Page 92 of Shattered Stars

33

Spencer

We takeit in turns to stay awake after that, one of us watching for another attack while the other sleeps. In daylight, we travel cautiously, the man in black avoiding the main route and weaving us along unpaved tracks and twisting lanes, all the time both of us watching, listening.

I think he watches me just as much as he does the trees and the roads. I can feel his eyes scrutinizing me, although whenever I look at him, his gaze is trained elsewhere. But despite his curiosity, we don’t talk of it again – he doesn’t ask me. Not until we spot the tall barracks clear above the tree line on the horizon, and beyond trails of smoke and flashes of magic.

“That’s it,” he calls to me over the roar of the bikes.

As if it were in any doubt. I can smell the magic in the air, smell the death and destruction too. The beast stirs inside me. Curious as always.

The man in black motions with his head, and we pull onto the side of the road, both disappearing into the bushes to relieve ourselves and then returning to our vehicles. The man in blackpulls out his water bottle from his rucksack and stares at me as he takes three long swigs, wiping his gloved hand across his mouth when he’s done.

“How do you know?” he asks as I settle myself back on my bike.

“I don’t–”

“How do you know the beast wasn’t going to hurt her? How do you know he wants her?”

I close my eyes. How? Can I explain it? Would he even understand?

“He talks to you?” the man in black asks, his dark eyes alert with curiosity.

“Not exactly.”

“Is it him who wants her or you?” My eyes leap to his. I don’t answer. “You control him.”

I scoff. “No, we are not one and the same. He does not control me and I do not control him.”

“Then how do you know?”

I screw up my face. Finding the words to describe this is impossible but I realize no one has ever asked me before – not even Tristan, full of unending amounts of curiosity. And I find I want to tell him, I want to try.

“He’s inside me all the time, hovering right beneath my skin. Sometimes straining to break free, sometimes strangely content. In those moments, I receive flashes of his emotions, of his thoughts.”

“But when you’re in beast form?”

“Nothing. I wake up unable to remember what I’ve done or where I’ve been.”

The man in black considers this, sliding his bottle back into his bag and tying it closed. “And what does he …” he hesitates, “‘feel’ for Rhianna?”

“He’s obsessed with her.”

“Yeah,” the man in black says with some feeling as if he can relate to that. I’m not surprised. I bet being bonded to her is obsessive. I have to force my body not to shake with the mere thought of it. He slings his bag on his back, then peers at me once more. “Why? Why is he obsessed with her?”

The beast is all alert inside me. He has his answer. But it isn’t one I’m prepared to share with the man in black. That’s between me and her, and we’ve made our choices.

“I don’t know,” I say, revving the engine and pulling away, giving him no chance to read the pained expression I’m sure marks my face

We hitthe main road bustling with traffic – trucks, tanks and magical-looking machinery trudging along the road, some in the direction of the barracks, some back towards the capital. We weave through the convoys and I see the rows of soldiers, men and women sitting on benches inside the vehicles, their hair shaved short, their caps balanced on the crown of their heads, guns resting against their thighs. I’ll be joining them soon enough. Just another recruit. No longer Spencer Moreau, star of the dueling team, heir to his family. Just the same as anyone else.

I press my foot to the pedal, eager to arrive, hurtling at a speed so fast, several trucks blare their horns at me and I lose the man in black in the throng of traffic.

I’m forced to stop though as the traffic comes to a standstill and a huge wire fence looms in front of us. Beyond is the barracks building, an ugly brown monstrosity, that looks more like a cardboard box than anything else. The man in black pulls up alongside me, then motions with his head and we bypass theline, coming to a stop at the line of guards inspecting the vehicles entering the barracks.

The enforcer stops in front of the most senior-looking guard, several red stripes running along the arm of his jacket, and, taking off his helmet, goes to speak to him, beckoning me to follow.

The soldier greets him with a curt nod of the head.