Shelland Conall has always believed herself to be ordinary, and she's never had reason to suspect otherwise. Not until an enigmatic stranger seems to show up at every corner, and he's claiming to be the one that saved her life. Thing is, Shelland do...
A/N: Sweet mother of pearl, I hope you guys enjoy reading this. It's been kicking my ass.
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CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
I submit.
The words rattle in my veins as they repeat again and again. Beck slumps forward, holding himself from hitting the floor with one trembling hand. He submits.
"No! Don't do this, Beck!" The words fly out of me as my limbs try to scramble themselves up from the floor.
Cruxley glares, and swipes her hand once, as if slapping the air. The gust flings Olivian and me backward and as it does, I feel the chain of my necklace snap against the back of my neck. As soon as the stone leaves my skin, a sudden, brief rush of white-hot electricity surge from my chest to my fingers. I shudder, the energy exhilarating, as sharp as the first time I had cast the locator spell on my own. The stone flies toward the floor, landing somewhere between me and Beck as I'm catapulted into the wall.
I gasp. The force knocking the air from my lungs again. Olivian cries out, too. Her own breath is ridged and weak.
"Wasn't that a fun little trick? I learned that one from the crusty old hags in Boston. Probably the only thing they were good for." Cruxley dusts off the grimoire, as if the spell had dropped a bit of residue on the open pages.
Is that where she was the last four years? Boston?
I struggle against the binding, hoping to somehow pry an arm loose. I jerk my shoulders. Try to rip my arms from the textured walls, but it's as if there's an invisible force sealing us in place. Each time I fight against the binding, it tightens, squeezing me against the wall until its nearly impossible to breath without pain.
She squints at me, her expression annoyed. "Go on, keep fighting. You'll only crush your ribcage in the process."
"Enough!" A guttural, hard growl ripples from Beck's throat. "Do not harm them! Not Shelland, not Olivian. That's the only deal I'll make with you."
Cruxley shakes her head, as if annoyed that Beck dare demand anything of her.
Boyd steps closer to him, and says some inaudible from this distance. Beck nods, and the way his shoulders deflate churns my stomach.
I turn to Olivian. Her face is now wiped clean of any fear or trauma. Her expression is now cold as stone. Her eyes almost glazed over as she stares at Pete's body on the stage.
"Olivian, we need to stop this," I whisper to her. "We can't let Beck become Elite."
"He's dead... Pete's dead." Olivian says, her voice as flat as her face.
"Look at me," I say. My own voice comes out stronger than I expect. I'm not sure if it's the adrenaline, or if I've just numbed myself over. "Olivian."
