The Change (Unbounded) (8 page)

“Not like that! Hit me like you mean it. You can’t hurt me.”

I attacked, slamming the stick into him, aiming for his inflated head. He blocked me easily.

“Harder!”

I swung at his stomach, his chest, his feet. His groin. Anywhere I could think of, but each time my staff rebounded off his, the shock reverberating throughout my body until I wondered if my teeth would fall out.

“Now you try to block me.”

I could tell he wasn’t trying hard, because several times he had a clear shot and didn’t take it. “Faster,” he urged. “No, bring your staff up like this.”

Sweat slicked all my exposed skin as I tried to comply with his demands. I understood the basic moves easily enough, but I didn’t have the muscles or the speed to even begin competing with him. At one point when I blocked, I tripped over my own feet, slamming backwards onto the mat, my lungs screaming as my body struggled for breath.

Ritter stood over me. “You okay?”

“As soon as . . . I figure . . . out where . . . they put all the air,” I gasped. “Are you sure I have a talent for this? Because it really doesn’t feel like it.” Nothing was clicking. I received no inner warning as to where he might strike, felt no intuitiveness about where to place my staff. Next to Ritter, I was slow and clumsy.

“Better not depend on anything they say about genetics. All Unbounded must learn to defend themselves. It will come easier in a few weeks.” He offered me his hand. “Let’s take a rest. Get a drink.”

I let him help me up, still wheezing. Regardless of what he said, my talent had better kick in soon, or I might not live much longer.

Except maybe I couldn’t die from something as mundane as exhaustion or lack of air. Or maybe suffocation was one of the ways the Unbounded could be killed. As soon as I could breathe properly again, I’d ask. I’d run out on Stella and Cort before we’d covered that vital tidbit.

I followed Ritter to a large alcove in the gym that housed a kitchenette. Peeling off his shirt, he took a can from the mini fridge and sat at the table, stretching out his legs. Now I could see the gold chain I’d only glimpsed before; on this hung two small gold bands and an even smaller ring that might have fit a child. I wondered who the rings had belonged to.

“Curequick?” I asked. He looked even better without a shirt, and I knew Tom would hate that I noticed. He’d become a bit possessive of late.

“Beer.”

I frowned in disappointment. I really wanted the kick Cort’s mixture gave me. Instead, I drank water, though it had the strange taste of rose petals and beer anyway. I knew I was absorbing some of Ritter’s drink, but I didn’t know where the roses came from. Probably outside. Strange that I didn’t feel the least bit hungry, though I hadn’t eaten anything solid in days. Not that I wouldn’t mind a big steak about now. There was comfort in the familiar.

“So,” I said, leaning my back against the counter, “how exactly is it that Unbounded can die?”

His dark eyes studied me for a few seconds before replying. “By completely severing all three focus points.”

“Focus points?”

“Yes, focus points store everything we are—our thoughts, feeling, memories, intelligence. We have a triple system backup in case we’re wounded. These are located in the heart, the brain, and the reproductive organs. Even if you sever one of these completely from the others, the body will heal and become exactly as it was before. But separating all three from each other is fatal.”

I stared at him. “You’re saying if I cut off your head, it’d grow back exactly like it is now?”

“Or if you drown me, cut me in half, or stick a stake in my heart. As long as any two focus points are connected, an Unbounded will survive.”

“You expect me to believe that?”

He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter what you believe. It’s true.” There was bleakness in the words, and I wondered exactly how damaged he’d been when he’d been taken home for dead all those years ago. Or what had happened to him in the centuries since.

“That would mean if you lost your kidney or your heart, your gallbladder—”

“They’d grow back.”

I wanted to tell him he was nuts. They were all nuts. Yet I’d seen my arm, and unless they had a way of manipulating memories, I was living proof of these claims.

“What if I’d burned so much that the tissue between my focus points burned away?”

Ritter shook his head. “Unlikely. Dimitri could explain it better since he’s a physician, but in a trauma situation, the Unbounded body protects that link. The only way, really, is to sever it.”

With something really sharp, I was betting.

“What’s the second way?” I hoped it didn’t get any worse.

“Starvation.”

“But we’re absorbing from the air constantly, aren’t we?”

“Hard to do if you’re in a sealed metal room or a cement room over two feet thick. Food molecules can’t get through.”

“How long would it take to starve?”

He thought for a moment. “Double or triple what it takes a normal human body to rot to pieces. Depending on the temperature, it could take years.”

I shivered. What a horrible way to die.

Worse than being hacked to pieces? The world of an Unbounded was much darker than I’d suspected. No wonder Ava was so cautious.

Ritter downed the rest of his beer and tossed it into the garbage. I set my glass in the sink. “Let’s work on a few kicks and handholds,” he said. “Ways to get away if someone grabs you.”

I was glad to leave the staff behind. Muscles I didn’t know I had ached, and my lungs still felt tight.

He was waiting for me on the mat, and I walked toward him with trepidation. I wasn’t sure I wanted to work so closely with him, especially when he wasn’t wearing a shirt. The staff at least allowed me to keep some distance.

“Grab me,” he said, holding out his hands.

He had good hands, with long, well-shaped fingers, and strong wrists that curved gracefully into muscled arms. Not bulky enough to be ungainly or grotesque, but powerful and all man. Not a scar on him, of course—at least not on the outside. He was whole and untouched, not a man who had apparently been stabbed and left for dead.

“Go ahead. Give it all you got,” he urged.

I hesitated.

“Grab my wrists!”

I did as he asked, and at once my hold was thrown violently off, my arms protesting at the abuse.

“Now you try.”

I did without much success. We repeated the movements several times until he was satisfied. Then he grabbed me from behind and told me to break free. I could feel the warmth of him, the moistness of his skin, his heart beating against my back, his arms heavy and strong around me. My heart thundered—and not just because of the workout. I didn’t know him well enough to be comfortable with this kind of intimacy, but at the same time I craved it. Craved him.

We went over every single hold I could imagine and then some. Next, we worked on kicks and punches. Rivulets of sweat ran down my neck and between my breasts. Before long I was too exhausted to notice when his body touched mine. Besides, his manner had no room for me as a person, as a woman, and I wondered if his life’s experiences had created a monster, a killing machine that survived only to train more killers. More than anything I wanted to quit, but something about his cold determination forced me to continue.

At last he nodded and said we were finished. I gently ran my hands over my arms and they came away smeared with traces of blood. My skin felt raw everywhere, but especially my arms.

He saw the blood and the hardness left his face. “You should have told me you were hurting.”

“It wasn’t important.”

We were standing close. I could smell his sweat, feel my own dampening my entire body, mixing with the blood on my arms. Neither of us moved away. Tension sprang between us like something with a life of its own. Against my will, I thought of him touching me, of gliding my own hands over his sweaty chest. I ran my tongue along my parched bottom lip, and his eyes followed the movement. Pressure built until it screamed in my head.

I clamped down on my emotions. He was physically appealing—I wasn’t fooling myself on that score—but this blatant desire coming out of nowhere wasn’t me. I preferred to actually know a man before starting something more. Another lesson learned during my bitter stint in law school. Another reason I hadn’t said yes to Tom.

Yet I wasn’t ready to back down, either. To move away would be another kind of defeat. A show of fear. I met his gaze head on, my eyes narrowed, my lips pressed together.

In the end, it was Ritter who stepped away, his black eyes dark and unreadable. The moment he did, all the emotions fell away, as though they hadn’t been mine to keep. Blood still rushed through my veins and my breath came shallowly, but I could think clearly again.

I knew only one thing—I had to get out of this insane place and back where I belonged. I didn’t like what I was becoming.

A
VA MET US AT THE
top of the stairs. Her eyes looked me over, faltering on the red rashes and streaks on my arms. “I thought you said you’d go easy on her,” she said to Ritter.

“I did.”

She gave him a half smile. “You joining us for dinner?”

Now that she mentioned food, I could smell something delicious in the air. My stomach didn’t growl in anticipation, but my mouth watered. I wondered if the others still had that ability—to have their mouths water at the thought of food. Certainly some of their bodily functions were still very much in place, if my attraction to Ritter was any indication. I didn’t dare look at him as he spoke.

“I’m going to do rounds,” he said.

“George and Charles are doing them here. And Marco and Gaven are still outside the warehouse. They all know what we’re up against.”

“Never hurts to double up. I’ll also check in with Dimitri. Be back in an hour. Two, tops.”

Ava nodded. No false hostessing here. No reason to make a plea that he needed to sustain himself when he could get anything he needed from the air around him.

His leaving meant that Ava was the only obstacle to my sneaking away, but I couldn’t leave until she retired and that meant there was time for dinner.

“I’m hungry,” I said. “I mean, I could eat.” Because I wasn’t really hungry.

Ava smiled. “Why don’t we both shower and meet in the dining room? I’ll show you where it is on the way to your room.”

She wasn’t going to watch me? Then I remembered the men she’d talked about. No doubt they were monitoring inside as well as outside the house. That might complicate my plan.

I looked for cameras on the way back, noticing several. Not favorable to an escape, but in the dark, wearing black, I shouldn’t be too noticeable if I kept to the shadows along the walls.

I hoped.

I dressed in dark jeans and a thin, zippered jacket to hide the bright white of my skin. The jeans were stiff and new and a little loose, but the stretchy material of the black jacket fit my body like a glove. Dimitri had bought hats, too, and still very much aware of my ultra short hair, I pulled on a black French beret, feeling gratitude toward the man. He’d been so kind to me in each of our few encounters, and his detailed purchases for me, from shoes and hair elastics to face cream and sanitary supplies, were uncanny.

I entered the dining room five minutes before Ava arrived. It seemed rather ostentatious to use the enormous room for two, but neither Ava nor the cook, a kindly rounded woman with graying hair and sagging cheeks, seemed to think it strange. The cook, whose name turned out to be Janice, was practically invisible as she served the steak and potatoes, gliding along and anticipating our every need. I wondered if she knew what Ava really was.

What I really was.

I soon forgot her as I dug into my second steak, so tender it almost melted in my mouth. One could grow used to this.

By the time I’d finished the meal, I peeked under my sleeves and saw that the rashes on my arms had faded, the tiny smears of dried blood flaking off the skin. I felt a lot better.

I yawned. “I think I’ll turn in.”

Ava’s eyes settled on me. “You don’t want to talk?”

“I’d rather sleep.” Escape.

She walked me back to my room. “Don’t take offense. I just want to make sure you get there okay. Please stay in your room until I come for you in the morning. I promise to make things right. Trust me.”

Fat chance of that.

“Sleep well, Erin.”

When she was gone, I went to the closet to retrieve the cell phone I’d stolen. My father would be the best to call, but he’d be the most suspicious and probably contact the police. Chris would be angry and think it was a prank. My mother—well, she probably wasn’t answering the phone.

Tom,
I decided.
I’ll call Tom.
While he’d be spooked, he’d be willing to come and get me—provided I could make it out of the mansion and off the grounds. And provided we could figure out where I was. There had to be a house number down by the gate. Once I told him the story, we could go see my family. Besides, I wanted to see Tom. I needed his arms around me.

The cell phone wasn’t in the sock drawer. I searched all the other drawers just in case, but I had a sinking feeling I hadn’t fooled anyone. How had they known about it? Anger and fear twined together, paralyzing me for an instant until I managed to push the emotions to the back of my mind. I had to be calm. I had to think.