Powerless (The Powerless Trilogy, #1)

by Lauren Roberts

“Only you can make my name sound worth saying.”

“Call me anything you like. I’ll never pass up the chance to hear your voice, darling.”

I wasn’t prepared for the laugh that escapes him. It’s a rich, beautiful sound I wish I had the time to commit to memory.

“As adorable as you looked blinking up at me in the rain, I want you to see me clearly when I tell you this.”

“I meant what I said. I can’t take my eyes off you. I can’t take my mind off you.” I look away from his burning gaze, shaking my head as I mutter, “Kai, I—” “Paedyn.” I still. I shiver. He says my name like it’s sacred, like it’s an oath he’s swearing. He tilts his head to the side, eyes roaming over my face. “Tell me,” he murmurs, “what do you want me to call you?” My eyes slowly meet his, confused by his question. “What do you want to call me?” “I want to call you mine.”

“I know you feel it too,” he says quietly. “Feel what?” “Feel alive. Feel on fire. Feel.” There is an intensity in his eyes, his voice, that makes my heart race even faster. He looks away, cursing under his breath before his gaze crashes back into mine. “Pae, when I look at you… I’m devastated. I’m drowning. I’m dying to catch my breath.”

I can’t do this anymore. I can’t not give in to the temptation that is him. I’m suddenly unable to think of a single reason why I’m fighting this, why I shouldn’t close the gap between us right now. I want to— His lips meet mine. Barely. It’s the whisper of a kiss, a promise of passion. And yet, I nearly melt at the contact. His hand is cupping my face, thumb stroking my cheekbone and then— Nothing. He pulls back. I nearly gasp, wanting to grab him, pull him closer, press my lips to his. And I’m about to do just that when I suddenly remember a time when our roles were reversed. When I was the one teasing him with touches.

“You promised that I could touch you when I was sober.”

“But I’m never sober around you, Pae. Never not drunk on every detail that is you.” I’m speechless. Utterly speechless that this boy could feel so much. Feel so much for me. “If I kiss you—really kiss you, like how I’ve wanted to, how I’ve waited to—should I expect a dagger at my throat?” His voice is rough, his gaze greedy. And then I reach up slowly and flick the tip of his nose. This time, I do take a moment to memorize the smile he gives me. “I guess you’ll have to kiss me to find out.”

She flicked my nose. I never knew a heart could feel so much, could be so affected by the flick of a finger.

“I guess you’ll have to kiss me to find out.” Oh, and I plan on doing just that. I’ve barely been able to hold myself back from wanting to hold her. She’s so beautiful, I can hardly believe it, hardly breathe. Her soul is stunning. Her very being is bright and bold and so unbelievably better than I am. She is a good beyond my grasp, one that I am not worthy of glimpsing, let alone grabbing hold of. And yet, here she is despite that. Choosing me. It’s a privilege to look into those eyes, to drown in the essence that is her. Because everything about her is too right and everything about me is too wrong. But I’m selfish. I take what I want, and what I want might just want me for once.

Perhaps the beast can earn the beauty after all.

“My pretty Pae, what have you done to me?” I murmur, my nose brushing hers.

The sparks between us are almost tangible, snaking their way up my body and shocking me.

But I certainly don’t regret running after her.

Perhaps if I hadn’t grown up with a father who tortured me with training, I would love him enough to want him to love me back.

Fortunately, I’ve never been one to lust after love. Especially that of our father. I gave up on that the day his blade met my skin for the first time.

If I can’t keep myself away, there is no way in hell he can.

She smiles the kind of sad smile one would think the sun does when setting. Warm and wonderful. Worn out and weary. Ready to say goodbye, to take a break from having to be a constant source of light. Relief at the prospect of rest.

It should have been me. It was supposed to be me. I was the one meant to die in these Trials, not her. Anyone but her.

Utter anguish. Utter agony. Utterly alone. That is what I hear in her cry.

I want to go to her. Want to wrap my arms around her, distract her, comfort her in the way I know I should but am unsure how. Hurt is what I know how to do, not what I know how to help.

But I know the agony all too well. The agony of everything you are being suppressed as the very power you possess is stripped away from you. I know that face they are wearing because I’ve worn it many times before.

Before death, the thing that made her feel most alive was taken from her. Her sewing hands. Her talented fingers. Broken. Then they broke her. A wave of white-hot anger sweeps through me, washing away the guilt and sorrow to replace it with searing rage. She broke her. Blair. I’m going to kill her. I blink down at Adena’s lifeless form. Even in death she is beautiful, brilliant, breathtaking. Just the sight of her so still, so silent, fans my fury, redirecting it toward another murderer. He broke her. The king. He brought her here to be killed. Adena is—Adena was—no criminal. My hatred for him flares. He did this on purpose. He warned me I wouldn’t win these Trials, made sure of it. Not when I had to kill my best friend to do so. This man has taken everything from me. This king has killed the only family I’ve ever known. First my father, and now Adena.

He holds my gaze, looking so hurt, so horrified, so full of hatred. His eyes are so cold that I nearly shiver under his stare. The boy glaring down at me is devoid of every bit of warmth, every bit of charm I’ve come to know. He is cold. He is callous. He is like this because of me. He is his father.

He’s smiling at me. It’s the kind of smile that sends a shiver down your spine. The kind of smile that is anything but kind. The kind of smile that tells me this man knows exactly who I am.

I’m desperate, driven by madness.

Now I’m hovering over him. Funny how quickly our roles have reversed. Me, about to take a life. Him, about to be the life I take.

Is it regret? No. Not regret. Not remorse. Not anything remotely close to guilt. It’s relief.

My breath shudders as I stare at him. It suddenly all makes sense. The attraction. The connection. The familiarity. I was so easily drawn to him because deep down I knew him, recognized him, remembered him. He was familiar to me. And now my father’s murderer is going to murder me. We stare at each other, and I see the boy who’s been the king’s instrument of death his entire life, commanded and controlled to be a killer. He was made this way. Made to mirror the monster his father is—was. But that doesn’t make him any less a murderer.

It’s his eyes that are more startling than his ragged, enraged appearance. That gray gaze is like smoke billowing from the hottest fire, and yet, cold like chips of ice, piercing like the tips of icicles. Those eyes betray the horror he feels, looking like they did the night I saw him take his first life. I did this to him. I killed his father. But he killed mine first. He knows what I’ve done. I doubt he would forget the distinct look of the dagger I’ve pressed against his throat so many times—the same dagger that is now protruding from his father’s throat. And yet, his knife missed me.

I hurt. Everything hurts. Maybe I deserve this death. Maybe I even desire it—

When his eyes finally meet mine, cutting through the rain and distance separating us, I see the battle raging within them. He knows what he needs to do, and yet he isn’t. Kai’s voice trembles like his hands. “I should bury this blade in your throat.” And he could easily do it too. I have no weapons, no will, no energy to try to stop him. My voice sounds as ragged as I feel. “Then do it.” He’s shaking his head at me, looking just as disgusted with himself as he is with me. “I will. I should.”

“Then why can’t I do it?” Now he’s staring at the weapon in his hand, at the weapon he could easily take my life with. “Why is it that when it comes to you, I’m suddenly a coward? Why is it that when it comes to you, I suddenly care? Why is it that I can’t throw this damn knife at my father’s killer!?”

“I told you I was a fool for you, and it seems I was right.” His laugh is biting. “I’m a fool when it comes to you.”

“At least you kept your promise. You stayed alive long enough to stab me in the back.” He laughs bitterly, remembering the attack after the first ball when I tended to his wound. “And now I promise to return the favor.” His voice strains with emotion. “Run, Paedyn. Because when I catch you, I will not miss. I will not falter. I will not make the mistake of feeling for you.”

I know my thoughts should be on the dead king I’m kneeling beside, but they keep wanting to wander back to her.

The brand is just as mangled as the heart barely beating beneath it.

I’m not sure what Kai felt for our father, but I know he never cared for him like I do—like I did. Perhaps it was a mix of love and loathing he felt for the man who made him into what he is. The man who was a king to him, not a father. But to me, Father was my foundation. He was who I strived to be, who I longed to be loved by. But now he’s dead, and I’m still willing to do whatever it takes to make him proud. I’ve been walking through my whole life waiting to follow in his footsteps, and here I am, suddenly trying to fill his shoes. And I will do what needs to be done, so that in death, he will be proud.

An Enforcer doesn’t earn respect—he demands it.

This is the Enforcer. This is the beginning. This is the death of weakness.