Read Online LEGACY BETRAYED by Rachel Eastwood - Free Book Online
Authors: Rachel Eastwood
Ads: Link
he arrived at the lot, he gestured to the two sentries to go, and though they glared in confusion, they obeyed. He ascended the narrow set of stairs as nimbly as he possibly could, reached Unit #4, and reclined on the railing. He could hear them inside. He could hear her parents fussing over her with such pitchy, desperate tones, and then Legacy’s own voice, the husky murmur.
He pulled his hood down lower and stepped to the right as the door opened, expelling a loose-limbed, silver-haired girl hefting a chrome case large enough to house a guitar.
“Hey,” he murmured, drawing her attention to the side.
Legacy turned and her eyes flew open wide. They weren’t only wide. They were filled with joy. They looked like honey caught in a beam of sunlight.
“Oh my god!” she choked, dropping the case with a crash and rushing to him. She threw her arms around his neck, and Kaizen, mildly stunned, slowly rose his arms to encircle her. They’d only barely connected, however, when she pulled away to examine him again. “Kaizen!” she gushed, grabbing his face. “I thought you were dead! The radio . . . The stupid radio never said, and I thought –I thought it was being kept–” His hand, possessed of some will not entirely pre-approved, went into her hair. The other went to cup her cheek and tilt her face. Her eyes shone up at him. “I was worried,” she finished, and the two met in the center as naturally as she and Dax once had. He hadn’t wanted to, hadn’t meant to, but was caught in an avalanche. She stretched to reach his lips, her hands locking behind his neck and pulling him down, and his arms snaked fully around her, forgetting, crushing.
This hadn’t been the plan.
The plan had been to coldly, logically evaluate Legacy’s response to the sight of him. To determine exactly how authentic her loyalty – so to speak – was. Maybe even to interrogate her, or take her to the palace, or something else, maybe, of which his father or the monarch would’ve approved. Something stiff. Something . . . unyielding. Who had he been kidding?
Now here they were, unraveling, mouths cracking apart and coalescing, his hands exploring beneath her shirt, catching flame and consuming all they touched. He raked his fingertips over her nipples and Legacy moaned softly, undulating like a dancer against him. She moved her own swath of heady torment down his neck to his rampaging heart, and he didn’t know how it happened, except that his body and his mind and his soul were both divided and united, like the sea and the storm and the ship all at once, screaming at one another while rushing forward as one. Kaizen drove Legacy against the railing, which whined with the force, pinned her hips with his and pressed hard. She peeled away only to breathe and rasp his name.
Kaizen ground against her, beginning to see red. She leaned farther and farther back, cringing with euphoric agony, oblivious to the fall.
Suddenly the political intrigue bullshit was just some fragile vehicle on top of a landslide, destabilized and crushed, the plaything of forces much older and stronger. Something intrinsically engrained rather than externally imposed.
Remember to think, a distant thought urged. Try to think clearly. Remember . . . Ferraday . . . Trimpot . . . Everything outside of this . . .
“Don’t go to the rally,” Kaizen blurted, rousing Legacy from her trance. He realized her hands had been working to unbutton his pants. Right here? he wondered. What’s gotten into you?
“What rally?” she asked foggily.
“Trimpot is going to message all his CC contacts to attend a rally this Friday,” he explained. He, too, felt drugged. “But don’t go. Okay?”
“Oh,” Legacy said. “I won’t get any messages; Flywheel got ruined at the coronation. I don’t have any registered automata anymore.”
Kaizen trailed a finger along her jaw, wondering when he’d see her again, how he’d ever find her if he let her go tonight. “So
He pulled his hood down lower and stepped to the right as the door opened, expelling a loose-limbed, silver-haired girl hefting a chrome case large enough to house a guitar.
“Hey,” he murmured, drawing her attention to the side.
Legacy turned and her eyes flew open wide. They weren’t only wide. They were filled with joy. They looked like honey caught in a beam of sunlight.
“Oh my god!” she choked, dropping the case with a crash and rushing to him. She threw her arms around his neck, and Kaizen, mildly stunned, slowly rose his arms to encircle her. They’d only barely connected, however, when she pulled away to examine him again. “Kaizen!” she gushed, grabbing his face. “I thought you were dead! The radio . . . The stupid radio never said, and I thought –I thought it was being kept–” His hand, possessed of some will not entirely pre-approved, went into her hair. The other went to cup her cheek and tilt her face. Her eyes shone up at him. “I was worried,” she finished, and the two met in the center as naturally as she and Dax once had. He hadn’t wanted to, hadn’t meant to, but was caught in an avalanche. She stretched to reach his lips, her hands locking behind his neck and pulling him down, and his arms snaked fully around her, forgetting, crushing.
This hadn’t been the plan.
The plan had been to coldly, logically evaluate Legacy’s response to the sight of him. To determine exactly how authentic her loyalty – so to speak – was. Maybe even to interrogate her, or take her to the palace, or something else, maybe, of which his father or the monarch would’ve approved. Something stiff. Something . . . unyielding. Who had he been kidding?
Now here they were, unraveling, mouths cracking apart and coalescing, his hands exploring beneath her shirt, catching flame and consuming all they touched. He raked his fingertips over her nipples and Legacy moaned softly, undulating like a dancer against him. She moved her own swath of heady torment down his neck to his rampaging heart, and he didn’t know how it happened, except that his body and his mind and his soul were both divided and united, like the sea and the storm and the ship all at once, screaming at one another while rushing forward as one. Kaizen drove Legacy against the railing, which whined with the force, pinned her hips with his and pressed hard. She peeled away only to breathe and rasp his name.
Kaizen ground against her, beginning to see red. She leaned farther and farther back, cringing with euphoric agony, oblivious to the fall.
Suddenly the political intrigue bullshit was just some fragile vehicle on top of a landslide, destabilized and crushed, the plaything of forces much older and stronger. Something intrinsically engrained rather than externally imposed.
Remember to think, a distant thought urged. Try to think clearly. Remember . . . Ferraday . . . Trimpot . . . Everything outside of this . . .
“Don’t go to the rally,” Kaizen blurted, rousing Legacy from her trance. He realized her hands had been working to unbutton his pants. Right here? he wondered. What’s gotten into you?
“What rally?” she asked foggily.
“Trimpot is going to message all his CC contacts to attend a rally this Friday,” he explained. He, too, felt drugged. “But don’t go. Okay?”
“Oh,” Legacy said. “I won’t get any messages; Flywheel got ruined at the coronation. I don’t have any registered automata anymore.”
Kaizen trailed a finger along her jaw, wondering when he’d see her again, how he’d ever find her if he let her go tonight. “So
Similar Books
