Temper (22 page)

The rain helps me clean Megs’ face, washing the blood from her cuts away, but as it gets heavier, the rocks around us begin to shift. This isn’t safe. We can’t stay out here so exposed. I need to get her to shelter.

I need to get her help.

We’re miles from camp. With no bike, I’ll have no choice but to walk, and that means leaving her. Alone, here in the open where she could be found by the Company or wild dogs. I shake my head to stop the cascade of impossible options, each one more despairing than before. First shelter, and then the rest. I can’t consider beyond that. Anyway, she might wake in a few minutes and be fine.

I scan the options. The only shelter nearby free from potential rock falling is maybe fifty yards away, where the cliff wall bends in on itself. As I try to imagine carrying Megs to the spot, it stretches to impossible distances. I blink, and it’s fifty yards again. Megs is tiny, I can do this.

Before moving her, I run my hands over each of her limbs.

How I’d love for her to wake up and slap me for taking liberties, but she doesn’t move as I test her arms and legs and press lightly around her waist. There are no jerks of pain or obvious wounds beyond the cut on her head and a few scratches.

I hesitate. If she’s injured internally or there’s a problem with her spine from the fall from the bike, I might do more damage moving her from this position. I press my palm hard into my aching temple, fighting thoughts of the thing growing somewhere near the back of my skull. I don’t know. I’m no doctor.

There’s a vibration beneath my knees, and the pile of rocks we’re on shifts in response. I slide with them, unable to do anything but try to use my own body to cushion Megs’ fall. It’s unsafe, and the rain is soaking through her clothes. Darkness is falling, and we need shelter before it’s too dark to see anything.

Decision made. I force myself upright and hook my hands under her shoulders. Leaving her out here is no longer an option.

Ten steps in to moving her dead weight, the burning in my shoulders from dragging her ceases. I don’t think it’s a good thing, but I can’t stop to analyze. I might not be able to move again. I keep going. One foot and then the other. And at some point, I admit what I haven’t let myself think about before now.

I can’t hear.

Neither the scrape of my foot on the rocks, nor the splatter of the rain on my jacket, nor the breath making Megs’ chest rise and fall. Not even the encouragement I’m whispering for both our sakes. Finally we reach the shelter of the cliff face, away from the main fall. I fight a sob as I fight to resist dropping her here at the final hurdle. Letting her fall would be so easy, and my arms beg me to do it.

Drop her. You’ve carried her this far. It’s more than anyone would expect you to do. Drop her now. No one will ever know.

I ignore the voice in my head. It’s the same one that makes curling up against the wall seem appealing. It’s nothing but fear, pain, and exhaustion talking, and I don’t need to listen to them.

Slowly, with utmost care, I lower her head to the ground.

But I don’t settle down next to her. It’s so dark now I can hardly make out the end of the chasm where the road back to camp winds into the distance. I need to salvage what I can of our supplies before night falls.

We’re stranded for now and both injured. What if Megs never wakes? What if I never see Asher again?

Despite everything that’s happened I can’t think of Asher without the stab of guilt. I make a promise. If we make it out of this alive, I’ll tell Asher everything. She deserves the truth, and I can’t pretend any longer.

But to get out of here I need to move.

I walk faster without Megs, but not fast enough. The light is fading and the rain falling, and anything I don’t get now will be lost by morning. Slipping and sliding on the loose rock, I grab my water and pack and then find hers. Arm muscles trembling from the effort, I take it back to Megs in one trip. She hasn’t moved from the spot I left her, but she’s still breathing. I roll up my spare T-shirt and nestle it under her head.

What was that?

It’s not a noise that alerts me to the fact that Megs and I are no longer alone, but a flash of gray. Hidden in the shadows of the cliff, a still and silent Megs at my side, I freeze.

I blink, trying to clear the grit from my eyes and see better through the darkness. My gaze fixes on the entry to the ravine where I’m sure something moved.

[Asher]

Davyd holds up his hands protecting himself from an imminent blow. “Give me a chance to explain.”

“Why should I?” I shout.

He waits.

For all my bravado I hold my tongue and do as he’s asked, dropping my clenched fist back to my side. I have no choice but to listen.

I need him. The realization is nearly worse than the thing around my wrist. I need him to escape. I can’t imagine I’ll be able to walk out of here with Rael. Even if I managed to incapacitate Davyd, and I’d enjoy the challenge right about now, there are other guards, and I’d be stumbling through their stronghold with no idea of how to get out.

Without Davyd I’d take my chances and attempt something, but it would be insanity to ignore his inside knowledge. Even if it locks me into a prison of need.

But I have to fight nausea looking at the black loop around my wrist. I try to dig my nails beneath the edge, but it might as well be a part of me. I turn my head away from him and my arm, tasting bile.

“Everyone here has one.” He holds out his wrist, waving it in front of my face. Showing off what I thought was some kind of wristband. “We’re all being tracked, all the time. It’s an extension of the communications system linking each level on the Pelican. Except this one is permanent.”

“You mean you can’t get this off?”

“Not without time and a scalpel. We’re all being tracked, but only in theory. I couldn’t stop them putting it in, but I could make sure you’re not embedded in their network.”

“How?”

“It’s complicated.”

I’m on my feet with my knee threatening his privates before he can finish the word. “Tell. Me.”

He doesn’t struggle, instead speaking fast. “The chip in it is modified. It will show up in their system while you’re here, but as soon as you leave the city it will be as though you disappeared off the planet.” He waves his wrist. “Mine’s the same.”

I can’t imagine Davyd subjecting to being tracked, but if he’s working with the Company as my fear keeps nagging me, he might have changed his priorities. Every time he seems to have betrayed me, he has a logical answer. But there’s another that would explain everything he’s done: he’s working for his father. He’s Company.

“I’m getting pretty tired of having to take your word on things. So far that’s got me captured and fitted with some kind of implant.” I can’t look at the thing. Or at Davyd.

“And put you within reach of your goal.”

“So you say.”

“Poor little Asher,” he sneers. “I bet you’ve been feeling all abused because they ran a few tests on you and now you have this thing on your wrist.”

I wrap my arms around my body. “The torture might have something to do with my lack of happy-go-lucky cheer.”

His gray eyes flash. “You think you’re special?”

There’s something in his voice, something that almost takes my knees out from underneath me when I realize what it is. Below the teasing and the taunting is that one thing I never thought I’d hear from Davyd. Understanding.

“You?”

“I’m from the ship too.”

It’s hard to remember that fact with him standing there in his Company uniform, and his confidence, and the way he swags around this place. “But you’re not …” I hesitate. His relationship with Maston is still confusing. I know one thing though, he has no relation to the man I saw at dinner with Lady. Even before he was broken, Huckle wasn’t man enough to have sired Davyd or Samuai. “You’re not pure.”

“According to our friend the Doctor, it makes me a particularly interesting case for study.”

“Did they use the device on you?”

The corner of his mouth lifts. It’s a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I don’t like to scream and tell. With women or torturers.”

I can’t do this. Sympathy for Davyd is too much for me to take on board now. It’s easier to argue with him and blame him for the black thing crawling like a serpent around my wrist. “I’m going to shower,” I say eventually and return to the cubicle without waiting for his response.

I wash fast, unsure how long I can be away before someone notices, aware I’m naked with Davyd only a few feet away.

When I come out he’s still there, leaning against the wall. Part of me thought he’d have gone, disappeared like a thief in the night, but he stayed. I don’t want to think of how often he does that. How often he’s there when I need him.

He straightens, and I can’t muster the hate I should feel. He’s so strong and his features so perfect, it hurts to look at him. I wish I could stop.

“Feel better?” he asks. He’s looking at me as if he knows how the hot spray on my skin did more than wash away the dirt and grime.

He’s leading into some quip about me wetting myself in the interrogation. The kindness in his voice is a trick to soften me up. I know it, but reminding myself doesn’t stop the simple question warming some of the cold places inside.

“Yes, actually. And yes I smell better, too.”

“Good.” He looks to the door and lowers his voice. “I’ve located the serum we need to control the rage reaction initiated by being off the ship.”

“Why didn’t you mention this earlier?” Hope beats unfamiliar wings in my chest. “Are you sure?”

He shrugs. “A few demonstrations with some of my subordinates and they were rushing to show me the supplies.”

It takes a second and then I understand. He’s talking about his temper. It’s hard to imagine Davyd losing control, but simulating such a thing to get what he wants makes sense.

He’s known all this time. “When can we get it?”

“It’s not simply a matter of walking in there and helping ourselves. Security systems will need disabling. You’ll need to be armed, and we’ll want an exit plan in place. We’re underground after all.”

“Can you handle the security?” I don’t wait for his nod. If he’s telling the truth about the wristband, then he’s hacked into their system. “Then all we need is a diversion.”

“We’re not talking about one or two guards.”

“Something big.” I pace the small area, thinking. Adrenaline and the opportunity to decide my own fate puts a bounce in each step. I’m in control for a change. Like on the ship when we finally rebelled. The ship … “A fire.”

He frowns.

I ignore his skepticism. “Disable the sprinklers at the same time as the cameras, attack the supplies below and watch the Company scurry for the exits.”

“They’re trained for fire alarms.”

“Then make it a freaking catastrophe. All you need is fuel in the air vents and this whole place becomes an oven. They’ll flee, and we can get out of here in the chaos.”

I don’t know if it’s the plan or my lack of squeamishness on the potential loss of life, but there’s respect in his eyes. “It might work.”

“When?” It’s not that I don’t care about any of the difficulties, my muscles tighten at the thought; all I’ve seen in this place are people in Company gray, but … “There are people back at camp relying on me.”

“Like Samuai?” His mouth twists.

“Like Kaih, Lady and yes, Samuai. You were there, you saw it. Everyone is on edge. There’s already been one death, I don’t want anymore.”

He looks away. “I said I’d help, and I will, but only because I need a concerted force at my disposal to bring down the Company. None of those people matter to me.”

I don’t have to see his face to hear the lie in his voice. At least, I think I hear it, and I remember the care he took for his mother and that, when it came down to Samuai dying on the water’s edge, he helped me save his life. You can’t fake that. I’m almost sure. Although if anyone can, it’s Davyd.

He strides toward the door. “You have to get back.”

I touch the hard muscle of his shoulder and wait for him to turn. “When?”

“Soon, but I want to give you a day or so to recover.”

“But—”

His thumb on my lips stops me. “I know.” His voice is gentle. “Lost Boy and the others need you, but you’ll be no good to anyone if you collapse on the way back to camp.”

His thumb is still on my mouth. So light it could be a breath, or a kiss.

I should pull away. Make some crack about where his hand has been and whose blood lingers on it. He’s standing so close, I can’t think of anything much. Except him and this moment and his touch. His head lowers until I feel his breath on my skin. Then his thumb slides across my lips and his fingers trail along my cheek, sending tingles skittering in their wake. He pushes a lock of damp, clean hair off my forehead, unnecessary because it’s nowhere near long enough to fall into my eyes. A memory of a touch like this before fights to surface in my mind, but slips away as fast.

I can’t move.

After the interrogation, this gentleness makes no sense to the broken parts of me, but I lean into it. I can’t do anything else.

It’s Davyd. Davyd who told me himself he doesn’t care about anyone. But he’s doing that thing where his eyes on me see deeper than I want. Deeper than anyone should. To the places inside me where strong makes way for weakness and hope steps aside to allow complete despair to have its way. Sees them and doesn’t judge.

I’m sure he’s going to move closer. Kiss me, or hold me, or something.

He doesn’t.

***

I am so sick of being wakened in the middle of the night and having to make decisions half asleep. I think that’s the reason when the door slides open a few hours after I return from showering. I’m already awake. That and the fact that my body clock is beyond messed up thanks to being drugged and tortured. And the small matter of not being able to stop thinking about the moment in the clean room when I was so sure Davyd would kiss me.

I replay it in a loop in my head. Most of the time when I imagine his mouth lowering to touch mine, I then imagine shoving him away. Or better yet, slapping him so hard his eyes water.