Entanglement (YA Dystopian Romance) (3 page)

“I
won’t drown you for talking to Amber,” said Clive, after they caught their
breath, “but do me a favor, okay? Don’t go near her again.”

“How
about you quit treating her like dirt,” said Aaron.

Clive
snickered. “Number eleven, you know better than to tell a man how to treat his
own half.”

“Too
bad she’s not your half,” said Aaron. “She’s only seventeen.”

“Yeah,
but we were both born on March thirtieth.”

Aaron
spat into the water, cleansing the salty taste from his mouth. “Then it sounds
like we got a problem, Clive, because I
also
was born on March
thirtieth.”

Clive
faced him abruptly, sinking his face into shadow so only the glint of his pale,
unblinking eyes shone in the darkness. As a passing swell tugged at Aaron’s
feet and weakened his grip on the buoy, he wondered if he could defend himself if
Clive tried to kill him right now.

“I’m
only going to tell you this one more time,” said Clive finally. “
Don’t
go near her again.”

“Or
else what?” said Aaron.

“Tell
me you have a smarter question.”

“Yeah,
one. What’s in your pocket?”

To
Aaron’s surprise, Clive actually reached into the water and pulled it out.
Aaron thought the bright object was, in fact, a glow stick, until he leaned
closer.

It
was a glass vial, rounded at both ends so it was completely sealed. Inside, a
glowing red liquid crawled along the glass.

“Do
you know what this is?” said Clive, smirking, his face now fully illuminated.

“Plasma?”

“This
is what drips out when you cut a hole in your clairvoyant channel.”

Aaron
felt a wave of cold, separate from the ocean. “Is it
yours?
”

Clive
shook his head. “Whosever it is, they’re sorely missing it right now. Want to
hold it?”

Aaron
took the vial from Clive, but when the glass touched his skin, the sudden
stabbing at the back of his scalp nearly made him drop it, like something
trying to exit his head through too small a hole. The red fluid scurried inside
of the vial, forming tendrils, as if searching for cracks. And Aaron had the
impression that the vial was somehow filling up, glowing brighter and brighter,
too bright to look at—

“Hey,
how’d you do that?” said Clive.

“Hold
on,” said Aaron, now mesmerized by the luminous substance. The glass, he
noticed, was stamped with some sort of ID code.

“Give
it back—” Clive lunged for the vial.

Aaron
held it out of reach, straining to make out the letters, but Clive caught his
wrist. The impact splayed Aaron’s fingers wide open, and in slow motion, the
vial flew from Aaron’s palm, bounced off the buoy, and plopped into the water.

***

“Shit!”
Clive plunged his arm in, but the vial slipped through his fingers, briefly
lighting their toes on its way to the bottom.

Clive
dived. And Aaron had no choice but to dive in after him. About eight feet down,
blind and out of breath, Aaron clamped his arm around Clive’s ankle and took a
bare heel to the forehead. He held on, though, righted himself, and thrust down
hard. With sheer will, he hauled Clive out of the ocean and forced him against
the buoy.

“Let
it go!” Aaron yelled. “It was my fault.”

“You
idiot
,” Clive gasped, “you stupid idiot! Now we’ll never find it.”

“Then
it’s lost,” he said. “It could be thirty feet to the bottom. What was that
thing, anyway?”

They
both looked down as they caught their breath, and their last glimpse of the
vial was a fuzzy dot, no brighter than the reflection of a star, before it was
gone.

“My
father’s going to kill me for this,” said Clive.

Aaron
let go of him and lowered himself into the water. “Come on, let’s go back. It’s
freezing out here.”

When
Aaron made it back to the beach, he was relieved to find that most of Corona
Blanca had gone home, and the few smoking weed by the bonfire’s dying embers
had forgotten about his and Clive’s race to the buoy.

Aaron
reached his shoes, still disconcerted by what he’d seen in the vial and
determined that he would have nothing to do with Clive Selavio, his vial, or
Amber Lilian ever again, Clive’s half or not. No point in trying to see her if
the guy was that protective. Besides, Aaron and Amber’s birthday was only a
month away. Then they would know.

There
was something in his shoe, wedged down by the toe. Aaron pulled out a bright,
powder blue smartphone.

Amber’s
cell phone.
Damn.

***

When
Amber pulled in front of Dominic Brees’s gate to drop off Clive, she felt his
body go tense—as it usually did when she was doing everything wrong.

“So
you’re making me walk up the driveway?” said Clive, and Amber barely heard the
vulnerability beneath his irritation. He was getting better at hiding it now
when she pushed him away, which made her nervous.

“Can
you just go?” she said. “I’m really tired.”

“You
sure got cozy with number eleven, didn’t you?” he said.

She
sighed. “Why do you always do this?”

“I’m
keeping you safe,” he spat.

“Wow,”
she said, “I must really be something if
every
guy I meet is trying to
steal me away from you.”

“I
saw the way he looked at you,” he said.

“Actually,
Clive, he was asking about
you
,” she said, and all at once, her
frustration came rushing back. Of course she would
finally
meet an
interesting boy with the same birthday as her, only to have Clive obliterate
her chances, as always, of the boy ever talking to her again. She sighed,
wishing she knew more than just his name.

“Amber,
he lost the vial.”

“Then
maybe you shouldn’t have stolen it from your dad.” Amber relished the wounded
flare in Clive’s eyes. To torment him even more, she smiled sweetly, twirling
her hair around her finger, and decided
he
would be the one who
looked away first.

But
Clive leaned over her instead, and his breath prickled her eyelashes. “You’re
going to be powerful because of who I am.”

Amber
rolled her eyes and gazed out her window. “Do you think I care?” she said.

“Look
at me,” he whispered.

She
didn’t say anything, just stared straight ahead.

“
Look
at me!
”

Finally,
skin crawling, she faced him.

“You’re
pure blood,” he whispered, “mixed with mine—
imagine
our inheritance,
Amber.”

And
then, while she was still glaring at him, he came the last few inches and
kissed her. She let him, because it was easier to surrender the little things.
Because she knew the part of her that resisted him was wearing out, and
eventually there would be nothing left.

She
used to think Clive was sexy in a scarred up, feral kind of way, but now it hardly
mattered what he looked like. What frightened her was the part inside, the part
she could taste.

When
Clive had finished, Amber edged away from him and let her hair fall between
them, though she could feel his gaze lingering. She knew it was miserable for
him, knowing she never kissed back, knowing he would never feel her lose
control and
really
kiss him.

“Amber,
you get to have everything,” he said. “Start appreciating it.” He climbed out
and slammed the door.

Amber
sat in her car for a whole minute, her stomach squirming, before she pulled out
and drove home.

She
hardly paid attention to the road. The yellow paint strip slithered into the
darkness, and as her VW Bug squealed around a corner, she half wished the tires
would slip. She shot down a dark straightaway and the gas pedal bottomed out
under her toes. As the car’s speed pressed her into the seat, gnarled branches
of oak trees swung past her. The moon flickered, faster and faster.

She
closed her eyes.

You
get to have everything. Start appreciating it
.

Amber
kept her eyes closed, and she knew it would be too late to slow down once her
headlights illuminated the next corner, too late to make the turn.

She
knew what Clive would say, her father, her mother, Clive’s father, everyone who
said they cared about her.
Amber. You’re much too important. Don’t you dare
be reckless.

But
the rush made her dizzy, tingly all over, lightheaded. It was so easy not to
look, like falling asleep—like being held.

Then
her mind returned to Aaron Harper, the strange boy who’d shown up out of
nowhere and made things interesting for a night.

She
opened her eyes—and slammed on the brakes. The car shuddered and threw her
forward. Her heart squashed against the inside of her chest as the vehicle sank
toward the edge of the road.

Then
silence.

Her
headlights blazed two feet from the trunk of an oak tree.
Two feet
,
that’s how close she had come. Slowly, Amber let out a breath, which she
realized she’d been holding the entire time. Feeling numb, she reversed and got
back on the road. She was full of helium, practically floating away already.

Who
was
he? Okay, so he was gorgeous. Amber shivered when she remembered his
dangerous, jet black eyes. In her entire life, she had never been so devastated
by a stare.

Nor
had she met anyone else who dreaded turning eighteen like she did. And their
shared birthdays . . . Her heart had been racing since he told her.

But
years ago, Amber had resolved never to get her hopes up; it was easier that
way, and a random guy she’d just met at a bonfire was
not
about to
change that.

She
already knew her fate.

26 Days,
3 hours, 59 minutes

A burst of rap music
jolted Aaron awake. He glanced around, disoriented, until he located the
music’s source—Amber’s cell phone.

He
silenced the call, which he noticed was from Clive Selavio, and swiveled his
feet to the ground. Since Amber’s phone was locked and he didn’t have the
passcode, he couldn’t access any of her contacts. He would have to return the
phone to her in person.
Great
. More opportunities to royally piss off
her psychotic boyfriend—or half, or whatever Clive was.

Aaron
sighed, running his fingers through his hair. He tossed her phone in the trash.
Cute as this girl was, she wasn’t worth the trouble.

As
he stuffed his backpack for school, though, he realized that was a total lie.
For some reason he couldn’t get Amber out of his head; she was just—
different
.

In
the dim hallway outside his bedroom, Aaron felt the crunch of paper under his
foot. He picked up an envelope, clearly marked with the silver seal of the
Chamber of Halves, and slid out an official-looking letter.

Aaron
blinked and read it again.
Complications?
He had never heard of
complications. On your eighteenth birthday, you went to the Chamber of Halves,
you met your half. It wasn’t complicated.

Unless,
of course, they knew about the scar tissue. Aaron stuffed the letter in his
backpack and tried to ignore the flash of queasiness. On his way to the front
door, he passed the breakfast table, where his mom was scanning the news
headlines on her laptop.

“A
student from Corona Blanca High School was reported missing on Friday,” she
said, without looking up.

“Who?”
said Aaron.

“Justin
Gorski, he’s a rugby player.”

“Never
heard of him,” said Aaron.

“Says
here he was last seen right after school with a classmate, Amber Lilian,” she
said.

Aaron
halted, his hand on the doorknob. “
Amber Lilian?
” he repeated like an
idiot.

“Why,
do you know her?”

“No,”
he said quickly, but when his mom wasn’t looking, he slipped back to his room
and fished Amber’s phone out of his trash can. Aaron could already tell this
girl was nothing but trouble.

Unfortunately,
he had a chronic inability to stay away from trouble.

***

“So how was the water, Buddy?” said Aaron’s best friend, Buff Normandy,
as the
s
ix-foot-four, two hundred and forty pound, curly-haired
and baby-faced rugby player squeezed into the adjacent desk before first
period. “Heard you took a dip on Friday.”