Species Traitor: A Science Fiction Dystopian Novel by Kate Mary (universal ebook reader .TXT) 📗

even more insight into who he was, but I still wasn’t ready to sleep with him. There were just too many unknowns. Too many questions.

Pausing when we reached his bike, I turned to face him, smiling in hopes of softening the blow I was about to give. “I had a really great time tonight. Honestly. But I think it’s better if I go home.”

His face fell. “Really?”

“I know sex isn’t a big deal to some people, but it’s something I take very seriously, and I’m just not ready.” I paused before adding, “Not yet, anyway.”

He smiled at the last sentence, the disappointment in his eyes not fading away completely but the expression genuine enough to make his blue eyes sparkle.

“I’m disappointed,” he grabbed my hips and pulled me closer, “but I understand.”

“Good,” I said, my voice low and husky as my heart thudded harder.

When his mouth covered mine, I closed my eyes and sank into the kiss, feeling it all the way to my toes.

Between work and spending time with Dean, four days had passed since I’d seen Ione. The election was getting closer every day, and although the mayor had finally woken up and realized he was in trouble, his campaign wasn’t gaining any momentum. I couldn’t go anywhere without seeing the face of Veronica Waters, and more often than not her voice was ringing through the house when I was home. Which was why being able to escape to the District the next day was more than a relief.

I knew Dean wouldn’t be on duty since he’d told me he was going to be off, but I didn’t start to regret his absence until I turned onto the street leading to the District and saw the mob outside the gate. Not only that, the sight also served as a reminder that the election wasn’t the only event looming on the horizon. The annual Landing Day celebration was now a week away, and the human citizens of Polis were in an uproar about it.

The crowd of protestors was easily twice as big as usual, and they were angry. Violent, even. They were screaming at the guards and trying to push their way closer to the gate. Whereas usually only two armed men stood sentry, there were now six of them. Four held the crowd at bay while two others stood with pulse rifles raised, shouting for the protestors to stay back. Part of me knew I should go home, but I couldn’t force myself to turn around. There was no way I could abandon my cousin now. Not with the election so close and the future so uncertain.

I thought, probably a little foolishly, that I could sneak around the edge of the crowd unnoticed, slowly moving toward the gate before ducking behind the guards at the last minute. I could see them from where I stood and knew the names of three and recognized them all. I was certain if I could just get there everything would be okay. The guards had pulse rifles. The crowd wouldn’t risk getting shot just to attack me.

My plan went fine at first. I stuck to the edge of the crowd, which didn’t pay me mind as I slunk toward the entrance, keeping my head down in case anyone recognized me from my previous trips into the District. My dark hair had fallen forward, shielding my face as I kept my eyes straight ahead, focusing on the guards in hopes of catching someone’s eye. If they saw me, they’d come to my rescue. I was certain of it.

I kept moving, slowly but steadily, trying my best not to draw attention to myself. I was still a good five feet away when I caught Brentwood’s eye. He frowned but gave a slight nod, telling me that even though he thought I was a fool for coming here, he would help. Thankfully, because I was about to make my move.

I sprinted forward, rushing between a couple protestors bearing signs that no doubt demanded every Veilorian be dragged to the gate and beaten to death. Well, probably nothing quite so dramatic, but a slow death by starvation wasn’t any less torturous, in my opinion, although I was clearly in the minority at this point.

Brentwood stepped aside, giving me a way through the protective barrier he and his coworkers had created, and I dove past him, barely staying on my feet and huffing from exertion by the time I’d made it through. One of the two guards holding pulse rifles caught me, and I’d just looked up, ready to thank him for his help, when something slammed into the back of my head.

It felt like a shovel. That was how strong the impact was, and it sent me forward, stumbling over my own feet as I grasped at the guard and tried to hold on. It was no use. Even he couldn’t stop me from falling because he was now focused on the crowd, his weapon up as he shouted orders. Oblivious to the fact that I’d collapsed.

I was on my knees, stunned but not out, and I reached back to feel my skull, which was throbbing. Warmth covered my fingers when I probed the area, and I pulled my hand away to find it covered in blood. Just seeing it made my vision spin. I hated blood.

“Open the gate! Open the gate!” someone was yelling.

I felt myself being pulled to my feet, hands gripping my forearms tight enough to leave bruises. I didn’t complain, couldn’t complain. I was too dizzy. Too stunned and disoriented. Too devastated to be part of a species that could be so hateful and cruel.

Once we were inside the District and the gate was shut, Brentwood dropped to his knees in front of me. “Relax. Take a deep breath.” He held his hand up in front of my face. “Tell me how many fingers you see.”

I blinked a couple times before they came into focus. “Three.”

“Good.” He exhaled. “Who’s the