Page 19 of Want It All
Behind me, a footstep fell.
I moved, but a hand was already clamping around my jaw, and something sharp pressed into my neck.
I woke in darkness, blinking slowly. I couldn’t see a thing. Some kind of material scratched gently across my brow and the bridge of my nose, my eyelashes dragging against it, telling me I’d been blindfolded. My entire body ached, but my shoulders were especially sore; my arms were stretched behind my back, and the tight, shifting warmth around my wrists suggested thatsomeone was holding them that way.
Rage spread through me, hot and consuming. My alpha roared, hating that someone was restricting our movement. My instincts shouted at me to struggle, to throw them off, to tear away whatever covered my eyes, and to beat my foes into submission, both with my fists and with my dominance. My alpha reared its head, ready to make someonebleed.
But I knew that was the worst thing I could do.
My parents had dealt with kidnap threats before. Once a year, they hired a consultant – sometimes private, sometimes from the military, sometimes a member of the Alpha Special Forces – and they’d refresh my entire family on what to do. Try not to get kidnapped in the first place, was their general advice. But if we did, we were advised to cooperate. To take in all the information we could. To study our kidnappers’ faces, their voices. To talkto them. To try to forge a connection, to humanise ourselves. To always make it clear if we needed medical attention, and to only try to escape if we were absolutely sure of success.
Above all, they advised us to stay calm.
Which, it turned out, was easier said than done.
A shuffling sound came from my right; someone grunted, as if in pain. A snarl ripped through the air, raw and desperate, full of anger and fear.
I wasn’t alone, then.
‘Be silent.’
The voice was female, and unfamiliar; it resonated with dominance and command. The snarling stopped abruptly.
‘You are in no danger,’ the woman continued. ‘The opposite, in fact.’
My shoulders stiffened; the ache in my body spread. From my symptoms, I suspected that I’d either been beaten to a pulp while unconscious, or I’d been given a dose of propofolyte, a tranquiliser specifically developed to floor alphas during a rut. The drug worked almost instantaneously, but its effects had a relatively short duration if the dose wasn’t repeated.
And its side effects included muscle aches, cramps, weakness, and general lethargy.
Fantastic, I thought crossly, shifting as my thigh cramped; the movement earned me an unreasonably sharp hinge joint – a knee, I suspected – to the lower back.
‘You’re here today because we’ve researched you. Watched you. And we know you have something that might be valuable to us. We don’t mean money,’ the woman went on, as I stiffened. ‘Though that can be helpful, too. We mean that there’s something about you – about your drive, your connections, your skills – that could help us. Something we could use.’
I inhaled sharply, realising who’d taken me.
The Revels.
‘This isn’t admittance,’ the woman said warningly. ‘This is the first of multiple steps towards apossibleoffer. You’re at a school that students would kill to attend. And we’re the group that takes only the best of the best.
‘Your task is in your hands.’ I felt something nestle between my fingers, and I closed my hand around it, tight. ‘Whether you complete it is your choice. But failure to do so will remove you from consideration. You have one month from today; after that time, if your task remains incomplete, you will be struck from our list.’ She paused. ‘We ask a lot of those who join us. But they get a lot in return. Your wildest dreams could be your reality.’ Another pause. ‘For you and your pack.’
My breath caught. I’d never cared about the Revels; I didn’t need them. ButSebastian?
If I was accepted, I’d have a say in the Banksia Prize recipient. The PhD place he wanted would be his on a platter. Any postgraduate fellowships would be sorted – even tenure at the university of his choice.
I didn’t care about my dreams; they’d already come true. But I’d do anything – including whatever was written on the slip of paper in my hands – to make sure that Sebastian got what he wanted.
‘It should go without saying, but if you tell anyone about this, you’ll not only be struck from our list, we’ll toss you from Banksia House and SECU entirely. We’ll be watching,’ the woman said, and this time, I felt the needle slip beneath my skin.
I woke alone, surrounded by the scent of citrus.
The kookaburra was still calling, but there was no other sound. I pushed myself off the ground, groaning. Everything hurt. I was grateful I was alone; I hated feeling weak, but I hated other peopleseeingme weakened even more. It took me more than a few moments to get to my feet and stagger across to the bench.
The sun had barely moved in the sky, which told me I hadn’t been gone long, even if the air was hotter and the brightness made my eyes ache. I shielded them with one hand, then uncurled the fingers of the other.
The paper was rolled like a tiny scroll, sealed with black wax. The impression was of a plant; though the wax had smudged, I could tell it was a banksia flower. I broke it carefully, trying to keep the seal intact.
On the paper were three words, written in beautiful cursive.
