Awaken (The Cure Chronicles Book 2) Read online

  Awaken

  The Cure Chronicles, Book Two

  K. A. Riley

  Copyright © 2021 by K. A. Riley

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  For those who always look for the good in the world.

  Contents

  Summary

  Preface

  1. Day One

  2. Caught

  3. The Bastille

  4. Leader

  5. Veer

  6. Cyntra

  7. The Mess

  8. Settling in

  9. Coming of Age

  10. The Finishing

  11. Hike

  12. The Chalet

  13. Trouble

  14. Return

  15. Dance

  16. Questions

  17. The Reckoning

  18. Unwelcome

  19. Escape

  20. Friend

  21. Welcome

  22. Morning

  23. The Pool

  24. Caught

  25. The Pit

  26. On the Inside

  27. A dangerous Mission

  28. Quest

  29. Pursuit

  30. Hope

  31. Secrets and Lies

  32. Loss

  33. Shock

  34. Into the Lion’s Den

  35. Sector Eight

  36. Infiltration

  37. Surprise

  38. Morning

  39. Enemy

  40. A Grim Price

  41. The Last

  42. Preparation

  43. The Arenum

  44. Gone

  Coming Soon: Ascend

  New! The Ravenmaster Series: Arise

  Also by K. A. Riley

  Summary

  Leaving behind the people she loves most in the world, Ashen sets off into the wilderness in hopes of finding the elusive group of rebels know as the Consortium.

  But when she finds herself among strangers in the former ski town the locals call the "Bastille," secrets begin to reveal themselves, friendships prove as fragile as glass, and Ashen begins to understand just how terrifyingly powerful her enemy really is.

  When her brother, Kel, goes missing, Ashen is forced to return to the place she despises most in the world, where she’ll be faced with a cruel and heartbreaking choice.

  This is the second book in the Cure Chronicles.

  Preface

  Tessa, Ashen, Kel: I love you more than you know.

  39.48968, -105.920279

  My father’s words and a series of mysterious numbers, carved as they are into the deepest reaches of my mind, are all that’s keeping me from losing the last morsel of hope still clinging to my devastated heart.

  The message is my only guide, the only clue to the whereabouts of allies who may or may not exist—who may or may not be hiding in a stronghold deep in the Colorado wilderness.

  The only people who can possibly help me defeat the Directorate.

  Fleeing for my life and desperate to find those allies, I chose to leave the Arc behind. I left my brother, Kel, in the clutches of the enemy. I left Finn, who means everything to me, in a place that would eat him alive if its inhabitants learned he was responsible for helping me escape.

  Now, I have only to venture west and make my way toward the coordinates my father scrawled at the bottom of his note.

  It all sounds so comically easy. A leisurely stroll through the woods.

  But I’m not naive.

  I know what’s hunting me.

  What I don’t know is what I’ll find when—or if—I reach my destination.

  I have no idea when my father wrote the note or how much has changed since then. I can’t begin to guess how many Dregs escaped the Mire in the early days before the Arc was complete.

  I don’t know how many survived, how many have been taken down over the years by the Blight—the biological weapon created in a lab by my father, stolen by the Directorate, and covertly used against our own people.

  The very weapon the enemy used to kill my father seven years ago.

  As I make my way through the wilderness in hopes of finding a hidden group of rebels known as the Consortium, I may well be making my way toward a whole new enemy.

  But the truth is, I have no choice.

  The unknown, as terrifying as it may be, is better than the certain death I left behind.

  1

  Day One

  I wake to the sound of birds chirping.

  It’s a peaceful sound, one I’ve heard thousands of times over the course of my life. But this morning, it’s music. Pure, innocent, simple. In its quiet way, it tells me there’s still some beauty to be found in the world.

  More importantly, it tells me there are no predators nearby.

  I’m still wearing the flowing cloak Finn crafted for me via some kind of extraordinary technology I’ll never entirely understand. When activated, it masks me from enemies’ eyes and from heat-seeking drones, rendering me all but invisible.

  My silver dagger is sheathed at my waist, traces of my enemy’s blood no doubt still darkening its blade. It’s a fine weapon, and sharp. I’m sure no one meant for me to keep it after last night’s battle with Randolph, the arrogant son of the Arc’s so-called King and Queen—the man who was supposed to murder me.

  No one expected me to live to see this morning’s light.

  Decked out as I am, I’ve evolved into some sort of medieval rogue. I slip stealthily from place to place, adeptly evading any pursuers.

  Except the notion of rogues seems romantic, and there’s no romance in fleeing for my life. The act is nothing but a powerful blend of adrenaline, terror, and rage, all stirring frantically together inside me until I feel like I’m on the verge of implosion.

  The enormous structure known as the Arc—the pretty Hell I left behind—is home to an exclusive club of sadists who want to see me killed in the most brutal manner possible. Entertainment for the wealthiest among them, a chance for their kind to revel in my downfall even as the masked cowards hide behind a veil of anonymity.

  It’s a good thing the Aristocracy can’t be bothered to raise dogs inside the Arc, or they’d no doubt have an army of purebred murder-hounds after me. As it is, the worst I’m likely to encounter are weaponized drones, their laser-like red eyes ready to burn into my skin on sight.

  Which, let’s face it, is bad enough.

  As I begin the day’s long hike, my mind turns to thoughts of Kel. I wonder with the faintest trace of hope if Finn will manage to find him and tell him I’m still alive. That one day soon, I’ll find my way to him and we’ll flee the Arc and its horrible inhabitants for good.

  Close to the city, most of the forest’s trees are hollow, leafless corpses, collapsed against one another, seeking moral support in their final days. But as I distance myself from the Mire’s outer wall and approach the mountains, the woods come alive, their limbs bursting with green leaves as if breathing a sigh of relief to be far from humankind.

  Low-hanging branches slice at my face as I move, but I don’t mind a few scrapes. The pain keeps me alert and serves as a reminder of the torture the Elite would have subjected me to had I failed to escape their grasp.

  My mind spins with dark thoughts as I walk, my cloak pulled over my head to conceal me from any Directorate drones that may pass above the trees. I hear one or two of them as the day wears on, but surprisingly, when I dare the occasional glance upward as they soar overhead, I notice they’re simple, unarmed
surveillance drones like the ones I used to see in the Mire.

  I could tell myself my enemy has given up on me, but I know better. The Duchess—the woman who accepted me coldly into her home inside the Arc with the express intention of watching me like a hawk—is no doubt doing everything in her power to locate me. She’s desperate to find the Consortium’s hiding place, if indeed such a place exists…and I’m her best chance.

  But as the hours pass and no soldiers come at me with their weapons drawn, a renewed sense of peace begins to replace the terror I’ve felt since escaping the Arenum, the fighting ring where I left the King’s son bleeding on the ground.

  I soothe myself with thoughts of Finn, of his voice, his face. The touch of his fingers on my skin. I allow myself, for brief moments, to fantasize about walking hand in hand with him through these woods, leaning against him, the warmth of his body a much-needed security blanket.

  As if the trees themselves are hoping to contribute to my mood, dappled sunlight has begun to flicker between the billowing leaves high overhead to dance magically on the ground before my feet. It’s a sort of light that doesn’t exist anywhere other than in nature, and I inhale deeply, relishing the temporary, fragile sense of calm it grants me.

  Holding my breath, I tell myself how lucky I am simply to be alive.

  “If only you were with me,” I whisper as I exhale, sending the words to Finn, wishing that somehow he could hear them. “If only I hadn’t had to leave you behind. We could start a new life out here. A new world.”

  I’ll see him again. I can feel it in my skin, in my bones, with a certainty that’s become as much a part of me as the blood in my veins. Whatever fate may have in store for us, I vow to press my hands to his chest again. My lips will find his and I will kiss him hungrily, needfully, and he’ll utter the three words that are a balm for every conceivable wound.

  I love you.

  Incredible how three brief syllables can heal so thoroughly.

  After a time, a surprising sound pulls me out of my reverie, drawing my eyes to the treetops before it comes a second time. The low, sustained hoot of an owl.

  As I scan my surroundings, I spot him perched several feet above me in the boughs of a maple tree. Silvery-white, his feathers gleam in the sunshine. His eyes, bright and alert, seem to stare into my own. They blink once as our gazes meet.

  “Hello, friend,” I whisper. “Are you hunting?”

  He twists his head to the side as if something has drawn his attention, spreads his wings, and takes off.

  “I guess that answers my question,” I chuckle.

  Something about the owl gives me a jolt of bliss. If he can survive out here, if he can still thrive in this wretched world, maybe there’s a chance for the rest of us.

  But when I stop at a spring a few minutes later seeking clean water to drink, any fleeting joy fades as quickly as it came.

  The snap of a twig meets my ears. Then another, and another.

  A deer, maybe?

  The frantic swarm of insects in my stomach tells me I already know the answer.

  That’s no deer.

  I freeze, shrinking into my cloak to further conceal myself from any eyes that may be searching for me. That’s when I see him: a young man with sandy-brown hair, dressed in the black uniform of the Directorate Guard, sneaking his way past me through the trees.

  He doesn’t spot me, but I have no doubt he knows I’m close. These woods are probably crawling with his kind, hunters quietly seeking me out so they can drag me back, kicking and screaming, to a woman who will delight in watching me suffer, alongside her monstrous allies.

  When the man has passed and I can finally exhale, I consider pursuing him. I could easily sneak up behind him and cut his throat. I could end him here and now, and leave his bloodied body for the Duchess’ people to find. A warning.

  Stay away, or there will be more corpses.

  No.

  I remind myself that he was probably once like me. A Dreg from the Mire who likely only trained to become Directorate Guard because his one other option was death. Like so many of us, he had no choice.

  Wrong.

  There’s always a choice.

  Always.

  Still, I refuse to kill him. I’ve watched two classmates die, as well as an old friend from Sector Eight. The very thought of more needless death steals away pieces of my soul as I crouch, hidden, telling myself to let it be.

  I wait until the sound of snapping twigs fades into the distance then move along the edge of the stream, heading west, the soles of my shoes sinking silently into the soft mud.

  When I’ve hiked until my feet are burning, I force myself to seek shelter for the night. I find a rocky overhang at the base of a mountain, just high enough off the ground for me to stand under, forming a perfect little cavern. As a precaution, I choose not to hunt or build a fire. For now, I’m content to sleep hungry and cold.

  After all, I’m still alive, aren’t I?

  A low Hooo meets my ears as I slip down to sit on the cool ground. I lift my head and peer out into the trees that surround my small shelter, scanning until I spot a pair of bright eyes. The owl is back, his talons locked around a thick branch, those shining eyes fixed on mine for the second time today.

  “Are you following me?” I ask with a yawn.

  I close my eyes, pleased by the thought of a keen-eyed new friend watching over me.

  My mind fills once again with nebulous images of Finn as I will myself to sleep. The tactile memory of his arms around me, the intensity of his expressive eyes, which tried so hard to speak to me when we first got to know one another. I was too stubborn to read them, unable or unwilling to decipher his coded messages. I failed to understand when his eyes told me of the secrets lingering in the air between us, of so much hidden pain behind the pristine walls of the Arc.

  It seems like madness now that I once thought of him as an enemy.

  I command my mind to conjure dreams of him, but on this night—my second night in the wild—as I drift off to sleep, I only see images of violence. The life draining from my classmate Luke’s face as other Candidates beat him to death. Maren’s terrified eyes as she drowned in front of a sea of masked, cheering monsters.

  Harrowing events that occurred mere days ago are lodged inside the prison of my memory, still as real as they were when I witnessed them.

  In my nightmares, I see my brother Kel’s face. Frightened, pale, helpless, crying out as he watches the Directorate’s miscreants murder my mother.

  His face contorted in fear as he’s marched into the Arc.

  I hear his voice calling my name. I try to respond, to shout, but my own voice catches in my throat and nothing comes out.

  Just…air.

  I jolt awake to the sound of heavy breathing and the sensation of someone yanking me violently to my feet.

  I’m still dreaming, I tell myself. This isn’t happening.

  But a hard slap to my face tells me I’m dead wrong.

  2

  Caught

  Powerful hands shove me against the jagged outer wall of my shelter, my head slamming hard against solid stone.

  I should be terrified, but for some insane reason I snicker. My addled brain finds it hilarious that I’ve been out of the Arc less than forty-eight hours and the enemy has already managed to snare me.

  Some stealthy rogue I am.

  In the early morning light, it takes me a moment to make out the faces of three people standing before me. The closest is the young man who’s pressing me to the wall, a look of pure rage contorting his features. He appears to be nineteen or so, with dark hair, light eyes, and a jaw coated in thick stubble. Through his grimace, it’s impossible to fully assess his features, but something tells me he might be handsome if he weren’t seething with murderous rage.

  Behind him, standing at each shoulder, are a woman of thirty or so and a girl who looks my age, maybe a couple of years younger. Yes, I think. She’s got to be about fifteen.


  Wait—the Directorate is sending fifteen-year-old girls to hunt me?

  That’s new.

  “You’re not Directorate Guard,” the young man snarls from between clenched teeth as he pulls my dagger from its sheath and hands it to the woman, who tucks it into her belt. “Are you some kind of spy?”

  “I’m no spy,” I reply with a sneer. “But I’d sure like to know who the hell you three are.”

  The teenage girl lets out a high-pitched giggle, as if my reaction is shockingly amusing. I manage another glance in her direction, eager to size her up. She’s pretty, with black, curly hair and green eyes, and has a white flower tucked into her hair by her left ear—an accessory that might seem sweet under any other circumstance. There’s an impishness in her face that tells me she can’t possibly be affiliated with the Directorate; she would hardly fit in with that band of sadistic creatures.

  Then again, her companion did come close to splitting my skull open a few seconds ago, so maybe I’m not the best judge of character.

  The red-haired woman next to the girl elbows her in an obvious attempt to wipe the grin off her face.