Chapter 10
EMERY
It’s been five days since our awkward run-in in the bathroom. But no amount of time can ever be enough for me to forget how hot and long Cameron’s cock was. How his hands felt as they bruised my hips and rocked me back and forth over him.
I swallow down those thoughts as Bree circles me on the sparring mat.
Several groups are gathered around different fighting rings.
Damian and Cameron linger around ours, serious faces all around for the most part.
The energy in the Under has shifted in the last few days.
There’s only a little over a week left before we get shipped out to wherever the hell the trials are being held.
I’m assuming somewhere out here in Alaska since this base is already in the middle of nowhere.
Bree throws a punch at my throat. I dip in time and kick her shin hard enough that her knee buckles.
She screams out in pain and falls to the ground.
I move fast to clamp my arm over her airway until she passes out.
Even if it’s not my preferred way to fight, it’s the only way Drill Sergeant Adams will let a match end.
These fights are different from the self-imposed duel that Damian challenged us with on the first day.
Damian curses and clenches his fists at his sides. Cameron only watches with mild amusement. I can’t seem to get anything out of him. He’s impossible to read. Even after that night, he has acted as if nothing happened. I know that’s how I should feel about it too. I force my eyes back to Bree.
She elbows my side, and the blow steals my breath away. Crap! She takes the advantage and slips her chin under my forearm, then she bites me.
I gnash my teeth together, refusing to cry out and give her the satisfaction. Instead, I wrap my hand around her hair and start bashing her head into the ground. She releases me. Quickly, I separate us and spare a look down at my forearm. There’s a small trickle of blood.
“You bitch, I think you broke my nose!” Bree shouts as she lunges for me. I try to push myself to my feet, but she stomps on my right hand with all her weight. The thick tread on our combat boots is a weapon of its own. Searing pain shoots through my fingers as she twists her foot over my hand.
I can’t keep my scream contained this time; it comes out mangled and broken. Bree lifts her foot to stomp down on my hand again, but it’s caught in a large palm. She lets out a surprised grunt as she’s thrown to the side.
Cameron kneels beside me and looks at my hand, gently lifting my wrist and searching for broken bones. As of now, everything in my right hand feels shattered.
Wincing, I ask, “What are you doing? You’re not supposed to interfere in these matches.” I glance over my shoulder and find Adams leveling us an inquisitive look before he shifts his attention elsewhere.
“It’s fine,” Cameron says as he scoops me up off the ground and begins walking me toward the infirmary. Everyone watches us with heavyset glares and loathing. I mean, I’m getting special treatment; I’d be pissed too.
Wraith and his group halt their activities altogether to watch us leave the room. Arnold stands beside him and levels me with a scathing look. He looks at me like I’m the weakest excuse for a cadet he’s seen.
I fluster at the negative attention we’re drawing. “My hand is hurt, not my legs, Cameron.” I try to struggle out of his arms, but he only grips me tighter. His brows are firmly pinched together and his focus is on the infirmary door. There’s no arguing with him.
It’s a self-service infirmary. Which is concerning, but those are the rules down here.
The medics lent to the Dark Forces only help in cases like Damian’s teeth where they can implement new tech and test it out on us.
Small injuries are left to us. Those who are too close to death are left to die. There’s not much in between.
Cameron sets me down on the table and rummages through the cupboards until he finds bandages and ointment.
“Lift your wrist,” he says softly. I grimace as I raise my arm, pain flashes across my hand.
The skin is red and some of my knuckles are bleeding.
The swelling hasn’t started yet, but I know it’s going to be impossible to braid my hair later.
Which should be the least of my worries, but for some reason it’s the first thing that comes to my mind.
Cameron works diligently, giving me a cortisone shot to help with the swelling before gently spreading ointment over my hand and wrapping it with the same care.
A silvery lock of hair falls over his forehead.
He looks up at me, sage green eyes meeting mine, and refiguring my heart all at once to a different tune.
His nose is almost touching mine. Birchwood has slowly become a comfort scent for me, and I’ll never admit it to anyone.
“Why did you stop the fight?” I look down and tilt my chin away from him. Both of his hands are pressed against the table on either side of me, caging me in. “I could’ve finished her off.”
He lets out a low breath. “If I didn’t catch her boot, your knuckles would’ve been shattered. They would never heal right. You’re welcome,” he says snidely.
My cheeks feel hot, and rage flurries through me. “I don’t need your help out there!” I shout in his face, and his eyes snap wide as he takes in my anger.
“Emery, I was only—”
I push him out of my way and slip by him. “Now everyone hates us more because we’re getting special treatment. They all think I’m weak!”
How many times has my father told me I’m weak? That everything I do is never enough because I’m small and a woman. I gnash my teeth together. I know I’m overreacting with Cameron, but I feel so triggered right now I’m not sure I can stop.
I shake my head and march toward the door before I say anything too cruel. As I open it, he slams his hand above my head and keeps the door closed. The heat from his body radiates at my back.
He’s quiet for a moment too long, stretching my soul as I wait for him to say something.
“Nobody thinks you’re weak, Em.” His voice is a deep whisper. I have a physical response to him calling me Em. My chest feels like it’s being suffocated.
Liar. You think I’m weak.
I turn, intending to shove him back so I can leave, but his eyes are pleading.
“Say it,” he mutters.
I freeze. “Say what?” My voice loses all fury. I know he’s just trying to keep me in suitable condition for the trials. I know it and yet… I don’t want to get used to him protecting me when he’s going to be the one slaying me in the end.
It’s torture, what he’s doing to me.
“That you aren’t weak.”
I study his expression before letting a callous laugh slip at his serious expression.
“Cameron, I know I’m not weak. But everyone out there?
They think I am… Do you have any idea what I’ve done with these hands?
” He does. He just doesn’t know who I am.
He doesn’t know what Reed and the world made me.
His eyes don’t waver. “I don’t. Why don’t you tell me?”
“It’d make you sick.”
“I’m already sick.” A sly grin spreads over his lips, though what we’re talking about isn’t funny at all.
“I promise I’ve done much worse.” His voice doesn’t match the pain I see in his eyes.
Phantoms of violence and gore flicker there, things he regrets but will continue to do mercilessly just like I will.
We do what we need to in order to survive. That’s it.
The truth is, I’m the one who isn’t ready to talk about it. I like being the unknown grotesque artist. Once the curtain is drawn and everyone sees me, the magic is gone.
He must see the misery in my gaze because he shifts off the door, though he remains standing an inch away from my back.
As I open the door to leave, he murmurs, “You’ll have to tell me eventually. Just like I’ll have to tell you.”
I pause in the doorway, turning my head slightly to glance back at him, but I catch myself and force my chin forward. “I don’t trust you, just like you don’t trust me,” I recite his words from before.
He doesn’t follow me out as I leave him in the infirmary.
I was right about my hand being useless tonight. My fingers are so swollen I can’t even curl them into a fist, let alone have the precision to braid my hair. I decide to just leave it down tonight after my shower.
It’s already lights-out and the barracks are dark.
I’ve walked this path so many times by now that I easily make my way back to our cot.
There’s a nagging feeling in the back of my mind that I shouldn’t get used to this place.
It sucks, and it’s dangerous, but it’s the closest thing to a home I’ve had in years.
The presence of other people is underrated. I know what it’s like to be alone for weeks on end in a big, empty house or a foreign hideout. My only quality time with someone was with Reed when he was allowed to travel with me during my mentorship with him. That felt like home.
This feels like home too now, and knowing that it’s going to be short-lived guts me.
Cameron didn’t wait in the showers like he usually does. I know it’s because I screamed in his face about it, and although I feel bad, it’s for the best if we aren’t close. He can’t be what makes me feel safe.
He called me Em today. I’ve almost called him Cam several times.
We’re becoming too familiar. My father’s only advice rolls through my memory.
“Em-bee, familiarity with the enemy will be the death of you.” I firm my resolve.
I can’t let my guard down. That’s probably exactly what happened to all of Cameron’s old partners. They got too comfy around his charm.
I sit at the edge of the cot and gather my hair to one side before lying back, being mindful of my throbbing hand. Cameron is quiet for a long time. I assume he’s sleeping, so I startle when he threads his fingers through my loose hair.
“No braids tonight?”
“Do you always touch my hair when you think I’m asleep?” I shoot back.
He chuckles. The rumbling of it against my back makes a small smile grow across my lips. I don’t know how he’s so good at dismissing the bad blood from earlier, but I’m relieved.
“Here, sit up.” Cameron is already moving, so I concede and sit at the edge of the bed. He collects my hair from over my shoulder, his fingertips skating over the soft of my neck before fondly smoothing out my hair in his hands.
My breath hitches and a feeling I’ve long since banished coils in my chest. Affection. Soft. Tender. All things that Mori is not supposed to be.
All things I’m certain he’s not.
“What are you doing?” I whisper, chills running over my arms as he separates my hair into two sections. He massages my scalp as he loosens my natural wavy hair. My fingers dig into my knees and heat pools in my core. I can’t hear anything except the sound of my racing heart.
“I used to have a foster sister,” Cameron murmurs, his breath warm against my nape. “I’d braid her hair all the time.” I didn’t know that he was in foster care. It’s the first real thing I’ve learned about his past, and I’m greedy for more.
I always wished I’d had a sibling to grow heartless with. Someone to share the weight of the world placed on a Mavestelli heir’s shoulders.
“What happened to her?” I ask gently. Soft snores from the beds around us sound almost like a rhythmic hum in the darkness. An eerie hymn for the Under.
Cameron weaves my hair carefully, slowly, like he’s savoring every second of it. “She died from alcohol poisoning at twenty-two.” His voice tightens. “I always told her the bottle would be her demise if she didn’t get help. Well, she made the bed she now lies in.”
“And did she tell you the same about your pills?” My tone is soft, but a blade nonetheless.
Cameron’s hands stop briefly before he finishes tying the braids.
“No. I was clean when I knew her. She left the home four years before I did,” he says.
I turn to face him in the pitch-black. “You can make all the jabs you want. Nothing you can say will make me stop. This is who I am. I’m the gateway to unlocking enhanced soldiers.
” He brings his thumb to my chin and nudges me playfully even though he sounds somber.
“You’re so much more,” I murmur, not returning his light mood.
He doesn’t move for a beat. I wish I could see his eyes clearly right now, they tell more secrets than I know he ever will.
His voice is smooth. “You haven’t even seen a fraction of what I am.”