“What if the Sol prevents me from using my hands?” I ask while sprawled on the floor, Kalden hovering above me on his forearms. “So far, the positions we’ve practiced have made it easy enough to place my palms against my opponent. But what happens if I can’t?”
Shifting his weight onto his left arm, Kalden wraps his right hand around both of my wrists, locking them into place above my head.
Again, I’m struck by his scalding touch. Though he limits his contact to my wrists as he keeps the rest of his body supported several inches above mine with his opposite arm, I can feel the burn of it everywhere.
“You mean like this?” he asks in a tone so low my back arches, straining to hear him.
I’m certainly not arching my back for anyotherreason.
His pupils narrow in on my parted lips, stealing the air that escapes between them the longer his gaze lingers. The arm supporting the weight of his body begins to bend as he lowers himself closer, fingers tightening their hold on my wrists.
My spine lifts higher off the floor as I wait for the space between us to be eliminated by a single inhale. And when the breath comes a moment later and our bodies finally touch, a tremor rocks through me, breaking the spell.
Kalden rolls onto his side and rises to his feet, but not before grimacing down at me, effectively dousing my building warmth in a bucket of chilled water. “If they get your hands in a lock, you’re dead.”
I stay there, pressing my eyes shut and wishing the floor would devour me whole.
When I finally blink, Gem’s standing over me with her black brows lifted so high, they nearly disappear beneath her bandage. “Ithoughtyou’d written off your plans of seduction.”
I push myself into a sitting position, gaze darting over to Kalden, who’s rejoined the others to run through a forward roll maneuver. His hands briefly wrap around Meridna’s back leg, guiding it into a position better suited to push her forward into the roll. A rosy hue blossoms across her waxen cheeks, mirroring my own flushed face.
My focus returns to Gem. “If anyone’s the seducer, it’s him.”
“Is he making you uncomfortable?” she asks, all humor disappearing from her darkening tone.
“Not like that. I mean, he’s an ass and has little faith in my survival abilities, but at least he’s trying to help. And he barely touched me, even when we were sparring. But when he did, it felt . . .” I search for an adequate word to describe his engrossing touch, yet come up short.
“Clammy?” Gem’s nose pinches.
I chuckle. “No. Heiswarm, but not in a sticky or sweaty way.”
Her scowl doesn’t soften. “I think if T were here, she’d say something about ovulation raising your basal body temperature.”
“Maybe,” I say, though I suspect there’s more to it than hormones.
As we rejoin the group, Kalden tells Gem to sit this one out to avoid splitting a stitch. So, we study the women’s forms, critiquing the angle of Faron’s bent knee and admiring how well the willowy brunette beside her—whose name I’ve learned is Demi—lands on the balls of her feet. Despite what we’ve all gone through tonight and the weight of what lies ahead, they run through the drills repeatedly without complaint.
A shared fervor has been set alight in all ten pairs of eyes, a refusal to accept our fate without a fight.
Each of us has been taught it’s better to stay in the shadows than be burned by the sun. But now that the shadows are rejecting us, what if we become the ones that burn?
The Hunt was intended to make us an example, not a threat.
Maybe this is the year that changes.
A potof steaming black beans with diced red onions and a garnish of cilantro is placed next to a silver platter of baked potatoes. If it weren’t for the two servers and three camera operators stationed around the dining chamber of our temporary living quarters, keen on capturing one of our last meals before our impending departure, I’d jump from my chair to secure a slice of the fluffy cornbread before it’s gone. My knee bounces as I restrain myself to avoid playing into the feeder rat stereotype. Judging by the sideways glances the other women cast over their shoulders, I’m not alone in that hesitation.
Gem and Kalden, however, don’t seem to share that qualm. The metal legs of Gem’s chair squeak against the granite floor as she snatches two slices of the sweet yellow bread and drops one onto my plate, not having to ask whether I’d like a piece. Kalden goes straight for a potato, ladling the black beans into the steaming split.
A melody of metal against ceramic fills the silence as the rest of us take that as our cue to help ourselves. I ladle the black bean soup into my split potato and scoop a generous portion onto my spoon. My eyelids flutter shut the moment the flavor melts onto my tongue. The creamy inside of the potato blends quite well with the soup, but the cornbread is the true masterpiece of the meal, with its perfect balance of savory and sweet. Crumbly, but not too dry.
Though Taurance often praises my skill at turning our scraps into pleasant meals, there isn’t enough seasoning in this city to fully mask the bitterness of food on the cusp of expiring. Nothing in our cabin has ever compared to fresh ingredients reserved for Tier One cuisine.
When I reach for second helpings, I spot Kalden making an intense face of displeasure at his plate. The deep frown is at odds with his usual stoic nature, so I can’t help but pry. “Something wrong with your food?”
His features neutralize as he glances up. “It’s edible.”
I laugh. “Edible? Are we eating the same thing?”
