Powerless (The Powerless Trilogy, #1)

by Lauren Roberts

“I didn’t realize you had watched me so closely.” “Watched? Darling, I’ve never stopped.”

She feels so familiar in my arms, and I drink in every detail, memorize every movement.

What is your favorite color?” I spin her if only to give myself some time to think. I’d never thought about what my favorite color was before. It never seemed important. Not until I looked into a pair of ocean-blue eyes and realized that perhaps drowning was a beautiful thing. Not until I looked into a pair of fiery blue eyes and realized that perhaps burning was a painless thing. Not until I looked into a pair of sky-blue eyes and realized that perhaps falling was a peaceful thing. I’d never thought about what my favorite color was before because I hadn’t seen one that was worthy of the title. Until now, that is. “Blue,” I say, my voice low.

I grab her hand again and guide it up my arm until both her palms rest on my shoulders. Then I slip my hands around her waist and behind her back, careful of her injured side as I pull her closer. And then we just sway. No fancy footwork, no waltz to step in time to. Just us, in the middle of a forest, surrounded by thousands of winking stars. Her lashes flutter, and then her fingers are laced behind my neck. The tension between us pulls taut, like an invisible tether connecting the two of us. My pulse quickens and so does her breathing, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

My hand tightens around her waist like it might catch fire from the feel of her. I’m embarrassed by how much this one girl engrosses me, afraid of how affected I am. It makes me feel equally weak and wonderful. Alarmed yet alive.

My masks are still at the ready, my walls still in place, but she is slowly breaking down both my facades and fortresses. And I’m suddenly angry at myself for allowing it. For allowing myself to care. For allowing myself to think of her in any way other than my competition.

“Focus on my eyes. I know how much you like to stare into them.” His gray gaze sparkles with amusement, and the corners of his lips kick up while my own mouth falls open. He knows me well enough to know that I’m about to start telling him off in response to that little comment, so he presses a finger to my lips before I get the chance. “Focus on the dimples you try to convince yourself you hate, even though I know you look for them every time I smile.” Sure enough, his grin spreads, and my traitorous eyes flick to the dimples framing it. The thumb he runs over my bottom lip has my eyes dragging from his dimples to meet his gaze. “Focus on my lips.” His voice is a murmur, a caress like the fingers brushing my face and mouth. “Don’t be shy. I know this wouldn’t be the first time.” My eyes drift to his lips, trailing over the sensuous curve of them. He’s so very easy to look at, to admire. Everything about him is annoyingly alluring, distracting so easily— Distracting.

“Ass,” I mumble. He hasn’t stopped smiling at me. “I may be an ass, but I just saved yours.”

bringing the tip of the blade to the throat of whoever decided it was a smart idea to creep up on me.

Somehow, the simple action feels far more intimate than I care to admit, as though he is sharing something precious with me, saying something without uttering a single word.

He leans closer, eyes brimming with barely bottled-up emotions. “And I’ll save your life again and again, aimlessly hoping you will allow me to stay in it.”

“I do have one condition, though.” I roll my eyes. Of course he does. “And what would that be?” I ask through my teeth, not bothering to look at him. An arm wraps around my middle, carefully avoiding my wound while tugging me against a broad chest. I startle at the sudden contact, and a soft laugh sounds close to my ear. “I get to use you to keep me warm.”

I hate that I don’t hate it. And that’s when it hits me. Distraction.

the only thing that will chase the nightmares away for tonight because I’m too occupied with the thought of him. And this is a distraction that benefits the both of us. I find myself smiling as I think about the calculating boy behind me. The calculating boy, who for some reason, cares.

The body sitting beside me shifts, and my eyes drift slowly toward him. My gaze crashes into Kai’s, ignoring his clenched jaw and taut brows. It’s his cold eyes I focus on. I’ve never seen a stare so icy, yet so full of fire. The look in his eyes is chilling, and I shiver. It’s like icicles, his gaze. Pretty but sharp. Cool but deadly. Captivating but cutting.

I hate the lack of control I have or the fear constantly following me. I hate feeling so helpless. So powerless. So Ordinary. I am competing in games meant to flaunt the powers and strength of the Elites—the powers I don’t possess. Yet here I am. Alive. And I intend to keep it that way.

And there I go again, biting my tongue too late. But there’s something about this prince that makes me reckless, makes me want to tell him exactly what is wrong with everything he thinks he believes.

‘The strongest weapon a woman has at her disposal is that she is often underestimated.’

I pull my face away from hers and brush her shoulder as I pass. I know what she is doing, and I welcome the distraction. Welcome her being the distraction.

She’s still fiddling angrily with the arrow, her voice deceptively sweet as she says, “Well if you keep smirking like that, I’m going to turn around and point this arrow at your heart.” I smile at her sentiment, my fingers continuing to draw circles across her stomach. She takes another shallow breath, about to pull back and fire when I mumble, “Yeah, well at least you might be able to hit my heart, unlike the bullseye—”

My chest heaves, the feel of her against me almost too much to breathe properly. We fit together so perfectly, so right. I can hardly think, or breathe, or move when my fingers glide across her skin, her waist, her body.

“What are you doing, Gray?” I ask, turning my attention back toward the target. “Distracting,” she says slowly, drawing out the syllables. Her hand brushes my arm again, lightly. So lightly. I smile. “Darling, you’re going to have to do better than that.” “No,” she says coolly, “I don’t think I do.” The tips of her fingers meet my skin. She lets them trail down my arm, stopping at my wrist before making their way back up, painfully slow. Her fingers find their way under the sleeve of my cotton shirt, climbing up and up and— Gone. Her touch vanishes, leaving me aching for her to lay her hands on me— That’s when it hits me. She’s right. She doesn’t need to do anything more to distract me. The mere thought of her being so close and barely touching me has my head spinning. I’m melted by the promise that her fingers gave me, promise of more, promise of something. Nothing. She won’t lay her hands on me. Instead, she’ll drive me mad by teasing me with her touch, only to pull it away, leaving me wanting more. Leaving me cold without the fire her fingers trail along my skin.

Slowly, so damn slowly, she lets her fingers slide over my skin, heavier than before. A single touch has never made me feel so on fire. And she knows exactly what she is doing. She knows that barely feeling her at all will drive me mad in a way I can’t explain, in a way I’ve never felt before.

Maybe I did it on purpose. Maybe I chose to distract her because I knew she was too stubborn to not do the same to me. Maybe I did it all just because I wanted her hands on me, too. Because it was an excuse for me to hold her, for her to hold me. And now that she isn’t, I’m craving her touch. Craving her.

I fire the arrow, not bothering to wait and see where it lands before I’ve thrown my bow to the ground, spun around, and gripped her wrists instead. I pull her toward me, staring into her startled eyes. Her lips part, either in surprise or because she’s about to tell me off, I’m not sure. “Don’t,” I pause, swallow, exhale slowly, “play with me like that.” She stares at me. Her mouth opens and closes again, clearly hoping words will fall out. I hold her gaze as I guide one of her hands to my arm, dropping her other wrist to pull her closer by the waist. Her palm meets my skin and it’s almost like I remembered how to breathe again. I press my hand on top of hers, holding her skin firmly against mine. I smile now that she’s finally, fully touching me, rather than taunting me with the tips of teasing fingers. A single touch from her, or the lack of it, is enough to drive me mad. What has she done to me? I take my hand off hers, fingers trailing down her arm before dropping it to my side. But she doesn’t drop hers, instead leaving her palm in place. She stares at where her skin meets mine before her gaze finally trails up to my face. She smirks, but it’s as weak as her voice. “I didn’t realize a single touch could affect you so much.” “Neither did I.” Her eyes dart away from mine, almost looking timid as she lets her hand trace down my arm before dropping it completely. Then she cranes her neck, looking around me at the target behind. She smiles at what she sees. “You lost, Azer.”

“A king who doesn’t know his people cannot be a king for his people.”

If I didn’t want to win before, I certainly do now.

“Couldn’t resist me, darling?” I look up at him then, flashing a smile of my own with a confidence I don’t currently feel. “Oh please,” I snort, “the only thing I’m resisting when I’m around you is the urge to put a dagger to your throat.” His eyes are locked on mine. “I love when you threaten to kill me, do you know that?” “Oh? And why is that?” The corner of his mouth twitches up. “Because every time you don’t, it only proves that you don’t want to.” And then he flicks the tip of my nose with a satisfied smile.

His fingers have found their way back under my chin, my jaw, cupping my face. Gray eyes drop to my mouth, gaze heavy. And then he’s dragging his thumb along the length of my bottom lip. Wine. I can taste it still coating the thumb he’s swiping across my mouth. I’m stunned, stone-still as his eyes track where his finger traces, ever so slowly, back and forth. I should push him away. But I don’t. Instead, I watch him watch me. Watch his eyes roam over my face. Watch his chest heave with shaky breaths. Watch a muscle tick in his cheek. Watch a smile twitch his lips. His next words are a murmur, as if he’s muttering his innermost thoughts while his thumb continues to wander over my lip. “Will you forever be the prize I am aimlessly trying to win?” I inhale sharply, staring him down as I say, “Is that all I am to you? A trophy?” A small smile twitches his lips as he shakes his head at me. “Oh, darling, a trophy implies that I won it, earned it, deserve it.” He leans in farther, a certain reverence reflecting in his gaze. “But if I get to have you, it will be because you let me.”

“You’re not sober.” Tilting my head, I give him a smile. “So, you’re not allowed to touch me.” He copies me, cocking his head to the side as he looks down at where I’m holding his wrist. “But you’re touching me.” “Yes, well, I’m sober.” A smile plays at his lips. “So, you’re saying I’m allowed to touch you when I’m sober?” His tone sounds more like a challenge than a question. I consider it. Then I laugh. “I’m only saying yes because I doubt you’ll remember much of this conversation in the morning.” His gaze flicks between my mouth and eyes, a drunken smirk twisting his lips. “Oh, darling, I doubt I could forget this.”

“Darling,” he cuts me off with a humored huff, “I’m used to being covered in other red, sticky liquids far worse than wine.”

“Besides, your dress is very distracting. I like it.” I huff out a laugh. “That is a terrible excuse.” “That’s because I was giving you a compliment, not an excuse.” “Well then that was a terrible compliment.” I see the challenge flash in his eyes before I hear it in his voice. “Then why don’t you give me an example of a good compliment, Gray?” I should have seen that coming. Of course he is going to use this as an excuse for me to finally flatter him—except that I won’t. “Fine,” I say curtly. “Your hair looks very… soft.” “Soft?” Kai echoes with a cough that might have been a laugh. “Oh, come now, you can do better than that.” He leans in closer, his voice taunting as he adds, “And if you want to run your fingers through my hair, I wouldn’t be opposed to—” “Your smile.” I cut him off before his offer can tempt me. “I like when you truly smile. When you’re not wearing the mask of the future Enforcer or the prince, and you simply allow me to see you. It’s a smile I wish you would share with me more often.” I swallow and fall silent. That was not at all what I intended to tell him, and yet, that doesn’t make it any less true. At the sight of that smile, it’s easy to forget who he is and what he does. At the sight of that smile, I see a boy instead of the king’s deadly pawn. At the sight of that smile, I see someone who is more than a friend instead of someone who would kill me if they knew what I am. And suddenly, that smile is sounding very dangerous. “Even with my stupid d...

“Your name is Malakai?” “Yes, well, I’ve also been called devilishly handsome, devastatingly powerful, and more recently, a cocky bastard.” “Whoever called you that must know you quite well.” “Yes, more than I care to admit,” he says quietly.

And rather than pushing him away like I know I should, I find myself smiling back.

I refuse to get caught up in him. He must be able to see the battle raging in my brain because he grins at me. Dimples. Those damn dimples. I’m practically panting now, trying to breathe, trying to ignore this boy in front of me. Trying to ignore his dazzling smiles and difficult past I now know so much about. His caring and charming side, the little things that make up him, his hands that are on me— I hate it. I hate it. I hate it.

“I’ll walk you to your rooms,” he says simply. “You don’t need to do that.” “You’re right. I don’t.” He threads my arm through his as we begin walking through the crowded garden toward the castle. “But I want to.” I duck my head and smile. “I could get used to you being a gentleman, Azer.” He’s quiet for so long that I think he might not respond. But when he does, I hear the smile in his voice. “And I could get used to being one for you, Gray.”

watching the king smile at his queen in the way he’s only ever done for her. He never fails to give her the affection he never gave to us. To me.

Destruction is my duty, and the king has made me grow numb to killing. But for the children, I force myself to feel. Even monsters can have morals.

“Be careful,” he says with the hint of a smile. “And don’t you dare die.” “Don’t worry. You won’t be able to get rid of me that easily, Kitty.”

She’s no fighter, and she knows it. That’s why she hides behind her power like most Elites do.

This was never about winning—it was about making a point. Proving to myself, and everyone watching, that I am still a threat. Whether I have a power like theirs or not, I will find a way to hurt them.

I hear clapping, cheering, and confused chattering ripple through the audience. A smile tugs at my lips and before I know it, I’m shaking with laughter. I can’t stop it from bubbling out of me as I lie sprawled in the dirt. I may have lost the match, but it’s Blair who lost her pride.

My slanted, hasty handwriting is scrolled across my palm, relaying a very important message: She said I could touch her when I’m sober. I’m shocked that I have no recollection of writing this, considering how vividly I remember everything else about last night. Paedyn pressed against me, our conversation, her panic before I untied the laces of her dress. My lips twitch at the thought before I’m suppressing a smile when I remember how she pinned Blair during their fight and made her bleed.

His own father forced him to relive his worst fear over and over again.

And I should know by now that there is always a catch, always a price. My own father taught me that.

My body is my only weapon. I have no knives, no bow, no swords to hide behind. But I wouldn’t have it any other way. I want to do this with my bare hands.

No. Not today. Death can claim me when it finds a less pathetic way to end my existence.

“Never forget that your wit is a weapon to be wielded if only your mind is as sharp as your blade.” My father’s words echo in my head, reminding me that not all battles are won with brawn. So I’ll win this one with brains.

“I’m not afraid of myself anymore,” I whisper. That girl—that haunted, weak girl begging for help, for love—is me. Without her, I wouldn’t be who I am today. I’m still haunted, maybe even still hoping for love, but I am no longer weak because of it.

The boy beneath me tried to kill his brother, tried to get Kai to do it for him. And as I stare into the gray eyes of the prince, the future Enforcer, the Deliverer of Death, I know that he has been patiently waiting to kill him. Patiently waiting for revenge. And yet, he is simply standing there, dripping with blood, and doing nothing to stop me from ripping his revenge away from him. This is not my life to take. “I would kill you…” My voice is stern and strong, loud enough for Kai to hear. I see Ace’s eyes light up with the assumption that I’m too weak to go through with ending his life. How very wrong he is. “But you are not mine to kill,” I finish, watching as his eyes darken, hatred replacing hope. My gaze finds Kai’s again, his eyes bright in the moonlight and smoldering like smoke from a fire. A muscle ticks in his jaw; his hands twitch at his sides. I give him a single, slow nod.