Gates of Thread and Stone(67)

“I’ve missed having you nearby at night. I wish you could stay here with me,” he said softly. His mouth twitched. “And not like that. Although . . . maybe like that, too.”

My whole body went hot. I straightened off the edge of the table, hyperaware of how easy it would be to cross the meager distance and step into his embrace.

I wanted him, and the strength of it was shocking. I wanted to put my lips against the scars on his back and claim them for my own. I wanted to whisper in his ear to teach me everything I didn’t know, to let him pull me into his bed and make me forget all the fears weighing on my heart.

The way his eyes narrowed and his fingers curled into the mattress showed he knew exactly what I was thinking.

I licked my lips. “I should—”

Avan reached me in two steps. I sucked in a ragged breath, my body helplessly arching into his as he buried his hands in my hair. My fingers dug into his shoulders, hard muscles tensed at my touch. His mouth hovered above mine, excruciatingly close.

His dark lashes lowered, and he touched our lips together. His kiss was gentle at first, tentative. Then I made a quiet, needy sound, and something in him seemed to snap, because he pushed me back against the table. His mouth slanted hungrily over mine. My own self-control unraveled around me as I trembled, clutching him to keep from falling even as I kissed back just as fiercely.

How many times had I imagined this moment? I felt my longing answered in his urgency, in the way his hand moved down my back, the way his body pressed into me. His lips skimmed kisses down my jaw, my neck.

Then he stopped. His mouth was hot, but still, against my skin. He whispered, “Go.”

I tried to catch my breath. “What?”

Slowly, his hands lifted from me, and he stepped back until we were no longer touching. I shivered from the sudden lack of heat.

“You were saying,” he said, hunched over, his hand pressed to his eyes, shielding his expression from me, “that you should go.”

My thoughts rushed back, along with all the reasons why this couldn’t happen right now. Reev came first, my own selfish desires second. Without a word, I turned and let myself out.



The next morning, I was so anxious that—aside from an initial awkward greeting during which we both avoided eye contact—even Avan couldn’t distract me for long. My stomach insisted I eat, and I knew I’d need whatever strength I could get, so I forced the food down and headed up to the prep room.

Reev wasn’t among the sentinels, but I wasn’t worried. He would meet us behind the dorms in just over an hour.

I paced in the corner.

“You’ve got this, Nel,” Tariza said. “If we win all our matches today, we’ll make the top five. Top five teams are guaranteed to continue to the next round.”

I cast him a grateful look for the encouragement. Against all odds, I had begun to think of us as a real team. It would be hard to leave them.

A Watchman called my name. Hands patted my shoulders as I stepped forward. Which arena would I get today? Tariza’s had been sand, the silted floor slowing down movement and testing balance. Grene’s had been under a foot of water, enough to make her natural grace a little sluggish. Both would work against me considering speed was my main advantage.

When I pushed through the doors, I found myself standing in the same arena that Avan had fought in yesterday. Packed dirt.

Behind me, Grene and Tariza shouted my name excitedly as they entered the box with Avan. The three sentinel judges sat in the stands across from me. The door at the other end of the arena opened.

Reev came through. My joy at seeing him was cut short when no one else followed him out. He stood opposite me.

“Match number sixty-one: Nel versus Twenty-two.”





CHAPTER 32




I LOOKED BACK at my teammates. Avan’s face was grim, his mouth set into a hard line. My throat closed.

Reev was 22.

“Hey!” Tariza shouted. “That guy’s a sentinel. What’s going on?”

No one answered. I had to stop this. My foot moved forward. A loud clang of the bell made me jump.

From the platform above, the announcer said, “Please remain where you are until the start of the match. Violation will result in forfeit of victory.”

I didn’t care about that. Reev looked right at me, but there was no sign of life in his face. His eyes were as empty as the sentinel’s in the cafeteria.

The bell for the match sounded. I started forward again.

“Wait,” I said, hands outstretched. Then I gasped and ducked. Reev’s knuckles grazed my jaw.

He advanced, his expression cool and focused—but not on me. Only on the match, the attack. I was nothing but his opponent.

“Reev.” I didn’t care that my voice wavered and broke. I blocked another punch, but the blow vibrated down my arms. I fell back with a cry.

Reev didn’t let up. I knew his moves. I knew how to dodge and to deflect his strength. Reev had taught me all this. But he didn’t remember.

I had to make him remember.

I blocked a kick, grunting as the impact jarred my shoulders, and then I struck hard. My fist connected with his jaw. It felt like punching a wall. My knuckles throbbed. Reev slowed for barely an instant.

He was faster than when we used to spar. Either Ninu had made him faster or he had held back with me. But he wasn’t holding back now. His foot kicked my chest. The air rushed from my lungs as I fell. Pain again as I hit the ground and skidded across the arena floor, no breath left even to cry out. The dirt scraped my cheek and hands. Everything ached. The ground swam in front of me. I rolled onto my back, gasping as yellow blobs floated overhead. I blinked, making out the clouds. Air finally filled my chest.