The 52nd (The 52nd Saga Book 1) (26 page)

“Because I wanted you
to.”

I pressed my palm hard against my head as the invasion drained my strength. I didn’t want to go back to that place, ever. It was changing me into someone horrifying, but I couldn’t help it. I was weak, and I was disgusted with myself. “What is wrong with you? What changed from that night you told me everything?”

His eyes softened as he concentrated on me. I wondered briefly if he knew how much I needed him. “Nothing did, Zara. Yes, I understand there is an unknown connection between us, but love is dangerous, especially in this
matter.”

It sounded thoughtfully planned out. “You’re a
coward.”

“You’re wrong,” he charged, though his gaze seemed less steady. “On the contrary, I find myself completely taken. I just choose to not act on it. You are better than this, Zara.” He sounded disgusted with himself.

The right half of my head was now all ice. “What are you afraid of? That you’ll use me, or that you’ll lose
me?”

He was
quiet.

“Can’t you just let me be, Lucas?” I
cried.

He chuckled, but it sounded exhausted. “About as much as you can let me
be.”

“Then if that’s the case, why am I even fighting? You don’t want to save me, Lucas.” I glanced down; I couldn’t remember the last time I’d dressed up. This outfit was stupid. This dinner was stupid. All of it—all the cover-up lies—and I was the worst one of them. I brushed the palms of my hands along my thighs, pinched the fabric and pulled at it. “This isn’t me.” I looked through the windows into the restaurant. “I don’t belong here. And this skirt—I’ve only worn it once in my life—and the chauffeuring, and the fancy cars, and the special attention. I don’t deserve any of it. Maybe you should let me go . . .” He stepped closer, but I backed away. “No, don’t. I can’t be who you want me to be, because that isn’t me. I don’t want you to waste any more time on me. I’m ugly inside. I’m a horrible
person.”

He poked his chest and then waved his finger at me. A horror struck me, the way the creases of his mouth dropped. His eyes showed deep distaste. “And this isn’t me, either. Do you have any idea how hard it is to break a tradition you’ve followed nearly your entire life? Half of me is saying, ‘Take what you want, Lucas, you deserve her’—which, by the way, is another struggle, because I don’t even know what to do with your frail little body—and the other half is saying, ‘You do this, you die.’ I’m scared of you. I’ve never wanted something so little and so badly at the same time. It’s damn confusing!”

And the tears rolled. “Why? I feel like you make it that
way.”

“No, Zara, there’s no way around it. Before I met you, I was eager to break the sacrifice tradition, but now . . .”

“What? You regret
it?”

“I realized when I kissed you how hard making the right decision can be. I realized the risks it brings . . . the fears it brings. Back then I was pompous, and I didn’t care about anyone but myself, which made my decision to break the sacrifice tradition easy. But when I . . . when I kissed you . . . I knew that I wasn’t caring only for myself. I care for you, Zara. More than you know, and I need you to trust
me.”

The low light from the restaurant hit him straight on, shaping a symmetrical shadow along the center of his face, which hadn’t changed at all, except for the slightest droop in his eyelids. His blue eyes flicked away and then back to mine, and then he stepped close. In the startling nearness of him, I forgot to shut out the cold knives for a moment, and the contours of his face dimmed. I tried to regain control and focus on him, but a flash of blackness shot through
me.

I awoke to the familiar orange sky. My skin, which had been ice cold, now burned with the rush of blood returning to my limbs in the hot, moist air. I was standing barefoot on green leaves. A beetle squirmed by my toes, and I jumped away, glancing around me. I was on that same hill, above the city and the large pyramid. And then I heard that low, deep noise calling through a conch shell. My gut jerked.
Not another
one
.

My feet jerked suddenly and walked toward the city with a mind of their own. I pulled at my legs, trying to stop, and a bloodcurdling scream filled the air. I didn’t know what to do. A controlling power flooded my body, and I found myself walking more quickly toward the
sound.

I was climbing over a branch, crying because I couldn’t stop, when the pyramid came into view. It was the same scene: a girl trying to get away and a man at the top waiting for her.
Go, Zara. Go now. See what’s
there.

I was taking my first step toward the small town over the lake when my body seized up and I fell backwards. Before I could rise, it happened again, and blackness began to cloud my vision. I fell on my back, paralyzed by a bitter cold that pricked at my toes and fingers and spread throughout my
body.

“Zara, Zara! Can you hear me?” The familiar voice rose through the frozen darkness.

When I opened my eyes, Lucas was there, his face tormented.

“I hear you,” I answered. I tried to raise myself up, but my head spun and I fell back, winded. I whimpered into Lucas’s shoulder as he held me. “Please, help me. I don’t want to go back there. I don’t want to go
back.”

His breathing was rough as he hugged me more tightly. “We’re taking a break from training tomorrow.”

He helped me to my feet and wiped my tears with the pad of his thumb. I could tell his helplessness frustrated him by the way his eyes narrowed underneath his dark eyebrows. Our parents were merrily finishing up slices of chocolate cake when I returned. Valentina’s smooth face turned worried with once glance at me. Andrés gracefully rushed the after-dinner coffee along, and soon we were saying our good-byes and heading
home.

I rode home with my parents, and as we rolled through narrow bends past large, white-topped boulders in the dark woods, I rested against the door.
I wondered what she looked like, the sacrifice whose screams echoed in my ears, and where her family was.
How long was she held captive until she finally met her fate?
I glanced at the rearview mirror and watched the beam of Lucas’s headlights through snow drifting like white confetti. They followed as far as the hidden turnoff to his house, where they disappeared and a new set emerged to follow us all the way
home.

I peeped out the window when we got home. Dylan’s orange Cayenne was parked across the street atop a new layer of snow. I lay back on the flannel sheets and pressed my palms together, wondering what Lucas could possibly want to show
me.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Utopia

A raspy ringing shot through the silence again and again, vibrating against my belly. Still more than half-asleep, I fumbled my hand under the tangled sheets and found the
bugger.

“Why are you calling me at six in the morning?” I moaned to
Bri.

“You’re busted. Come outside right
now.”

“No.”

“Zara Moss, you come outside right now, or I will go upstairs to your room and dump cold water on your face. I know where the spare key is,” she reminded
me.

I groaned. My feet were still asleep, and it felt like needles were spiking through my heels as I trotted to the window. Bri was standing in the middle of the lawn in her robe, hair in curlers, snow piled to her
ankles.

“Bri, what are you doing?” I looked behind her. Dylan’s car was still parked across the street with a light layer of cold cotton on top. I feared he was laughing inside
it.

“Ten, nine . . .” she
began.

“Okay, okay! I’m coming, geez.”

I chucked on my boots and fled downstairs in a mere cami and boxers. It was pearly outside as the sun peeked above the horizon, but the frost nipped hard at my
body.

“Are you crazy? It’s six in the morning!” I yelled, hunching over from the
cold.

“Friends tell! And you’re not telling me something!” Bri said, her nose a bright
pink.

I looked past her shoulders to the orange car. “Okay, come inside. We’ll
talk.”

“No. I’m not going anywhere until you tell me right
now.”

“Why right now?” I whined. My feet were freezing in my
boots.

When she didn’t budge, I glanced over her shoulder once more, then back to her, and stomped immaturely. “Dang it, Bri, you’ll be the death of
me.”

“Try
me.”

“What do you want me to say? Lucas and I sort of have a thing, and I didn’t tell you because I’m not sure what it
is.”

She stood there dissatisfied. “It’s not just a thing, is it? You really like this
guy.”

I nodded sheepishly, knowing the god across the street was prying with his perfect hearing.

“Have you told Jett
yet?”

“No! Don’t, please. I was waiting to tell him, maybe when it’s more official. And don’t blab this to Tommy either. I know how your mouth works,” I added with a sneer and a shiver. “Now, can we go inside? I’m freezing.”

“I’ve actually got to get home. I’ve got plans with Tommy later
today.”

“What are you doing up so early
then?”

Her face turned absentminded. “I don’t know. Just woke up and couldn’t go back to sleep. Misery loves company.” She shrugged.

“There’s something seriously wrong with you,” I hollered as she walked
away.

“Ha! And just so you know, I like Lucas for you. He makes you vulnerable.”

There was that word Dylan loved and I detested. It made the strings in my gut snap. “What did you
say?”

“You’ve finally let your guard
down.”

No response except cottony puffs moving skyward as I exhaled.

“Oh, come on. Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about. Every guy who’s dated you knows you’re a hard shell to
crack.”

Now I couldn’t move. My throat dried out, leaving me gasping for
breath.

“Are you okay?” she
asked.

“Very,” I muttered scratchily.

I needed both hands to close the front door after she left.
Is she right? Is Lucas right about us not being together?
I didn’t feel vulnerable, but when was the last time I’d thought about life after all this? Where would I go? What would I study? I was too consumed with my feelings for
him.

My cell was going off again in my room, much more loudly now that a body wasn’t covering it. I skipped steps upstairs to catch it before it woke the
house.

“Please don’t tell me Dylan just called you?” I asked Lucas, already mortified.

“He didn’t need to. I heard it for myself. I’m at your doorstep.”

I ran back downstairs, panting, to let Lucas in. He had changed into a blue sweater and denim. He assessed my apparel and my hair before bringing his eyes back down to mine. It was clear from his expression that I looked
rough.

“Want to talk?” he
asked.

I crossed my arms over my chest, suddenly feeling
naked.

“I need to change first,” I said, touching my gnarly hair. “And maybe brush my hair
too.”

He smiled. “Dress
warm.”

“Like going-for-a-stroll
warm?”

“Like going-to-be-outside-all-day
warm.”

He waited on the living room couch while I unearthed my warmest street clothes. I layered two shirts under a buff sweater and pulled my skinny corduroys on over a pair of tights. Then I braided my hair to eliminate the tangles and powdered blush onto my
cheeks.

I left a note for Mom and Dad on the kitchen table, letting them know I’d be back by early afternoon, though I always felt those notes were more lies. What if I never returned? When we walked out, Dylan’s car was gone, and the Rover was parked along the curb. The sky graduated into a blossoming blue as the night’s fresh snow crystallized in the morning rays. Light sparkled in every direction.

“Where are we going?” I asked after settling into his car, grateful for the heated
seat.

“A special place I like to go to for clarity. You could use a little of that right
now.”

With the town still asleep, the unplowed boulevard was deserted. We drove west past Emerald Bay, continued north on the 89 as it curved along the lake past Sugar Pine Point, and then drove deeper into the unpopulated mountains. A familiar pop song played on the radio as the flocked fir trees breezed by the
window.

After what seemed forever, Lucas finally exited onto a side road and drove another twenty minutes along switchbacks up the wintry
canyon.

“We’re almost to the first point,” he said as we pulled onto a narrow shoulder.

I looked around for a mile marker or even a trail, but he didn’t stop. He plowed through the foot of snow into the untamed underbrush of pine trees until suddenly the trees gapped. They opened into a tiny clearing where the sun shone down, creating a circle of glistening snow. In the middle waited one snowmobile.

“Is that yours?” I
asked.

He grinned with unfiltered excitement. “The only way to get where we’re going. Bundle up—it’s going to get a bit cold.” He grabbed his jacket and left me in the
car.

“Splendid,” I said to
myself.

It bewildered me, in these winter conditions, that he wore only a jacket the weight of my underwear. I imagined it was for show—when he threw it on, he only fastened the first three buttons. Then he put on a loose beanie. As he waited on the snowmobile, I dutifully wrapped my green scarf over my head, concealing everything except my eyes, and put on my mittens and peacoat and
beanie.

Lucas’s magnetism was inescapable. His eyes twinkled when he half smiled, and an exciting sense of danger stirred in my gut as he dangled a helmet off one
finger.

“Are we going far?” The scarf caught my breath, warming my nose with moist air as Lucas removed my knit hat, tucked it into his back pocket, and slid the helmet over my
head.

“You won’t freeze for very long, if that’s what you’re asking.” He grinned as he snapped the buckle and lifted a pair of goggles. “Put these
on.”

I was grateful that the merino hid my scowl as I strapped on the goggles.

“Put your arms around me and hold on
tight.”

I obeyed the prince nervously and molded my arms to his firm
core.

“Just remember that I’m breakable,” I
added.

He tilted his head in a subtle bow as the machine roared to life. “Of course,
mi
muñeca
.”

Before I could wonder again what that word meant, I was thrown off balance by a flash of glacial air. It knifed through my layers and crawled along my skin as the countryside passed by. We sped over collapsed logs, frozen rivers, and deep rolling hills. At some point, specks of wet dust gathered in the lower corners of my lenses, shattering my view of the trees into sunlit kaleidoscopes. And then Lucas stopped.

He pointed to our right. “Look.”

The aspens and fir, a barrier of white and brown bark, parted before an expansive clearing around a pond. Across the solid ice, flush with the edge of the frozen water, were broken steps leading to a very small building with a steeple. The remaining steps were frozen under the
water.

A soft sunburst filtered through the silvery foliage around the spring. Its chalky streaks held snowy flecks, like crystals woven into the air. I looked more closely at the ruin and gasped. White-winged butterflies flew in and out of the milky water lilies at its base, and birds chirped a morning tune on the iced branches
above.

“What is this place?” I asked. I breathed in and tasted the purity in the
air.

“This is my sanctuary.”

He grabbed my hand and led me around the pond to the chipped
steps.

“Wait here,” he said, and he disappeared into the
chapel.

He came out holding two blankets, a thermos, and two Styrofoam cups. He laid the plaid tartan over the pine needles on the cold slab, then handed me the Sherpa throw, which I draped over my crossed legs as I sat
down.

“How did you know about this place?” I
asked.

He smiled, seeming pleased, and passed me a cup of steamy hot chocolate before sitting down across from
me.

“I discovered it when we moved to Tahoe,” he replied. “For some reason, I feel the spirit of Ahau more here.” He looked to the sky, seeming more at peace than I’d ever seen
him.

I let the rising steam thaw my face for a second as he remembered his old friend, and then I let the near-scalding liquid coat my throat. The rich flavor of cocoa and cinnamon immediately took the edge off the shivering in my
bones.

“Are you warm enough?” he asked. There was such sweetness in his face, but I sensed the torment and hesitation as he kept me at a small distance.

“I’m
fine.”

His timeless eyes glinted like gems in the silver light and imprisoned me. When he forced himself to look away, the scary idea of his age broke my reverie.

“When were you born?” I asked hesitantly.

He watched me cautiously for a moment. “June eighth, fifteen-oh-four.”

It took more effort to swallow, especially to keep my shy gaze on his ageless eyes. “What do you do with all that
time?”

He released a relieved chuckle and leaned back, playing with the Sherpa as he stretched his legs. “Part of me is Mayan, which means that for the past five hundred years, I’ve been a dreamer, hoping that a mystical utopian community will come to be, somewhere in a distant
time.”

I didn’t follow. It probably showed on my
face.

“As I told you earlier, it’s not easy watching people being abducted, knowing they are all going to die a horrible, painful death. Wherever I am, I find a sanctuary. A place I can come to alone and think, and be at peace. Dream of a better life, pray that those sacrificed will pass on to a better life too. You should try it. It helps a
little.”

“Try it for what?” I wondered.

“To help with your blackouts. I’ve seen you overcome them before, but some obviously come on stronger than others. You need something to root you down. A dream, a place, or a person.” He faltered on the last word, and I noticed how much closer he had moved to me. Our bent knees were nearly touching.

I picked up a piece of snow and threw it at him playfully. “Thanks, Dr. Lucas.”

He wiped it off his shirt with a pleasant smile, but he was silent, confused by my friendly
fire.

“But seriously,” I said. “Thank you for all of this. I appreciate
it.”

He blinked hard, twice, and his statue stare tweaked into a shocked expression.

“Well, before all of this
dreaming
, what did you do as a prince?” I asked, uncomfortable beneath his
stare.

His tight face loosened into a dimpled smile. “As a royal, I did three things every day religiously: I studied, I fought, and I
ate.”

I tried to act sophisticated, but he disarmed me as always. I pretended he didn’t notice when my breathing faltered, though I suspected I wasn’t fooling him when he smiled
again.

“What did you
study?”

“Astrology and
war.”

I must have looked disappointed, and he chuckled.

“What did you expect for royalty, law? Medicine? Back then, those jobs were for shamans and priests. As a prince, you were nobler if you excelled in war. And besides, a lawyer was as good as dead. There was no diplomacy between cities of the Maya. The Aztecs at least had one ruler who oversaw the smaller cities near them and handled taxes and such. Where I grew up, in the Yucatan, we ruled only one city, the one we lived in. There were a lot of fights between cities for
power.”

“Was it really that
bad?”

“I don’t understand why people think they have bad neighbors. Do their neighbors try to kidnap them, remove their hearts while they’re still alive, cut their legs and arms off or behead them, or drink their blood for fun?” He looked up sharply and let out a deep breath. “Anyway, I guess my protective instincts come out a bit strong when it comes to you. Sorry . . .”

“Don’t apologize,” I rushed out. “Please, don’t do that. It’s not you. It’s me. Trust me, it’s all me.” I rolled my eyes to the silver pines, annoyed with my inability to control my mind or emotions, and now my actions as my blackouts worsened. “If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t be here right
now.”

“But . . .”

“No, don’t. Lucas, you have every right to be like that. I’m not angry with you, I promise.”

“You’re not?” He looked relieved, but I didn’t like the way that doubt showed in his
brow.

“No, I’m not. Look, we all know I’m weak compared to you.” My fingers fidgeted with their placement over the cup. “I need to tell you something, but I’m afraid you’ll be angry with
me.”

When he didn’t respond, I nestled the cup of hot chocolate shakily into the
snow.

He studied my hand and looked up, worried. “What?”

“I haven’t been completely honest with you . . .”