Stealing Infinity, page 18
It would be so easy to consent to this, to skip all the levels and claim this boy for my own.
But not yet.
Not so fast.
Braxton is an enigma, a walking storehouse of riddles, and I will take my time to explore all his mysteries.
For now, there’s so much more kissing to do.
I close my fingers over his and, with a small jolt of regret, lead them back to my waist. But when he crashes his mouth onto mine once again, I’m instantly lost in the wonder of his embrace.
“Tasha…” he breathes, his lips pressing a woozy line of kisses down my throat, grazing the line of my collarbone, as I bury my face in his neck, inhaling the sweet spice of his scent. An expensive, rare, custom blend of vanilla, cocoa, and ginger made solely for him—or so I imagine.
“Tasha, I—”
My eyes slide open, and his gaze latches tight. He’s on the verge of telling me something—something that’s making his brow crease, his confidence waver—when music suddenly blasts from out of nowhere and slams us back to reality, just like it did the night before, except this piece is different.
With a weary sigh, Braxton releases me and reaches into his pocket to silence his slab. “Mozart,” he says. “‘Requiem.’”
“Let me guess.” I tug on the hem of my dress and straighten the neckline. “It’s ten to ten.” When I raise my gaze to meet his, I find him looking at me, brow creased with concern.
“You okay?” he asks. “Because I need you to know, I didn’t mean for any of that to happen.”
“Oh really?” I make a wide gesture around a room that looks as though it was made for exactly the sort of things we just did.
A sudden flush fills Braxton’s cheeks. “Hey, I’m not saying I’m sorry it happened.” His mouth quirks at the side as he rubs a nervous hand across his jaw. “But I get that it’s moved really fast. Or at least it has for you.”
“Just me?” I ask, confused.
“I’ve had the advantage of knowing you longer.” He shrugs. “It’s my job to familiarize myself with our recruits, so I kinda had no choice but to get to know you. As soon as I read your file, I was intrigued to know more.”
He stands before me, his top teeth sinking into his bottom lip. He’s made himself vulnerable, put it right out there, letting me know he liked me well before he even approached me at Arcana.
Which means he also liked me when I was giving him shit in the diner.
And later when I was giving him shit in my room.
And then even later when I was giving him even more shit during the tour of the school, and again when he sat across from me at dinner, and…
He’s liked me this entire time. He let me dump all over him, which, granted, he totally deserved, but I…
While it’s nice to know he fell for the paper version of me long before he actually met the real-life version of me, I’m starting to think my initial instincts were right—the two of us kissing was not my best plan. Because if my limited experience has taught me anything, it’s that boyfriends burn out pretty fast, while a good friend is in it for the duration.
And more than anything, I could really use a good friend around here.
When I lift my face to his, determined to find a way to relay all of that, Mozart pipes up again. Braxton takes hold of my hand, and he hurries me out the door.
“I’m beginning to really hate Mozart,” I say, rushing alongside him.
“Just wait until you meet him,” Braxton replies, and even after I turn to study his face, it’s impossible to tell if he’s joking. We’ve just stepped into the elevator when he says, “Hey—where’s your tablet?”
It takes me a moment to remember what I did with it. “I think I left it back in my room.”
“Try not to do that,” he says, his expression more serious than I would’ve expected. “If something were to happen, they could use it to find you.”
“What could possibly happen here—in this gilded cage?” I race to keep up as the elevator doors slide open and he grasps my hand and leads me back to my room.
“Nothing,” he says, his voice shaded, his accent lilting in a way that leaves me convinced he’s holding something back. “Just a precaution, that’s all.”
When we reach the end of my hall, “Requiem” begins to play again. It’s now ten o’clock. Soon the lights will go out.
“You should head back to your room,” I say, realizing just after I’ve said it that I have no idea where that is. There’s so much I don’t know about him.
“Good night,” he says, pressing a quick kiss to my cheek.
Then he races for his room and I make for mine.
I’ve just reached my door when the lights click off—and someone shoves a bag over my head.
61
“Scream and you’re dead, understand?”
I blink through a void of black, immediately recognizing the voice as Elodie’s, and I’ve no doubt she wants me to believe it.
But while Elodie is pretty much capable of anything, I seriously doubt she’d go so far as to kill me.
Or would she?
A jolt of terror blows through me, leaving me dizzy, unsteady on my feet, struggling to breathe. “What the fu—” My voice is a rasp, but before I can finish, Elodie yanks the bag so hard, it presses tight to my face, and I truly fear I might suffocate.
“Nod your head, Nat, so we know that you get it.”
She grips my arm so harshly, I stifle a yelp and do as she says. In an instant, the bag loosens, and I frantically suck in a lungful of air.
“Don’t make this harder than it has to be,” she snaps.
Make what harder? What the hell is going on?
I inhale a series of short, shallow breaths, and with my heart about to explode in my chest, I force my brain to stay focused, as I struggle to fit all the pieces together.
For pretty much the first time ever, she called me Nat. I’m not sure if she’s trying to appear friendly, or if she wants to remind me what a loser I was before I arrived on this rock. Considering she put a bag over my head, I’m leaning toward the latter.
Also, the fact that she said we means she’s not alone.
This is verified when someone else starts tying my hands behind my back. Though who she might’ve roped into this—whatever this is—is anyone’s guess.
Next thing I know, I’m on the move, as someone—I’m guessing it’s still Elodie—drags me by the arm, and someone else pushes hard against me. And, despite my attempt to stay calm, that’s when my anxiety really starts to spiral.
My stomach is churning, my body is covered in chills, while fat beads of sweat drip down my forehead and drip into my eyes. Screw keeping my cool and playing along. I need to find a way to stop this hazing, or abduction, or whatever the hell this is before it goes any further.
I try to resist, dig my heels in, and when that doesn’t work, I make my whole body go limp, forcing them to work even harder to propel my dead weight. When someone else grabs hold of my right arm and starts hauling me forward, I realize there’s at least one more in this party.
Great. That makes a minimum of three against one. The odds are definitely not in my favor.
“Where the hell are you taking me?” I struggle against them, try to catch a glimpse of the ground, hoping to maybe figure out some semblance of where I might be heading. But it’s impossible to see much of anything.
“Shut up,” Elodie snaps, squeezing my arm even harder. “I’ll do the talking. But, if you must know, you’re going on a little field trip, so stop being such a whiny little baby, and—”
A door bangs open. A blast of cold wind cuts through my skimpy lace dress and slices straight to my bones.
I recoil from the chill, try to fold my body forward, but it’s no use. Next thing I know, I’m pushed deeper into the squall as the door slams shut behind me and another one opens in front of me.
“Get her inside the car and watch her head!” Elodie says, her voice barely audible against the howl of wind.
No. There’s no way. I absolutely will not get in the car. I won’t—
Next thing I know, I’m shoved into the back seat, scrunched into the middle with a body pressing against either side of me. And that’s when I know what this is really about.
We’re headed straight for the dock.
They’re going to push me into those cold, violent waters and watch from the shore until the current drags me under…
They’re going to force me into the skiff and watch as I battle the waves until I eventually capsize and drown…
I shake my head, cutting off the stream of horror-movie images scrolling across the screen in my brain.
I can’t afford to panic. I need to stay focused, alert—ready to spring into action and make my escape the first chance I get.
“Where the hell are you taking me?” I shout, my voice pushing against the confines of the bag, my unseeing eyes staring into the dark. But when no one replies or acknowledges me in any way, I clamp my lips shut and set to work trying to loosen the rope that’s binding my wrists.
After a never-ending drive around a series of bends and curves, the car stops, the engine dies, my hands are still bound, and I’m back outside, where the wind has its way with me once again.
“At least give her a blanket,” someone says. And though it’s hard to hear above the gust, when I replay the words in my head, I’m certain it was Jago.
Just then, a spray of water kicks up, leaving me partially drenched, and that’s when I unleash the full extent of my fury. I have no intention of dying of hypothermia just because Elodie decided to get her revenge.
My hands may be tied. And yes, there’s a bag over my head. But I can still kick with the best of them.
“Ow!” Elodie cries as the pointed toe of my pump meets her shin. “You little fu—”
It’s the last thing I remember before I black out.
62
When I come to, I’m in the lighthouse.
The freaking lighthouse.
The same one I saw beckoning from the skiff the night I arrived.
Except now that I’m inside, I realize it’s a lighthouse only from the outside.
Inside, it’s remarkably plush, decorated with piles of velvet cushions and soft faux fur blankets. The only light source comes from the flickering candelabras scattered about.
They’re either planning on a night of serious debauchery, or about to conduct a séance.
And either way, I want out.
I sit up so abruptly, my head starts to spin. As I fight to catch my breath and will the constellation of stars swirling before my eyes to vanish, I realize that in addition to Elodie and Jago, Finn, Song, and Oliver have also come along—all of them looking at me with varying degrees of apprehension. Elodie is the only one who doesn’t appear the least bit frightened.
“What the hell, Elodie?” I start to scramble to my feet, but I move too quickly, and frantically reach for the wall to steady myself.
“Oh, for the love of— Would you just sit down?” Elodie says, her voice bored but firm.
And as much as I hate to obey her, I dutifully sink back onto my cushion and spend the next few seconds tenderly examining my head, sure that she must’ve whacked me out there. How else could I have passed out?
“No one hit you.” Elodie laughs. “You hyperventilated, which caused you to faint, which gave us no choice but to carry you up a bazillion flights of stairs. Which, again, was made extra difficult by the way you kicked the shit out of my shin.”
She pushes up the leg of her Gray Wolf logo sweatpants to show me the lump. Through the flicker of candlelight, I can make out the swell of what is on its way to becoming a sizable knot, with a nasty bruise to go with it.
If nothing else, I take consolation in that.
To her, I say, “Maybe if you hadn’t decided to abduct me in the first place, then—”
“Stop being so dramatic. No one’s abducting anyone.” Elodie rolls her eyes.
With my vision finally adjusted, I look to Song, Oliver, Finn, Jago, and say, “What’s going on here? Is this some sort of hazing?”
In reply, every single one of them looks away.
Oliver moves closer to Finn and lays his head on his shoulder, confirming what I already guessed, the two of them are a couple.
Song huddles deeper into her puffy coat until she’s just barely visible.
Jago, glorious Jago, lounges against a pile of velvet cushions and conducts a thorough inspection of his cuticles.
Which only goes to prove that this is all Elodie’s doing.
“I’m out.” This time when I stand, the room no longer sways. “Oh, and for your information, putting a bag over someone’s head, binding their wrists, and throwing them into the back seat of a car, without their consent, is the definition of an abduction.” I make for the exit as Elodie continues to lean against the wall, watching me through a flinty-eyed gaze.
“And just where the hell do you think you’re going?” she says.
“Back.” I reach for the doorknob.
“Oh, you’re going back, all right.”
A hard turn of the knob reveals the door is locked. And, since I don’t have the key, and I’m not exactly desperate enough to jump from a window and risk plunging to my death on the rocks far below, there will be no immediate exit for me.
I stand before them, trying to appear more confident than I feel. “Is this because of Braxton?” I ask, watching as Elodie turns on me, every hair perfectly in place, but her face is a jeer.
“Yes, Nat. This is all about Brax. Because boys are clearly the biggest prize that someone could ever possibly hope for.”
I can’t help but cringe. When she puts it like that, I realize how archaic it sounded. Maybe Song was right, maybe it really is about Arthur.
She rolls her eyes and laughs, obviously enjoying my discomfort. “Clearly, there’s a dire shortage of hot, straight, or fluid boys around here, but—”
“Hey!” Jago tosses a cushion at her, which Elodie effectively dodges.
“Oh, cool it,” she tells him. “Play your cards right, and maybe someday I’ll get around to you, too.”
They both laugh, then Elodie turns back to me, and points at the cushion I abandoned in my attempt to flee. “For the last time, sit.”
Left with no other choice, I do as she says.
“What’s going to happen here is not about you.” Her voice takes on a hard, brittle tone. “You’re just not that special, despite what you think.”
I don’t say a word or react in any way. Better to appear cooperative and calm, while I work to uncover the weakest link in this chain. There’s always that one person who’s slightly less committed to the plan than all the others. And, in this case, I’m counting on Jago. Mostly because, after me, he’s the newest student at the academy.
“You’re about to be inducted into a long-standing, highly revered, rather sacred Gray Wolf Academy tradition that holds great importance.”
I stifle a yawn. That’s a whole lot of hyperbole, even for her.
“What we do here at Gray Wolf is the stuff of legend. But it also comes with great risk. In many cases, our lives depend on one another. Which means trust is essential.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.” I arc an arm wide, gesturing among them. “After what you all did to get me here—I don’t trust a single one of you!”
“Well, we don’t exactly trust you, either,” Song says, her features arranged into a scowl. And I can’t help but feel the sting of betrayal. Isn’t this the same girl who warned me against Elodie and claimed she wanted to be friends? “But—” Song continues, sitting up straighter, her face peering out of her silver puffer, reminding me of a pearl nesting inside an oyster shell. “That doesn’t mean we don’t want to. Trust you, that is.”
“Why?” I ask. “What difference could it possibly make?”
Song starts to reply when Jago cuts in. “Guys, she doesn’t know.” He shoots me a quick but meaningful look, then pushes away from the wall and leans forward. Bringing his knees to his chest, he folds his arms around them. “I told you, she’s clueless.”
“What don’t I know?’ I look from him, to Song, to Elodie, pretending to have no idea what they’re talking about.
“About the time tr—” Finn starts, until Oliver places his hand over Finn’s mouth and silences him.
“I thought for sure Braxton told you.” Elodie peers at me, as though trying to peel back the many layers of my neutral expression in hopes of exposing the truth. “Or that you were at least smart enough to figure it out on your own.”
She’s baiting me, but I keep my lips clamped. Still, I can’t help but wonder why Braxton saw fit to warn me about the time traveling, and yet failed to mention this charming, long-standing ritual.
Or are they only pretending this is some ancient tradition, when in fact, it’s really a fresh new hell Elodie’s invented solely for me?
Is this what Braxton meant when he warned me about getting on Elodie’s bad side?
And what’s Jago’s game? Was that look meant to convey that he’s secretly siding with me?
“Do you even want to be here, Nat?” Elodie brushes her hair over her shoulder and leans toward me. And the way she regards me, eyes wide and questioning, as though she’s truly interested in hearing my reply, reminds me of the girl I knew back at school.
I can’t allow myself to fall for that again. Because this is what Elodie does.
She makes you feel like you matter—like you really can be someone.
Like you’re smarter, prettier, with infinite potential.
Like if you hang out with her long enough, you’ll glitter like stardust, too.
