Uninvited (Uninvited, #1)(64)

Clearly, his answer should be a no. Dylan’s smart enough to catch on to that. He grins and drags two hands through his straw hair. “Oh, no. If we were working together, I’d control myself. Sure.”

“But what about your anger? Your aggression? What do you do with those feelings?”

“Guess I’d work out, go for a run . . . and focus my energy on completing whatever job you people give me.”

She stares at him contemplatively, saying nothing for several moments. Then she lowers her pen to paper. Everyone watches her as she writes on her clipboard, nodding. “Very good,” she murmurs.

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Clearly, he’s passed her test . . . this borderline sociopath. It all comes together for me then. She seems to approve of admissions of violence. As long as we can claim we can be controlled. As long as we follow instructions.

Suddenly, I don’t feel quite so lost. I know what she wants to hear. What they want to see in us while we’re here.

My gaze flicks to Dylan. I think about what he did to get imprinted. What he did and I did just doesn’t even compare, and yet we’re both imprinted. We both, presumably, possess an aptitude for violence. I have it in me. At least according to my DNA. It just hasn’t surfaced yet. God willing, it never will.

And yet I have to believe I’m what they’re looking for. I need to make sure they see that. I cross my arms. I either succeed or I’m going to end up in a detention camp.

Looking up from her clipboard, she asks cheerfully, “Anyone else want to share?”

The question makes me think of all those first days of school when we would share our names and adventures from the summer. Trips to Vail, Costa Rica, Disney World. I don’t expect to hear any of that today. No. Here, I’m more likely to get confessions that make my blood run cold.

Maybe the day will come when I get used to this. My face starts to prickle with awareness and I turn sideways to catch Sean staring at me, his blue-gray eyes all smoke and shadows. Unfathomable.

Every time I’ve asked him how he got his imprint, he stays ominously silent. Would it horrify me? Apparently, it didn’t land him in jail. Would it be like in the beginning when I was afraid of him again?

I inhale, suddenly certain that I won’t ask again.





UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers ..................................................................



* * *





Transcript of interview with one of the first confirmed HTS carriers DR WAINWRIGHT: . . . and do you remember the moment you took the knife from the drawer? When you cornered Monica Drexler and her daughter in the kitchen?

RYAN YATES: Yeah.

DR. WAINWRIGHT: When you approached Mrs. Drexler and her daughter . . . did she say anything to you?

RYAN YATES: Yeah. She begged me not to hurt them . . . not to hurt Amy.

DR. WAINWRIGHT: And then what happened?

RYAN YATES: I stabbed Mrs. Drexler first. Right here. In the chest— DR. WAINWRIGHT: You stabbed her seven times. . . .

RYAN YATES: Yeah. I guess. I had to stop when Amy ran out of the room. She was fast. She almost made it to the door, but I caught her. . . .

DR. WAINWRIGHT: And then . . .

RYAN YATES: I told her she should have gone out with me. That she should have liked me. And I cut her throat.

DR. WAINWRIGHT: How did you feel then, Ryan?

RYAN YATES:. . . Better . . .





TWENTY-FOUR




THE AIR SWIRLS WITH THE ODOR OF HEAT AND sweat. Tully bounces anxiously in place like he’s some sort of prizefighter. I can actually hear the thud of his bare feet smacking the red mat as he jogs in place, his face quickly growing red—whether from exertion or his eagerness to pummel me, I’m not sure.

Tully has one silver tooth that seems to wink in the light as he grins widely at me. He thinks this is going to be easy.

Even if I hadn’t met him already, I would know his name by now. I’ve made it a point to learn all the carriers’ names. The same way I’ve made it a point to mark the truly dangerous ones. Probably a useless task. It’s not always the ones who look dangerous you have to watch out for. Sometimes it’s the quiet ones. The ones with downcast eyes and fidgety hands. Just the other day, one kid jumped another one during a run and stabbed him with a fork for no reason I could determine. They were both taken away. One to the infirmary. Who knows where the other one went? I haven’t seen him since.

Tully slaps one gloved fist into his other hand. I roll my eyes. It’s like he’s acting out some fantasy movie. I wonder if it dawns on him that fighting a girl who weighs a buck twenty hardly makes him a hero.

I glance at the tae kwon do master who has been instructing us and raise an eyebrow. He stares back mildly without saying a word—doubtlessly waiting to see if I’m going to complain about being paired up with Tully. Apparently, matching me with this Goliath makes sense to him.

I bite back any objections and square my shoulders. Complaining won’t get me anywhere. Except maybe sent away. Of that I’m convinced. If I’ve learned nothing else since arriving at Mount Haven, it’s that my place here is far from guaranteed.

I’ve been giving everything of myself to make sure I can hold my own. That I can hang with the boys. And not just the scrawny ones. All of them. The best of them. Bruises of varying shades decorate my body as testament to that.