Chapter 33
I'm the Bad Guy
On the last day of training, Soren and I were paired together.
I bit the inside of my cheeks so hard that blood pooled around my lower jaw as I stared up at the single rope stretching across a ravine. That was just the start of the obstacle course. I’d already failed.
Soren took hold of my hand. His grip was gentle, but he didn’t say a word to me or meet my eyes. He just tugged me along with him until I was at the base of a tree with low-lying branches.
My knees knocked together as I stared up at the thick trunk. Sweat trickled down and over my brow, stabbing at my frozen-wide eyes.
Then Soren’s free hand came down, covering them.
Both of my hands flew to his chest to shove him away, but they were too late. His other arm released my hand and locked around my torso, and the hand that had covered my eyes vanished.
I was airborne.
I screamed, eyes shut tight on their own now, pounding my fists into his back and trying to kick him wherever I could. He’d thrown me over his shoulder like a sack of flour and scaled the tree as if I weighed nothing.
The movement soon stopped, and he lowered me to a branch.
I immediately pressed myself flat into the bark of the trunk, still screaming at him so hard my face was hot with spit flying out around each curse.
“You fucking asshole! I’m gonna kill you. You can rot in the Void!”
His cold hand clamped over my mouth. “Stop screaming and listen to me, Eliana.”
I quieted, but the hyperventilation made it hard to hear him when he spoke again, voice low and urgent.
“You have to hold on to me,” he said with his eyes now piercing straight through me. “I’ll get you across, but you need to calm down and hold on to me.”
“I can’t,” I whimpered.
His hand cupped my chin, fingers digging hard into my jaw until my cheeks hollowed out. It wasn’t quite painful, but it wasn’t soft. This was who he truly was: an impatient, controlling asshole.
“If you fail us, we have to do it again,” Soren growled. “We will never get out of NTG if you can’t learn to fucking trust me. Just close your eyes and hold on to me.”
He let go of my face and started pulling me to my feet. I kept my gaze locked on his. If I looked away, I was going to hurl from fifty feet up. Then I’d probably pass out, fall from fifty feet up, and die.
“You’ve got to learn to trust someone besides yourself,” he grumbled, “Or you’re going to be your own death.”
“You can’t trust the nephilim,” Zade had warned.
That same nephilim’s arm wrapped around me again, and I threw my arms and legs around him as well, holding on with everything I had. I didn’t have much of a choice but to trust him now that I was up this high. If he didn’t get me down from here, I’d be up in this tree the rest of my life.
Besides, when had I ever listened to Zade’s advice?
I also really didn’t want my face in Soren’s angry grip again. That close to his mouth. With his stupid breath on me.
My eyes clenched tighter as I gripped him more fiercely.
“Don’t let go,” Soren whispered.
Then his arms released me.
I was the only one holding on now, channeling every ounce of cuddly instinct I might have ever had and literally clinging for dear life.
We moved—swaying slightly as he stepped onto the rope. My nails dug into his shoulders. My hands numbed. I wasn’t sure if I was still breathing. Side to side. Rocking and walking.
Then the swaying stopped.
Both of his arms wrapped back around me, flooding me with a warmth that soaked into my skin and deep into my veins. I could feel every inch of his strong muscles like this.
Then he was peeling me off.
“It’s over, Xiao Ying,” he said softly, and even though I still clung to him, he unlatched me easily, detaching my arms and legs from around the safety that was him. We were on solid ground again, on the other side of the ravine.
Soren didn’t say anything. He just turned and walked into the trees toward the next obstacle.
Shuffling, I followed like an obedient schoolgirl. Always in his shadow.
The next challenge was a field of hidden traps.
We spotted the first—a wire stretched low to the ground—and stepped over it.
To start with, I copied Soren’s every move.
Then I stopped myself.
Why am I following him again? I can do this on my own.
I sighed and picked up speed, pushing past him.
The next trap—a low branch tied to a net—was easy to duck under. I didn’t look back to see if he made it. I cleared three more traps like that.
“Slow down and watch what you’re doing,” Soren warned as darts shot past me. I’d tripped a trigger vine.
“Stop telling me what to do!” I shouted without looking back.
“You’re impossibly stubborn. I’m trying to help.”
I spun around, my face burning. “I’m getting whiplash from how fast your attitude changes toward me!
” Birds startled overhead, leaves scattering as I yelled.
“So, excuse me if I don’t feel like letting you help.
And everyone keeps warning me not to trust you!
So, that’s exactly what I’m going to do: NOT trust you! ”
I turned and took two steps forward.
The ground disappeared beneath me.
Soren’s body slammed into my back.
Oh. Fuck.
I’m falling again.
My scream cut off with a thud.
It wasn’t my thud, though. It was Soren’s. He’d landed first, breaking my fall.
It still hurt, that sudden cessation of momentum, and my ankle exploded with a blinding pain.
One of us groaned.
I rolled off Soren, melting into thick mud.
Definitely him groaning again.
The next sound was a whimper. It made me question if it was still Soren—it was weak and ragged.
“Eliana?” His voice was low, stretched out, and slurred with pain.
“Yeah,” I answered, breathless. My back throbbed. Numbness spread down my spine and into my legs.
I tried to sit up, pressing my hands into the ground, but the mud swallowed them. I groaned as something sharp pinched all the way down my back.
Another groan from Soren.
“You hurt?” he asked. The words gurgled like he was speaking underwater.
I forced myself to crawl to him.
“What’s wrong? Where are you hurt?”
His hand shot out and gripped my forearm.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I lied.
“You’re not,” he rasped. His breath sounded wet. Too wet.
Blood. He’s choking on his own blood.
“Shut up. I’m fine. It’s just my ankle. But you’re not fine. Where are you hurt?”
I ran my hands over his torso, trying to find the wound. Everything felt wet. I couldn’t tell what was blood and what was mud.
“Tell me how to help,” I pleaded, still feeling for the answer.
Soren spat something out. He grabbed my hand and moved it to his side.
A metal cylinder jutted out from right under his ribs, slick and warm.
“Get… it… out.”
I yanked my hand back.
“No! If I pull it out and you start bleeding…what if it’s keeping pressure on an artery? Or what if I yank out an internal organ? I’ll kill you.”
Tears stung my eyes. Sweat mixed with the mud on my cheeks.
Soren let out a hoarse laugh. “You can’t kill me. Just get it out.”
But what if I do?
He was supposed to be the enemy. I’d literally plotted his murder. Multiple times. But now, faced with the real possibility of him dying, I felt like I was cracking in half.
They said the opposite of love wasn't hate. It was apathy. Hate and love were both rooted in passion. Apathy meant letting someone die and not caring.
I wasn’t even close to apathetic. My hatred was rooted in passion and mired to the point of maybe not looking so much like hate all the time.
“I can’t. Just pull it yourself. I’m gonna mess it up.” Every word was hugged by a breath taken too deeply.
“Eliana, please. It hurts.”
His voice was quieter now. Bloodier.
I inched closer and put my hand on his. He guided my hand back to the metal object. My fingers wrapped around it. It was an ammo canister, slick with mud and blood and the sweat from my own skin.
I pulled gently.
It didn’t move it at all, but Soren yelled out in pain, suffocated with a gurgling sound.
“Just yank it out!” he shouted, somehow managing to find the energy to yell at me with his dying breath.
“Okay, okay. Stop screaming at me!” Both tears and snot dripped into my mouth.
I gripped the metal again, took a deep breath, and yanked. There was a squelch quickly followed by his groan with a hint of a scream.
I froze, listening to see if any more sounds were coming out of him or if I had just killed him.
Then, hushed and rough: “I’ll be fine.”
Oh, thank fuck.
I sighed too loudly in relief.
“Are you really okay?” he asked, and I felt him shift onto his side. His hand landed heavy on my thigh.
“You shouldn’t be moving,” I stammered.
“I heal fast. Faster than you. Where did you get hurt?”
“I’m fine,” I whispered.
I shifted. My ankle throbbed, and I inhaled sharply with the pain.
“You’re lying,” Soren said, voice sharp again. The softness was gone.
“Okay. My ankle hurts. But it’ll be fine.”
“Zuri can fix it when they find us,” he muttered.
“Oh yeah,” I chuckled. “I forgot for a second about all your magical healing powers.”
“They’re not magical powers. The Charisms are gifts.” He started to move again, dragging himself across the mud. “And you have one, too. Maybe more.”
I scoffed and then groaned at the ache in my back. The numbness was dissipating, giving way to pulsing pain.
“Yeah, the nightmare? Great gift.”
“Come here.”
His voice came from a few feet away. I inched forward, wincing with every shift of my ankle and spine, crawling toward the sound until my hand landed on his leg instead of the mud. I quickly shifted sideways, trying not to end up sprawled across him and ending the touch as soon as possible.
As I moved closer, I realized the ground had started to slope upward. He’d found the edge of the pit—flat, solid rock.
“You have more than just the dreams,” he said once I’d settled beside him.
“You should be lying down,” I replied, sidestepping the comment. “Or is one of your gifts invincibility?” I straightened up suddenly. “Wait! Should I be putting pressure on the wound or something?”
My hands scrambled down his torso toward his side. I waited for him to flinch or yell. He didn’t. He just laughed. It was silent, but I felt its shake.
“You don’t need to worry about me,” Soren spoke so close to me that his breath fanned all across my face, to my neck, and even my chest. “I promise. You’re not the only mutt around here.” Again, he laughed, but it came out as a cough.
I’d heard it my whole life. But like someone shoving toothpicks under your nails, I'd never gotten used to it. Some things, you just didn't get used to.
Even Zade would call me that.
Now this guy.
“Yeah, yeah,” I muttered, pulling back. “Heard it all before. No need to sound so disgusted.”
“I’m not disgusted by you.”
I didn’t hear him move, but suddenly he was beside me again. His hand grazed my knee, then found my hand. I jerked it away.
He exhaled, half-laughing.
“So far from disgusted.”
“Why do you think that nightmare was a Charism?” I asked, desperate to change the subject and avoid the pit swelling in my stomach at his touch and under his words
“I don’t think it. I know it. I saw it in your eyes.”
I leaned back against the rock wall. A shaft of light angled down, just enough for me to catch a glimpse of his profile before he tilted his head toward me.
My eyes dropped to the mud immediately.
“How can you see it?” I asked.
“It’s my job,” he said. The mud shifted under him, and his silhouette inched closer. “To know you.”
I swallowed. “And these other Charisms you say I have?”
“When you shoot, your aim isn’t human.” His breath fluttered near my shoulder. “And the way everyone in the room wants to look at you—that’s not natural. And I have my suspicions about another one that I'm keeping an eye on.”
A shiver rippled through me. I squirmed back, but he didn’t stop. He loomed over me, the air between us thick and stifling.
I looked up, stupidly, and the heat of his breath washed over my mouth. My stomach twisted. My heart raced.
“You’re dangerous,” I whispered.
His low laugh vibrated from his chest.
His hand slid from my arm to the curve of my neck. I flinched. His fingers curled around the back of it, resting firmly.
His other hand dropped to my knee again.
Even though I couldn’t see his eyes, I had the horrible, certain feeling that he could see mine.
“A nephilim?” I asked, barely audible.
It was so unnecessary for him to press his mouth so close to mine to speak.
“I’m the bad guy, Eliana,” he said against my lips, breathing his life and death into me.
Then he pressed his mouth to mine.
His lips were warm and sure, and my own parted on a startled gasp.
His breath swept across my tongue, and a heartbeat later, his tongue followed, claiming, coaxing, undoing me in seconds.
I didn’t even remember grabbing him, but my fists were knotted in his mud-soaked, blood-drenched shirt as if I could anchor him to me.
I didn’t need to.
He kissed me with a soul-deep hunger that promised he wasn’t going anywhere and spoke of lifetimes of searching and yearning. His hands cemented the promise, one wrapped around my neck in a vice and the other holding my waist too tightly not to bruise.
Soren had always been strength carved into human shape—dominant, disciplined, wrapped in an armor of control he never seemed to shed.
But there was no control in the way his tongue warred against mine.
No restraint in the low, rough groan that vibrated through his chest and into mine.
My answering moan was small, fragile even, but it sparked something volatile. A fuse lit, and he detonated.
Soren pulled back to glare at me before his mouth crashed into mine again, sucking the same tongue he’d bitten not too long ago.
He tugged my bottom lip between his teeth, a soft, punishing drag that stole every ounce of oxygen from within me, then he plunged back into my mouth like he owned every breath I could ever take.
I tried to match him, to kiss him back with even a fraction of what he gave, but I was floundering, drowning in him, barely keeping up. I wanted him. I didn't need him, but the want felt so damn close to something like that.
“Soren,” I managed to gasp, right before our names were shouted from above.