Marked
Chapter 42

The president pulled Rachel to her feet and handed her over to one of the poachers.

He straightened the cuffs of his jacket as he flashed the stunned crowd of bunker soldiers an eye-crinkling smile.

“We need every single one of you.” He said as he gestured to Rachel. Fat drops of her blood landed on the floor; her world swayed. The burning in her arm intensified, tore through her like a raging fire.

“I know in the past things might have gotten a little out of hand. We haven’t always been the kindest to you.” He shook his head as though deeply saddened. “I’d really like to apologize for that by the way. You see, our soldiers are programed in such a way that they only know the art of war. But they mean well, I assure you. They are only trying to save our world.”

“The only people we need saving from is you.” Yalina spat, her black hair slapping her across the face as she tried to lunge toward the president. Michael caught her around the waist, looking pointedly at the burnt body of the dead soldier in front of them and at the rippling wall of electricity.

“You’re wrong about that little one. But I don’t blame you for not knowing. I assure you everything will make sense once you are Marked.”

The president clapped his hands together with excitement. “So with that said, let’s not waste any more time; let’s get you all Marked and settled in.”

Shouts erupted from her people. At first Rachel thought it was a battle cry until she realized blue sparks were flying up from the ground similar to the stun Taser they used back at the bunker.

Rachel trued to jerk free but the poacher only tightened his hold.

The plates of asphalt beneath the bunker people hummed to life with electricity. The bodies of her friends began to shake and tremble as if they were experiencing and earthquake only they could feel. One by one, their bodies slackened and fell to the ground.

The asphalt grew quiet once more. All that was left was the sound of her heavy breathing.

She whipped her head back towards the president, her eyes burning with a stronger fire than the bullet ever could.

She could still kill him if she tried, she just had to get her hands around his throat. She thrust her elbow into the poacher’s nose, effectively freeing herself. In the same instant, she rushed towards the retreating president. Her hands managed to wrap around the back of his neck before a searing pain scorched through her shoulder muscle.

She cried out in pain as the president turned around, pinned her arms to her sides and stared her down.

His blue eyes bore into hers, swam with an ethereal beauty. In fact, in that moment, everything swam. The lights behind him ballooned into big dots of white and yellow. Even his hair danced in the breeze as black specks flooded her vision.

The ground began to rush toward her face. The president’s hands tightened at her wrists and the last thing she saw before her vision darkened was a perfectly polished name plaque attached to his perfectly pressed uniform.

Nicolas.

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“There’s no mistake?” Nicolas asked quietly.

“No sir, no mistake at all.”

Rachel steadied her eyelids, hoping to pretend to be asleep a little while longer. Panic spread through her chest at the thought of it already being too late. Maybe she’d already been Marked. Maybe she was already a monster.

She searched within her mind to see if she was feeling any different or if she suddenly wanted to pledge her undying allegiance to Nicolas.

All she felt was anger.

“Leave us.” Nicolas said. Though Rachel hadn’t heard anyone else in the room, she did hear the quiet swish of an opening and closing door.

“I know you are awake.” Nicolas announced.

Rachel’s eyelids fluttered open. She took in the lights above her head, glittering like diamonds. The hospital bed she lay on was soft; a downy, white blanket draped over her lower half. She glanced down at her arm where there was no sign that she had ever been shot.

Not even a scar to prove it. No pain.

She looked around her in a panic, took in the room with its beautifully tiled walls; the overhead lights that looked like metallic teardrops hung precariously from the ceiling.

And standing at the foot of her bed was Nicolas. He no longer donned his military uniform. Instead, he wore gray slacks with a loosely tucked blue shirt and stood in a non-threatening manner that only infuriated her further. She sat up and grabbed the first thing she could replace—a cup on the nightstand—and chucked it at him.

To her surprise, the cup flew right through him, an arc of water splashing against the tile behind his wavering form. She felt lost for a moment—he looked so real, so tangible, like he was really standing before her—but he was nothing more than an illusion.

“You didn’t think I’d come in person after you tried to kill me twice, did you?”

“It’s a shame,” she replied. Venom coated her words. “I hear third time’s the charm.”

He chuckled, placed his arms behind his back and paced the room like a ghost. She figured if he wasn’t really in the room, then there was nothing stopping her from trying to replace a way out.

Determined, she swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her legs missed the ground; the bed, jerking slightly, hovered above the floor by an unknown force.

She shook away the awe and stood, trying the door first. There was no place for her to put her fingertip, no visible opening mechanism.

Nicolas had come to a halt, eyeing her thoughtfully, as though she were an experiment and he was eager to see how she would react. She could feel his gaze burning into her back even though he wasn’t really in the room.

She picked up the nightstand beside the bed, surprised herself at how easy it was to lift it after being shot in the arm, and heaved it against the glass door where it thudded and bounced back. She lifted, swung again. Nothing happened.

“Don’t tire yourself, Rachel. There is no way out of this room, no escape unless I expressly order for you to be released.”

She turned the full force of her glare on him. If looks could kill. Her heart thrummed in her neck, she could feel the desperation crawling its way up her spine and something else too. A deep, maddening fear for her friends, for her people.

Could it be that after all this time, their fight was finally over?