Riot (Scarred Souls 4)

I nodded my head and smiled through my tears. “You heard me correctly.” My hand drifted down off his cheek to run over his tattoo. I traced the numbers 901, then said, “You are Ilya Konev. You are from Russia. You were taken from an orphanage as a child by the Wraiths and brought here. You are twenty-four years old. I don’t know more than that, but…” I laughed, unable to hold back my happiness. “You have a name. You are someone, moy voin.”

“Ilya … Konev…?” Ilya whispered, the words unfamiliar on his lips.

“Yes,” I replied, and my smile grew wider.

Ilya’s skin bumped even more as the temperature in the room dropped. Releasing him, I reached for a towel for each of us. When he took hold of my wrist, I turned to see him looking at me, his expression still one of deep surprise. “You…?” he questioned. He looked at the back of my neck, where my tattoo was placed, and asked, “Do you know your name?”

Standing straight, I answered, “Inessa. My name is Inessa Belrova. From Russia. I also was taken by the Wraiths from an orphanage.”

Ilya was silent in response. I could see this information had cost him more energy. Taking his hand, I brought him to stand beside the towels and quickly dried his wet skin. He stood there watching my every move. When I had dried myself, I walked us to the narrow bed and sat down on the edge. Ilya immediately followed my lead.

He still watched me. He was watching me with such intensity that I felt a self-conscious blush travel up my neck and bloom on my cheeks. I ducked my head, escaping his rapt attention, but he captured my chin before it tucked against my chest and guided it to meet his eyes.

“Inessa,” he said quietly, like my name was a prayer on his lips. My heart skipped a beat, my lips parting in response. This close I noticed flecks of gray in his blue irises. “Inessa Belrova,” he murmured, adding my surname.

Shifting his body beside me, he pushed my hair from my face. Inessa and Ilya.”

I closed my eyes, savoring the sound of our names being uttered side by side. I squeezed the hand that still lay in mine. “Say it again,” I asked.

Ilya sucked in a quick breath but complied. “Inessa and Ilya. Ilya and Inessa … more than just our numbers.”

My eyes slammed open. A new kind of expression had taken root on Ilya’s face. I determined it was due to the knowledge of who he was. But before I could think about it anymore, he slowly leaned in and pressed his mouth to mine. I moaned as our lips touched. Ilya’s lips were tentative and gentle.

I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

Ilya’s mouth broke away, and he pressed his forehead to mine. I listened to his controlled breathing, then he said, “As much as I’m pleased I know my name, I think I like knowing yours more.”

“Ilya,” I whispered in reply, overcome by the confession.

Ilya opened his mouth to say something, but I shook my head. “Lie down,” I commanded gently.

A stubbornness flitted over his face. “I’m not weak,” he uttered coldly.

“I know,” I said soothingly, “but I’m tired from today and want to lie beside you.”

This seemed to work. Ilya carefully lay down, favoring the parts of his body that were hurting him. When his head hit the mattress, he turned to look at me. I mirrored his position. His hand lay on the patch of mattress between us. I covered his hand with my own.

Ilya watched me, but it wasn’t in possession or want. He was looking at me as though our time was limited. Like I would be ripped from his side any second.

A surge of sadness rushed through me because I knew it could be true. Ilya’s eyebrows pinched together as he watched me. I knew my sorrowful expression must be the cause. “I hate Master for forbidding me to come to you anymore.”

Ilya’s breathing paused. His fingers beneath my hand became rigid. Before he could speak, I continued. “He said that his work with you is done. He will keep me to himself. He is going to keep me in my quarters.”

“He’s going to cage you? Imprison you further?”

“Yes.”

Ilya shifted toward me, his thick muscular leg lifting to cover my own. “How do you know all of this?”

“My chiri. She has become my friend. Her name is Maya.”

His eyes widened in surprise. “She knows her name?”

“She knows everything that happens in this pit. She can move round undetected, without suspicion because of her lowly status.” I glanced to his identity tattoo and explained, “One of her people was able to discover who we are.”

Ilya stared in disbelief. As he did, another name circled my head: Valentin. A finger coasted down my cheek. I closed my eyes at the feel, then opened them again. Ilya was waiting for me to speak.

So I did. “She discovered something else, too,” I confided. “She found that I had a brother. He was brought here to the pit.”

“A brother?”

I nodded, then turned my hand over to grip his. I needed his hand tighter now. A pain had built in my chest, and my head ached as I tried to push myself to remember him. Something about him. All I got were broken images and fractured flashes flitting through my mind.

I squeezed my eyes tight shut when a pressure built behind them. I opened them, meeting Ilya’s worried gaze. “He was called Valentin. Valentin Belrov.” I sighed in frustration. I lifted my hand and rubbed it across my forehead. “But I can’t really remember him … the drugs … the drugs have robbed me of a clear recognition of his face.” I thought of Maya’s face and said, “I see scars. I see Maya’s scarred face, and something about it reminds me of a male. Then I dream. I dream of a boy holding me tightly, telling me he will come back for me. Other images sometimes break through, but I don’t know if they are real or in my imagination.”

“What do you see?”

“A larger male,” I replied, trying my very best to hold on to the picture I saw in sleep most nights. I moved my hand to my cheek and neck. “Scars. He has scars that litter his skin.” I then moved my hand to Ilya’s chest and all the tattoos Master had forced upon his champion’s skin. “He has tattoos, like yours, but at the same time not like yours. More like writing rather than pictures.” I looked down at my bracelet and at the metal. “He also wears a collar, like my bracelet. And it makes him angry. It makes him change. He goes from being kind to being cold and brutal in a flash. Just like my bracelet makes me crave a male as soon as the drug hits my blood.”

My eyes filled with tears, some unknown emotion making me very sad. Ilya moved closer still, his body heat warming my cold, shivering skin. Inhaling a long breath, I said. “But thinking of him makes me sad. Because I think this male … he was someone to me.” I patted my chest over my heart. “I feel him here, like he is part of me.” I blinked twice to clear the tears from my eyes. “I now believe he is my brother.”

“Where is he now?”

“Maya couldn’t find out. His information had been taken. I don’t even know his number. I don’t know if he was forced to fight or if he was a chiri.” My throat clogged with a large lump, but I managed to say, “I don’t even know if he still lives.”

Ilya looked away. When he looked back, his eyes flashed with understanding. “194,” he murmured, his voice indicating he had understood something in his mind. I frowned. He explained, “The Russian new champion fighter. 194. You were watching him in the training pits.” Ilya nodded and said, “He has scars and words tattooed on his skin.”

My stomach rolled at the thought of that frightening male. But Ilya was right. When I had seen him watching me, I couldn’t help but watch him back. “Yes,” I replied. “I am used to males staring at me. I am used to the fighters watching me on Master’s arm, but when I saw that warrior, I couldn’t help but stare. He has scars. The tattoos … the red mark around his neck.” I shook my head, disappointment flooding my heart. “But the male wasn’t clear to me. For a silly moment, I let myself wonder if that fighter could be the male from my dreams. But although similar, he also looked so different from what my dreams show me.” I laughed a mirthless laugh. “I am being foolish. All fighters have scars and tattoos, many have collars or contraptions that Master forces upon them to inject them with his drugs.” I sagged into the mattress. “For a moment, when I saw him watching me, I wondered if he knew me, if he could possibly explain why someone who looks like him is in my dreams. But I forgot it quickly. When Maya told me of my brother, the young boy I see at night made sense. But he looked nothing like the male in the pits. It was wishful thinking that I had anybody in this place. That I wasn’t alone.”