Isle of Night

“Yeah, until I flip you.” With a single swing of his legs, Yasuo had me on my back before I knew what had happened. “You didn’t keep your weight on me, D. You can’t let up for a second.”

We grinned at each other, panting to catch our breath. He straddled me, pinning my hands to the mat.

I froze.

It was pretty intimate, and I let my mind go there for a second. Yasuo was an undeniably good-looking guy. Plus he was nice, he was cool, and we got along.

And here we were, him astride me, leaning down like he was getting ready to kiss me. The smile on his face faded, and I could tell the notion had entered his mind, too.

I explored the thought, opening myself to feelings. But nothing came.

And then I imagined what it might be like if Ronan straddled me like this. If it were Ronan’s legs wrapped around me, Ronan holding my hands down. Fire ignited from my belly all the way to my scalp.

He laughed, breaking the tension. And then he pretended to lay punches on my head with his elbows and fists. “Pay attention, Drew. I’m braining you.”

“Huh?”

“Cover your head!”

“Right, yeah.” I got right back in it, curling my arms up, covering my face.

“That’s it. Always guard your head.” He stopped for a second. My arms were still clenched over my face, and he rested his hands on them. But that feeling of intimacy had passed. I sensed it from his end, too—like he’d also played a scenario out in his mind but had felt nothing.

He jiggled my arms. “You’re pinned. Do you know how you’re going to get out of this?”

“No.” I gave a spurt of kicking and wriggling, but Yasuo was solid over me. “I’m stuck.”

He gently pulled my hands from where I’d clenched them around my head. “Now take this arm”—he gave my right arm a squeeze—“and wrap it through mine. Yeah, like that. Now grab my hand.”

I did as he instructed, and, neat as a pin, I’d wrenched Yasuo’s arm out to the side. “Cool!”

He smiled. “Not done yet, Blondie. You’re still pinned. Your opponent will think you’re struggling, that he’s got you. But listen. If you’re ever on your back like this, get to the ropes. Scoot back.”

I did as he told me, shimmying toward the edge of the mat.

“More. Scoot back against the ropes . . . or the wall, or the trees, or whatever you’re pinned against.”

I scooched and wriggled until my head hit the bottom rope.

“Boom,” he said. “You’re there. The only way to survive is to get back on your feet. You’ve got my arm, but I think I’ve got you pinned and cornered. Now you have to sit up a little.”

I glowered at him. “How can I sit up?”

“Just a little. Just brace your other arm behind you.” He tightened his grip, and I squirmed. He was making this a little too realistic.

“You’re getting off on this,” I snarled. Struggling, I edged to the side a bit, doing as he instructed. “Shit, Yas. You make it . . . sound . . . easy.”

I got my arm behind me, and once I braced on my elbow, it was easy to lever myself to a half-sitting position. He was still over me, but my shoulders were back up against the ropes.

“Yeah, you got it. Sometimes having your back against the wall is a good thing.” He beamed. “Now free your leg.”

I swung my leg away from under him. And then I laughed. These moves were a revelation. I could use my own weight, and then use my opponent’s weight against him.

He nodded to my shoulders. “Lean against the ropes. The ropes aren’t pinning you now, they’re supporting you. Edge up, bit by bit.”

I took it from there, the move instinctual.

When I got halfway up the ropes, he backed off, hands lifted in praise. “And up you go.”

I high-fived one of his open hands. And then I collapsed onto the mat to catch my breath, half laughing, half panting. “That was awesome. Thank you. I now feel completely equipped to be mauled by the next Draug with dignity and grace.”

He plopped next to me, and we lay there for a few minutes in companionable silence.

“Why’d you do it, anyway?” he asked finally. “Keep your stupid iPod, I mean. I get the family photo, but seriously, D. An iPod?”

“I know.” I sighed, flopping my arm over my face. “But it was a Touch. It even stored books.”

“Books . . . cool,” he said sarcastically. “Until you die from your nerddom.”

He’d struck a nerve. Girls had died because of it. I changed the subject at once. “What about you? You’re here with me—aren’t you nerdy by association? Shouldn’t you be hanging with all the vamp-trainee-jock dudes? Your pal Josh is, like, homecoming king now, the way Lilac and her clique are always hovering around him.”

He shrugged. “We hang out. Sometimes. Some of the guys are all right.”

There was something tight in his voice that I didn’t get. I wondered if it was fear. My questions spilled out in a barrage. “What’s the deal with the Trainees? Do you compete like the Acari do? Are you scared of the other guys? I mean, aren’t you scared of the whole process? Like, will it hurt to become a vampire? Does it mean you have to die first? And what if everything messes up and you turn into some sort of crazy Draug thing? Have they taught you how all that works?”

“You know I’m not allowed to answer any of that stuff, Drew.” He sighed, and I heard the strain there. “But yeah. Scared is pretty much the word for it.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Weeks passed.

I went to class. I got stronger. The end of the semester was in sight. Just a matter of weeks until the Directorate Award was mine.

Many of the girls were gunning for me, just as Lilac had warned, but Emma and Yas watched my back.

I dared not befriend anyone else. Girls were disappearing every day now, and the rumors that’d once abounded had all stopped, as though Acari were afraid even to discuss it, lest they might disappear in the night.

It was becoming clear that either you succeeded or you died, and I couldn’t risk too many friendships when my very survival might depend on another girl’s downfall. Friends were a new concept to me, and I didn’t know how I’d handle the loss of one.

But I did let myself get close to the teachers. Oddly, we were really clicking. I’d always been smarter than my teachers back home, but these all had something to teach me, even creepy Master Dagursson.

I knew some girls were struggling. I could see it in class. But I was pouring myself in heart and soul. I was labeled a teacher’s pet, but I didn’t care. I think that might’ve been the only thing keeping other Acari from suffocating me with a pillow in my sleep.

The academics alone astounded me. There was no end to the knowledge available to me. Tracer Judge gave me a key to the phenom library, and I read whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted.

My morbid fascination with Master Alcántara continued to grow. I couldn’t decide if he was totally appealing or totally terrifying, but discussing map coordinates with someone who’d actually met Descartes, the dude who’d discovered the X and Y axes? Now, that was cool. He only guest lectured once in a while, and every time reminded me how profoundly I coveted that Directorate Award.

It would be mine. I was working so hard. I had to win. I’d find a way off the island.

Even combat class had taken on new meaning. I headed there now, thinking how in all my years of dissing gym class I’d been so wrong. Since fighting the Draug, I’d become exquisitely aware of just how valuable my body was, of how physical aptitude was precisely the thing that would transform my mind into a killer weapon.

“Good afternoon, Acari Drew.” My combat teacher, Watcher Priti, smiled as I walked in. Her language, like her posture, was ever elegant. “You’re the last of my little birds to arrive.”

I smiled back naturally. Because I adored Watcher Priti. She was smart and strong and beautiful. It was like being taught how to kill with your bare hands by a maniacal Padma Lakshmi look-alike with a penchant for Chanel No. 5 and pert tennis outfits. I was certain she was as deftly dangerous with her chosen weapon, a razor-sharp discus she called a chakra, as she was with her charms.

“Just swooping in for my landing,” I said, playing off her nickname for us students. “I hope I’m not late,” I added, even though I knew I was. Just ninety seconds, but that’d be enough to get most girls on toilet-scrubbing duty for a week.

“We’ve not begun yet.” Priti was pulling padded vests from the storage locker. “If you’re already geared up, you may join the other Acari on the bleachers. We’re doing blade work today.”

She flashed me a broad smile, knowing how much I loved anything with a blade. We’d yet to move beyond simple attacks and defensive techniques, but I knew the day would come when I’d graduate to my throwing stars.

If only this were all there was to being a Watcher. But, sadly, the island was so much more insane than cool phenomena topics or learning how to sword fight. I was mastering all sorts of illegal, immoral things—breaking and entering, hacking, exploding, stealing. Killing.

It appeared I had three choices in life:1. Be the best.

2. Be a victim.

3. Be on the first boat out of here.

Though I knew option three would be a lot harder than it sounded, I was still gunning for my eventual escape.

And yet . . .

A tiny part of me had begun to mourn the thought of leaving. Some of the people around me were beginning to feel like a makeshift family. I’d always dreamt of belonging, and if I ascended to Watcher, I’d become a part of something bigger. I’d have a place.

I was mesmerized by Watcher Priti and studied her hungrily, eager to emulate her. She was elite and shown so much respect. I’d spied the affectionate smiles she’d shared with some of the Tracers—they were close-knit and trusting.

What I wouldn’t do to have Ronan smile at me like that. He hadn’t smiled at me since the Initiates discovered my iPod. ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">