Read Online The Taking 02: Hover by Melissa West - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Melissa West
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me, leans in close to my ear, and whispers, “You’re going to have to fight your inner instinct. Remember, you are an RES now. Act like it. If Zeus suspects that you are a threat, he’ll kill you without hesitation. And I can’t…” He trails off, a pained look on his face. “Just promise me you’ll try. Be careful.”
I pull away so I can see him clearly. “I will. I promise. But what about you? Aren’t you going to be training, too?”
Jackson stands tall as a pair of Ancients enters through the main doors, their eyes on us. “No. I’m the instructor.”
I lower my voice. “You mean, you’re teaching me? You’re my teacher?” This has to be a joke. More Ancients enter, their expressions full of curiosity. I focus on Jackson so I won’t worry about what they’re thinking.
Jackson bites back a smile. “I’m not your teacher, Alexander. Beginning today, I’m your boss.”
“My boss?”
An Ancient walks over dressed in a dark brown T-shirt and pants, his build and demeanor projecting that of someone in a leadership role. “J.C. is there a problem?” he asks, his eyes on me.
“No problem. I will be there in a moment. Alexander here is a new assignee.”
The man nods slowly. “All right. Well see you inside.” He turns for a set of double doors behind him, but glances back twice at us before disappearing through the doors. I close my eyes and draw a breath. This is going to be painful.
“Okay, J.C . where do I go?”
He crosses his arms and smiles. “Through those doors. You’ll see the others getting set up.”
I give him one more fleeting look before slipping through the double doors. The room is nothing like the entryway to the Vortex. Where it was all bright and shiny and clean, like a lab back home, this room is rugged, the walls wooden, the ceiling high. There are windows cut into the ceiling, letting in the only light in the room outside of a few wall lamps affixed on each of the walls. Situated in the center of the room are rows and rows of pillows, most already full of boys and girls, all appearing to be around my age. The floor, outside of the pillowed seats, is a basic concrete, and glancing around, my first thought is that this room is unforgiving in every way. It’s meant to teach you to stay on your feet. Hit a wall or the floor, and you’re sure to leave the room covered in bruises or blood. There is no learning by practice here. You learn quickly or your body suffers the consequence of your delay.
I sit on the last pillow closest to the back wall, my legs crossed. No one speaks, most either staring forward with their eyes trained on the opposite wall or their eyes closed, their mouths moving in some silent prayer.
A door on the opposite wall opens and Jackson enters, followed by two Ancients who are twice as big as him and at least six inches taller. They flank him on his right and left side, locking their hands in front of them.
Jackson doesn’t smile at the group or hint at any form of kindness. He has a calmness to him that is unsettling, the quiet just before a storm. “You are here because some sliver of existence within you says that you are a born fighter. That you will put your life before others, and stand when others fall. Whether this analysis is correct is yet to be seen, but over the next two weeks we will push you in ways you have never imagined. We will wear down your body. We will challenge your mind. And when we’re done, and you’re begging for relief, we will push you still more. Only then, when you are at your weakest, will we know if you are truly meant to be an RES. For now, you are assignees. You have no privileges here. You will enter my building and come to this room each day. Do not speak to anyone unless spoken to. Do not venture into other parts of my building. Do not breathe unless I give you express permission to emit that breath. Am I understood?”
The group rises without him issuing an order and I stand, my mouth gaping. I have no
I pull away so I can see him clearly. “I will. I promise. But what about you? Aren’t you going to be training, too?”
Jackson stands tall as a pair of Ancients enters through the main doors, their eyes on us. “No. I’m the instructor.”
I lower my voice. “You mean, you’re teaching me? You’re my teacher?” This has to be a joke. More Ancients enter, their expressions full of curiosity. I focus on Jackson so I won’t worry about what they’re thinking.
Jackson bites back a smile. “I’m not your teacher, Alexander. Beginning today, I’m your boss.”
“My boss?”
An Ancient walks over dressed in a dark brown T-shirt and pants, his build and demeanor projecting that of someone in a leadership role. “J.C. is there a problem?” he asks, his eyes on me.
“No problem. I will be there in a moment. Alexander here is a new assignee.”
The man nods slowly. “All right. Well see you inside.” He turns for a set of double doors behind him, but glances back twice at us before disappearing through the doors. I close my eyes and draw a breath. This is going to be painful.
“Okay, J.C . where do I go?”
He crosses his arms and smiles. “Through those doors. You’ll see the others getting set up.”
I give him one more fleeting look before slipping through the double doors. The room is nothing like the entryway to the Vortex. Where it was all bright and shiny and clean, like a lab back home, this room is rugged, the walls wooden, the ceiling high. There are windows cut into the ceiling, letting in the only light in the room outside of a few wall lamps affixed on each of the walls. Situated in the center of the room are rows and rows of pillows, most already full of boys and girls, all appearing to be around my age. The floor, outside of the pillowed seats, is a basic concrete, and glancing around, my first thought is that this room is unforgiving in every way. It’s meant to teach you to stay on your feet. Hit a wall or the floor, and you’re sure to leave the room covered in bruises or blood. There is no learning by practice here. You learn quickly or your body suffers the consequence of your delay.
I sit on the last pillow closest to the back wall, my legs crossed. No one speaks, most either staring forward with their eyes trained on the opposite wall or their eyes closed, their mouths moving in some silent prayer.
A door on the opposite wall opens and Jackson enters, followed by two Ancients who are twice as big as him and at least six inches taller. They flank him on his right and left side, locking their hands in front of them.
Jackson doesn’t smile at the group or hint at any form of kindness. He has a calmness to him that is unsettling, the quiet just before a storm. “You are here because some sliver of existence within you says that you are a born fighter. That you will put your life before others, and stand when others fall. Whether this analysis is correct is yet to be seen, but over the next two weeks we will push you in ways you have never imagined. We will wear down your body. We will challenge your mind. And when we’re done, and you’re begging for relief, we will push you still more. Only then, when you are at your weakest, will we know if you are truly meant to be an RES. For now, you are assignees. You have no privileges here. You will enter my building and come to this room each day. Do not speak to anyone unless spoken to. Do not venture into other parts of my building. Do not breathe unless I give you express permission to emit that breath. Am I understood?”
The group rises without him issuing an order and I stand, my mouth gaping. I have no
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