Silver Elite

by Dani Francis

To the women who kick ass in this world. This is for every battle you’ve fought and every barrier you’ve shattered. You inspire me every day.

I was only five years old when my uncle smuggled me out of the city and took me to live in the Blacklands, the place of children’s nightmares. A forest of perpetual darkness.

When you’re petrified on a daily basis as a child, there aren’t many things left to fear as an adult. Except, perhaps, awkward conversations. I would rather fight a cougar barehanded than subject myself to an uncomfortable exchange. Truly.

Primes don’t have enhanced gifts. They also don’t experience any physical signs when someone infiltrates their thoughts, whereas Mods feel it like an electric shock. People like him should be on guard.

The Aberrant, as they call us. Or silverbloods, when they’re feeling nice.

We didn’t ask to be this way. Some thoughtless war a hundred and fifty years ago released the toxin that made us like this. We didn’t have a choice in the matter.

My uncle claims I have my mother’s eyes, but I don’t remember her face, and it bothers me that I can’t. I was five when she sent me away, old enough to have formed concrete memories of her. I should recall her eyes. Sometimes I think I can remember her voice, her smile, but I never know if that’s just my imagination filling in the blanks.

I think I picked the wrong candidate for tonight’s activities. This guy is…inconceivably attractive. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a better-looking human, male or female. I’m momentarily lost in his cobalt-blue eyes, peering down at me from beneath thick lashes. His hair is dark, swept away from flawless, symmetrical features that could’ve been chiseled out of stone. Just the right amount of stubble shadows a strong jaw, and one corner of his mouth bears the indentation of a dimple. I wonder how pronounced it gets when he smiles, although judging by the cold, dangerous glint in his eyes, I get the feeling he doesn’t smile often.

Each time I inhale, I breathe in the scent of him. It holds tones of pine, leather, and a hint of spice. It’s sort of incredible.

I glance back at him and try to read his mind, but he’s heavily shielded. Interesting. Most Primes don’t have shields, or if they do, they’re easily penetrable ones. Which means this man is either Modified, a soldier, or a civilian Prime who for some mysterious reason has mastered the skill of protecting his thoughts.

All telepaths have their own unique signature. When I was a kid, my uncle described it as your essence, a surge of energy exclusive to you. It’s almost impossible to explain unless you feel it yourself, but after an initial connection’s been formed, you automatically recognize the other person’s energy when they ask to link.

Yes, the majority are the very definition of silverbloods, the veins in our arms glowing when we’re using our powers. A rare few, like me, don’t fit that mold. Whatever the reason for the anomaly, I can’t deny it makes me…well, not to be cocky, but… Invaluable.

A Mod who can wield her powers without transmitting her actions to her enemies is a major asset for the Uprising.

What we don’t have are the politicians or police forces we used to learn about in school. Unlike generations before us, our villages and cities are policed by soldiers and run by controllers. The controllers answer to the ward chairmen, who answer to General Merrick Redden, our benevolent leader. Redden’s Company is a highly efficient military machine. He has no need for politics or superfluous job titles.

I really do need to stop sleeping with soldiers. Next time I’m feeling…needy…I might have to look elsewhere. There are a few unattached men in the village, but Tana says they’re interested in something more serious. I don’t want anything serious. I’m only twenty. Not ready to devote myself to somebody else. Other people’s relationships seem suffocating, and I’ve witnessed so many women bending to a man’s every whim. I don’t bend.

Greed. Everything always comes back to greed.

Nothing good ever comes from the notion that one group is better than another.

“Does it get you off, the idea of forcing women to do things they don’t want to do?” “I didn’t realize you were so interested in what gets me off.” I recoil. “I’m not.” His gaze locks with mine. “Are you sure?” “Fucking positive.” “That’s a shame. I’d be happy to satisfy your curiosity.”

“We do not enforce the laws,” Radek says. “That is the responsibility of Tin Block. We do not patrol the streets—that is the responsibility of Copper and Gold. Our skills are better utilized for more critical duties. Our mission is to locate Faithful camps and disband them. To detect criminal enterprises within our cities and dismantle them. To rid our streets and our wards of silverbloods.” It takes a supreme effort to mask my anger. “But the Aberrant are not the only threat to the Continent and our way of life—”

Excellent. Family skeletons mean more intelligence for my arsenal. Maybe I can find a way to use this against the captain, if the opportunity arises.

Sweat beads on my forehead as I fight my natural instincts. Being bad at something is hard.

Protecting your mind is a skill deemed essential for anyone living in a world where there are people who can infiltrate it. And I can’t deny I’m curious about their tactics. Maybe if I know exactly how they construct their shields, I can learn how to dismantle them.

When I feel Wolf trying to link, I cling to that thread of energy like I’m drowning and it’s a life preserver. Anything to derail the train of thought I’ve been careening toward. “Hey, Daisy.” His weariness engulfs my senses. “Well, shit. You sound as done as I feel.” “I am. So fucking done.” He sighs. “It’s been a long day.”

I adore Wolf, but what I share with him will always be partially redacted. He doesn’t know that the father I often refer to is Jim, who wasn’t even blood-related to me. He doesn’t know I possess more than the power of telepathy. And he certainly doesn’t know that the night Jim’s truck flew off the road and rolled half a dozen times before coming to a stop in a heap of crushed metal…it happened because I incited Jim to do it.

“The roads were wet. You hit the gas too hard and skidded off the shoulder.” There wasn’t a drop of rain that night. And I wasn’t in the driver’s seat. “It was an accident,” Wolf says. It was a moment of raw, immature rage. Uncle Jim had dragged me out of the town square where Tana and I had been sharing some pints of ale with a few Hamlett boys. Much older boys. He humiliated me in front of my friends. Hauled me over his shoulder and threw me into the passenger side of the truck while I cursed and shouted at him. He ignored my protests and started driving home. Didn’t even look at me as I growled for him to turn the truck around and take me back to my friends. We were halfway to the ranch when my frustration spilled over. When I yelled out the angry command. “Turn the truck around now!” And he did. Giving the steering wheel a tug so sharp and abrupt that our truck flipped itself over. “I’m aware of all this,” I tell Wolf. “But that doesn’t negate how terrifying it was. We were lucky to be alive.” Jim was lucky to be alive. I always wondered if he’d have preferred I died that night. I know he loved me, but…I was a burden to him. I know I was.

This is General Redden’s son. I shouldn’t care what his ink means. I shouldn’t notice how dangerous it makes him look. I shouldn’t find that danger embarrassingly sexy.

“You’d make a terrible whore, Dove.” Indignation shoots through me. I shove him away from me, breathing through the anger. “Screw you.” “Yes, I’m already aware of how much you want that.” The arrogance dripping from his words grates on my nerves. “Don’t flatter yourself.” His perfect face creases with amusement. “You’re usually a better liar than this. I see the way you look at me.” A rush of shame floods my belly. The unwanted sensation combines with the fury twisting my insides. I hate that he’s right. There’s an awareness here. Of the sexual variety. I…might be attracted to him.

“I’m sorry, little bird. I had to,” he said roughly, as the skin of my thigh puckered and bubbled, charred and reddened. A piece of fabric from my shirt had melted into my burnt flesh. I hated him that day. The kind of hatred that makes your hands shake and your breaths shallow. My adult brain understands why he did it. He’d acted in my best interests. The bloodmark needed to be destroyed, plain and simple. But I bear a different mark now. A badge of ugliness that brings pity to Lyddie’s eyes before she shifts them back to her own reflection.

She drags me away from the crowd, her face red with frustration. I hear Hadley addressing someone behind me. “Take her to Medical,” he says, and I realize he’s talking about Kess. Good. As I’m being led off, a sense of grim satisfaction settles over me. Fuck that bitch.

A bare chest assaults my vision when I step into the cavernous office. He’s in the process of taking off his long-sleeved shirt. The black fabric falls away to reveal a sculpted chest adorned with scars and weapons. Taut muscles. The faintest sheen of sweat glistening on his skin. My cheeks flush as a wave of heat washes over me. There’s sand in my mouth. I swallow, but it just scrapes its way down my throat. His chest is magnificent. He eyes me without a word. Biceps flex as he tosses the shirt on the conference table. It’s still there. The undeniable attraction that bubbles beneath the surface. The attraction he mocked me about the night of my failed escape. I want to drown it out of existence. Redden, I remind myself. Cross Redden. His father is a monster, and by extension, so is he. I watch silently as he reaches for the sheaths strapped to his body and begins to remove his weapons. Three handguns. Just as many knives. Each blade gleams in the dim light of the room. One by one, he sets them aside on the table with practiced precision. I despise the way my pulse races at the sight of his chest. I resent the way my gaze travels over his broad shoulders and defined muscles. He grabs another shirt and glances at me as he pulls it over his head. It’s his navy-blue uniform shirt, and I wonder where he came from, armed to the teeth, sweaty, and dressed all in black, this early in the morning. Maybe he never went to bed.

“This mouth,” he warns, his thumb scraping the seam of my lips until it reaches the cut in the corner, “is going to get you in trouble, Dove.” It’s hard to draw a breath. When I finally do, my chest rises, and his gaze lowers to it. Redden. Cross Redden. Very slowly, I inch forward. He blinks in surprise. Our bodies are almost flush as I advance, walking him backward toward his desk. Until his ass hits the solid wood and he has nowhere else to go. I lick the corner of my mouth, and a coppery flavor coats my tongue. “Cross,” I say. He blinks again, as if surprised to hear his name leaving my lips. “I don’t know how the General raised you, but where I come from, you don’t touch a woman without her consent.” I rub the cut, scraping my nails over it so it spills open. Coating the pads of my fingers with blood. Then I reach out and drag those fingertips over the Silver Block emblem on his shirt. I smile as the silver coloring is stained red. His nostrils flare. “In other words,” I finish, my voice cold, “don’t touch me again without my permission.” Cross’s gaze never leaves my face. “Or what?”

“You attacked one of your fellows. That can’t go unpunished. Neither can your insubordination. You seem to forget the hierarchy of power in this room, Dove. You’re not in charge. I am. Speak to me accordingly.” “Or…” I smile at him. “You can fuck right off.” He ignores that. “Insubordination has consequences. But I’ll tell you what—I’ll give you a chance to avoid punishment.” He opens his office door, then walks to his desk and leans against it, nodding toward the gaping doorway. “Get to the door. If you can get through me, you’re free to go. If not, every member of Black Cell is running laps again tonight from dusk till dawn.”

“Looks like you’re not reaching that door.” His voice is a low rumble. I thrash beneath him, my frustration mounting. “This isn’t fair. You’re like a hundred pounds heavier than I am.” He leans closer, his lips brushing my ear. “Life isn’t fair, Darlington,” he says coldly. “And neither am I.”

I snort. “Weren’t you the one lecturing me about how life isn’t fair?” “It isn’t. All I’m saying is, the squad serves a purpose now. Maybe in the Old Era there was a place for mercy. But not anymore.” “My uncle never hurt a child or killed anyone.” Anyone who didn’t deserve it, anyway. “Your uncle was a threat to the Company.” “He was a rancher.” “He was a deserter. He was Aberrant. And he jeopardized the one thing my father values above all else: order.”

“The General is obsessed with correcting the mistakes of the Old Era. That’s all my brothers and I ever heard growing up, how humanity destroyed itself. Letting chaos reign. Encouraging learned helplessness. Kids were in school until their twenties. Adults, too. All these pathetic assholes wasting time, wasting resources. If you’re not productive, you’re destructive.” “Is that what you believe? Efficiency and order above all?” His voice becomes rough. “I believe that humanity is wired for destruction no matter the environment. Old Era, New Era. Aberrant on top, Prime on top. We will always find a way to destroy ourselves. We’re a doomed species.” “That’s really depressing.”

Once he’s gone, I stare at the execution platform again, and a spark of resentment ignites inside me, a whisper of defiance against this “fate” that has been chosen for me. I’ve accepted a lot of fates. I’ve accepted that my parents are dead. That Jim is gone. That my mind is a weapon and if people knew even half of what I could do, they would put a bullet in my brain. I’ve accepted that I’m never going to trust anyone enough to show them who I am, because it will always be too dangerous. But I will not accept this fate. I wasn’t “destined” to be a Command prisoner. And I’ll be damned before I submit to it.

“I don’t get why we’re not running all these ops as simulations,” Lash puts in. “Wouldn’t that be easier?” Struck fields the question with the roll of her eyes. “Far easier,” she agrees. “That’s why we don’t run sims. Virtual reality is no substitution for real life.”

I seize the opportunity, slipping one of the daggers along with its sheath under my waistband. It’s thin, only about four inches. It certainly wouldn’t be my weapon of choice—I feel naked without my rifle—but prisoners can’t be fussy, now can they?

“Have you been to Tierra Fe before?” Lyddie asks, peering at him over her shoulder. Roe nods. “Shithole. That whole continent. They claim we’ve lost God and that’s why we don’t belong in their holy presence, but that sounds mighty convenient, yeah? Wouldn’t surprise me if they were cooking up a new toxin in some lab down there.” He shrugs. “Or working on the existing toxin.” “The Aberrant toxin from the Last War?” Betima’s forehead wrinkles. “It’s all gone.” “You can’t be stupid enough to believe there’s no trace of the toxin left.” “There isn’t,” Lyddie says. “My mother is head of Biotech. She would know.” “Maybe she does and hasn’t told you.” Roe looks amused. Lyddie is steadfast in her refusal to believe him. She picks up her source and says, “Nexus, what happened to the biotoxin that created the Aberrant?” The screen comes to life, a monotone voice sliding out. “All doses of the airborne biotoxin were destroyed in the Last War, more than a century and a half ago. The laboratory where the airborne biotoxin originated, located in the Lost Continents, was destroyed after radiation levels were deemed safe.” “See?” Lyddie prompts, smug. “What does that prove?” Roe challenges. “That a voice on your comm is asserting it to be true? Guarantee there’s still some of that shit floating around. I bet they’re colluding with the Aberrant, smuggling supplies to their secret base.”

“I need to know what you taste like. Let me have it, Dove.” I lick my lips, and he groans again. “Let me. Fucking. Have it.”

“I was trying to describe a glass of pure whiskey earlier and I came up with a similar description. I think the whiskey is more impressive.” “No. It’s not.” My breath hitches. “You must have had all the boys in Z lining up to get with you, just so they could sit there and stare into those eyes.” “Hardly. I used to get teased about them,” I confess. “Bullshit. Why?” “I guess in certain lighting inside the schoolhouse, they looked completely yellow. When I was twelve, this one kid, Oden, got it into his head that I was a witch.” Cross smiles, and it’s a sight to behold. “A witch.” “Uh-huh. We were in the middle of a mythology unit in class, learning all about witches and werewolves and supernatural creatures, and our teacher projected a picture of this terrifying woman with glowing yellow eyes, casting a spell on a defenseless man. Oden and his obnoxious little friends started shouting Witch! at me whenever I walked into class.” I grumble at the memory. “At first it really bothered me. I didn’t understand why they were being so mean about something I couldn’t control. But then”—I shrug—“my best friend Tana encouraged me to embrace it. She said witches were powerful, independent women who didn’t conform to society’s expectations. So the next time I came to school and he shouted Witch—” “You beat the shit out of him.” My mouth falls open. Laughter tickles my throat. “How did you know?” His fingers skim a path along my jawline, leaving prickles of pleasure in their wake. “Becau...

As Elite, I have clearance now, and I’ve checked in with the guards at the salt camp. I can access the camp’s daily logs. I can see when Tana scans into the mine, and when she scans out. They work twelve-hour days out there. I’ve seen photos of the women’s quarters. They look comfortable. Everyone gets leisure time. The food seems decent. But a gilded cage is still a cage. And I put her there. She should never forgive me.

Trust. Such a big word to be throwing around. Our talk in bed last week about it still lingers in my mind. On some level, I do trust him. Maybe not with my secrets, but I certainly trust him with my body. I trust that he would protect me in the field the way he would any other Elite operative.

“I’ve never seen anything like this. It’s so beautiful.” I turn to find Cross watching me. “What?” “I thought you might like it. I could have bought you synthetic flowers. A nice little bouquet in a vase of water. But that’s not you.” He gestures to the flowers that are practically exploding from the cave walls. “This is you. Wild. Mysterious.”

“I don’t need flowers.” “I know you don’t. You have no expectations, and you always keep people at arm’s length. But that only makes me want to impress you.” It’s uniquely vulnerable coming from Cross. And it’s becoming evident that this guy is not at all what I thought he was. He’s rough, but he’s also tender. He’s lethal, but he has compassion, even if he claims it’s a weakness.

“A dead General doesn’t dismantle the system. If you want to enact change, you need to do more than just take out the leader. You need to deprogram the minds. Root out the ideology.” I wonder if she recognizes the irony. If she realizes she’s repeating the same things General Redden says during his broadcasts. Ideas are weeds. Don’t let them spread. Although I suppose Adrienne’s take has a slight variation. She doesn’t want to simply pull the weeds. She wants to plant something new in their place. I suppose I can admire that.

“Is your favorite animal still a wolf?” He freezes. Staring at me, as if he can’t comprehend what I’m asking. “Because mine isn’t a daisy anymore. My favorite flower, I mean.” His breathing becomes ragged. The knife rises another half an inch. “It was, at one point.” When I lived in the Blacklands, but not even Wolf knows where I came from. “Except then wild daisies started taking over the north pasture of the ranch, spreading like a weed, and the cows didn’t have enough grass because of those stupid daisies. So it stopped.” I giggle. “Being my favorite flower, that is.”

Cross studies my face as if he’s never seen me before in his life. “Daisy?” he finally says. His voice shakes slightly. “Wolf.” A smile spreads across my lips. “It’s nice to finally meet you.” We eye each other. I blink and I’m in his arms. They’re wrapped tightly around me, as if he’s trying to melt me into his body. “I don’t know how the fuck this is happening. Is this actually happening?” He’s in my head now. Wolf. He sounds different, though, because I know what Cross sounds like. “Your voice is not as raspy as you think it is.” He grins at me. “Yours is higher than you think.”

Silence drifts between us. We continue to study each other. He reaches over, touches my face. He traces every line and curve as if he’s trying to memorize it with his touch.

“This is unbelievable.” Yes, it is. I think back to our talk about free will and destiny, and for the first time in my entire life, I wonder if maybe some events are inexorable. Predestined. Maybe I was always supposed to end up here with him.