Page 28 of A Sweet Destruction

Everyone was trying me today. I breathed out deeply, until I heard the distinct call of Freya’s hello from across the field. I lifted my head to find her bouncing toward us with a bright smile and windblown hair from what was surely her morning ride. She spent more time on Starlight than on the ground, constantly running off to only God knew where. She was a free spirit, that one.

Though I could never quite surmise whether she was seeking freedom out there or something else entirely.

“Oh, thank you,” I said when she approached. “You are the only sane person here.”

Freya didn’t appear to hear me. Her smile was wide as she joined us at the table. Once she was seated, she opened her hand to reveal a collection of small black screws in her palm. She stared at them as if they were as precious as emeralds. “Look at these screws I found. They are so interesting.” She picked one up, lifting it so that we could inspect it. “With this design, they shouldn’t be able to withstand that much pressure, but the guns they are used in are massive.”

Then Ford appeared with plates of food in his hands, and for some reason, he seemed like my salvation.

See, this was the problem.

Unfortunately, Freya had taken the seat across from me, which left the one to my side open. Ford sat down, placing my plate in front of me, and I felt my temperature rise by several degrees.

The food he’d brought over blurred in my vision, though I had a mind enough to realize that it was what I would have selected for myself.

See, we like him, the Bond protested, sensing the depth of my ire. The Bond was a simple being, either amplifying your own emotions or pushing forward primal instincts—hunger, exhaustion…desire.

The point was, it had a hard time understanding complex emotions. That was half the battle between us in those early years. All the Bond understood was that Ford was in proximity and that it recognized him as my Soul Mate. It didn’t understand why I didn’t act on my impulses, which only angered it further—denying it the very food that kept it alive.

I scraped together the mental strength to quiet the Bond, having a hell of a time doing so when most of my focus was funneling down into my thigh, right where Ford’s own leg was pressed to mine.

My blood pumped almost to the point of pain along every inch we touched, so much so I was worried my veins might pop from the force of it.

“So,” Freya said to the table, trying and failing to cover up a knowing smile, “How was everyone’s night?”

“Excellent, actually.”

“My back hurts from sleeping on the floor.”

“Eye opening.”

It took me a second to realize who had said what. Bellamy was pleasant, as always. Soren complained about something just to be shit-stirrer.

Ford…well, I didn’t care what Ford meant by that, not that it wasn’t explicitly obvious.

“Esme, anything from you?” Freya said, and I could tell by the look in her eyes she was looking for a real answer from me. We hadn’t spoken, but I was sure she knew.

She’d been the person sitting by my bedside when I’d first looked down at the paper cup one of the nurses had handed me, staring at the little blue pill resting there and bidding goodbye to the Bond.

Before I could answer, a booming yell broke across the yard. “Langley! Prescott!”

My back went stick straight, and I could feel Ford’s doing the same. Peter only used last names when he was really, really mad.

Three pairs of curious eyes swung towards us, lighting with the type of mischief that could only come from the prospect of watching your friend get yelled at.

“Oh, what did you do?” Freya asked, her voice quiet with glee.

I never got a chance to answer, because a second later, two fingers curved into the back of my shirt and tugged. “Up. Both of you.”

Peter’s rough command sent a shiver of fear right into my bone marrow. With an unpracticed, but somehow perfect, synchronicity, Ford and I rose from our seats, stepped away from the bench, and turned in preparation for our set down.

The second I turned and saw the concerned fury in Peter’s eyes, I knew this was going to be a bad one. Nothing worse than disappointment. Especially from someone who had been the only parental figure in my life.

Peter took a deep breath, his dark, glittering eyes swinging back and forth between me and Ford. Another deep breath, then, “WHAT WERE YOU TWO THINKING?”

If the force of his words could generate a wind, I’d be knocked on my ass. I made myself stand tall, refusing to drop my eyes to the ground in submission.

“Sir, we—”