Power Ranger Ninja Storm by Heather Ray (ebooks online reader .txt) 📕

for future reference. Just more data to use against me in case he wants to screw with my mind again.

"So," I mutter, drawing his attention back to me, "don't you two have somewhere more important to be?"

"Yes, we do," Hunter grumbles, very pointedly. And suddenly, I have a flash of insight. I had meant the motocross race Kelly sponsored them in...but they have other plans.

Blake takes a breath before turning to give his brother a glare. Apparently these two communicate without words often, for Hunter gets the message. His lips merely tighten as he backs off, leaving Blake and me alone.

Well, as alone as two people standing in the middle of a crowded beach can be. Too bad we're not really alone...I'm just itching to drive my fist into his nose. But I don't want to draw any attention, and to be honest...I don't really want to start another fight. I just want to prove that I'm formidable. That I'm a Power Ranger, not some brainless wimp.

Yesterday, the Navy Thunder Ranger was my enemy. He feigned injury to learn the secrets of Ninja Ops. He didn't even have the balls to actually fight

for Sensei; he preferred to trick me into letting my guard down. He had no qualms driving his Thunder Staff into my gut when we faced off in the woods.

But...he also helped us. He and Hunter teamed up with us to defeat the ninja ghosts on the path to the Mountain of Lost Ninjas. We actually fought rather well together. We even defeated Lothor...at least for the moment.

My lips curl into an angry snarl as I slide my sunglasses back in place. I can't believe this! I just stood there, staring into his eyes...searching for the warmth and humor of the guy that flirted with me at Storm Chargers when we first met. I hate how much I want

to believe that's

the real Blake...that he's not the cold-hearted bastard that pummeled us in the quarry a couple days ago.

I hate how much I'd started to like

him...

His face still inscrutable, he casually looks me up and down...probably checking to see if I have my Morpher on. I'm not making that mistake again!

"Hunter and I are leaving."

I stare blankly as I slowly process that information. Suddenly, I feel the urge to interrogate him. Where are you going? Will you ever come back? What about Lothor? What about... us? The Rangers, I mean. Not...not you and me. There is

no you and me.

Instead, all I vocalize is an oh-so-eloquent "Oh."

He almost fidgets. His arms release from their tense fold, and fall into his pockets. "We have to figure things out," he continues, despite the fact that I hadn't asked for an explanation. "We don't belong here."

Images flood into my mind, of how well we worked as a team. After all, who'd ever heard of a team of three Rangers? Five sounded so much more...complete

.

But he's right. He doesn't belong. There's too much bad blood, too much lying and betrayal. I can't trust him...not again. I opened up to him, offered him help without thinking of the consequences, and he lied to my face without blinking an eye. I know he's a great fighter...but I can't turn my back on him.

That heavy, uncomfortable silence hangs around us. Between us...almost like a tangible wall. I look down from his face, watching one of his hands emerge from his pocket. He began to raise it...I can almost imagine him lifting my chin so he could meet my eyes and talk

to me. But he doesn't do that.

Instead, he pulls his own sunglasses from the pocket of his open shirt, and slips them on, adding another barrier between us. Now I can't see his eyes at all, just as he can't see mine. He's so closed off from me he might as well be wearing his full uniform.

Is he hiding from me, or is this just another act of simple contempt? Not...that I care

, or anything.

"We came to say goodbye," he tells me smoothly. Effortlessly. "Tell Dustin and Shane."

And with that, he turns away, with Hunter falling into step beside him. Together, the Thunder Rangers walk away, not slowing down or even glancing back.

That's it. No discussion...no acknowledgement

of what happened between us yesterday. No excuses, no explanations, no apologies.

I didn't realize before now how much I want him to apologize. Not that empty "I'm sorry" he delivered while he was still holding Cam hostage. A real, earnest apology, that I could see in his eyes. Hear in his voice.

I can almost hear that perfect appeal in my mind: "Tori, I'm sorry I used you. I needed to get to your Sensei...I needed to avenge my parents, and I was blind to anything else. Please believe me, I didn't want to hurt you. You have no idea how hard it was for me to betray your trust. I'd do anything to take it back... to take it all back. I wish we could start all over again...and I'd just be me. No lies, no tricks, no masks...just me. Just Blake."

A bottle of Coke appears in front of me.

"Hey Tori...you okay?"

I generate a sweet smile for...what's-his-name...despite the ugly disappointment that knots my stomach. "Yeah, I'm fine."

He's not so easily convinced. "Who were those guys?"

I shrug casually as I take a sip of the soda. "They're my friend Dustin's biking buddies. They just wanted me to deliver a message."

I stretch my arms before settling back on my beach mat. "So, finish that story about surfing in Waikiki? I've never been to Hawaii."

He's eager to continue the tale of his exploits surfing across the U.S.A. And I nod and smile, nursing my soda and that internal ache that refuses to go away.

I'm not mad that Blake kidnapped Sensei. It was a dishonorable, underhanded plot, and vengeance is never a solution to anything, but I could excuse him on the basis of his need to seek justice for his parents' murder. Fine. That doesn't go beyond the scope of my forgiveness.

I'm mad that Blake used me. He manipulated me... painting himself as a brave, charismatic, adventurous, noble guy. He pretended to be interested in me. He played me for a fool...and I fell

for it.

I fell

for it! Sensei was almost killed, and it's my fault! I thought I was strong and smart. But I'm vulnerable, gullible, and so, so

stupid.

I'm just weak...and I hate

myself for it.

What went through Blake's mind when he said goodbye to Tori?

Author's Note:

What follows is the companion story to "The Weakest Link,"

this time told in Blake's voice. As a result, the dialogue is nearly identical, though the perspective has shifted. Considering the limited insight we've been given into Blake's personality and background thus far, this is really more of an interpretation than a true reflection of the canon character. We'll see how the Blake/Tori relationship unfolds on the series. Maybe it'll validate my interpretation, and maybe it won't. Uncertainty sure hasn't stopped me from writing character pieces in the past.

It's an exceptionally hot day. The kind of heat that makes you reach up and loosen your collar. The kind of heat that makes you want to take refuge in the shadow of a large tree.

But that external heat is just a shadow when compared the flame of anger in my stomach. Anger...considering the hell I've been through the past few days, that's the understatement of the century.

How else can you react when your entire world is thrown upside-down? When you learn your allies are your enemies, and the enemies you've hated for so long...just might be your only shot at victory?

This isn't the first time I've experienced this kind of upheaval. I seem to be cursed...it happens time and again to me.

The first time was in my youth, so long ago that my memories are vague and unclear. I remember the feeling of simple contentment, something that's been beyond my reach ever since the first tragedy in my life struck. The day my mother was diagnosed with a rare heart disease that slowly ate away at her strength. The woman I remembered as being strong and infallible became so very fragile; it was terrifying for a boy of six to experience. After several anguished months, she succumbed to the way of all flesh, and left my father and me alone.

The first vivid memory I have is of her funeral. Unlike the picture painted in all the movies, it was a beautiful day, and the heat of the sun made me itch in my neat black suit. I watched the coffin slide into the earth, and it struck me that I'd never see her again. That she was gone

. And for the first time, I felt the burn of anger.

Not the typical temper a child displays when he wants candy before dinner. I mean the kind of searing anger that consumes all sympathy, and makes the world a cruel, dismal place. The kind of anger that kills innocence, and makes it so difficult to feel anything else.

It was impossible for me to comprehend that a person as good and loving as her should die. It's just as incomprehensible to me today.

My mother's death scarred me, but I survived far better than my father did. He found his escape at the bottom of a liquor bottle, and for the next few years I watched the shameful erosion of the good man I had idolized. Once a respectable professional, he let his newfound drug of choice dull his senses to the point where nothing else mattered. And when alcohol wasn't enough to quench his need to escape, he explored other substances that promised to ease the ache of