Reactive: A Young Adult Dystopian Romance (The Elite Trials Book 1) Page 2

  Asher’s leg moved, nudging mine, and I took a step forward, then another. Stalin squealed, his teeth almost peeling off a layer of skin as he snatched the offering from my palm. “That wasn’t too bad,” Asher said, as if giant canines scraping your skin was an everyday occurrence. Probably was in his line of work. “And yes, we’re good to go for tonight.”

  I stepped to the side, needing space. I didn’t do well with people at my back. Even him. “Yeah, I think Stalin and I are best friends already.” I rolled my eyes. Asher just stared at me. “Uh, you want me to get him out or . . . ?”

  “Oh! No, I’ll do it,” he said, stirring into motion. “You might want to stand back in case he, um, doesn’t behave . . .”

  “Right.” I gave them both a wide berth. “Wouldn’t want him to trample me before I can even get a foot in the stirrup. How embarrassing.”

  Asher didn’t respond. Sometimes I got the impression he didn’t understand my sarcasm.

  I followed them out of the stable, getting my first good look at the terrifyingly magnificent creature I would soon ride. He was built like a Clydesdale, but I knew he had the speed of a Thoroughbred. Not a single speck of white marred his body, his hair jet black, darker than a moonless night. I slowly approached his left side, making sure he could see and hear me. “You are a beautiful animal, Stalin. I’m surprised no one has claimed you.”

  He watched me with a keen yellow eye as I slowly placed my hand on his coarse coat. I fought for calm. More than anything, animals could smell fear. If I wanted to ride this beast, I couldn’t reveal the turmoil raging inside of me. Stalin swiveled his gigantic head and Asher slackened the reins, allowing the beast access to me. As his nostrils flared, I softly blew on his nose, introducing him to my scent. He snorted and swung his head around, relaxing.

  I passed the test. I breathed a sigh of relief. At least he wouldn’t eat me. Not right now, anyway.

  Before Stalin had time to think, I launched onto his back, exerting more effort than usual to mount the huge beast. “All right, Asher, I got this. Hand me the reins. And what’s the code word for tonight?”

  With a salute, he placed the reins in my hands. “How about ‘gloves.’ You really should wear your gloves this one time. I’ve heard he pulls at the bit like a—”

  I never heard him finish the sentence. Like a punch in the gut, a terrible feeling twisted my insides. I hadn’t felt the warning in a while and the sensation startled me. All I knew was that something bad would happen if I didn’t react swiftly. “Ash! Get back!”

  He backpedaled and, in the next instant, Stalin exploded into action. All four hooves left the ground as he jumped and bucked, trying his best to dismount me. Letting out a bellow that had the hair raising on my neck, he charged forward.

  He was out of control. We were out of control.

  As we careened down the dirt road, my legs gripped his massive sides, the only thing keeping me upright. If I fell . . . No. I wouldn’t fall. My hands tightened on the reins, the tough leather scraping my palms, and I pulled, forcing Stalin into a turn. He plunged through thigh-high grass, having no choice but to obey my command as I kept the reins taut, arm muscles burning with the effort.

  Control. It would be mine, not his.

  Every time we made a full loop, I tightened the reins more, spinning us in ever-shrinking circles until the landscape blurred and lurched around me. If we didn’t stop soon, I would be sick.

  His abrupt jerk to a stop sent my legs flying backward and my stomach smacking into his neck. Well, then. Maybe he could read thoughts. I blew out a breath. Far too late, I realized his ploy. A spike of fear finally leaked through my defenses when his head whipped back so fast that I barely had time to shift my own to the side. His sharp mane lashed my neck a second before his jack-hammer head rammed into my cheekbone.

  The impact struck me deaf and blind.

  I felt rather than heard a groan leave my mouth as pain roared in my cheek, throbbing like a second heartbeat. “Ouch,” I managed to utter, my face numb and on fire all at once. “You asked for it, you stubborn lummox.” Unclipping my whip, I hesitated a moment, poised to inflict pain but hating the very thought of it. I ground my teeth together and brought the whip down on his rear. “Haw!” I shouted, digging my heels into his ribs. With a surprised shriek, Stalin whirled and broke into a reckless gallop.

  But this time I was in control.

  His hooves tore up the road, clods of dirt spraying in his wake. The wind whipped my hair free of its bindings and dark red locks streamed behind me. I threw my head back and whooped to the sky.

  I embraced the danger, I craved the adrenaline, I needed the speed.

  And, for a moment of suspended time, I pretended that I was flying.

  Even more, I pretended that I was free.

  This had been a test. I was sure of it. And the request reeked of Renold. He must have hand-picked this half-wild beast just to see how I would cope. Well, I had won and that’s all that mattered.

  As the stables came into view, so did Ash’s familiar tall, lean figure. I gave my friend a cocky salute and plastered on a confident smile. The smile slipped a second later. It hurt my still-burning cheek too much.

  “Are you okay?” he yelled as he jogged toward us.

  “Yeah, I’m fine. And thanks for the tip. He really does pull at the bit something fierce.” I grinned, but it probably looked more like a grimace. My poor aching face.

  I slowed Stalin to a walk as Asher closed the distance between us. He offered me a hand, always the gentleman, but he knew better. I slid down on my own.

  Abruptly, he lifted a hand toward my cheek. I flinched. Whatever he saw stopped him in his tracks and his hand lowered, slowly curling into a fist. “Blasted beast. I hope you gave him a solid whipping for doing that to your face.”

  My eyes widened. Did my gentle, animal-loving stable boy really just say that? “I did, actually. Ripped him a good one. But this was to be expected, you know that. He was just testing me.”

  He blew out a breath as he raked a hand through his hair, shoulders loosening a notch. “I know, I know. Sorry. I worry is all. Um, so a message came for you while you were out taming this stupid beast.” I felt my body relax as he attempted to lighten the mood. There’s the Asher I knew. “Your fath—I mean, Renold cancelled the rest of your morning training. You’re to attend lunch at noon in the banquet hall.”

  Time stopped.

  It had been almost two months since my last visit to the one hundred and seventy-five thousand square foot house—if one could call it that. The four-story, pale stone creation with jade turrets slicing at the sky wasn’t exactly homey. It was intimidating. Or maybe it was just the people living inside that made the house appear so.

  Why was I being summoned now? There were no important social functions scheduled this month, so I must have done something to displease Renold. I locked my jaw and inhaled through my nose, then exhaled slowly. Asher didn’t need to see my growing anxiety. He couldn’t help me, and I didn’t want him to. Not with this.

  I cleared my throat. “Right. Guess I’d better go then. I’ve only got two hours to make myself look and smell presentable. An impossible task, but I’ll try my hardest. Wouldn’t want a delicate elite to faint at my mere presence.”

  A laugh burst from him and he nudged my uninjured shoulder on his way over to collect Stalin’s reins. “Just a bit of friendly advice? You might want to keep that sassy mouth shut during lunch.”

  “Hey!” I aimed my palm for the side of his head, but he caught my wrist mid-swing. “Your reflexes are improving, stable boy. Must be all that dung-slinging you’ve been doing.”

  His hand on my wrist pulled me closer. “Or maybe I’ve been secretly watching your training sessions.”

  My humor vanished, replaced by a sick sensation souring my stomach. “Ash . . . please don’t sign a contract. I know things are hard, but . . .” I wanted to throw up as I envisioned him pitted against a segment of blood-thirsty contenders.
“The Trials are brutal. People die in them every year, even with years and years of training under their belts. You wouldn’t make it. A part of you has to be cruel and you don’t have a mean bone in your body.”

  “You don’t either, Lune, no matter what you might think of yourself. I can see the real you.”

  My heart skipped a beat. What could he see? I was too afraid to ask.

  “What do you call a house full of holier-than-thou snobs?”

  No one answered my question, of course.

  I was keeping myself preoccupied with stupid jokes as I walked along the opulent house’s outer length. I was certain eyes followed my path, so I whispered the answer. “An Elitist Clubhouse.”

  I snickered. Good one. I mentally gave myself a pat on the back.

  Truthfully, the bright sandstone structure wasn’t unpleasant to look at. The stone-carved leaves and filigree shapes, edging the windows and roofs, were intricately designed. My gaze lifted higher until I had to shield my eyes from the sun’s glare. The gargoyles and grotesques that watched me from atop the parapets I could do without. They gave me the creeps.

  As I climbed the stairs to the main entrance, I passed between two gigantic lion statues. They had loyally guarded this house for over two hundred years. Surviving the progression of time, their stone bodies were surprisingly intact. A few scars, but that was to be expected. I could respect that. I patted one on the chest. “How are you today, Lennie? It’s been awhile. I promise I haven’t been avoiding you. It’s the location . . . not you. Say hello to Benny for me. I gotta run!”

  My eyes landed on the arched double doors, made of glass and iron, and I squared my shoulders. Time to face the real Trials. I pulled on the ancient butler doorbell, cringing at the shrill dinging sound. Nothing good lived inside this house. As a whole, the walled city was a mix of old world and new, pockets of untouched history next to random high tech. But inside the grand house, a bygone era had been reborn, and the current inhabitants lived a lifestyle very different from the rest of the city.

  How or why it was this way, I couldn’t fathom. But it all seemed to stem from the chaotic whims of Renold Tatum.

  One of the doors groaned inward, revealing a thin, sober-faced, middle-aged man. Hooded gray eyes looked down a prominent nose and settled on me. “Your name and business, miss?”

  “The Queen of the Underworld here to collect the souls owed me.”

  His nose twitched. “I’m afraid we weren’t expecting you. Do make an appointment next time.” Before he could shut the door in my face, I stopped the heavy wood with my boot.

  “Don’t be cheeky, Dobson. You know I could do this all day.” I invoked a superior tone. “My father summoned me to lunch.”

  “Of course, Miss Tatum, this way,” he droned. As he turned, I made a face at his back. No matter how many times I heard it, I loathed being associated with that surname.

  Through another pair of heavy doors we went, into the grand entrance hall. Light marble floors gleamed, disappearing into several open-arched doorways. The most astonishing feature of this place was the ceilings. Each room had a different pattern, from mahogany wood beams to billowing print fabric. Often, I’d catch myself staring upward, despite the crick forming in my neck.

  I glimpsed a sea of green to the right, but now wasn’t the time to enjoy the exotic plant life. The butler steered me left, pausing at the foot of a magnificent stone staircase that spiraled upward and out of sight.

  “You know where to go from here?”

  I rolled my eyes in reply, making my way up. “Feel free to come search for me if I don’t make it back down in the next year.”

  “Remember, lunch is served promptly at noon. Don’t be late.” I bit back a groan at his parting words. I’d gotten into trouble more than once for being late to a social function. Mealtimes were political events. That’s why I hated them and why I dreaded the summons I had received today. Something was going to happen and I wasn’t going to like the outcome.

  I trailed a hand along the wrought-iron railing, the wooden top smooth under my fingers. Probably the heaviest black chandelier ever crafted hung from the ceiling several floors above, dropping down the center of the winding staircase in tiers laden with electric candles. But it was the windows that lit my ascent. Dozens and dozens of them adorned the half-circle wall. I took a moment to thank my lucky stars that I wasn’t a maid. Cleaning those windows would be a pain in the butt.

  I stopped at the third floor. Everyone with the last name of Tatum haunted these halls and I didn’t want to be seen by them quite yet. I was a mess. The judgmental stares would be harsher than usual if they caught sight of me now.

  Tugging off my filthy boots, I slipped past the living hall on silent feet. I could see my bedroom door straight ahead—I just had to get there. The doors leading up to it were shut but I still held my breath as I passed them. Did doors have ears? They could probably hear my rapid heartbeat.

  Finally making it to my room, I loosed a breath. Piece of cake.

  As I touched the handle, the door flew open, a figure framing the doorway.

  “Lune, Lune, as pale as the moon,” a high-pitched voice singsonged. “You look awful. Did your charger finally grow a backbone and trample you to the ground? Or was it that delicious trainer of yours?”

  Oh, how I wanted to run and hide right now. The petulant, condescending voice belonged to my guardian’s biological daughter, Rose Tatum. Pretty and covered in wicked thorns, she was. She teased, taunted, and tortured me the three years I had lived in this house. Moving into the barracks at the age of ten had been a mercy.

  She tossed her heavy mane of platinum curls when I didn’t respond to her barbs, sliding out of the doorway and into my personal space. She knew how much I despised that. “I heard you would be joining us today and Father finally gave me permission to switch rooms with you. What a tease he is, denying me for so long. It’s not fair that this larger room goes mostly unused while you roll around the countryside, not appreciating it. So, it’s mine now. But don’t fret—you can earn the room back if you win your Trials.” She smirked, confident that I wouldn’t win, then winked a doe brown eye at me.

  Life was a game to her, and she usually won. She had Renold wrapped around her conniving little finger. It was no use fighting, but my hackles rose—she had taken something else from me. Soon, I would have nothing left.

  I slouched against the wall, feigning boredom. “Suit yourself. It makes sense, really. I mean, you have more stuff than me. All that makeup, jewelry, clothes . . . You take up a lot of unnecessary space, Rose.”

  She must not have appreciated my humor because in the next moment her eyes glittered, and she swung at my face. I easily caught her fist and twisted her arm behind her back. She gasped in shock, but I couldn’t stop myself from gritting out, “Try that again and I’ll give you a black eye. Then it’ll be you who looks awful.”

  She struggled and I let her go. “You’ll regret this! I’ll make sure you’re punished.” Her glare was murderous. Before all my years spent training for the Trials, I might have peed my pants at her words. Now I just felt detached from the drama. Her methods of abuse were nothing compared to what I’d experienced under my trainer’s care. Especially my latest one.

  But there was Renold, and I felt a moment of regret for my hasty reaction. I shivered. Would she tell him about what I had just said and done? Maybe I should have kept my mouth shut as Asher had suggested.

  Rose paused in my bedroom doorway. “Now that you touched me, I’ll need to change and freshen up before lunch. Do the city a favor and take a bath or something. Anything. You reek of dung.” She slammed the door behind her.

  I sniffed myself in mock concern. “Uh-oh, you’re right, I do smell. I’ll make sure to scrub off the stench of spoiled brat until my skin turns red.”

  Too bad she didn’t hear that last line. It was a really good one.

  I opened the door to her old room and sighed at the disarray. Rose had been busy. Th
e few belongings I kept here were scattered across the rug. I groaned when I spotted my fancy dresses balled into a pile. They would need ironing now. Such a waste of time.

  With a sigh, I picked them up and hung the blue dresses of varying hues in the room’s armoire. I hadn’t always hated blue, but being forced to show my support and loyalty for the Tatum family by wearing their color made me cringe every time I saw a shade of it.

  Now I just needed a bath. Admittedly, I was looking forward to the luxury. The barracks had running water, but it wasn’t heated, not like here in the big house. Only the elites had access to it and, since I was being forced to dine here, I might as well take advantage of the amenities.

  After slipping out of the room, I scurried down the hall and locked myself into a bathroom. Layer by layer, my training gear plopped to the white-tiled floor and I kicked them into a corner. The knob on the claw-foot tub creaked as I twisted it and out spewed gloriously hot water. As the tub filled, I secured my hair in a knot, glancing at my reflection in the silver oval mirror.

  I prodded my purpling cheekbone and grimaced. Several thin red lines ran along my neck where Stalin’s mane had struck. Ugh. No wonder Rose said I looked awful.

  I stuck my finger in the bath water and turned off the flow. Hot! Slowly, I slid beneath the surface. My skin started to bake. Perfect. The aches and pains in my muscles eased, replaced with a feeling of languid weightlessness.

  As I floated in blissful silence, my pesky thoughts stirred to life. I grasped the leather cord around my neck, and for the thousandth time inspected the bear tooth looped through it. Water droplets plinked softly as I rubbed the smooth surface; terrible memories shot to the forefront of my mind. No matter how hard I tried, I would never be free of that painful day.

  The day that changed my life forever.

  If I could revisit time and say one thing to my younger self, I would say, “Don’t trust little boys with honey-gold eyes.” No matter how innocent he might have looked. He had given the necklace to me that day—exactly eleven years ago. It was the worst memory of my life running into him. Literally.