Entanglement (YA Dystopian Romance) - By Dan Rix Page 0,61

them, but the road was dark.

Amber followed his gaze. “Are you running away from someone?”

“See the pedal on the right?” he said. “Push it!”

“So you are running?”

“Amber, can I drive?” he said.

“No,” she said, and the car glided forward. “I’ve seen you drive.” Through the windshield, the high beams chased the shadows, which scampered back and crouched behind bushes.

Aaron sighed, and Amber’s warm scent floated over him, confusing his nerves. Beneath him, the highway droned endlessly, and it would have put him to sleep but for the icy pricks of panic he felt across his skin. No, they weren’t being followed.

Instead, he watched the speedometer. The needle climbed past eighty, then ninety. Then a hundred.

He raised his eyebrows.

“Do I scare you?” said Amber.

“Are you trying to?”

“Usually.”

“Amber, I know what’s going to happen to you,” he said. “I overheard them. When you become the heiress, they’re going to make you like the other juvengamy women.”

“They’re not.” An orange street lamp streaked past them and illuminated her expression—a mixture of exasperation and helplessness.

“You know I’d give myself to Dr. Selavio before I let him do that to you,” said Aaron.

“That’s your best plan?” she said.

“What’s yours?”

She took her eyes off the road to look at him. “Clive isn’t my half,” she said. “You are.”

“Haven’t we been over this?” said Aaron, scanning the deserted lanes in the rear-view mirror one more time.

“So? Isn’t it your deepest, most erotic fantasy?” she said, turning back to the road.

“Be mature for five seconds—”

“And it’s the truth,” she said. “He isn’t my real half. It’s an arrangement.”

Aaron glanced over at her. “Meaning what?”

“Don’t you think it’s too convenient?” she said.

“You and Clive?”

“We’re two of the oldest families,” she said. “Together we’d form a perfect bloodline.”

The time had passed too quickly when she pulled in front of his house, leaving the engine running—and Aaron noticed the state of his front yard.

Runny sediment trickled from cracked flowerpots, mustard yellow, and drained in rivulets off the curb. On the lawn, murky rainwater rippled in the deep tire tracks left by the Beamer. And next to his front door, glass splinters dangled from a broken window. He watched as a breeze severed one loose and it shattered onto the porch.

“Keep driving,” he said.

Amber gunned it down the street, and Aaron directed her to the botanical garden several blocks away. They parked in the vacant lot. In front of them, dark, muddy steps climbed into a grove. She killed the engine, and silence flooded in.

“A perfect bloodline,” Aaron repeated, at last beginning to understand. “In other words, the bloodline of an heir.”

“Clive and I weren’t juvengamy babies because we aren’t even halves,” she said. “They’re going to switch me with his half.”

“But halves can’t be switched,” he said.

“What about faked?” she said.

“Faked? What do you mean?”

“Why do you think Casler wants to test the machine on you?” she said. “Because you’re my real half. He wants you out of the picture, but still alive; he’s going to drain your clairvoyance.”

“But what about Clive’s half?” he said.

“Wouldn’t you have seen her by now?”

Aaron opened his mouth to protest, but stopped when he remembered Clive’s tattoo. Suddenly, the mysterious absence of Clive’s half made sense. She was hidden away somewhere, brain dead but still alive. Dr. Selavio had already operated on her, drained her, taken her out of the picture so Clive could pretend to be Amber’s half. Now, in order to complete the switch, Dr. Selavio had to do the same thing to Aaron.

“So we’re halves?” he said.

She bit her lip, waiting for his reaction, and as Aaron stared at her, he realized she had solved the riddle. They had chosen her for the heir, the perfect half—when really she belonged to Aaron.

“We have to run away,” he said.

“I’m already packed,” she said proudly, gesturing to the back seat where a huge, overstuffed suitcase was spilling onto the floor.

Aaron eyed the bag doubtfully. “Did you pack underwear?” he said.

“Check”

“Socks?”

“Socks?” she said. “That’s the second thing on your list?”

Aaron stared at her. “You didn’t pack socks.”

“You didn’t pack anything,” she said.

The intensity of her green eyes stunned him. They were richer, he noticed, and all the colors were showing. The night was over.

Amber’s cell phone rang, making her jump.

She stared at the caller ID, then silenced it. They both checked the clock—and caught each other. Five-forty-five in the morning. Suddenly, they staggered out of the car and into each other’s arms, just starting to grasp that they were halves. A strip of pink stained