Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
ELLIOT
Little Crane was put here as a distraction. A decoy. A chance to either prove my loyalty to Mother or a chance to get me off Mother’s case.
Either way, it won’t work.
I can see Mother’s plan a mile away. Over a decade together and she tries to pull a fast one using the same tricks she’s used on her targets. Using the same tricks she’s taught me.
Distraction is a fine weapon, a method to make even the strongest opponents weak, and she’s trying to use it on me.
Regardless of whatever plan she comes up with, none of it will change anything. I still have my assignment from the Society higher-up to kill her.
“Let’s see what you know, Little Crane,” I say, walking toward the mat. If she’s gonna be my fucking trainee, then I get to give her a nickname, and I’m the only one who gets to call the cocky little shit by said nickname.
No one else.
Her arm is soft in my hand. The second my words leave my lips, she doesn’t let the softness linger in my hands. The moment her feet hit the mat, she yanks her arm free of mine and creates distance between us.
A chase?
Oh, a chase. I smile. A thrill runs through my limbs as I watch her. The crane should know better than to run from a predator.
“Mistake number one, Little Crane: your safest bet was to get so close I couldn’t get a proper swing on you. Anything’s fixable, though,” I say and approach the bird. She jumps back, circling me like I’m the one who’s trapped. I let her.
As an herbalist, I would imagine she doesn’t have much experience in combat. It’s not her strongest suit I’d say, based on her tactic here, but she doesn’t seem completely clueless.
I use my height to my advantage, taking one large step to cut the distance between us. She’s in my hands and I’m lifting her over my head. She curls her body in on herself, getting ready for impact. She rolls as I drop her on the mat behind me.
The spring mat rumbles under me as she jumps back into a standing position and advances on me.
Whipping around, I catch her foot mid air before it can strike my back.
I deliver an elbow jab to the area above her ankle.
I’m not dumb enough to hit bone. She tries to yank her foot back, but I jerk her forward, crashing her body to mine.
“You seriously need more combat training, Little Crane.”
“My name is Diora,” she grunts and tries to break free but can only get as far as her leg is long, since I still have her foot in my grasp. She jumps and uses her other foot to deliver a sharp kick across my face, which forces me to let her go.
My head snaps as I stumble following the direction of force from her kick, and she’s on me in the next second.
She jumps on my back and wraps her arms around my neck, leaning back to pull my head with her.
Damn, she has some tricks up her sleeve.
I smile as the crease of her elbow tries to cut my airway.
Too bad for her, I weigh more than she thinks and I slam us down on the ground. I don’t let my full weight land on her, just enough to knock the wind from her. I hear her mutter a curse.
I flip over and trap her beneath me. Grabbing my wire saw from my back pocket, I pull it over her delicate neck. Holding it tight enough to barely cut her, a beautiful thin line of ruby red blood bubbling from the front of her neck. Now that’s fucking precious.
“I won,” I say breathlessly. She crunches her brows, and that’s when I feel the tiny stab at my side.
“Did you?” she asks with that same smirk she wore on the way to the damn training room. She digs the knife a little deeper, drawing blood I’ll have to clean from this shirt. She’s cutting deeper than I am and that shit fucking stings.
“Tie,” I say, moving my wire back, her blood coating it, making me more aroused than I fucking should be.
I yank her back up, forcing her knife out of my side.
“There are no ties outside of this room. You plunge that knife into my side and then you yank it out and keep stabbing me till I don’t move. You got it?”
Not that she’d be able to do that to me if we were in a real fight. Her head would be a bloody mess on the ground before she could stab me again. But everyone’s not me.
“Got it,” she says and even salutes me. The little shit.
I don’t let her other arm go, dragging her to the clean up counters. I don’t think Mother would appreciate a mark on her prodigy, and the least I can do is wipe it clean and make sure it doesn’t get infected.
“Why do you kill?” she asks. The randomness of the question makes me freeze.
“That’s personal,” I say, glaring at the audacious crane. She is quite the proud thing.
“I kill for me.”
“You kill for Mother. You kill for your sister. But not for you,” I say, rolling my eyes at her. Her curls are frizzy, about an inch halo over her head, and sweat drips off her skin. I’ve yet to break a sweat, but I wouldn’t be a Son or a Top Dog if I did while training a newbie.
“No, they give me a reason to justify being a murderer,” she says, gazing off into space. “But the urge. The itch. The craving. That’s always been there.”
I watch her as she answers. The same urge found in all of us Strays.
It’s something we were born with. It’s not an instinct that can be created or learned.
She has it. I have it. Enyo, Mother—we all have that itch.
She pushes me back against the counter, and I let her.
She swipes a cloth off the stack we keep and lifts my shirt.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Cleaning your wound,” she says. “I got excited and stabbed too deep.”
“It’s fine,” I say as her hands skim my skin. I don’t let my breath hitch as she gets closer.
“Why do you work with Mrs. Jay?” she asks. Moving away, she looks through the line of cabinets, searching for a saline solution, probably.
“Why do you? Why are you so close to her?” I snarl. What the hell is up with the twenty-one questions? Is she trying to open me up? Learn what I know to report back to Mother?
“Does she seem like the kind of person to let someone in? To let someone help her?” she asks me, as she presses a cloth to my side.
The knife barely made it in, not enough to call Hank, but enough to draw blood.
“Do I seem like a team player? A person who wants help? Her help, of all? You think I don’t see the monster she is? ”
“You know about it?” How much does Diora know? Does she know about the molestation, or the trafficking ring, or more?
“It’s not about knowing. It’s about aura, a gut instinct.
” She says this so simply. As if trusting your gut is as easy as taking your next breath.
It pisses me off. I tense as her hands press against my skin.
An unnecessary action, since she has her own wound to tend to.
Though I barely touched her, the thrill of holding her between me and the wire of life and death was…
ecstasy. Fuck I have to stop before the problem in my damn pants gets worse. Noticeable. Damn.
“And you trust yours? What if you’re wrong?” I mumble. It’s not a question I’d ask anyone—least of all what I should be asking her—but it slipped. I slip around her, and I never slip. I can’t afford to slip.
“I’m not.” She gazes up at me this time, and I let her stare into my eyes as she tells me she truly believes in herself.
“Then why are you working for such a monster, as you called her?”
“Probably the same reason you are.”
“Which is?” I ask. I don’t deserve to ask, but I do. I can’t help the hope that blooms in my chest that she’ll answer.
I suddenly wanna know everything about Diora. Down to her soulless core. I need to know how she can trust herself so well.
She blinks before smiling and moving away from me. The loss makes me regret asking, but my curiosity fills the loss as she plays with the gauze we keep in the training room in front of the silver framed mirror that hangs on the wall.
I take some alcohol and a clean cloth, coming up behind her and clutching her fragile neck from under her hair. The cloth between my hand and her neck holds all the restraint I have not to squeeze. Not to steal her breath. Not to turn her around and press my lips to her alluring pout.
She huffs, tilting her head in my grasp. “She caught me. I never even knew she was there. Following me. Watching me as I planned and executed my first four kills. She actually came in and introduced herself. It was the strangest encounter.”
“You got caught in her web,” I murmur, watching her disbelief at being caught by a much bigger monster than herself. It’s a humbling experience, but I can’t pretend it hasn’t made me a better killer.
“I can’t imagine anyone willingly walking into her crew of deception and destruction.”
“I did,” I whisper, watching her neck instead of meeting her eyes.
“Did you? Or were you stuck with no other options but to walk into her open arms?” she asks.
I can hear the genuineness of her question.
I can hear the rush of air in my ears, but all I can smell is jasmine and raspberries.
Her scent consumes me as my lips linger over the top of her head.
I can’t help but want her skin over my lips. But I refrain.
Diora Moss is an observant person. She seems to not trust anyone but herself and that I can respect.
“I was twelve. Most Strays are recruited at a young age. They’re more bendable.
Teachable. Mother required her own strays, and she loves young boys.
” Her body stiffens under me. I can feel her eyes beating at me through the mirror, but I can’t look at her.
Keeping my eyes closed, I breathe in her scent again.
It’s not every day these words are spoken out loud.
A running secret amongst the unlucky few.
But Diora may be my crane in the mess of fog.
She could be my shining light. My luck is clearing this fog of the same fate to the next lost boy with an uncontrollable rage.
A loss of moral compass and a need to fill.