Reckless (The Powerless Trilogy Book 2)

I’ve found her.

In the middle of a damn fight, of all things. I shouldn’t be surprised.

“Finish him! Finish him! Finish him!”

The cellar is damp, echoing with the shouts of a cramped crowd. After pushing past sweaty bodies, I let my eyes drift over the various heads of dull colors, still unaccustomed to the lack of vibrant hair among them. That’s when I turned my attention to the man stalking circles in the cage, shockingly large in comparison to his opponent.

His opponent.

The one who moves like a dancer, not always in fluidity, but in calculation. As though anticipating each step, mapping out each movement.

The one who fights with a familiar kind of fire, a fierceness that’s been fueled and honed for years.

The one with the covered face, hidden hair, concealed identity.

I know the face behind that fabric. Know the freckles that fleck that nose, the silver hair that glints in the sun. Know the lean body hidden beneath layers of clothing, concealing the waist where my hand fits perfectly, ribs scarred by a spear in the Whispers Forest.

It’s her.

“And there you have it. Shadow’s won!”

Shadow. How fitting.

Though I can’t see her face, I can practically feel the pride radiating off her as she stands in the ring, fist lifted in triumph. I’d barely focused on the match, too consumed with the realization that is her. But I spot the blood soaking through the scarf she keeps tightly wrapped around her head and face, concealing the criminal who lies beneath.

All too quickly, the match is over. The crowd is clapping. The Shadow is leaving.

No. I need her.

The thought almost has me laughing bitterly. Two weeks ago, those words would have held a very different meaning, one I’m not allowing myself to ponder any further.

She’s standing beside the announcer now, collecting her pay and what looks to be his praise.

Think.

I should follow her. I should follow her and take her by surprise. I should be smart about this. Every bit of training screams at me to handle this delicately, deliberately.

But where’s the fun in that?

I’ll handle her as delicately as she did my father.

I want to see her squirm, fumble to keep up her facade. And with an audience at my disposal, her identity is at stake, forcing her to focus on both me and the role she’s playing.

And that’s when I open my mouth.

“So, is Shadow up for another round?”

It’s as though I had screamed.

Her head whips in my direction with such fervency that I struggle to ignore the memory of how she used to relax at the sound of my voice. Her eyes drift from face to face. Searching. Frantic. Afraid.

And then those ocean eyes crash into mine.

It’s electric, this look, though not like it used to be. The invisible tether between us is now charged with our past, our present, our future—with everything we once were and everything we now are. It’s a hostile sort of harmony, both of us finally fully aware of what we are to each other—nothing. Just the shell of what was; what could have been.

I used to welcome the idea of drowning in those blue eyes of hers. But now, seeing the disdain she stares me down with, I realize that drowning alone wasn’t what I craved, but sinking together.

“And”—the announcer’s voice doesn’t manage to tear my gaze from hers—“who might you be?”

Her gaze narrows atop the folds of fabric concealing the face I know too well. A challenge. I can practically hear her taunting voice echoing in my skull.

Go on. Tell them who you are, Prince.

“Flame,” I say, my eyes never straying from hers.

Her eyes leave mine long enough to roll. My smile is sharp, though she can’t see it behind the bandanna concealing the bottom of my face.

If she is Shadow, then I am Flame.

This girl is the very thing I can’t seem to escape—can’t seem to go anywhere without the remnants of her following. Where I am, she is. Whether it’s in the flesh or in the fragments of my mind.

And where there is a flame, there is always a shadow.

She is my inevitable.

The announcer rubs the back of his neck, contemplating. “Well, Flame, we weren’t planning on another match tonight….”

“Ah, of course.” I raise my hands slightly, appearing apologetic. “I understand. Shadow can’t handle another fight tonight. Wouldn’t want him to lose his winning streak, now would we?”

When my eyes slide back to her burning gaze, they narrow slightly. A challenge of my own.

Your move, Shadow.

The eavesdropping crowd finally breaks its silence with scattered whispers. The announcer glances sidelong at her, speaking volumes with the single movement. I’ve backed her into a corner, threatening the image she’s built. Her reputation is now at risk if she refuses my obvious challenge.

Her eyes bore into mine, threatening to set me ablaze. And then she nods, slow and sure and single-handedly sending the room buzzing in anticipation.

“Looks like we have another match, folks!” I barely hear the announcer’s booming voice through the blood pounding in my ears. My feet begin carrying me toward the ring and every moment after. Every moment after I touch her again.

“Let’s give Shadow a quick breather, aye? That’s only fair.”

My head whips in the announcer’s direction, feet stalling. My gaze flicks to the figure beside him, relief smoothing her crinkled brow, eyes sifting through the crowd.

Because she’s going to disappear.

And I can’t let that happen.

The man smiles, likely thinking of every coin he’ll make off us. “We’ll begin shortly.” The crowd resumes their idle chatter, already beginning to bet on their champion.

But my eyes never stray from her covered face, though I’ve memorized every inch of what lies beneath the folds of her scarf. If I knew her any less, I might not have seen the signs. Might have missed the way she takes a casual step around the table, right into the path of some bickering onlookers.

It’s as though she truly is made of shadow.

I take a step toward her, shoving people aside before she can melt into the madness. Catching the ripple of her scarf, I slide between bodies, attempting to keep up with her. Heads turn as I curse colorfully. The crowd has swallowed her whole, but I fight my way to the cellar door I know she’s slinking toward.

Steel screeches, informing me that she’s about to slip away into the night. Murmurs follow as I continue pushing my way to the door, only cracked wide enough for her familiar frame to slip through. Prying it open, I bound up the steps and into the darkness beyond.

My ears ring in the sudden silence while my eyes attempt to adjust. The muted echo of heavy strides has my head whipping to the right before my feet begin racing.

I can just make out the outline of her form before it turns down another alley. I’m sprinting—legs pumping, heart pounding.

But she can’t outrun me. And what worries me the most is that she knows it.

I’m gaining on her, tailing each of her turns meant to throw me off. Only seconds separate us from the fate we’ve both found ourselves in. Only seconds before she’s haunting me outside my nightmares.

She turns another corner, and I follow.

… darkness.

I skid to a stop, head swiveling in search of her shadowy figure.

Nothing.

“What the hell…?” I murmur under my breath, taking slow steps across the stones. I scan the walls around me before my gaze climbs up to the flat roof above. A window resides in the center of the bricks, acting as the perfect step stool.

Found you.

Wedging my foot atop the windowsill, I pull the rest of my limbs up until I’m balancing on the ledge. I stand there for a moment, palms sweaty and throat dry. The seconds slow. Even time seems to hold its breath in anticipation of our reunion.

And then it exhales. Time resumes. And I curl my fingers over the edge of the roof to lift myself up.

I swing my legs up in one swift movement, standing in the next.

First, there is nothing.

Second, there is everything.

There is her.

“Move, and I’ll sink this dagger into your heart.”

No. There is hatred.

Moonlight glints off the blade between her fingers. She’s poised to strike, her arm cocked and voice steady.

That voice.

It’s exactly as it was. Neither of us changed, and yet, here we stand—strangers.

I swallow, opening my mouth—

“That includes your lips,” she says sharply. I blink, struggling to bite back the scoff she begins talking over. “The only reason I haven’t thrown this knife yet is because I have a proposition for you.”

Humoring her, I nod slightly, lips twitching beneath my bandanna.

She takes a step toward me, never lowering her weapon. “We go back to the cellar. We fight. I win.”

Before I’ve even finished scoffing, she’s suddenly closed the distance between us. As if to remind me of her threat, I feel the cool tip of a blade pressed roughly against my throat.

“I win,” she continues, deceptively calm, “and you let me go.”

I stare down at her, at the face swallowed in shadow.

“And if you win”—she swallows, adjusting her grip on the dagger still digging into my skin—“I’ll… I’ll go quietly back to Ilya.”

Silence hums. The moon bears down on us, leaning in to hear my answer. I clear my throat. “Am I allowed to speak now, or will you be stabbing me?” I bow my head closer to her, ignoring the sting of a blade at my throat. “I know how good you are at that.”

She sighs through her nose. “You are welcome to speak so long as it’s to accept my offer.”

“I hadn’t realized you were in any position to negotiate,” I say coolly.

“You should be thankful I’m even bothering.”

“And why is that?” I murmur, ripping the bandanna from my face. “Why not slit my throat?”

I can hardly see her face, but I hear the suppressed rage in her voice. “Careful what you wish for.”

I inch dangerously close. “You can’t do it, can you?”

“You of all people should know better than to underestimate me,” she breathes.

“So do it, Gray.”

A flash of steel flies toward my stomach, leaving my neck bare besides the thin line of blood beginning to bloom there. She sends the blade arcing upward, intending to slip it between my ribs and pierce the heart that once beat for her.

Only, she’s already done that. Already mutilated whatever part of me wasn’t yet a monster. Now here I stand, a mosaic of a man—all sharp edges and shattered pieces.

I catch her wrist, anticipating this exact move. She sucks in a breath when I twist her arm outward, giving me room to step in against her body. “Oh, come on,” I breathe against her ear, “your heart wasn’t in that.”

Steel sings against its sheath, hissing in the silence.

And once again I’m staring down the length of a blade, its point angled up beneath my jaw.

She hasn’t held that dagger since she buried it in the king’s neck. I should have known she would pull it from the sheath at my side, its familiar swirling handle now back in her palm. All it took was a distraction and the flick of thieving fingers.

Her chest heaves, brushing mine with each heavy breath. “Don’t think for a second,” she whispers, “that I won’t be the death of you.”

She’s dangerous with this dagger in hand. I’ve seen what she can do with it, had it held against my throat enough times to memorize the thickness of the blade slicing into my skin. At my throat is the very weapon that sliced through my father’s, held there by his murderer. Held there by her.

I smile slightly. “I doubt there is any more damage you can do to me.”

I can feel the heat of her gaze boring into mine, though I can only make out shadowy features in the moonlight. And I’m thankful for it. Thankful for the blessing that is being unable to behold her.

Because when darkness hides those blazing blue eyes, I can pretend that she is nothing to me. Just a shadowy figure that feels like her, smells like her, talks like her. Just a stranger in this strange place that I will never see again.

But the moment the sun comes up, shedding light on my dark reality, I can no longer pretend. Can no longer steal what I want when duty has me bound by a leash, dragging me back to my destiny.

But here, she is no one.

Here, I am nothing.

Here, we are forgotten.

The dagger shakes in her hand, prodding at my skin with each quiver.

“I hate you,” she whispers.

The reminder of her lack of feelings only spurs on my sudden stupidity. My sudden need to finish what we started, no matter how doomed it was from the beginning. Because here, nothing between us matters.

With one of her wrists still grasped in my palm, ensuring the other knife won’t slice my skin as well, I lift my free hand toward her face. It’s slow, soft even, so as not to startle her. I hold my breath, heartbeat pounding in my ears.

She seems to still, to melt under the feel of my fingers pulling the scarf from around her face. Her breath catches, her body tensing against mine. I scan the face that is now uncovered, seeing nothing of the girl I cared for. The girl who killed my father. The girl I’ve been ordered to bring home.

I see none of that, because I see nothing at all.

She is no one.

I am nothing.

We are forgotten.

And this is meaningless.

I gently tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. A strand that is shadowed, not silver. A strand that belongs to this stranger I will never see again. “You promised to be my undoing,” I murmur, lowering my head close enough to hear her sharp intake of breath. “So, prove it.”

Her face angles up toward mine, our noses brushing. She never lowers her dagger, and the point of her blade still draws blood from my throat. “Prove it,” I repeat, voice quiet. “Hate me enough to make me want you.” I cup her jaw, feeling her eyes burning into mine. “Ruin me.”

Our mouths crash together.

I can taste the loathing on her lips, the anger in each swipe of her tongue. She spells out a promise, leaving it to linger on my lips. A vow to undo me. And she’s already begun.

She kisses me hard, biting my lip to draw blood like the dagger she still presses against me. I tighten my grip on her other wrist still clutching the small knife, hard enough to have her palm opening and the blade clattering onto the uneven roof. With her hand now free, I lift it over my shoulder, guiding it around my neck.

Her fingers are buried in my hair while mine dig into her hips. I ignore how familiar she feels, ignore every one of my screaming senses. Because this is a stranger. We are nothing to each other. And that means anything is allowed.

This kiss is deep and anything but tender. It is betrayal. It is bitterness. And nothing has ever tasted so sweet.

It is ruin.

She suddenly jerks away, dropping the dagger that was pressed against my throat. Pushing hard at my chest, she staggers back, breathing heavy. I blink in the darkness, trying to ignore the heavy weight of reality crashing down on us.

“Don’t…,” she pants. “Never again.”

I lick my lips, tasting a trickle of blood from her bite. She sways on shaky legs, and I watch as she fixes her attention on the roof between us. The blades lie forgotten at our feet, winking up at us in the pale moonlight.

She stiffens at the sight. And then she lunges.

I manage to grab her swirled dagger before she can snatch it, forcing her to settle for the knife she greeted me with. Her shoulders heave as she takes another step away from me, shoving the blade into her boot.

My lips tingle from the taste of her; hands trembling from the feel of her. I take a breath, shocked by my own actions. Shocked that I found a way to justify them. Shocked that she wanted to as much as I did.

It was hatred, but it happened.

I look up to find her seemingly composed, tucking her hair and face back into its cocoon of fabric.

“Do we have a deal?” she says evenly, as though nothing has changed between us. And nothing has. She is still my mission, and I am still her monster. What happened between us, past and present, was nothing more than a mistake. A lapse in judgment. A spark between two strangers in the night.

But when she turns her face toward the rays of moonlight dripping from a starry sky, I see the girl who ruined me. The planes of a face I’ve held in my hands, freckles I’ve counted a dozen times. The hands that drove a sword through the king’s chest, a dagger through his throat.

And now I can no longer pretend.

I pull my bandanna up and walk toward the edge of the roof. “Deal.”

The crowd splits, creating a path to the cage.

She beat me back to the cellar after practically jumping off the roof to get away from me. I take my time strolling inside, staring at her through the wired cage, though she looks in any other direction than mine.

When the door swings shut behind me, shouts erupt. The crowd is already gambling on the outcome of the match, shouting what they must believe to be words of encouragement at their chosen fighter.

She wastes no time before beginning to circle me. This is not the same girl I kissed on the roof, and if feels as though we are meeting again for the first time. Though a public reunion in which we are both hiding our identity is not exactly ideal.

I watch her as we slowly circle one another, each of us attempting to anticipate the other’s move. Words stick in my throat, unable to say something worth the weeks of silence between us. Because what happened on the roof hardly counts as a reunion. Hardly counts at all.

“Took you long enough, Flame.”

Her words are laced with bitter amusement, void of whatever emotions we left on the rooftop.

Good. We are carrying on as normal. As enemies.

“What,” I ask, “finding you or coming to my senses?”

“Well, clearly you haven’t really come to your senses, considering you stepped foot in this ring. With me inside it.” Her hands twitch at her sides, itching to connect with my face.

I almost laugh. “I could say the same to you, Shadow.” My voice drops to a whisper I’m not even sure she can hear over the crowd, though I know my eyes shout the title at her. “Or should I say, Silver Savior?”

“I’d watch your tongue, Prince.” I can see the sharp smile in her eyes. “Unless you’d like to swallow it.”

“Have you been practicing that little line?” I drawl. “You know, for when I inevitably found you? Or did—”

Her fist finds my jaw. Hard.

I don’t even have time to react, to dodge, to do anything other than take the blow as it whips my head to the side. “No,” she answers sweetly, “but I have been practicing that.”

I spit blood onto the mat, drawing a roar from the crowd. “It seems I won’t need to remind you how to punch correctly. Again.”

This time, I duck before she can break my nose. Her arm swings over my head, and I take advantage of her unguarded stomach to send a quick jab below her ribs. She staggers slightly before filling the space between us with a foot flying toward my temple. I twist, blocking her kick and pushing her leg away from me.

“Are you prepared to let me go when I win this fight?” she pants, pelting me with a combination of punches I scarcely block. She’s persistent, as per usual, and far less fatigued than I figured she’d be. I suspect our time on the roof likely added to her bloodlust.

After exchanging blows, most of them blocked, she drops into a crouch to swing her leg out. I jump, narrowly missing her attempt to send me sprawling onto the mat. But she’s up in an instant, twisting with a back kick that has her heel careening toward my skull.

This time, I block before catching her leg. Using the momentum of her kick, I have her flipping onto the mat before her next blink. She rolls, her back colliding with the cage wall, making it rattle while the crowd roars on the other side.

I wipe an already bloody hand across the line of crimson trailing from my split lip. “Look,” I pant, moving to stand over her. “Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to—”

Both of her booted feet fly into my stomach, thoroughly knocking the air from my lungs. I stagger with the sudden force of it, my back slamming into the cage wall. She’s on me in a moment, her hands on my shoulders and…

We’re dancing in the Whispers.

Pale moonlight streams through the trees, illuminating the eyes staring up into mine, sparkling like an indigo pool I’m all too willing to dive headfirst into.

Her hands anchor me, tethering us together with a tentative touch. Soft but sure. Steady but seemingly timid. Unsure what this means, but sure that she wants it.

Her hands are on my shoulders and…

And her knee is driving into my stomach.

Once. Twice. Three times before I come to my senses and block with one arm before swinging the other at her jaw. Her head snaps to the side, and I take advantage of the second of shock she allows. I have her gripped by the collar and pressed against the cage within the next heartbeat.

That’s when she knees me in the groin.

The crowd grunts right alongside me. “Classy as always,” I choke out, still clutching her tightly.

“Oh, that was nothing, Prince,” she hisses through gritted teeth. “Now, get the hell out of my ring.”

I laugh dryly, my face close to hers. “Oh, I’ll get the hell out of this Plague-forsaken city so long as you come with me. I’ll drag you back to Ilya if I must.”

“Over my dead body, Prince.”

“That would make things a hell of a lot easier, so trust me when I say I’m considering it.”

Her body tenses, and I feel the punch she’s about to throw before she even moves. My hands pin her wrists to the cage, pressing her hard against the wire. “Here’s what is going to happen,” I breathe close to her ear, eying the crowd enjoying this immensely. “We’re going to wrap this little show up, and you’re going to come quietly.”

Her eyes are ablaze. “You haven’t won yet.”

“Oh, I haven’t?” I trail a hand up to her face, tugging at the fabric there. “All I have to do is slip out a single strand of silver hair, and everyone in this room will be trying to kill you for that hefty price on your head. And I’m tempted to let them do just that. It would make my job far easier.”

Lies.

I have strict orders to return her to Ilya alive, despite what the posters say. But she sure as hell doesn’t need to know that.

I smile enough for her to see it in my eyes. “So, yes, I won the second I stepped into this ring.”

She swallows, the only sign of worry she’ll allow me to see. “You’re awfully confident for someone who’s also hiding their identity.”

“Yes, well, there’s not a price on my head.”

“You’re the prince of Ilya. There will always be a price on your head.”

And with that, she rips the bandanna from my face.