Saven Denial (The Saven Series Book 3) Read online

  The Saven Series

  SAVEN DENIAL

  A Saven Series Novella

  Siobhan Davis

  www.siobhandavis.com

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  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  Saven Defiance Sample

  Explanation from the Author:

  A Special Note from the Author

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  BOOKS BY SIOBHAN DAVIS

  There is a time travel theme in this book that will require you to keep an open mind. I hope you are able to suspend disbelief while reading this story! Thank you.

  CHAPTER 1

  I didn’t realize it was possible to smell fear. To taste it. To ingest it like a tangible substance. But it is. I smell it now. On my clothes. In my hair. Seeping skin deep. I taste its pungent sharpness as it fills my mouth and slides down my throat.

  My entire body trembles in my alien captor’s arms as we languish in some alternate realm, traveling through space and time. Muscular arms entrap me at the waist as he holds me firmly against him. It’s just as well, because my limbs are boneless, my body as fluffy as a wispy cloud. He whispers something in my ear, but I can’t hear over the alarm bells blaring like sirens in my head.

  A blast of biting cold air whips my hair off my face, streaming behind me like a flag flapping in the wind. The alien splutters, and his hold loosens a smidge. The skin on my face wobbles like Jell-O, and my nose is frozen stiff and about ready to drop off.

  Suddenly, I’m free falling, as if I’m weightless and plummeting, down, down, down, dropping farther and farther until I land on something solid with a resounding thud.

  I’m crashing about, stumbling like a drunkard, as the alien struggles to keep me in his grasp. My bones continue to shudder as my feet stabilize. Slowly, cautiously, I open my eyes. Accosted by a sudden blinding light, I snap them closed again, swaying against the boy. Piercing screams break through the haze of disorientation. I slowly blink my eyes open and focus my vision.

  “Escort her to the Med Bay immediately,” a horribly familiar voice says. Glancing sideways, I watch Griselda hand the injured alien girl to a strangely attired guard ascending the steps in front of us. He’s encased in a silver and black armored shell suit, a mask obscuring his face.

  The girl is doubled over, clutching her torso, writhing in pain. Lifting her head, she fixes me with a toxic look. Not that I can blame her for that. Burned, charred skin cloaks the right-hand side of her face, and I wince. Her clothing hangs in tatters across her upper torso, exposing a scorched trail of blackened, blistering skin. Acid churns in my stomach. I did that to her, and I’m not proud. But she was going to kill Logan, and I’d do it all over again if it meant keeping him safe.

  Her look promises vicious retribution, and I shiver all over.

  Carefully scooping the girl into his arms—as if she’s weightless—the guard wordlessly exits the room. I release the breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.

  Turning around, Griselda immobilizes me with a ferocious look. Though I’m terrified, I refuse to show it, leveling her with a ferocious look of my own. Her nostrils flare as she stalks off the raised platform as if she has a rocket up her ass. The boy keeps me at his side as he follows her lead. My head is a cluttered mess, but I try to gather my wits, scrambling to recall what I know of her. King Adjani had interrogated me about Griselda, but I didn’t have a clue whom he was referring to at the time. Haydn had paled when he heard, and then Logan—a sharp pain pierces my heart at the mere thought of my boyfriend—called her by name back on the ship. He knew her on sight. So, who is she? And what does she want with me?

  The truth is on the outskirts of my mind, playing a spiteful game of hide and seek.

  The boy keeps me upright while we walk. As we descend the steps, I peep over my shoulder, gawking at the contraption behind us. A massive circular steel ring with three rotating halos gyrates in a counterclockwise direction behind us. Blasts of cool air surround the machine as it gently whirs, distorting the air. A churning smoky black mass swirls in the center. Sparks of electrifying light bounce off the edges, like mini flashes of lightning.

  Jarod would kill to get a look at this tech. A soulful pang hits me in the chest at the thought of my best friend. I hope—wherever he is—that he is faring better than I am. My sister’s life depends upon it. A forceful shiver whips through me, but I deflect my concern. I need to stay focused in the moment. I’m of no use to anyone unless I can find a way to extricate myself from this latest mess.

  “What is it?” I ask, looking up into the startling pink eyes of the alien boy escorting me. Or man, really, I acknowledge, as my eyes scan him from head to toe, noting the developed musculature of his strong arms and chest, the cutting angles of his chiseled jaw, and the coating of established stubble gracing his face. If I had to guess, I’d say he was at least nineteen or twenty.

  “That’s our time travel machine,” he freely admits. “We call it Tempo,” he adds.

  Crap. Now, I know my kidnapper’s identity for sure. They must be the Tor. Though Haydn and Logan had mentioned other aliens with time travel ability, the Tor are the only ones who have been jonesing for a meet and greet in recent weeks. First, they destroyed Thalassic City, and then they made an appearance when the king teleported me to the STSS for tests. Now, I wonder if they staged a timed intervention. What were they trying to hide from Logan’s father? Or was it something they were trying to hide from me?

  We come to a standstill in the middle of the sterile space before a still-fuming Griselda. I conduct a quick recon. We are in a large square room with a high-vaulted ceiling. A row of technicians man a control desk at the perimeter of the room, their gazes all focused on holoscreens. A steady beeping ringtone emits from a large digital board to the right of the control area, a myriad of numbers racing across the screen.

  “This is all your goddamned fault!” Griselda shrieks, grabbing my attention as she shoves me forcefully. I barely sway in the man’s protective embrace. “Why don’t you ever do what you’re told!” She glares at me and I cower under the potency of the look. She acts as if she knows me, and it scares the hell out of me. Pacing back and forth across the shiny white plastic floor, she’s clearly agitated.

  I frown, utterly clueless, feeling unnerving vulnerability and puissant terror as a result. “I don’t understand.”

  She stops in her tracks and jerks her chin up. “No, I don’t suppose you do. At least that worked effectively.” She stalks toward me in a flash. “Lift her hair.”

  “Mother,” the man says in a disapproving tone.

  “That wasn’t a request, Axton.”

  He sighs in resignation as he piles my hair on top of my head. Griselda’s cold fingers aggressively prod the skin behind my left ear. “Perfect. Still intact.”

  “What’s intact?” The words shoot out of my mouth with urgency.

  “You really don’t remember, do you?” she asks, continuing to inspect my neck. “You’re a bloody mess.” Axton carefully lowers my hair as she grips my chin painfully.

  Well, your son did cut me with a knife! It’s on the tip of my tongue to retort, when I’m unexpectedly ambushed. Flashbacks dart in front of my eyes as if on command. Blurry memories taunt me. Back on the ship—
before these three showed up—images had resurrected in my mind, but I can’t recall them properly now. I’m only getting bits and pieces, as if they are deliberately evading me. All I know—with any degree of certainty—is the fear I feel in her presence is very real. “I remember snippets, but it’s muddled,” I admit, caught off guard by my confusion.

  “It will all be explained in the morning. And it looks like we have more work to do, and not a minute to waste. You had one job”—she shakes her head in consternation—“One. Job. And you couldn’t even do that right.” She scoffs and her lips pull into a displeased line.

  If she expects her words to affect me, she clearly knows nothing of my upbringing. Though she scares me, it’s not her words that are the problem.

  Fingers with claw-like nails dig into my arm. “Stop resisting, Sadie! It will do you no good.” Griselda’s sneering tone and look terrifies me into submission. I whimper as the machine is lowered over my head.

  “Sadie, are you okay?” Axton’s strange accent snaps me out of the memory. I blink up at him, heart pounding and beads of sweat rolling down my back. My chest heaves as remembered panic overwhelms me. Turning me around in his arms, he surveys me carefully. His upturned almond-shaped pink eyes are kind in direct contrast to the angular lines of his handsome face. Hair the same color as mine falls in straight lines to the middle of his back. Even the color of his lips is identical. It’s like looking at my brother. He continues to stare at me, his eyes probing mine in anticipation.

  A jolt of recognition hits me. A fleeting memory. Then it’s gone before I can properly decipher it. “I … I know you.” The words are a whisper on my tongue.

  A smile creeps slowly over his face, startling me. Raising his hand, he trails one fingertip across my cheek. “Yes.” He cups one side of my face, and I flinch. The gesture is far too intimate and only serves to remind me of Logan. Tears pool in my eyes, and a slippery one sneaks out, cascading down my face.

  I don’t even know if he’s still alive. He was in so much pain. Because of me. Because I turned on him. Inflicted my newfound burning brand of pain on him. Shame crushes me, and the desire to curl into a ball and sob my heart out is riding me hard. Mistaking my emotions, Axton moves in close, cupping my face in both his hands.

  “Don’t touch me like that!” I slap his hands away. “Don’t touch me. At all. Ever.”

  Hurt stings the back of his eyes as he falls back.

  “Escort her to her quarters and stand guard. She is not to be left alone,” Griselda commands.

  “Of course, Mother.” Axton moves to take my hand but falters. Instead, he gently grips my elbow and steers me out of the room.

  I wet my dry lips as he guides me along a narrow, glossy-white-paneled corridor. Curious aliens try—and fail—to look circumspect as they pass by. The corridor is endless, and there are no windows or doors to break the monotony. The air is cloying and dry, almost suffocating, and it aggravates my skin until it feels like it’s stretched to breaking point. I don’t know where I am, though I could hazard a guess. “Where am I? What is this place?”

  “You genuinely don’t remember?” He leans forward and levels a forlorn look at me.

  “No. Should I?”

  “I know it’s not technically possible, but I was still hoping that …” He shakes his head. “Never mind.” He tosses his silky hair over one shoulder. “We are on planet Torc, and this is political HQ.”

  I’d suspected as much.

  As we approach two interconnected glass doors, they automatically glide open to allow entry. Axton stops before a silver door and brandishes his hand in front of a square panel. When the door opens, he ushers me in to the empty elevator. Glass rims the chamber on all sides. Once the door is secured, the elevator shoots smoothly upward at a slick, steady pace.

  We step out into a wide corridor and the previous glossy panels have been replaced with clear glass ones. Above, below, and on either side. I falter, visions of shattering glass and a plummeting drop stalling my feet. “It’s okay, Sadie.” He bobs his head, encouraging me to continue. “It’s safe. Come on.” He extends his hand in open invitation. His fingers twitch and flex as if he’s itching to touch me.

  Staring at him warily, I purposely shove my hands in my pockets. He looks away. But not before I notice the flicker of pain dart across his features. Apprehension raises tiny goose bumps all over my skin, and I’m seriously on edge. How do we know each other, and why does he look so goddamned sad?

  The recollection of Griselda hijacking my mind back on the ship resurrects in haunting fashion. She spoke of a mission, and killing Logan, and I’m terrified of learning the truth. About my mission. About Axton. About who I really am, and what I’m capable of doing.

  I’d rather stay in denial.

  Because if there’s one thing I’m certain of, it’s that I’m not going to like the truth of my apparent new reality.

  “This way.” Axton gestures with a flick of his head and I walk silently alongside him. When we round the corner, I gasp. Darting to the window, I flatten my nose to the glass.

  A vast city stretches out before me. It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before. The view is breathtaking from this elevated position. Sleek buildings of all shapes and styles surround us on all sides, towering skyward, until I can’t even detect where some of them end. Compact tubular pods flank the buildings at regular intervals, some hovering softly in the air.

  I press my forehead to the glass and look down. At ground level, I spot a multitude of sleek, curved walkways and highways, weaving a graceful path through the city. Elegant water features and intermittent lakes and ponds dot the landscape, set within trimmed, vibrant red grass. Strangely colored trees, plants, and flowers occupy a large central area close by. People—like tiny dots from this angle—throng the pavements below, going about their usual business, no doubt.

  My eyes widen at several tiny flying craft navigating the skies in linear uniformity. “They are travel pods,” Axton explains without prompting when he notices my inquisitive stare. “They are the only form of permitted transit in the city. Larger craft are banned because of congestion, though they are the main mode of transit in the outlying districts.”

  “Oh.” It’s the only thing I can think of to say that doesn’t come across like gushing adoration. What I’ve seen so far of Saven and Amara pales into insignificance against the apparent superiority of Torc. That acknowledgment does little to reassure me.

  My feet squelch on the glistening glass floor as I follow Axton through several winding passageways with a succession of identical doors on our right. Eventually we come to a stop at one of them. “Ladies first,” he says, motioning me forward. I open the door slowly and step into the room. A slim wall-mounted cot occupies the space on the left, facing a mirrored closet. A shimmering ceiling-to-floor-length panel at the end of the bed captures my attention. “What’s that?” I point at it.

  “The bathroom,” he confirms, waving his hand back and forth across the flickering door. In the blink of an eye, the shimmering mask is gone, offering a look into the compact bathroom inside. Toilet, sink, and some high-tech-looking shower, I presume.

  As I turn back around, my eyes skirt over the small room, resting on a series of childish pictures on the wall. My feet have a mind of their own as I gravitate toward them. My heart pings against my ribcage as I inspect the colorful images. Blood whooshes in my ears. “Who painted those pictures? Whose room is this?”

  Trepidation permeates the air. “You did,” he replies quietly. “This is your room.”

  Panic and fear choke me, and my breath snakes out ragged and harsh. My guttural reaction totally gives the game away, but I’m drowning in a sea of feelings I can’t handle. I turn slowly around to face him. Tears sting my eyes, and I can’t contain my emotions much less hide them. Not with everything else that has transpired today. I struggle to breathe as pain explodes in my gut. Sheer horror engulfs me. This is too much. My brain starts shutting down.

&
nbsp; Concern splays across his handsome face as he takes a step toward me. “Take deep breaths, Sadie. It’s going to be all right. Everything will be fine.” My flustered eyes meet his concerned ones as a vision surges to the forefront of my mind.

  I’m crying softly on the bed, curled into a fetal position with my tiny, childish arms and legs tucked around a fluffy cushion. Strands of dark hair stick to my damp face, as my tears accelerate in velocity and volume. “Don’t cry,” the strange boy with the long silver hair says. “I won’t let anyone hurt you. I will keep you safe. Always.”

  The memory fades away, and I stare at Axton as hot tears roll carelessly down my face. It was him. He was the one consoling me as a child. But how was I here and why? And more importantly, why the hell have I no memory of any of this?

  He is standing right before me, examining my face carefully. His hand twitches at his side, and I know he wishes to comfort me. But no matter who he is, and what he may or may not have meant to me in the past, he is a stranger to me now.

  I don’t want him touching me.

  I step sideways, creating some much-needed space. “We were friends,” I acknowledge, swiping my sleeve across my moist face.

  “Yes,” he verifies, somewhat hesitantly.

  He opens his mouth to elaborate, but I cut him off. “Don’t. I don’t want to hear it. Not now. I … I can’t process anything else today.” I slump to the ground, destroyed. Bending my knees, I bury my face in my body and try to control the violent trembling rumbling through me.

  Axton crouches down. “I know it’s a lot to take in, but it’ll all make sense tomorrow. I won’t let anyone hurt you. I will keep you safe—”

  “Always,” I interject without thinking.

  Smothering a gasp, he raises his eyes to mine, and a burst of vivid emotion colors his face. We stare at each other—me lost and helpless and him hopeful and happy. Oh, God. What did they do to me? What am I not remembering?