Read Online Marked by Jenny Martin - Free Book Online

fighters the rebellion’s got,” he whispers against my cheek. “Fly with me. Be my partner.”
    It’d be easy to appease Bear. I could forget about Manjor and send Miyu back alone. I could throw my arms around this new life and never look back. It’s not hard to picture him and me, taking down IP vacs. Even more easily, I imagine us together. His body, warm and close. But then I think of Cash, and of other kisses; another embrace, not so long ago.
    Somehow, I know deep down inside that I’m not ready to forget him. And trying to ignore the pain by losing myself in Bear . . . that isn’t healing. It’s hiding.
    Maybe Bear is the one for me. Maybe we are meant to fly, side by side. But I won’t know for sure until I can stand on my own. Slowly, I pull back, staring into his eyes. “I think I want this,” I say. “But Benroyal murdered myfather and my uncle, and he still has my mother. I can’t just turn my back on that and keep hiding out here.”
    â€œHow can you say that, when we’re gearing up for war? There’s more than one way to fight him,” Bear protests.
    â€œI know. And I’ve got to find my own way to fight. I need this, Bear. I have to go to Manjor.”
    Bear doesn’t answer. Instead, he sighs, reaching for me. This time, he lingers, as though he’s memorizing the shape of us. Ours is the sweetest kiss, the bitterest kiss, the one that tastes most like good-bye.
    â€œI can’t follow you this time, Phee.”
    â€œI know.”
    I shatter as he pulls away.

CHAPTER EIGHT
    IN THREE DAYS, MIYU AND I LEAVE FOR MANJOR. IT’S DARK, and I lie on my bed. I close my eyes, but I can’t rest. I long to get lost in the white-noise gutter of the wee hours, but sleep won’t come. So I sit up, then head outside.
    I walk around the camp to outpace the thought loop in my head. Every half-lit, terrifying thing I’ve ever seen or imagined unspools in my brain. Sometimes, a flash of light—a good memory—claws its way through the cold sweat and I can stop to take a breath. But it takes so much energy to sustain that patch of warmth. Sometimes, it’s just easier to surrender and keep moving. One more lap around the armory, and I’ll be tired enough. I won’t imagine the rebel corpses. I won’t see Cash bleeding where we left him. My brain will shut off. I’ll collapse.
    I pass the infirmary. Soft light spills around the doorway. I hear the low buzz of a sterilizer panel, an air purifier’s churn and puff. If I close my eyes, I could be at home, in the Larssens’ clinic. In the night, the soft blue hum’s an invitation.
    I step inside.
    In the patient area, Hal sits in a high-backed chair with his head lolled to the side. I suspect he’s on call, uncomfortably catching a moment of shut-eye. Hal’s patient is either asleep or unconscious on the cot beside him. One of the Biseran rebels. The young man’s face is beaded with sweat; a spiderweb of wired sensors are attached to his temples, arms, and chest. The flex monitor clipped to the cot supplies a steady beep . . . beep . . . beep. But there’s no sign of blood or bandages. I wonder what he’s doing here.
    Across the room, there’s an empty, white-sheeted gurney. Quietly, I climb onto it and lie down. Curled on my side, I watch Hal. Even now, asleep, his forehead’s pinched with worry. This is where Bear gets it. He is a guardian, through and through.
    â€œPhee?” a voice whispers.
    I look up. Mary is sleepy-eyed, dressed in her favorite raggedy scrubs. “Awake as ever,” I say.
    She sits on the edge of the gurney. Brushes a few flyaway strands from my face, then rests her scrubbed-rough hand on my arm. I let the warmth of it sink in. I memorizeit and file it away, because neither of us are tender creatures. “Who’s the patient?” I ask her.
    â€œYou know