The Rift Uprising (28 page)

Vi nodded as she grabbed Boone's hand. “They smelled so bad. Oh my God. I wanted to barf as soon as the wind hit them.”

“We didn't fully understand until that day, that humans could be monsters. We had been told, but we didn't get it.” I stop for a minute, reliving those horrible first few moments. I put my index finger on my lower lip and trace it back and forth. “I don't think any of us were ready to actually kill another person. That was the day we really became Citadels—because of
you,
Henry. I fought, but I was mostly just defending myself. I couldn't even take my gun out of the holster, let alone use it. One of them pinned Violet and, Henry, you stepped up.” We all look at Henry, who is now standing a little taller. “You put five slugs in that guy. You didn't hesitate. You didn't even think. Violet was on the ground and you did what you had to, to keep her safe.”

Henry blows out a breath. It makes a whooshing sound. He puts both hands on his hips. “It was the first time I killed anything. I was fourteen years old.”

None of us need to say what is obvious, that fourteen is too young to even see something that awful, let alone actively participate in it. “ARC doesn't look or, to Vi's point, smell, like those guys, but they are just as barbaric. We'll take them down because they've got all of us on our knees already. No one should have that kind of power, and when we take it we're going to have to make sure that we don't turn into monsters ourselves. That needs to be part of the strategy, too.”

I stop talking. I let my three friends consider what I am
saying. No one is incorruptible. Not completely. Because the Rifts are so lethal, we can't vote on what to do every time one of them opens. How are we going to create a situation under martial law that's democratic and fair?

As if reading my mind, Henry bends down and plants a swift kiss on my head, possibly more affection than I've gotten from him ever. “We'll find a way,” he tells me. I grab his arm again, this time tighter.

“We have to, because if we can't come up with a solution to keep ourselves in check, I'm afraid we'll end up being worse than ARC ever was.”

I send my friends home. I make Boone and Vi promise not to try and hump each other, at least not tonight after the procedures. Henry offers to keep Boone with him, which is a good idea. Violet could stay over—maybe she should—but I am getting greedy now and want to have Ezra all to myself. I take a shower once they leave and change into my pajamas. Ezra is passed out asleep on the small bed by the time I get up to the attic. He must be so tired. I climb into bed beside him. I fold my body into his, knees against knees, feet on feet. I feel him stir and we both turn over so that now my back is up against his chest. He kisses my shoulder and the back of my neck and then mumbles something, but I'm pretty sure he's actually asleep. I thought guys were always trying to have sex no matter what. I guess my guy is different. Well, that and the whole traveling through the Multiverse, breaking out of prison, hiding
in an attic, working out complex quantum equations for twelve hours a day thing he has going on. He needs to rest. I, on the other hand, am fine for a few more hours.

I roll over to let him get on his back, then lie against him, tucked in his arm tightly. I bury my face in his hair. I trace a line from his shoulder down to the tip of his finger. I make myself as small as I can against him because this life I am living feels so incredibly big. When I find myself in that place between sleeping and awake, suddenly out of nowhere the Blood Lust overtakes me. Even as I feel the fury build I am confused, because I actually thought that when we kissed it had gone away for good. Now it is back, roaring with rage.

I jolt up. The panting begins. I hold the sheets in my hands, fistfuls of cotton, as if they can somehow keep me back. Noiselessly, I jump to a crouch. I look down at Ezra's beautiful face; his long black lashes curl slightly on his cheek. I want to kiss that cheek and then I can feel all my reasoning and logic slip away as I get the overwhelming urge to pull the skin away with my bare hands so I can see his skeleton beneath. I try to block out the violent images, but it doesn't help. I leap out of the bed, pick up Ezra like a rag doll, and throw him against the one solid wall in the room. His body hits the plaster with a dull thud and his eyes fly open. I am going to kill him. I know it. This is it. This is the end. How will I live with myself when the Blood Lust recedes and Ezra is gone? In this moment, I don't care. I practically fly over to him and pin him back against the wall with my forearm at his throat. He grabs my elbow, eyes pleading. I rear back and punch him in the face. I expect him to struggle, but he remains, unmoving.

I think for a moment it's because my punch was hard enough to kill him. I begin to relax at that thought.

The fact is, I can't see much. The room would be pitch-black,
but there is a big, swollen full moon and the light is pouring through the tiny window. Up against the wall, we're in the shadows, but it's enough. Ezra manages to use his hands to pry my arm away from his throat.

“Ryn, stop.”

I want to stop. I am desperate to stop, but I also want to kill him even more, especially now that I know he's still alive. It's like an affront to me. I give him another swift, hard punch to the face.

“I'm not going to fight back, Ryn,” Ezra manages to say, though he doesn't sound so great. I'm guessing his nose is broken. “I told you I would never hurt you and I meant it. You're always going to be safe with me.” He somehow relaxes his posture. He has turned off his fight-or-flight response, which takes an amazing amount of self-control. His nose begins to bleed, and as the moonlight hits the crimson it becomes silver. It's as if everything around me loses color. We are both black and white. I let him go. I step back.

“You're safe. You're safe. You're safe . . .”

He keeps saying it over and over, to the point where it's all I can think in my own head. An endless loop of him telling me “You're safe.” I continue to study his face. Slowly, the colors begin to seep back into his skin and eyes. The blood is red again. Something has turned. Something has switched off. He told me he wasn't going to hurt me and in this moment, for the first time, I guess, I truly believe him. He actually would have died rather than fight back, rather than risk hurting me. I feel different. The Blood Lust is nowhere to be found. It's not lurking or hiding. It is gone. But at what cost?

“Oh my God,” I whimper, bringing my hands up to my face. I am so ashamed. I don't know that I've ever truly felt shame before. I know what guilt is. I have felt guilt. Guilt is how you
feel when you've done something bad. Shame is what you feel when you know that
you
are bad. The Blood Lust may be gone, but it doesn't change the fact that I almost killed him. Ezra is such a good human being. Maybe if I was born good like him, like Violet, the deprogramming would have stuck after we kissed. I think there must be something fundamentally bad about me. “I am so sorry. Are you okay?”

“Are you?” he says without the least bit of sarcasm in his voice. He is worried
about me
.

“I am. I think that it's finally over, but I wish we never started this. We never should have risked your life like this. It wasn't worth it.
Sex
. People can
live
without sex. I should have kept my distance. If I was a really decent person, I would have.”

Ezra doesn't hesitate. He just comes straight over to me and holds me. I tell him it's over and he believes me just like that? How is that possible? At first I can't imagine being so trusting, but when I think about it, I know that I would believe anything he told me now. I didn't know what real honesty looked like before Ezra. Before Ezra, I existed in a world built entirely on lies, so how would I know how to trust? Now I do. He's given me another gift, and all I've done is hurt him.

And that doesn't seem to bother him at all. “You are decent and you are good,” he says. “I didn't think I was going to get out of this without being hurt. I knew the risks. But it's worth it, Ryn. It's not just about sex. It's not even just about being with you, though that's becoming more and more important to me. No, it's about fixing something that is morally wrong. It's about a small victory in what is likely to be a massive war, but it's a victory we need.” He pulls me away from him and looks at me. I see that his jaw is swelling, along with his nose. “You deserve to be normal. You deserve to be touched and loved on and wanted. If a busted nose is the price I have to
pay for you to get that, then it's a small one. If you needed to go all Blood Lusty so that you could see that no matter what, you were safe, I'd say we got off lucky.”

I touch his face and shake my head. “I don't think you understand. I really could have killed you. You gambled with your life. You had a theory and you bet on it.”

“Yeah, but what you don't get is that together, you and me? We're the House, and the House always wins. Let it go. If it's over, then let it be over. Don't let tonight ruin us.”

I sigh loudly. Could it be this simple? I fuck up and he just forgives me? I mean, I know it wasn't technically my fault, but I still did it. Isn't he afraid that it's not over? Aren't I? I rifle through my brain. I scurry through every thought. I'm looking for even the smallest shadow of the Blood Lust. I've lived with it so long, I know exactly how it feels, especially when it's dormant, but it's gone. If he can forgive me, then I can forgive myself. Yes, I could have killed him, but I didn't. I was able to let go and listen. That has to count for something. “Tonight's not going to ruin us. It's going to make us stronger,” I promise him. He hugs me again and I don't feel anything but grateful. He leads me over to the bed and we lie down. I turn over and he holds me. He doesn't let go until morning.

I don't think I'll let go, ever.

Eventually I untangle myself from Ezra and go downstairs. I spend some time in the bathroom and then I put on a robe instead of getting dressed right away. The nightmare of last night feels like exactly that, a nightmare, a bad dream. He has forgiven me and I have forgiven myself. I should have known that it wasn't going to be as easy as watching a few TV shows and reading Harry Potter. The kind of trauma I suffered runs deep. It gets in the marrow. It infects with thousands of invisible threads that have sewn me together out of pieces that were cut too jagged and small. I believe the Blood Lust has gone for good, though. Or as gone as something like that can possibly be. It is no longer a wound, but the scar remains and always will. I have to accept that once upon a time I was a little girl who was a victim. I couldn't save that girl, but I can save the woman she'll become by acknowledging
that abuse and then putting it far away from my heart where it can no longer hurt me.

I sigh when I look in the bathroom mirror. These last few days are taking a toll. I feel like I look years older. I suppose, given the magnitude of what's happening, I shouldn't expect anything else. I've always known this job was stealing my youth. It's just happening at a faster pace. Even though it's the last thing I want to friggin' do, I'll have to go into work eventually this morning, but I have some time. If I put my clothes on now, part of me will be thinking of the day ahead. Right now, I just want to be here in the house with Ezra. I need to start making some decisions, but our time alone here is precious. I walk downstairs and into the kitchen. I start to collect the things from the pantry and fridge that I need to make waffles. I lift the waffle maker out of the bottom cupboard and plug it in. As I am whisking the ingredients in a big orange bowl, Ezra walks into the room. His hair is wet and he is wearing nothing but a pair of shorts.

“Hey, I was going to surprise you with a big manly breakfast,” I tell him with a wide smile even though I gulp hard. I have to turn away for a moment. I scratch a nonexistent itch on my shoulder by running my chin along it. Underneath his eyes are two crescent moon–shaped bruises. His nose is swollen but not misshapen. I don't think it's broken, but I jacked it up for sure. I hate that I did this to him. I know logically this is not my fault, but on an existential level, it is. It's a good thing I'm not a philosopher because I have to shake off this guilt. It won't do either of us any good and he clearly doesn't seem to care. I smile even wider and look back at him. He's still as gorgeous as ever.

“How very fifties housewife of you,” he acknowledges as he walks toward me. I back up a little until I'm up against the counter.

I sigh loudly. I love us being here together—me in my robe, Ezra clean and wet from the shower. This is what normal couples do. They sleep in the same bed and then get ready for work and talk over breakfast. We are not a normal couple, though. “You should probably go upstairs. I'll bring this to you and we can eat together in the attic.” Disappointment colors my voice.

“Nah. Let's risk it. You'll be gone all day and I don't want to be away from you for any longer than I absolutely have to. Besides, I am starting to go a little stir-crazy in there.”

I put down the mixing bowl and fold my arms. “Well, if that's what you really want,” I say provocatively.

Ezra raises an eyebrow. “Here's what I
really
want.”

It only takes two steps for him to get to me, and when he does, his mouth is electric. We have always gone so slow, he's been so gentle, but this morning, there is an urgency there that we both feel. I moan inside his mouth, against his tongue. He lifts me right up off the floor, spins us both around, and then sets me down so that I am on the open island of the counter. I wrap my legs around his hips. Ezra keeps one hand in my hair, pulling my face into his own as he continues to let his tongue massage mine. With his other hand, he unties the belt on my robe so that the fabric slips off my shoulders and down to my waist.

He begins to kiss my neck as I lean back. He continues down my collarbone until he gets to one of my breasts. I arch my back and squeeze my legs tighter around him, pulling him in aggressively against me. He licks a single nipple and I feel like I am about to explode.

I actually
hear
an explosion, and my eyes shoot open to see the back door destroyed in a shower of splinters.

I whip my head around to look and I am horrified to see
Levi. He's breathing heavy and I can tell that the Blood Lust has taken over. What is he doing here? Before I can even wrap my head around how much he must have seen, Levi races into the house, leaps over the counter, and tackles Ezra to the ground. I scramble to wrap my robe around me. If I'm going to fight Levi, being half-naked is only going to make the situation worse. Levi reaches his arm back, his hand balled into a fist to land a punch. I manage to grab it and wrench it back before he can execute it.

“Ezra, run!” I yell, but Ezra backs up and away, giving him just enough distance to use his elbow to jab it hard and quick into Levi's throat. Levi's eyes widen. We do have superhuman strength, but not even Citadels are impervious to a hit to our windpipes. I use the distraction to pull Levi up by his shirt. I cross my forearm into his already damaged throat and throw all of my weight against him so now he and I are backed up against the counter.

“Stop, Levi,” I say with as much calm as I can. I lean in close, though he's thrashing and struggling to breathe and get away from me. “No one is going to hurt you. You're safe.” He gives me an odd look. He doesn't understand. He's confused, turned on, scared, and furious. I whisper into his ear. “They've been lying to us this whole time. It's all a lie.” Before I can get out another word I hear boots on the ground. Regular troops, not Citadels, burst into the house with guns drawn. I hear a rifle shot and see the tranq dart lodge itself into the back of Levi's shoulder. Before they can get me, I duck down and watch the dart shoot into a cupboard behind me. Levi slumps and falls to the ground. He's out. Great.

“Now you really have to run!” I shout at Ezra, who is standing now. He just shakes his head:
Where am I going to run to?
I realize he's right: We are surrounded. I'm so annoyed
that I have to fight in a slinky robe that I want to scream. No choice—I'm about to become a cliché in almost every action movie where a chick has to fight. I use Levi's thigh to jump off for more height. I fly over the counter and tackle two soldiers. When they fall, I continue to move through. There are at least eight soldiers in the kitchen now. I'd like the odds a lot better if I was in my uniform and they didn't have weapons. But I still like my odds.

I hear the gun go off again. It's Ezra this time. The dart lodges itself in his leg. I rush the soldier that just fired, grab his gun, and hit him squarely in the face with it. I don't want to have to kill anyone, but if it's us or them, I'm going to have to make the selfish choice. With the rifle in my hands I use the butt end of it to hit another soldier in the jaw and then again quickly on the temple. I block the punch of yet another soldier and take the end of the gun again to hit him in the ribs. I kick out behind, knowing another is coming at me, and they keep coming through the blasted kitchen door. I'm hitting, punching, blocking, and all the while dodging the bright red blooms on the end of the tranq guns.

When I feel a sharp sting in my calf I know that I have lost. There were just too many of them, at least twenty now by my count, and no place to fight with any kind of tactical advantage. The room begins to spin and my eyes feel like they have twenty-pound weights attached to them. I stumble, reaching out for one of the kitchen chairs to brace myself. I miss the chair by inches and fall to the ground. My last coherent thought is about Ezra. Have they taken him already? Is he okay? And did he remember to slide the ladder back up into the linen closet before he came down? If he did, we may just be able to hide what we know for a little while longer.