alarmed. He abandoned his search for his radio, lowering his aim at Elijah’s heart.
“Attacking a sentry is an offence that warrants immediate Dismissal.”
With a flick of his finger, the guard took the safety off of his weapon.
Without thinking, Sloan raced from the cabin wall. Maybe the guard saw her in his periphery—maybe not—but either way, it was too late. She grabbed the cold metal of his gun barrel and, twisting his hand inward, she wrenched it free, tossing it to the ground. The guard struck at her wildly, but she ducked, kicking the outside of his knee. He fell and Sloan swung herself around him, wrapping a forearm under his neck. Grabbing his jaw with her shaking hands and locking her spare arm behind his head, she wrenched his neck to the side.
“SLOAN!”
Elijah’s yell echoed through the woods, covering the sound of breaking bone. It muffled the thud of the guard’s lifeless body hitting the ground.
She reached for Elijah—he was bleeding. He recoiled from her outstretched hand, a look of horror on his face. She didn’t understand. He lunged forward to her feet—his hands rolling the guard over. Sloan stepped back. Elijah stared at the man’s motionless chest. He touched the sentry’s face and he cursed under his breath when the guard’s head rolled to the side.
“Stop it, Elijah,” she ordered. He ignored her.
He rested his hands on the man’s chest. “Dammit, Sloan . . .”
He pushed on the man’s chest—was he trying to revive him? Elijah began to pound harder against the guard, as though he were willing him to wake up.
Sloan was barely listening. Barely present. She knew what she had done—what she had been trained to. She felt her hands twitching uncontrollably at her side.
“I said stop it, Elijah.” At her low growl he looked up at her, horror in his green eyes.
He shook his head and leaned over the guard, resting his ear above the man’s heart. He checked for a pulse. He grabbed his wrist, a second location for proof of life. “Come on, come on,” he grumbled.
She needed him to stop. She needed him to stop checking what she had done. She took a step forward and pushed Elijah away. He fought her but she used all her might. “He’s gone—now stop it!”
He fell away from her. “What is wrong with you?”
She barely heard him. She stepped away from the scene . . . she had done this for him. She had saved him . . . she had killed a man. She turned back, looking down at the sentry’s motionless chest. His nametag read YOUNG. She felt nauseous. That man had been alive, awake, moving, speaking, hurting Elijah . . . Now, he was motionless—inanimate. She had touched him and ended his thoughts, his voice, his ability to exist.
“Forgive me,” she whispered, turning away from the body. She had taken a human and made a corpse. Without hesitation, she bolted, taking off into the woods to escape her mess—to escape the look Elijah was giving her.
She fell onto the ground and stared at her own hands. She could feel a tear falling from her. She could hear her heart beating, her breaths racing. She wanted to be sick. She could see Elijah’s horrified face; she could hear the cracking of Young’s neck. It turned out, the one thing she had fought so hard to avoid doing, the one thing that filled her with this sick feeling, was the one thing she had been trained all her life to do.
CHAPTER 9
Elijah had dropped the body from a small cliff, certain the fall could lead to a broken neck. They had packed in silence—neither of them had slept. Now, as Sloan hoisted herself into the vehicle, eyeing the ground where Young’s body had lifelessly fallen, she knew the truth of this path she was set on. No matter how many realizations she experienced, no matter how many truths she was told—she now knew the only truth that mattered. That no matter how aware she was of the Academy’s alleged true nature, she couldn’t deny her own nature. The Academy had already won—they had changed her, molded her into a fighter—into a killer—into a person whose instincts were what they had designed them to be.
I am what they made me to be. . .
She glanced to Elijah; he felt her stare and offered her a meek smile. She didn’t reciprocate; instead she let her gaze fall back onto the road ahead. He might have been thankful that she had saved his life—twice—but he would never be able to look at her the same way. She had killed in front of him. She couldn’t help but think of how Jared would react to witnessing her action. She wasn’t precious, the way Elijah constantly made her out to be—she was dangerous, the way the Academy made her to be. Jared had known that long ago. Sloan could finally feel the underlying bond that she shared with Jared—a dangerous instinct . . . a darkness.
No matter how much it bothered her—it wasn’t something she could change.
Sloan turned her sore hands into fists. The Academy had changed her basic nature and she could never turn back. Romani had, in a sense, won . . . Sloan had one thought, though, that made all of this bearable. The Academy had shaped her into a weapon—that was undeniable . . .
. . . But they no longer dictated whom she was aimed at.
With a scan of their chips, they drove on to the Academy base. They hadn’t been shot yet, which meant either no one knew about Young, or they just hadn’t linked it to them yet. Elijah stopped the vehicle, leaping out and crossing the garage to Donny’s office. She grabbed her bag and made her way to the pod, not caring to wait for him. She took a seat and was surprised to see Elijah lunge through the closing gap of the doors.
“Happy faces, Sloan.” He needed her to pretend, to lie, to act like she had spent the past three days falling in love. She needed people to stop telling her what to do.
“This is my happy face,” she snarled.
The pod doors hummed open and Sloan got to her feet, stepping into Elijah’s living quarters. She was startled to find General Stone standing in the living area, looking out their window. He turned to her slowly and crossed the room, stopping a foot before her.
“General,” Elijah greeted him with a salute. Sloan didn’t bother—she was done playing games.
He looked her up and down—he understood. “You two, my office, twenty minutes.” He clapped Elijah on the shoulder affectionately, but kept his eyes on Sloan. I’m sorry, he mouthed. She shook her head at him, warning him off the topic. She left them standing there, moving into the bedroom to get changed into uniform.
She stripped her shirt off as Elijah walked in. He jerked his head in the direction of the bathroom and reluctantly, she followed him. He turned the shower taps on and leaned into her, their voices muffled by the pounding water. He brought his mouth to her cheek—but it wasn’t the same as before. Every move he had ever made around her had been fueled by lust, with a constant want for her. Not since Young. Not since he had seen her true self.
“We are being watched—listened to. We only speak in here now,” he whispered, gesturing to the shower area.
She nodded, intentionally expressing disinterest. He arched his brow at her. “What’s wrong with you?”
Really?
She stifled a scoff. “What’s wrong with me?” She raised her hand and grabbed his neck, pulling his face to her. They kissed. She navigated his mouth and held her body close to his, and he reciprocated . . . but it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t the same as the day on the road. She was right—he didn’t see her the same way anymore. She pushed him away, eyeing him with anger. “That’s what’s wrong with me.”
It took him a moment, but as his brow furrowed and his eyes softened, she saw him realize. “Look, Sloan—”
“Don’t bother,” she hissed, and for good measure, added, “It’s not like I loved you.”
She didn’t know why it bothered her so much—why being right bothered her. She had said it from the start; he had an obsession with her, an idea of saving her and keeping her precious. He didn’t love her for who she really was—and he could deny it all he wanted to, but the truth was in his eyes, it was in his kiss. She had saved his life and in doing just that, he had stopped seeing her as a delicate object of desire.
Good, she thought, turning and leaving him standing there.
Sloan pushed
the doors to the training hall wide open, stepping inside, Elijah close on her heel. Although the room was fairly full, she immediately spotted 27—spotted Jared. She might still be a part of that table, but just like her long-forgotten parents in Fort Destiny, these people were no longer her family. She had no family.
She kept her eyes on Jared as she crossed the room, the new knowledge she had of his family and role in the Academy playing through her mind. And he watched her too. He narrowed his eyes on her and studied her carefully—as though he could see something had changed.
Her table slowly made their way across the room, deliberately getting in her path.
Sloan slowed to a stop, holding Jared’s gaze. Elijah stood confidently beside her, knowing it was best to let her take the lead.
“How was the excursion, whore?” Mika’s tight-voiced laugh cut through the group. Sloan, without hesitation, lashed out, backhanding the girl across the face. Mika shrieked and Will immediately took a step towards Sloan, ready to defend his partner.
She was ready—she was ready for anything. But Jared grabbed Will’s shoulder, pulling him back.
Jared took a step closer to her. His one arm was still in a sling, but his face had healed up quickly. He continued to study her. You can tell, can’t you—you can tell I’m somehow different?
He took another step towards her. “What happened?” he asked knowingly. She held on to his blue gaze and every fiber of her being wanted to close the gap between them. She wanted to kiss him, to hold him, to disclose everything to him.
Instead, she shook her head slowly. “Like you care.”
She brushed past him, but he grabbed her arm. She jerked it free. He couldn’t touch her—she couldn’t stand to have him touch her without breaking, without giving in and forgiving him. “Get away from me,” she ordered, throwing his words back at him.