Wicked Power Read online

  “Just remember that Grandma is here with us, and I’m pretty sure the Godlings will be reporting back to both her and David the whole time we’re there.”

  “Fine,” Ketchup laughs, “I accept your boundaries, but only on one condition.”

  “And what’s that?”

  Ketchup’s fingers slide around mine. “That they don’t take effect until we get to the compound.”

  Fear grips me. The words that jump to my lips are argumentative, but the gentle pressure of Ketchup’s grip tightening and the look of need in his eyes tears at me enough to give in just a little. It’s so hard to say no to him when we’re this close. “Fine,” I say quietly.

  If Ketchup is surprised by my waffling, he doesn’t show it. He does, however, take full advantage. He keeps one of my hands in his and loops the other one around my shoulders. I don’t resist when he pulls me against his chest. His lips press to my cheek, and it takes everything I have not to turn and meet him.

  “Now,” Ketchup says slowly, “tell me what else is bothering you. And don’t try to tell me nothing. I saw the way you acted when Zander came home yesterday.”

  My hope that I had concealed my reaction when Zander came rushing in soon after David let him know what happened was clearly false. I hoped not to have this conversation quite yet, but I won’t lie to Ketchup.

  “It wasn’t like yesterday at school, if that’s what you’re thinking,” I tell him, “not exactly.”

  “What was it like then?”

  I think for a moment, trying to put the experience into words. “My body felt warm when he walked in. It started getting hotter the closer he got. But then he went into the kitchen, and it went away.”

  “First humming, now heat. I wonder why the difference.”

  “They may be completely separate,” I argue.

  “No images or memories?” Ketchup questions.

  I shake my head. Had Zander come into the room, though, what would have happened? Feeling the sensations, they were too similar to keep up any argument that they weren’t connected, but I still have no idea about the source or their validity.

  “Did you try asking Zander?”

  My head shakes for a second time. “After he hid the whole tasting death thing from me, I don’t trust him enough to ask. I’m not sure I trust him not to tell anyone, either. He and David have been talking more lately. I don’t know what about, but something has changed between them.”

  “That’s kind of scary,” Ketchup admits.

  “I know.”

  Ketchup’s fingers stroke up and down my arm. This being my one chance to break the rules with him, I curl my hand around his arm and lean into his shoulder. The way he freezes startles me. I realize he isn’t breathing, either, and try to pull back. He reacts instantly, pulling me into his lap and burying his face in my hair.

  “What does any of this mean?” I ask, trying to get our focus back on track.

  Pulling back just enough to speak, Ketchup says, “It means we have a lot more to do over the next two weeks than train.”

  “Meaning?”

  “I think we can both agree that David has told you only a tiny portion of what he really knows. If what you’re experiencing is something they’ve dealt with before, we need to know. We’re going to find out what the Godlings are hiding.”

  Chapter Nine: The Promise

  (Zander)

  I don’t miss the fact that Van and Ketchup are holding hands when they exit the town car. I watch as their eyes meet, they both sigh, and their hands part. A look passes between them, some kind of understanding being communicated. I’m not sure what that might be, but I trust Van to handle her relationship with Ketchup in whatever way she thinks is best.

  I was the one that forced her to give him up. I bear a tremendous amount of guilt for that. Right now, it is still a struggle to be around Ketchup, but there is no way I could deny Van her desire to be with him anymore. This has nothing to do with the carte blanche favor I owe Van after she found out about Ivy. She has yet to cash in on that debt—and I know she will someday—but my change in attitude is due more to a change of heart than anything else. I want her to be happy no matter what it costs.

  Sometimes I am sure Van knows that I wouldn’t stand in her way if she wanted to start dating Ketchup for real. I worry that it’s her own fears now that are holding her back. Then there’s her friendship with Noah. At first, I couldn’t figure out why that bothered me so much. He’s been a good friend to Van, and if for some reason she decided to abandon all of this and seek out a life away from the Godlings, he would be a good choice for her. I doubt Van could ever let go of Ketchup, but Noah is down to earth and strangely accepting of our weird family. It took me a while to understand that Noah wasn’t the problem. Van’s hope that she could simply walk away from the Godlings is the problem.

  I know Van has noticed David’s strange interest in her. It’s not sexual. If I thought that for even a second, he would be dead. To hell with the consequences. That’s not the reason, though. There’s something he thinks he sees in her, but it’s something she doesn’t seem capable of doing for him. I get the same vibe from him about myself when we train, but in a different way. I get the feeling that David has very specific plans for each of us.

  “Gloria,” David says to my grandma, interrupting my thoughts and almost making me jump, “why don’t you go make sure Van and Ketchup get settled? I want to show Zander around a bit before dinner.”

  Grandma nods. “Probably best to make sure those two end up in separate rooms.” She shakes her head. “Zander,” she says to me, “enjoy the tour.”

  Apparently, I’m not the only one who has taken notice of the sudden change in Van and Ketchup’s relationship.

  Gesturing to the buildings behind me, David says, “Zander, care to investigate the grounds?”

  “Sure.”

  I turn around, surprised by what I see. I’m not sure what I expected, a concentration camp look-alike walled in by razor wire, or perhaps M.A.S.H. style army barracks? This place is certainly neither of those. It looks more like a posh mountain resort with its manicured lawns, stately buildings, and just about every sports venue possible—including a full-sized football field. Each building is prefaced with a polite-looking sign that indicates it purpose. I see everything from a gym and climbing wall to art studios and a veterinary clinic.

  “Why don’t we take a closer look?” David suggests. He starts forward without waiting for my response. There is no need. He knows I’ll follow.

  I try to suppress my amazement. Everything is state of the art. The weight training and exercise equipment are the latest innovations, complete with high-end computer software to analyze workouts and results. The dining hall is more like a nutrition lab and gourmet restaurant combined. I know nothing about art or veterinary medicine, but both seem to meet the high standards of the previous buildings I have toured.

  “This building, I saved for last,” David says. “I have no doubt it will be one of your favorites.”

  He gestures for me to enter, and I have to admit I do so excitedly. The open expanse seems empty and filled at the same time. It is a huge room that is sparsely decorated with various heavy bags, speed bags, jump ropes, and other boxing paraphernalia. Center stage is an octagon, the type used for mixed martial arts rather than the traditional square boxing ring. Around it, there is a crowd of people eagerly watching the contestants ready themselves.

  “Not that I don’t find MMA interesting, but what makes you think this will be my favorite building? Aside from practicing Jeet Kune Do with Van, I’ve never done much with martial arts.”

  David smirks. “That’s not all we use this for.”

  “What do you use it for then?”

  This time David’s smile is genuine. “Why don’t you watch and find out?”

  I hesitate a moment, never sure whether David is leading me into a trap or being truthful, but eventually I stalk after him. As we approach the octagon, the other spe
ctators move aside for David. We end up ringside with a perfect view.

  As I survey the scene, I notice first that there is no referee. Then I realize that neither contestant is wearing protective gloves of any kind. I’m not terribly familiar with MMA, but I do know they usually wear padded, fingerless gloves. I decide I will just have wait and see what this match is all about, studying the fighters instead.

  One corner holds a young man who looks to be about my age, maybe a little older. He is physically well built, but on the short side. I would guess he was about five-foot-eight. Looking over at the opposite corner, I immediately get a decidedly bad feeling. Physically, he is comparable to myself in height and weight. It is the vicious look in his eyes that puts me on edge. His expression makes it clear that this will not be a clean fight. It won’t be a mere sparring match, either.

  A bell clangs from somewhere nearby. There is no hesitation on either fighter’s part. The smaller one lands the first hit, a monstrous blow that produces an audible crack. Surprisingly, it doesn’t so much as make the other fighter blink. His fist cocks back, a second later landing squarely on his opponent’s cheekbone. His head flicks to the side under the force of the blow. The rest of his body follows. He only manages to stay standing because the wall of the octagon keeps him from falling. The smaller fighter is quick to recover and is back on the offensive a second later.

  I stand there, watching in both fascination and disgust. I would swear these two were actually trying to kill each other if that didn’t sound so ridiculous. Surely, someone will step in before it goes that far, won’t they? I look around for David and find that he has made his way to the other side of the ring. As he watches with a strange glint in his eye, he and another man stand talking, presumably about the fight. He seems to have no intention of stepping in.

  Looking back to the brawl, I flinch when a submission hold leads to a sickening crack that causes most of the crowd—including me—to flinch and look away. But only for a second. Right away, heads turn back to see the broken femur. I look to David, expecting him to step in, stop the madness. He seems perfectly content to continue watching.

  One agonizing and well-placed knee frees the smaller fighter. He jerks his leg back into proper position with little more than a grimace. Stumbling up to a defensive stance, his eyes momentarily close. I can’t imagine what he is doing at first. Then my eyes widen as the bone settles into place and the extensive bruising recedes at an astonishing pace. The leg appears to be completely healed in mere seconds. Van and I can heal quickly, but I’ve never seen anything like that.

  Faster than I can even process the events, the fight regains its momentum. The vicious one refuses to relent. I watch three more bones break and mend, only one of which belongs to the bigger fighter. It is hard to decide whether I am more sickened by the display or amazed.

  When a particularly nasty chokehold finally renders the smaller fighter unconscious, the crowd breaks out in wild cheers. I find myself not joining in, though not entirely sure why. Something about this fight did not seem right. The reasoning behind it is something I can’t put my finger on.

  “I see you’re not cheering for the victor like everyone else,” a soft voice says from behind me.

  Turning around quickly, I am startled to find myself faced with a beautiful redhead. Her half smile is teasing, yet genuine. The nearly violet eyes staring back at me sparkle with curiosity. Finding appropriate words takes me longer than I would have liked.

  “Guess I’m still trying to take it all in.”

  She laughs. “Yeah, this place can be a little overwhelming at first.” She glances at the octagon. “These fights…they’re not my favorite. I get a little sick of the James lovefest.”

  “James? I’m assuming that’s the guy who won?”

  “Of course,” she says with a sigh. “He always wins.” Shaking her head, she sticks her hand out at me. “I’m Annabelle, by the way.”

  I take her hand and say, “Zander Roth.”

  “That’s what I figured,” she says, grinning. “We don’t get many wilders here, and never anyone so late in life.”

  “What is a wilder? And why don’t you get many?”

  Annabelle leans against the wall of the octagon. “Wilders are people like us who have been raised outside of the Godlings’ influence and training. And we don’t see many of you because wilders don’t usually last long. They either get locked up because they can’t control their hunger, die from the sickness, or get hunted down by the Eroi. It’s pretty rare for a wilder to survive to adulthood.”

  Suddenly, I am sorry I asked. This whole conversation is beginning to make me uncomfortable. Just because I’m here doesn’t mean I avoided the complications she mentioned. Not in the mood to correct her, I try to derail the conversation.

  “So, what’s the deal with that James guy?”

  “You mean, why does everyone worship him?” she asks with a roll of her eyes.

  Glad I’m not the only one who seems put off by the supposed superstar, I laugh at her dramatic dislike. “Yeah, pretty much. I mean, he’s obviously a great fighter, but he doesn’t seem entirely stable.”

  “You have no idea! I can’t stand him. He’s mean, arrogant, and he’s always been a bully.”

  “How long have you known him?”

  Annabelle looks at me like I have just asked a very stupid question. She seems about to answer before laughing and shaking her head. “Sorry, I forgot for a moment that you’re new to all of this. Most of us have lived here at the compound since we were children. Those of us born under Godling influence are watched very carefully from birth to determine which of us are Godlings and which got skipped. I’ve been here since I was four. James has been here since he was six.”

  Then Annabelle’s gaze drops. She doesn’t look back up when she says, “But I’ve known James all my life. He’s my cousin, actually.”

  “Oh, um, sorry about…”

  Annabelle fends off my apology. “No, no, you pegged him spot on. Don’t apologize for being one of the few people here that can see through his muscles and ego. James is not who they think he is.”

  “Who do they think he is?” I ask.

  I watch as Annabelle’s jaw tightens. She breathes in deeply, and I am shocked to feel her hunger struggling not to rise. “They all think James is the answer to everything, their ticket to finally beating the Eroi, but they’re wrong. James doesn’t care about anything except getting glory. He wants fame, that’s it.”

  “Wait,” I say, “what do you mean about him being the answer to beating the Eroi?”

  My question seems to catch Annabelle off guard. She looks up at me with wide eyes. “You mean David didn’t tell you?”

  “About what?”

  “About the promise!” she nearly squeaks.

  I shake my head in confusion.

  “Did he even tell you about the book?”

  “What book?”

  “Wow,” Annabelle says with a shake of her head. “What did David tell you?”

  Now I am the one clenching my jaw. “Not much, apparently.”

  Chapter Ten: Gifts

  (Zander)

  Annabelle’s eyes dart around the room, landing on David, who is still having a conversation with the same man from earlier. There is anger in her eyes when she turns back. Her eyes meet mine squarely as she asks, “Do you want to know what David conveniently forgot to tell you?”

  “Absolutely.”

  She surprises me by grabbing my hand and making an about face to start dragging me off. “Then follow me,” she commands.

  I have no idea where we are going, but I follow her every step. Of course, I would have had to get my hand away from her had I wanted to do otherwise. As it is, I’m having a hard time not staring at her hand. It bothers me to see her hand in mine, but I don’t know how to get it back without offending her.

  Somewhere along the way, I realize that I no longer have any clue where I am. If I lose Annabelle, I won’t know how to
get back to wherever it is I’m supposed to be right now. A fleeting moment of concern that David will be upset with me for taking off passes through my mind. Then I realize I don’t particularly care. Another fear, that Annabelle is leading me into some kind of trap, is harder to dislodge.

  “Annabelle, where are we going?” I ask.

  Finally, she slows down and turns to look at me with a sheepish expression. “Sorry, I tend to be a little impulsive. Not one of my better qualities, according to David, anyway.”

  “I’m not sure I agree,” I say, surprising myself. I want answers, and I have no intention of talking her out of this. “If you had thought about it longer, you might not have dragged me off with you to… where are we?”

  I look around and realize that we are standing in a wooded area with far fewer buildings than where we started. I’m not sure which direction the main complex is anymore.

  “Sorry,” Annabelle says with a smile, “I am dragging you off to the library, and we aren’t there quite yet. Follow me, if you’re still interested.”

  “I’m still interested,” I say.

  I was talking about the book, but when Annabelle looks up at me, I get the impression that she wouldn’t mind if I were talking about her instead. I shy away from that possibility right away. Not only does my track record with women more than speak for itself, but Annabelle is also a Godling, and that automatically makes it risky to trust her.

  I know all of that, yet I can’t stop staring at her. It is a mystery to me how she can look vulnerable and confident at the same time. She smiles, pink blossoming on her cheeks, as I continue to stare. I know there is a real possibility she is playing me for David’s benefit, but in this moment, I can’t help but find Annabelle completely captivating. Her eyes are so unique, a brilliant violet that stands out against her fiery red hair. Something pushes me to reach out to touch it with my free hand. Annabelle’s nose scrunches a bit, but she doesn’t stop me.