Page 35 of Elas (Mate’s Mark #2)
Elas
“Make sure the door is locked.” August’s hands wring as he glances around the barracks, like he’s waiting for someone to jump out and drag us away. “Should we jam a chair under the handle? Is that a thing? I read it in a book once, but I’ve never tried it. Maybe we should try it.”
“The door locks automatically,” I say as I walk over behind him and put my hands on his shoulders.
He tenses for a moment, but my thumbs dig into his stiff muscles, and he releases a moan that’s downright scandalous.
“We’ve got food and liquor for later… something tells me we’re going to need it after reading these—”
My eyes go wide as he spins and slams a palm over my mouth. “We have to be quiet!” His stage-whisper might as well be a scream with how loud it is, and I choke on my laugh.
Fuck, he’s cute.
I grip his wrist and pry his hand away from my mouth. “These barracks were built with our kind and our heightened senses in mind. The walls are extra insulated and soundproof. No one will hear us.”
He bites his lip between his teeth with an embarrassed grimace. “Can we still do the chair thing?”
I bark out a loud laugh that only makes him look even more sheepish.
Not wanting him to think I’m laughing at his expense, I tug him into a tight hug.
“We can do the chair thing,” I agree with a cheek-splitting smile as I hold him against me.
The smile never leaves my face as he releases me and grabs a kitchen chair.
He spends the next few minutes positioning it where he wants it, and it thunks to the floor a few times, but eventually he’s happy with it.
“How should we do this, then?” he finally asks.
I remove my bag and gesture towards the couch. “Get comfortable. Let’s each take one and go from there. I don’t know what we’ll find in these files, but…”
“It’s probably not good.” My lips pull back into a tight line as I nod, and he reaches up to drag the pad of his thumb over the scar under my right tusk.
“What happened here?”
Dark memories flood my mind, but I can’t allow them in right now. I take his wrist and guide his thumb to my lips, pressing a soft kiss on the tip. “A story for another time.”
“Right.” He blows out a shaky exhale as I sit my bag on the table, lifting the flap and staring at the manila spines inside. “How do I even pick? Newest? Oldest?”
“You’re over-analyzing things, doc,” I say, grabbing a file at random and handing it to him.
“Yeah, I tend to do that.” After a quick detour for drinks, we settle on the couch, and August takes a few breaths to steady himself.
“What’s this?” he asks, and I glance up to find him holding a solid white card.
“Looks like a security badge, but there should be a name printed on it.” He flips it over, showing me the empty back. “Where’d it come from?”
“Fell out of my folder. There’s nothing written on it.”
He shrugs and tosses it onto the side table before reclining and opening his file. I do the same, a sense of dread washing over me as I read the names at the top. The papers in my hand suddenly feel like a tombstone, those names carved into stone as nothing more than a memory.
August’s eyes are troubled as I make a simple dinner. “We’ll have to eat on the couch,” I say, with a glance at the chair wedged underneath the door handle. He huffs a quiet laugh, but it’s more out of politeness than any genuine amusement.
We’re both more than halfway through reading our first files.
They’re thick, and filled with medical terminology August has to explain to me.
My file is only twelve years old, compared to August’s thirty-seven.
So far, they’ve given us similar information, and as we predicted, none of it is good news .
What’s abundantly clear is that the military has been tracking mated couples for decades…
likely since shortly after the rifts closed.
They scout for them in the cities, posting propaganda like the flyer August found.
With the military’s iron grip on the urban population, convincing them to report any glowing marks is a simple task.
Fear is a powerful motivator.
Earlier humans may have rebelled more easily, may have asked why , but the current generation has grown up under constant control. They accept this level of direction without question.
The signs have presented identically in both files.
An inexplicable attraction to the other person, followed by a glowing mark that appears on their body where they first touch.
According to the notes, the mark shows up within three to ten hours of that initial contact.
They all describe the sensation of a pull towards their mate like a binding around their middle.
Dirty blonde hair falls over August’s forehead as he reads. The tip of his pencil rests between his lips and his eyes squint from time to time. A bittersweet smile finds my mouth as that rope around my own stomach cinches.
“Put it away, baby, and get some food.”
He sighs but sets his papers aside, accepting the plate from me with a quiet thanks. “Let’s compare notes,” he says, popping an apple slice into his mouth. “They notice the mark, they go into the clinic, and they’re immediately quarantined.”
“Together,” I add, and he nods.
“Together. In both cases, they’ve left them together.” He takes another bite, and a thoughtful expression pinches his brows. “Why is this only happening in the cities? Why not on the bases?”
“Easy. Most bases don’t house any humans aside from prisoners.”
“What about the human military?”
I snort and shake my head. “Worthless. They’re given posts and assignments in the cities, but it’s nothing more than busywork to keep them occupied.”
“Alright, so there are hardly any humans on the bases,” August says with a nod. “Odds would be astronomical.”
“Yet somehow, here we are.” His smile softens as we both lean forward, and the sweet kiss makes my chest flutter like I’m some simping idiot in one of those romance novels he loves to read.
Okay, maybe I’ve read a few of them, too.
“So, they’re quarantined,” he continues, “and transported to Ljómur under the guise of treatment. Did yours fight? The couple from that first file I read in the clinic had to be restrained for transport, but this one went willingly.”
“Mine were restrained. A guard was almost killed, and they were both sedated.”
“Alright… so they’re moved to Ljómur, then given a small apartment. Their needs are provided—food, water, even books and puzzles to pass the time.”
“Nope,” I say as I shake my head, shoving an apple in my mouth. “Mine were separated into cells. Their treatment is more like a prisoner than any sort of voluntary participant.”
“It wasn’t voluntary, from the sound of it,” August says, glancing at my file with a frown. “Alright, so once they’re settled, the experiments begin. The human from my case had never heard of the prophecy, but once it was explained to them, they agreed to take part in the study.”
“Same, except they didn’t give mine any sort of explanations. They just started… doing tests? I didn’t understand most of that part,” I admit as I take a bite of my sandwich.
“They were extremely thorough… bloodwork, analysis of the heart and nervous system, behavioral studies. They even used an X-ray to examine the skeletal system. I’ve never even seen one of those machines,” he adds thoughtfully.
“Mine kept referencing ‘the essence,’” I say, and August nods his agreement. “How to isolate it, how to extract it.”
“It’s like they were attempting to remove it from the mates, but what is it?” he asks, and I hold out my palm while he stares at the glow underneath my skin. “Okay, say that’s true… they’re trying to get their hands on whatever this is that marks the mates. But for what reason?”
“Trying to sever the connection?” I guess, but he chews on his lip and scrunches his nose.
“To what end? How would that benefit them? No, it feels like they want to use it for something.”
“A treatment?”
He shakes his head again, but it’s more thoughtful this time. “Are there any illnesses that affect your kind?”
A vision of my mother’s sickly, smiling face flashes through my mind. “Yes, but most of them never crossed the rifts. The sick would never have been part of the military. We tend to die by each other’s hands these days. ”
He snorts a dry laugh that makes me grin before nodding at the file I’d been reading. “How long did it take before their marks changed?”
“Changed?”
August frowns then, leaning forward like he does when he’s eager to hear something.
“After a few weeks, the color of their marks shifted. The glowing went away and was replaced by solid patches the color of their mate’s skin.
In my file, Bronson ended up with a silvery mark on his left shoulder, while Saria had his coppery-bronze on her right one. ”
I wrinkle my nose. “They touched shoulders?”
“They bumped into each other in the market,” he explains in a rush, “and I’m sure it was all very romantic, but that’s not the point here.
According to the notes, at the time, they hadn’t confirmed what causes the change, but their hypothesis was.
..” He trails off, uncertainty clouding his eyes before they dart away.
“Their hypothesis was what?” I prompt, and he chews on his lip for a moment before he finally looks at me again.
“They believe the mark changes when both sides have accepted the bond. The final step in the mating process.”
“Oh,” I say in surprise, and August’s eyes move to the wall as my mind spins.
Is he having second thoughts?
Is that why he didn’t want to tell me their theory, because he isn’t sure that this life with me is what he wants? My stomach is suddenly full of lead as I consider that August might not want to be tied to me. That this pairing—by fate’s hands or otherwise—might not be his choice.