Reactive: A Young Adult Dystopian Romance (The Elite Trials Book 1) Read online

  And yet I never took the stupid necklace off, even though it represented everything I loathed.

  Maybe because it reminded me of everything I had lost. That I had lost her. And I never wanted to forget.

  Eyes the color of warmed gold.

  A teasing lopsided grin.

  I dropped the tooth.

  No.

  I would not think about him.

  My head plunged beneath the water’s surface, drowning my thoughts.

  I rubbed at a long indent on the skirt of my royal blue dress. “Stupid wrinkle,” I muttered. The wispy fabric was stubborn, not wanting to hide imperfections. I almost liked the dress because of the flaw. The only problem was the open back, which meant I had to wear my hair down to cover my exposed skin. Why had I gotten my hair wet? I hadn’t intended to, but thoughts of that boy, his memory an ever-present thorn in my side, had affected my ability to rationalize.

  “Stupid boy.”

  I knew what I needed to do, but first, I needed to hide the darkening bruise on my cheek. My makeup kit was nowhere to be found, so I crouched in a very unladylike fashion and poked my head under the bed. Sure enough, the kit was there. Grumbling, I crawled underneath and snagged it. After several attempts, I managed to conceal most of the bruise, fading the purple to a dull pink.

  It now looked like my right cheek was forever blushing.

  Shoes in hand, I exited the room and snuck to the staff’s stairwell, then tiptoed to the fourth floor. The less powerful elites lived up here, so I was extra careful not to be seen. They were always scheming, always clamoring to climb the social ladder. If the observatory wasn’t on the top floor, I would never step foot in these halls.

  This time of day, the observatory was empty, making it all too easy for me to hurry up the spiral staircase propped in the far-left corner. A catwalk led to a set of French doors which I opened. Immediately, a gust of fresh air hit my face, fluttering my damp hair.

  But this wasn’t my destination.

  Stepping outside, I climbed a set of iron stairs which dumped me onto a narrow balcony. A waist-high stone parapet was the only obstacle between me and a staggering fall to the ground far below. I pressed my legs against it and leaned my upper body over the edge, deeply inhaling the spicy scent of autumn leaves. My body tingled as if charged with electricity and my laughter danced on the breeze as I threw my arms wide, wishing I could fly.

  No one came up here but me. I was glad my childhood sanctuary remained a secret, but the elites didn’t know what they were missing. The view was breathtaking. Trees as far as the eye could see dotted the horizon, a speckled mass of yellows, greens, oranges, and reds. And rising above the vibrant colors was a wall of mountains. I focused on the tallest peak, knowing it must be tremendous in size; yet, the mountain looked so small from here. Unattainable. Untouchable.

  Blue.

  My lips pursed.

  Even the mountain’s grandeur was tainted by Tatum family blue.

  A faint whisper of voices reached my ears and I looked down. Far below, I could see the top of a dark brown head of hair being ushered inside the main entrance. I leaned farther over the edge, my almost dry hair framing my face as I strained for a better view of the unfamiliar person. And then the head tipped back, revealing a young man.

  My breath caught as our gazes met.

  Even from this distance, I could see his eyes.

  They were gold.

  I must have seen wrong.

  The sun must have infused his irises with its amber rays.

  Yes. That was it.

  The velvet heels pinching my feet punctured the silence with their clacking beat, carrying me across the entrance hall and past the circular room brimming with greenery. All was quiet. Too quiet.

  I was late.

  My heart flapped against my sternum like a trapped bird, becoming more frantic with each step toward the tall stone archway looming closer and closer.

  Be brave.

  Dobson stood just inside the arch, ready to announce me to the room’s occupants.

  Be strong.

  The stoic butler’s voice rang loud and clear. “Miss Lune Tatum.”

  I felt the color drain from my face. Saliva rushed into my mouth and I swallowed, the sound loud in the deafening silence.

  Show no fear. Fear is weakness. I am not weak.

  My spine snapped straight, chin raised high. My face cleared of emotion, transformed into an unbreakable mask—one carved from years of pretending. Of preservation.

  I stepped into the room.

  Despite its sheer size and soaring barrel-vaulted ceiling, colorful tapestries, and triple fireplace, the banquet hall held no appeal for me. The occupants soured the surroundings. In the middle of the room sat a never-ending mahogany table laden with power-hungry elites. At least four dozen pairs of eyes turned as one, carefully watching me enter.

  But only one set of eyes pierced through mine. They stripped away my mask and grabbed ahold of my soul, squeezing it slowly. My steps faltered as a shard of panic stabbed my heart. A single look from him and once again I was pinned under the overbearing control of my guardian, Renold Tatum—the Supreme Elite of Tatum City. All my training felt insignificant, pitiful, as he studied me with those all-knowing eyes. Eyes of blue ice. They could capture and freeze their prey if they so desired.

  In his presence, I was reduced to a helpless child.

  My wooden legs propelled me toward him while my mind screamed at me to run. But I couldn’t act on my impulses. The consequences would be too great. On his left sat an empty, high-backed chair—the seat of honor. I quickly scanned the table, noting the chairs were filled to capacity.

  Dread ate at my gut.

  I was meant to sit in that prestigious chair. I’d never felt so low. A game was being played at my expense and I didn’t know the rules.

  I came to a halt behind the blue velvet upholstered chair, afraid to touch it. Afraid it would burn me. Before the chair could devour me whole, my guardian’s deep and cultured voice, smooth as molasses, cut the tension. “Lune, I have someone to introduce to you. He’s from the Recruiter Clan. Meet Mr. Brendan Bearon.”

  Renold motioned next to me and my gaze left his as chair legs scraped against the wood floor. A man rose, unfolding his long limbs. He was incredibly tall. Maybe six-foot-three? My head probably didn’t even reach his shoulders. Curious, I looked into his face, an obligatory smile on my lips.

  My smile froze, then disappeared. The whole room vanished when I saw his eyes.

  There was no mistaking them this time.

  Only one person had gold eyes like that—eyes I would never forget.

  The boy from my past had found me.

  My vision blurred as I was wrenched back in time to the worst day of my life.

  I should have listened. I should have waited.

  But I’d been too caught up in the moment. I just wanted to feel the sweet embrace of water on my skin. So, when my mother had paused to gather nuts for the evening’s community dinner, I had balked. Had pleaded for permission to run on ahead. Alone.

  She sighed. One beat of silence, two. Then, “Go ahead.” She had given in so easily, something I wasn’t used to. But it was my seventh birthday, after all.

  I squealed and grinned so wide, my cheeks throbbed.

  “Hold up, LuLu, you know the drill. What are the rules that keep you safe?”

  I stumbled over the list in a rush, excitement tangling the words in my mouth. “Always stay on familiar trails, steer clear of strange noises, never speak to outsiders—they are not to be trusted.”

  She waited a beat. “And?”

  “And if anyone approaches, run.”

  Her approving smile was all I needed to see. I took off like a rabbit, my skinny legs flying down the trail as fast as they could go. The trail ended at the tree line and I skipped to a halt, gazing at the other-worldly reflections sparkling on the lake’s surface. The sight always took my breath away. It looked like one of the fairy
tale scenes Mum had described during community story time.

  I searched the nearby trees and found a branch the size of my arm. With much grunting, I severed it from the tree’s trunk. The adults wouldn’t let me have my own weapon yet, but I could carry a stick. I raced full-tilt for the lake, brandishing the stick like a sword.

  I would slay the water dragon with it.

  Water sprayed high as I jumped into its depths, legs pumping. And then I was diving deep, fingers brushing the lake’s clay bottom. I wished I could be a mermaid, like in the stories. They didn’t have to worry about the land beasts. But my lungs demanded air, so I kicked off the silty floor, rocketing to the surface.

  The sun’s glare blinded me, and I scrunched my eyes shut as I popped my head above the water. I kept my lids closed as I floated on my back, enjoying the sun’s warmth on my face. It wasn’t long before I heard a sound like fire popping. Crack! I jerked my body upright and blinked water from my vision as I searched the shoreline.

  Nothing.

  The noise must have come from the forest. Was something—or someone—watching me?

  “Mum?”

  No reply.

  What should I do?

  Another rustle broke the silence, and this time I recognized the telltale sound of twigs snapping underfoot.

  What are the rules that keep you safe? The words rolled around in my head until a single thought finally broke through.

  Run.

  Frantically, I splashed to shore, my water-logged clothes making me clumsy. I slipped and fell in the grass. Picking myself up, I barreled toward the woods, only to smack into something barring my way. The solid object tipped over backward, latching onto me. A surprised squeak left my mouth as I tumbled to the ground once again.

  I flailed and twisted free. Rolling to my feet, I spared a glance at the object that had tripped me and almost loosed a blood-curdling scream. Instead, I blurted, “Holy stars!”

  A boy blinked up at me, dazed. I didn’t recognize him. His dark brown hair hung past his ears in a shaggy mop, partially covering his eyes. I watched him warily as he stood and inspected the scrape on his elbow. I noticed with a small amount of satisfaction that I was at least an inch taller than him.

  “Who—who are you?” I’m talking to a stranger. I’m going to be in so much trouble!

  The boy peered up at me shyly. “I’m Bren.” Glancing over my shoulder, he shivered. “Who are you?” he asked, his voice a notch braver.

  I shook my head, flinging water droplets every which-way. “Nah-uh, I can’t tell you. I’m not supposed to tell strangers my name.”

  “Oh.” He rubbed at his arms. He looked nervous again. Now I was starting to feel nervous.

  Ever so carefully, I backed up a step toward the woods. I bet I could run faster than him.

  I heard his sharp intake of breath. “Don’t go! M-my sister, she got stuck in a tree a-and I can’t get her down. You’re taller than me so-so maybe you could help me reach her?”

  “What about your parents? Can’t they get her down?” I was still slowly backing up. My fingers tightened on my stick weapon and I raised it an inch. I’d use it if I had to.

  His eyes flicked to the stick, then he sniffed, and sniffed again. Was he crying? “They won’t be back until after dark. By that time, maybe a bear will have eaten her or something.”

  That did it. I loosened my grip on the stick. There was no way I was going to let a wild beast find and eat her. “Where is she?”

  He breathed a sigh of relief. “Come on, I’ll show you.” His hand reached for mine, linking our fingers together before I could protest. He started guiding me into the woods, away from the trail I knew. Away from my mother.

  Mum!

  I craned my neck around, searching for her. I was going to be in so much trouble. The boy tugged on my hand and I turned my head. He was staring at me, and with his free hand, brushed the hair out of his eyes. Wow. I’d never seen a person with eyes the color of gold before. Suddenly, those hypnotizing eyes warmed to a honey hue and a lopsided grin tipped his lips. “My sister needs you. Follow me?”

  His words gave me courage. And purpose. Someone needed my help.

  My smile was tentative, but brave. “Okay.”

  The little boy led me deep into the woods to a group of rough-looking men, no sister in sight.

  “What did you bring us, little man? A wee strumpet?” A man covered in dark tattoos chortled. “What is she, then?”

  Bren was shaking head to toe. “I-I don’t—I don’t know. The feeling is strong, though. I—I did what you asked. Please . . . please let my—”

  Crack!

  His head flew back as the man boxed his ear with a meaty palm. “No one likes a beggar, boy.”

  That was the first time I felt it. My gut churned violently, warning me of danger before my mind could react. But the warning came too late. Large, callused hands smothered my screams, tied my hands and feet, and carried me far, far away from my community. From my home. That first night—the first I’d ever spent without my mother—I huddled in a ball on the forest floor, scared and shivering from the cold.

  Silently, the boy slipped a leather cord around my neck, a large tooth dangling from the end. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “My—my father made this for me. It’s all I have.” The men broke into raucous laughter as they ate and drank around their meager campfire. With a gasp, Bren crawled away before they took notice.

  The next morning, the group split in two—the boy responsible for my kidnapping went west, and I was taken north. Eventually, the men brought me to Tatum City and shoved me into the hands of the Tatums. Running away wasn’t an option. The wall around the city was charged with so much electricity that one touch could stop a heart from beating.

  My pleas fell on deaf ears, my cries ignored.

  I never understood why the Tatums took me in. All I knew was that they were never letting me go.

  And my life as their prisoner daughter had begun.

  “Lune, where are your manners?” Renold’s lightly accented tone of warning jolted me into the present.

  I sucked in a breath, almost choking on it. The memory had been visceral, leaving a bitter taste in my mouth, and making me feel seven years old all over again.

  Squeezing my eyes shut, I wiped away the sting of that horrendous day and exhaled silently. I had a part to play. This would have to be my greatest performance yet if I was going to make it through lunch unscathed. Lashes fluttering, I looked up at Bren, a little boy no longer. All the soft edges that I remembered were now hard, stubble dusted a square jaw, and his floppy hair was now styled.

  But his eyes were the same.

  Then he smiled at me.

  Oh.

  The crooked grin. That was the same, too. It appeared genuine when I knew it was an act. Like mine was.

  I smiled so big, my injured cheek throbbed. “Forgive me, Mr. Bearon. I was struck by your eyes. They are a very unique color.” I stuck out my hand and he didn’t hesitate, firmly clasping it in his. As we shook hands, I couldn’t help but notice how ghostly pale my skin seemed compared to his dark tan. And his hands were huge. No matter. My grip tightened, and I watched with satisfaction as his eyebrows lifted in surprise.

  That’s right, pretty boy. I’ve grown a backbone.

  His grin broadened. “That’s all right. I get that a lot.” His voice sure wasn’t how I remembered it. And not only because of the deep, rolling timber. There wasn’t a note of shyness. Now it was more . . . self-assured. No, I was going with deeply-laced ego.

  Renold cleared his throat and I took that as my cue to sit. I saw Bren reach for my chair, so I grabbed it, pulling and twisting in a swift move of independence. He took his seat next to me, glancing at my profile, but I ignored him and waited for Renold to drop the other shoe. I knew there had to be another.

  My guardian leaned to the side, whispering to Blanca, his petite and always quiet wife who was seated next to him. He meant to keep me waiting. As the staff
slipped into the room, arms laden with large silver platters, I studied his body language, desperately wishing I could read minds. Dressed in his usual formal attire, sapphire rings flashing on long, elegant fingers, he looked perfectly at ease. In his late fifties, Renold had the grace of a king. Everything about him spoke of effortless, aristocratic class.

  Appearance was the great deceiver.

  I knew what that placid face could do to self-esteem. I knew what those elegant hands could do to a body and spirit.

  I was staring so hard at his hands, I didn’t catch the first few words he threw my way. “. . . very important purpose. Mr. Bearon came highly recommended for the Trials and so he will become the newest citizen of Tatum City. But he wishes to contend in the Trials this year, not leaving much time for training. I need someone who will train him one-on-one for the next few months, so he will be ready. And it can’t be just anyone. He needs the best training possible, and what person better for the job than my own daughter?”

  No. Please, no.

  Blood rushed to my head, knocking against my skull. Tremors worked their way into my hands. I stuffed them under the table out of sight.

  I knew I shouldn’t question him, knew it with every survival instinct I possessed. Yet my mouth opened and words came spilling out. “But, sir, I’m not qualified. I’m not a trainer.” I hated how weak my voice sounded.

  He smiled indulgently, but I saw the dangerous glint in his eye. “You are now. I’m temporarily promoting you.”

  This had to be a sick joke. It had to! The Trials were my one chance at freedom, and now I was being forced to train the boy who had taken away my freedom in the first place? A boy that I was starting to think didn’t even remember me.

  The room was so quiet I could hear my faltering heartbeats. I knew every little movement, every expression, every word I uttered would be scrutinized by all. The pressure was unbearable. I didn’t know how much longer I could keep my mask in place. I felt it slipping, cracking, revealing the raging inferno inside.