26. Sawyer
SAWYER
The next morning, I’m in the library going on hour three of a chat with Iris when boots thud through the entryway.
My attention flickers, my gaze lifting to Aiden for a millisecond before I return to the screen. I type out half a sentence before pausing. I look up—frown.
Hands cupped in front of him, he shuffles his feet. Beads of sweat have broken out on his forehead, but it’s the grimace crinkling his eyes that makes my pulse skip.
“What’s wrong?”
“I can’t find the Head Keeper,” he says. “Have you seen her?”
My jaw slackens as I stand, but I’m not quick to speak. The last time I saw Luna, she was curled against me; the smooth rhythm of her breath lulled me to sleep. When I woke, she was gone. Her side of the bed was made as if she’d never been there.
“She probably just went for a run,” I say, though I don’t know where Luna goes or what she does.
“I need her. Now.” He shuffles in the doorway like I’m hiding the answer. When I don’t give it, I assume he’ll leave. He doesn’t.
Does he think I hurt her?
“Aiden, what’s wrong?”
Arching into the hall, he peeks toward the staircase. It’s a simple thing, but it raises the hairs on my arms.
Did someone hurt her?
He rights himself and walks toward the desk, shoulders lifted and steps careful.
“Mating ceremonies are sacred,” he says, voice low.
“They’re to be celebrated for the joyous occasion they are.
Children conceived in shame will live in shame, and our society prospers because of our differences from the outside world. ”
I blink twice before realizing he’s finished. My hand sweeps air. “All right.”
His mouth opens only to be covered by his fist.
“Aiden.”
No response.
“What is happening?”
Again, no response.
I walk toward him until the weight of his words slow my steps, and my feet slosh like the floor has turned to mud.
Mating ceremonies…
This is about a mating ceremony. Something urgent or shameful or both.
Luna doesn’t know.
Aubry.
Liberty.
“Liberty.” My eyes go wide. “Where’s Liberty?”
Aiden’s chronically rosy cheeks sink with what I pray to God is not remorse.
“Aiden!”
“The Bower. Aurelius just gave Thorne the order… If you hurry and find Head Keeper…”
He saves his voice instead of finishing that sentence. We both know Luna is no longer in charge. If it wasn’t clear before, it is now.
“Fuck,” I stutter out, my hand threading my hair as my jaw releases. My head swims as I turn, but my body is sure of itself. I stride back to the desk and jerk open the bottom drawer.
Smooth metal grazes my fingertips as I snake my hand beneath one of the sliders. It takes several tries before my nails catch the metal spine to one of Luna’s older books. The razor sharp tip nicks my thumb as it falls into my hand—good. The hours spent whittling one end weren’t for nothing.
I bend to secure the piece of metal into my sock before tugging my pant leg in place. Aiden says nothing about the weapon as I stand. He doesn’t try to stop me when I speed past him, my heart thumping in my ears.
The Bower is five thousand two hundred and seventeen steps from the Keep, but I cut the number in half with long strides as I sprint toward the building. Panic fuels my limbs even while my twisting gut tries to slow me down.
It’s cruel how much time there is to think while I run. Every step stretches a little further, but time slows to a crawl.
If I was a better man, I’d think of the women.
But instead, I think of Angel.
Angel—with his cropped hair and flannel blanket on move-in day, freshman year.
Angel—giving the dean a cold glare while he moaned about integrity.
Angel—with that same cold glare trained on me, the last time we saw each other.
It’s been twenty years since we shook hands as roommates the first semester, and eighteen since he told me I was the only family he had. Though this past year has been nothing but resentful, never until this moment did I believe that bond could be broken.
He took my home. He took my money. He took my life.
But I could forgive him, if he asked.
He will never forgive me for this.
I never slow as I approach the Bower—instead, I burst through the door and down the hall where only Thorne is waiting.
No guards. Aurelius isn’t confident his Keepers would support this.
“Thorne.” I pant as I stop in front of him, the monitor for the rooms on my right. I turn to peer at it as movement on the screen catches my eye.
Both rooms are displayed, showing both women with different … mates. The sound has been turned off, but my ears hear phantom noises anyway. Tears. Cries. Pleas that go unanswered.
Too late.
Blood drains from my face as my stomach lurches.
“Go back to the library, Dreg,” Thorne says, his voice more gruff than normal.
My eyes track Liberty on the screen. Her room is the last on the left.
I turn and start down the hall, but Thorne grips my shoulder and swings me to face him. My chest expands but then freezes in place while I try to make sense of his eyes, soft not hard.
“Go back to the library, Dreg,” he repeats with a shove that has me stumbling back a step. He doesn’t attempt to clear his throat, though his gravelly voice suggests he should. He doesn’t attempt anything; just stands there hoping I’ll leave.
There’s a chance I’d be able to reason with him.
But I don’t take it.
My fist rears back but before it can get halfway to Thorne’s face, he lands a predictable blow to my gut that has me hunching forward. I slink to my knees, arm wrapped around my stomach while I let out a low groan that’s more authentic than I’d hoped.
Thorne towers over me with contempt that doesn’t seem as strong as it should be.
I weave a hand beneath my pant leg to retrieve the sharpened piece of metal and visualize where to put the blade—my next two moves playing out in my head.
One slash to his femoral artery. One yank of his wobbly leg to send him toppling to the ground.
“I know you think you’re smarter than me, but it’s time you learned that brains only get you so far,” he says with all the confidence of an oversized G.I.
Joe. I slide the metal from my sock and grip it tight, eyes aimed at his thigh where the artery awaits.
It’ll be a quick death. Mostly painless.
“It’s the strongest who survive, you puny wimp. I could hurl you across a room.”
A garbled sound comes from my mouth—not as high as a laugh; not as low as a grunt.
That’s not what Darwin meant.
I lift the blade to his thigh in a quick slash, but in the millisecond it takes to slice, something pale and poised flashes through my mind—so fast it’s hardly to blame for my hand hitching. I miss the artery at least two centimeters off my mark.
There’s a half second delay where I could correct the mistake, but instead, I tighten my grip and plunge the blade through Thorne’s boot. Metal pierces leather and flesh until I’m met with too much resistance.
Thorne bellows as his heavy feet shuffle backward. His eyes pop as he looks down at his foot, and before he can fully react, I scramble around him and hurry for the last door.
I slide the lock and fling open the door, my senses immediately assaulted. There’s no time to be paralyzed, but I hesitate long enough to see everything. Hear everything.
Liberty’s screams—angry but more than that. Worse.
The naked back of a Keeper. The dirty soles of Liberty’s bare feet.
Too late.
My chest swells as I lunge for the man, his head knocking into the wall as I tackle him off Liberty. She scrambles off the mattress while I scramble on top of the assailant. He blinks as if confused, but his eyes slam shut when I ram my fist into his teeth.
His hands lift but hardly shield his face as I bust his nose. Crack his jaw.
And again.
And again.
Until his hands drape awkwardly at his sides and blood no longer sputters from his mouth.
“Sawyer,” Liberty cries. My fist hovers by my ear as I turn. She sits with her knees pulled up to her chest, a shaking hand clutching her ripped shirt.
I go to her with my hands carefully held out. She clenches her eyes shut to sob.
“Shh, it’s okay,” I say. Except it isn’t. It never will be.
I pull my hoodie off my head and carefully help her into it while Thorne barges into the room, blood wetting his pants and seeping from the hole in his boot. He breathes heavily as another Keeper comes in after him.
Limping to me, he stares down with an expression so vengefully ragged, it’s manic. “Thank you. You just made my life so much easier.”
“Sir?” The Keeper prods for the order.
Fists bunched at his sides, Thorne continues to glare at me. “Take him to the mines.”
“And the girl?”
His eyes flick to Liberty for the briefest moment, and in that moment, all the fire inside of him dims. He turns his head as his expression settles into what would look like cold indifference if I didn’t know better.
“Her too… She isn’t going to work out here. None of them will.”
None of them will.
My head spins with his words, and I try to stand but stumble.
None of them.
They’re scrapping the project. Liberty is no longer needed. Aubry is no longer needed.
I’m no longer needed.
“What should I do with the other one?” the Keeper asks.
Thorne takes his time to respond. “Tell her to start praying she’s with child.”