Unwilling (Book One of the Compelled Trilogy 1) by Kristen Pike Read Free Book Online Page A

work!” Elias cried flinging himself into the room. “It won’t work! She is coming for me and she means to kill me!” He whimpered. A look was on his face that Rowan had never before seen her brother wear. Not when they discovered father dead, or when mother came in the night. He was only ever brave, never letting Rowan see the fear he had. Now, he looked like an animal, his eyes darting hysterically, his hair disheveled. He had small cut on his neck and blood dribbled down into the collar of his off-white sleeping shirt.
    “Elias, I’m not sure-“ Rowan started, puzzled.
    “You must listen Rowan! I cannot compel her any longer. I must go! I must leave! I am so sorry, but-”
    “ELIAS!” Rowan heard her mother roar deep in the house, causing her brother to stagger backward. He looked stricken, the blood draining from his face. He shook his head once at her, and disappeared back down the darkened hall. “ELIAS! I WILL KILL YOU FOR THIS!” Her mother bellowed.
    Rowan tried to scramble from her bed only to tangle in her blankets and go sprawling along the floor. The front door banged open and Rowan heard the pounding of footsteps on the gravel running from the house, as if their life depended on it, which perhaps it did.
    “Elias!” Rowan screamed, disentangling herself from her blankets and staggering to her feet. She unlocked her window and threw it open, the cold winter air slammed into her lungs, stealing her breath. “Please Elias, do not leave me! ELIAS!” Rowan shrieked, but already the footsteps were no more than a memory, a whisper in the night. A shadow that had once held her brother. Even if he had been lost this past week, she still loved him, she could have gotten him back.
    Now, the last person Rowan loved in this world was abandoning her also, without a second look back. Rowan slid down the wall, her heart collapsing into a dusty misshapen pile of broken dreams and a life outside this house and hundred million things she would never get to say to Elias. One by one, the stars overhead winked down, the moon smirking as though it and her mother had won the war, Elias was gone, and Rowan might as well be dead for all the feeling that remained in her limp, shivering body.
     
     
     
     
     
     
    FOUR
    SEVEN MONTHS AGO- JANUARY
     
     
     
    Vordis looked around him at the empty beds with crisp white linens, at the sterile walls and worn wood floor. A deep silence penetrated his ears as his blurry vision focused on a stethoscope hanging on the wall, his own heart beating slowly, so slowly, struggling to find a reason to even do that much.
    Incompetent.
    To old.
    Not good enough.
    Vordis harrumphed, praying a kid with a broken arm would walk through his practice door, or a laboring mother, at this point he would take a case of the sniffles.
    Inept.
    His hands shake so badly now, he sliced open Daniel Murphy’s leg, he needed six stitches.
    Not good enough.
    He could hear the whispers of his fellow townspeople as they hurried by his building, laughing at the old doctor who dwelled inside, his hearing was shot to hell, but when the people around you made no effort to disguise their mockery, it wasn’t that hard to hear them anyway. Vordis clasped his hands in front of him to keep them from shaking, but no matter how hard he squeezed, he could still feel his leathery, veiny, hands trembling.
    Clumsy.
    He walks with a hunch like some kind of freak.
    Not good enough.
    Vordis tried to sit up straighter, but pain started leaking down his spine until he hunched back over with a sigh, turning his head down to the floor.
    Incompetent.
    To old.
    Not good enough.
    Not good enough, he thought to himself sadly. Maybe it WAS time to retire. He had had a good run, 30 years as a doctor; it was more than most had gotten.
    He knew he would never retire though, he could never give up the thrill of a diagnosis, the look on a face when he cured someone, that adoration, that gratefulness, he lived for it. He had been born to