Beyond Reach, page 8
part #3 of True Calling Series
“Definitely not,” I say, shaking my head vigorously. That would redefine embarrassment. I don’t miss the way his eyes now roam over my body. “Get out,” I demand, wrapping my arms around my body in a meager attempt to protect my modesty. Making no attempt to protest, he walks out silently. Sensation appears to have returned to my body in spades, and I feel every ache and pain as I slowly pull on my clothes. It’s as if I’ve just gone ten rounds with Muhammad Ali.
I’m hunched over the bench with my head in my hands when I feel Zane’s touch on my shoulder. Handing me a bottle of water, he sweeps his fingers across my clammy forehead. “You’re hot.”
“Don’t let Isla hear you say that,” I mutter under my breath. He tries, and fails, to hide the smile that tugs at his lips. “Let’s get you to the doctor.”
We’re halfway there when my legs give out. Zane swiftly lifts me up and carries me the rest of the way. Way too sore to complain about it, or to feel in any way mortified, I raise zero objection. Isla and Ben are leaving the doctor’s surgery just as we arrive. Inwardly rejoicing when Zane resolutely ignores her, this time, I don’t resist sending a gloating look her way. She walks quickly away, nostrils flaring and fists clenched tight at her side. Ben looks at me sympathetically before trailing after her.
Luckily, my nose isn’t broken, and it should heal in a few days. There are a few scrapes and cuts on my back, and a number of bruises are already starting to form on my back, legs, and right arm, so the doctor prescribes some painkillers and hands me an arnica-based topical treatment to apply.
Back at my apartment, I object when Zane tries to force me to get into bed. I’m way behind on studying for the pilot exam, so—injured or not—I intend to cram in a few hours. We eventually compromise, and I settle myself on the couch as Zane goes to fetch my comforter. He’s hardly spoken to me since he arrived to the rescue.
“Just let me have it, will you?”
“I’m far too mad to talk about it now, Ariana.” Yikes, I must be in trouble if he’s using my full name. I suppose I have been testing his patience to the limit these last couple of days. Ever happy to defer difficult conversations, I don’t challenge him. “I’ll check in on you later,” he says on his way out.
Spending the rest of the day engrossed in my books, I only lift my head up when I hear Deacon giggling outside the door. Mel lets out a gasp as she walks into the room. “What happened to your face?”
“My nose collided with Isla’s fist.”
“Well, I hope you got one in as well!” Deacon says, in typical alpha male fashion.
“Don’t worry, I didn’t let the side down,” I joke, preferring to downplay the whole episode. Having reflected on it—it really was an absurdly petty and childish fight.
After dinner, Mel takes Deacon to play table tennis. I’m a mass of pent-up stress, so I decide to go to the gun range to indulge in some target practice.
As I open the door to the training unit, loud banging and hammering assaults my eardrums, and I hear raised voices attempting to shout over the ruckus. Sheltering my ears with my hands, I notice that both the gym and combat training sections are cordoned off with huge sheets spanning floor-to-ceiling. However, the newly finalized war zone and gun range appear accessible. Agent Leena waves frantically at me from her office, her blonde head bobbing up and down. She holds the door open, and I bound in.
“I don’t know how much more of this I can take,” she wails, rubbing her temples.
“What’s happening?”
“New pilot training station and flight simulator.”
“Cool.”
“It will be, when it’s done. I’m glad you’ve signed up for the training. I think you’ll be a natural.” She smiles.
“I’m not sure that I’ll make it through. There’s so much to learn and such little time.” I’m not complaining, just stating the facts. I’ve to glean at least a basic understanding of engineering systems, orbital mechanics, astro-dynamics, radio and air traffic procedures, and core health and safety processes, in order to have any chance of passing the preliminary exam.
“Concentrate on the engineering, orbital, and astro-dynamics sections. And if anyone asks, I never said a word. Okay?”
I grin at her. “My lips are sealed.” Agent Leena has shown a tendency to support me from the first minute I met her, and it appears that she’s still trying to help me out.
I devote well over an hour at target practice for two reasons. First, there are a number of new weapons to train with, and I want to test them all out. Second, I naturally visualize Isla’s face in place of the target sheet, and I never get tired of blasting her head into smithereens. Finally sated, I head into the locker room to freshen up.
I’m fully dressed and stowing my things into my bag when I sense her standing over me. Twice in one day, you have got to be kidding me. I glare at her. She coolly returns it, and some. “What?”
“Ah, did I mess up your pretty little face?” she sneers.
“I’m done with this.” Hurriedly zipping my bag closed, I straighten my back and ignore her. If I hadn’t spent the last hour releasing all my tension, I might be tempted to start Round Two. But I’m feeling calm and in control, and I know the best course of action is to walk away.
“For the record, he desired me enough to sleep with,” she says. Trying not to betray any outward emotion, inwardly, I’m shocked. Subduing my natural desire to retaliate, I say, “I thought he’d better taste.” And before she can respond, I leave.
I can’t believe Zane slept with her! That’s all I can think of on the walk home. Of course, I’ve no claim on him, and it’s not like he was cheating per se. And it shouldn’t really matter except that I can’t stand Isla, and Zane has presented himself in a certain light, one that hasn’t been entirely truthful. Or is that the case? Why am I so quick to believe anything that comes out of Isla’s mouth? All she’s done since I’ve arrived here is goad me, so it’s logical to assume this is an extension of that. Not that it’s really any of my business, but the thought still upsets me. The more I think about it, the more I’m convinced that she’s playing me. But there’s no way of confirming that view without asking Zane, and I’m so not opening up that conversation.
I weave through the long grass, and my eyes naturally drift upward, taking in the distant outline of Novo in the night sky. So many times, I’d dreamt of this moment, but in all those imaginings, I’d never pictured myself here alone. Cal should be here with me. God, I miss him so much. Plowing forward, I try to ignore the painful ache building in my chest.
I’m securing the hatch, back at the living quarters, when I feel a strong sensation of dread. Climbing down the ladder carefully, I jump to the ground when I reach the last rung. My eyes land on a pair of shiny, black leather shoes in front of me. Straightening upright, I come face to face with our leader designate.
“Ah, Ariana. I was hoping to catch you. Do you have time to talk?” the Chancellor asks.
Oh no, what now?
CHAPTER 7
“What’s this about, Chancellor?” I ask, attempting to ignore the fluttering anxiety building in my chest. Perhaps I’m about to get that ear-bashing after all.
“Why don’t we head to my quarters for a drink? We can chat there.”
I don’t like it, and my extrasensory ability is sending out all sorts of warning signals, but I don’t see how I can possibly refuse. So I just nod my head. He asks me about life in Clementia as we walk, and I try to be honest without appearing too condemning. He’s in charge, after all, and I’m only here at his discretion. He could kick me out—and hand me over to the authorities—whenever he wants. Not that he’s likely to do that now, with the information still at large. But I don’t trust him a hell of a lot.
“Here we are,” he says, coming to a standstill in front of a large mahogany door. He presses his hand to the digital scanner, and the door slides inward.
I step inside and gawp, my mouth hanging open in awe. To my right is an expansive kitchen and dining area, and to the left is a large living room. A giant multi-screen is positioned where a fireplace would normally reside, encased by a multitude of white shelving which extends right up to the height of the ceiling. Facing this wall are two sleek white leather couches, sandwiched between a narrow, black lacquered coffee table. A vibrant painting catches my attention on the back wall. Naturally drawn to it, I step forward, my feet moving of their own accord. A primal yearning to paint twists deep in my belly, and I long to indulge my artistic passion. “That’s my wife’s favorite painting. She’s a big fan of the 1920s and 1930s era; our whole apartment has been designed in keeping with art-deco styling. Do you like it?”
“Yes, it’s beautiful.”
“I could tell from Day 1 that you’ve good taste.” Keenly aware of my surroundings, I’m suddenly scared, for some unknown reason. “Rose!” he shouts. His loud voice is thunderous.
“Yes, sir,” a small, petite brunette replies, appearing magically at his side.
“Please fetch two glasses of champagne.” I start to protest, about to play the sick-and-underage card, when his hand shoots up signaling that I don’t have a choice in the matter.
“Right away, sir.”
“Have a seat, Ariana.” He motions for me to move over to the couch, and I sit down hesitantly. He drops down next to me—way too close for my liking—and I yearn to scoot sideways to reclaim some space. But I don’t think it’d be smart to upset him in his own home.
Rose places two long-stemmed glasses in front of us, and he dismisses her for the night. Watching as she lifts her purse and coat, she shoots a worried glance my direction before leaving. Every hair and nerve ending on my body is standing to attention. My unease is profound, and I’m getting more and more anxious with each passing minute. “Now, Ariana, you and I need to have a proper chat about this information,” he says, moving in even closer to me. “I remember having a similar chat with Zane, when he first arrived.” Somehow, I don’t think that chat involved champagne in such close, confined quarters, but I don’t verbalize that thought. “This war—and it is a war—will be fought on two fronts: technology and physical combat. Zane has helped enormously, but we can’t move forward without that information. I was hoping we could come to a mutually beneficial arrangement. There’s so much you can achieve in Clementia if you have me in your corner,” he says, winking at me. His stale breath lingers on my face. Nervously grabbing my champagne glass, I take a quick slug. My hand is shaking, something he doesn’t miss.
“I’ve a feeling that you and I are going to become good friends, close friends.” My heart is hammering in my chest, and I swallow back bile as his eyes meander over my body. It’s clear that I’ve fallen into a well-orchestrated trap.
I find the courage to speak from somewhere. “I should go. I’m sure your wife won’t be pleased to find me here at this hour.” I’d aimed to keep my voice steady, but my tone is bordering on hysterical.
“Ari! I’m coming.”
“I can handle this, Zane.” I speak with confidence I don’t actually feel.
“My wife is in Florida on business. We’ve the place to ourselves.” Unashamedly leering at me now, he places his left hand on my knee as his right hand grasps the champagne flute.
“All the same, I think it’s time to go. My brother will be wondering where I am. I’ll think about what you said,” I babble, rising on shaky legs. Clutching my bag tightly, I can’t help notice the amused expression on his face, and I respond without thinking. “I don’t know what’s so funny.”
“There’s no need to play coy with me, although feigned innocence is a major turn-on.” He blatantly stares at my chest, and his tongue roams over his bottom lip. I’m thoroughly repulsed. “Don’t worry about my wife, we’ve an open marriage. What’s your rush? Let’s get better acquainted.” Inside I’m screaming at myself to move, but my body is frozen in sheer terror, as I stand stiffly in front of him. Pulling me down urgently onto his lap, he clamps his arms around my waist. I feel his mounting desire, and I want to scream, but my voice is caught in my throat.
It happens so fast that I don’t have time to react quickly enough. His arms are like vice grips as he clasps my upper arms and pushes me down so that my back is lying flat against the couch. Pressing down on me, he bites my lip. Then his mouth claims mine as he forces his tongue in my throat. “Please stop!” I manage to scream out, before he smashes his lips against mine again. Releasing his right hand, he digs his fingers into my chest as he grapples frantically, a low moan escaping his throat. Adrenaline courses through my veins, and my body finally wakes up.
His weight is heavy on top of me, and I don’t have the necessary upper body strength to push him off, so I do the only thing I can think of. Roughly grabbing his head by his hair, I forcefully yank him back. His left hand is still pinning me down on that side, so I quickly release his head and stick my finger firmly in his eye socket and twist, hard. I keep on twisting, gaining some sick satisfaction as he yells out in pain. Automatically lifting both his hands to his eye, he swats my hand away and rolls off to the side, hunched over.
Seizing the chance to escape, I wrestle my legs out from under his and throw myself up and over the couch. I’m fumbling with the door, my hands trembling really badly, as the Chancellor shouts a flurry of obscenities at me. Frenetically shaking the door, I know I’m trapped. Emotion stirs my senses and wild panic floods my body. “Visualize the door opening,” a voice inside my head instructs. I force myself to focus on that image. There’s a low click and then the door retracts.
I push out into the corridor, the Chancellor’s screams and cries still ringing in my ears. Stumbling, I fall before hauling myself up and darting forward. I keep running, fueled by pure adrenaline, sobbing as I go.
“Ari!” Zane calls out in front of me.
Rounding the corner, I see him running toward me, and I fling myself into his arms. I’m crying hysterically, and I can’t stop my body from shaking. “Did he hurt you?” he asks, wrapping his arms protectively around me. I can’t stop crying long enough to answer him, so I shake my head. I suppose it depends on his definition of ‘hurt’ though.
Sensing footsteps before I hear them, I react instinctively. “Someone’s coming, quick in here.”
Dashing into the nearest room, we lurch forward into the small storage supplies area and drop to the ground. Zane risks a quick peek around the edge of the door. “It’s Micha.” Flopping back down beside me, Zane stares at me, features creased with worry. “Are you okay?” he asks quietly. I nod, looking at him through dazed eyes. A deep-seated need to wrap myself around him engulfs me. And as if he can read my thoughts, he scoots over beside me, tucking me into his side. Nestling into the crook of his neck, I breathe in the fresh, clean, citrusy smell of his skin, and it’s soothingly familiar.
We allow a few minutes to pass before venturing out. Micha has clearly gone to the Chancellor’s aid, and I don’t think she’ll be coming our way anytime soon. I can’t put enough distance between me and that monster. Zane drops his arm across my shoulders, and I lean into him.
I’m relieved that Mel and Deacon are both sleeping soundly when we arrive back at the apartment, as I’m in no position to divert questions. As soon as I sit down on the couch, the enormity of what’s just happened—what could’ve happened—hits me. Silent tears roll down my face as Zane steps in front of me a couple of minutes later. “Here, sip this,” he says, handing me a cup of hot, sweet tea. I accept it, my fingers trembling from shaking that won’t subside. As he tenderly dabs my bleeding lip, I smile weakly in gratitude. “I’ll kill him,” he says quietly. The look of fierce determination on his face tells me he has it within him to carry out that threat.
“No, you won’t.” As much as the thought gives me pleasure—and I have to admit, it does—that’s not an option. And he knows it, as much as I do.
“I saw what he tried to do.”
“It was revolting,” I cry, and the tears are flowing steadily down my face now. Huge, choking sobs erupt in a continuous flow as Zane holds me tight, rocking me gently back and forth. “What are we going to do now?” I look to Zane for answers, because my mind can’t form any structured thoughts in its present fragile state.
“We don’t need to decide anything now, Ari, we’ll talk it through in the morning.” Smoothing his hand over my hair, he leans in and kisses my forehead.
“I’m scared, Zane,” I admit, as I consider the fact that I’m no safer here than I was on Novo.
“I won’t let anything happen to you, I promise.”
It doesn’t feel as reassuring as normal though. Even Zane can’t hide his fear, for it seeps out of his pores like an invisible fog. “Will you stay?” I ask, looking up at him through wet lashes.
“Of course.”
Rising to retrieve some additional bed linen from the cupboard, I place my hand on the side of the couch and the vision springs forth.
Soldiers are hastily rummaging through our apartment. They upturn the couch, searching the sides and base. Scanning all the furniture with a hand-held electronic device, they carefully rifle through the closets and under the beds. A soldier secures a camera behind the screen in the living area and a secondary device under the light fitting in my bedroom. 8:00 p.m. displays on the clock.
I slump forward spontaneously, drained from the experience. Oh my God, were they in here while we were out? “What’s going on, Ari?”
I update him quickly, communicating purely through our minds.
“Let’s check for cameras.”
Hopping up, I walk into my bedroom and stretch toward the ceiling. I’m not tall enough to reach the light fitting from this angle, so I tug the base of my bed across the room, inching forward slowly until eventually it’s in the right position. Throwing off my shoes, I jump up on the mattress, unscrew the light, and carefully place it on the floor. The camera comes off easily when I pry it loose with my fingers. It’s a teeny chip; I’d never have noticed it if my vision hadn’t tipped me off. When I come out into the living room, Zane has already removed the one from behind the screen.
