Page 38

Wake up. Wake up. Wake up.

The fire is so hot, it’s searing my skull, melting my retinas so badly as the smoke takes its death hold on my lungs. I watch in horror as the bodies of my classmates burn and bubble around me. Maison’s arms grip me hard, his spicy scent the only source of comfort. But as I behold him, the smile on his face turns nothing short of predatory. The inside of the airplane erupts in flames, and I grasp onto him, terror-stricken, as the plane screeches and shakes as we plummet to the ground. Maison pushes me away from him and rises, leaving an empty cold hole beside me. With a mocking and menacing stare, he walks backward into the flames and vanishes into the darkness, rendering me in shock. It’s then I realize it’s not Maison I’m looking at, but Micah’s devilish features taunting me. Laughing at me as my skin ignites and the flames catch hold of my clothes and hair, and it burns every inch of me. Terror rushes through me as I choke on the ash and desperately try, but unable to, scream.

“London, wake up.”

Fire.

I blow out a breath and inhale a mouthful of smoke. I need to remember it’s just a campfire and Maison’s arms are wrapped around me, and Micah is not trying to kill me. I’m feeling heated, I realize, and the past two nights have been anything but warm, so my body isn’t used to it.

My eyes shoot open, the sharp edges of the earth poking through the soft blanket beneath me. It’s dark, pitch-black beyond the flames, but as I glance to the sky, a few stars glitter through a thin veil of clouds that reflect off the nearby moon.

I’m still shaking as I come to my senses, and Maison wraps his entire body around me, protecting me from whatever horrors are out there. “Hey, hey, hey, it’s just a dream.” His voice is soothing, and he brings me back from whatever ugly place my mind went to. My face is covered in sweat, and I am doing my best not to fall completely into him. “You had a nightmare, London,” he breathes. “Whatever you just saw isn’t real.”

I rest my head on his arm, and my heart rages while every nerve on my skin fires up, the pit in my stomach growing. I lay silently beside him, trembling as my terror is replaced by something worse… dread. This is real, very real, and that wasn’t merely a dream, it was a memory. A vivid and actual recollection.

“Are you okay?” I feel my abs tense as he whispers, and it’s all I can do to not scream like I wanted to in my dream. I manage a swallow, but my throat and lips are as dry as the ash blowing into my face.

“Yeah,” I say hesitantly, my voice cracking slightly.

He tightens his hold, his lips grazing my cheek as he reaches over me and passes me a bottle of water. “Take a big gulp of this,” he tells me, and I listen to him finishing the rest of it, savoring every drop.

“What time is it?” I ask, looking around, my eyes not yet adjusted to what lays beyond the flame. We fell asleep relatively fast once he got the fire going, which was after I bathed and scrubbed my skin for nearly an hour in the icy lake. I stayed in so long, my skin turned blue. Then I got dressed, and we nibbled on pretzels, which eased the hunger pains enough for me to pass out on the little bed Maison made for us.

His thumb wipes a bead of sweat from my nose. “It’s almost morning, I think.”

The flames are blazing and beautiful. He must have stayed up all night to keep this fire going.

“You didn’t sleep?” I ask, peering up at him.

“No, but that’s okay. I wanted to make sure you slept. You’ve been out a while.”

It’s the first time I’ve slept—truly slept since being here. I turn to face him, and he’s lying on his side, propping his head up with his hand, watching me, calm and relaxed. He has the same smoldering look as yesterday, and I don’t see a monster when I look at him. I don’t see what Nigel tells me he is—a guy who tormented a girl and shared her. Then again, I’m not the best judge of character. Chris had me entangled in his games for months.

“Is it time to go back?” I ask him, although I hope he says no because I never want to return to that awful place, not for the rest of my life for any reason. I’m done with the airplane, its death stench, and the horrible memories that are still so fresh in my mind. They can rescue us just as easily here; it’s not like we traveled that far.

“Yeah, we should,” Maison says and my stomach twists. “Micah’s probably freaking out that we’ve been gone so long, but I want to show you something first.”

I tilt my head, but his eyes just glimmer in the firelight till he jerks them upward. I follow his gaze and let out a surprised gasp. The clouds have parted and sheets of green and pink dart through the sky. I scramble to sit up to get a better look away from the dancing flame. I’ve never seen the northern lights before, and never imagined they’d be so bright, so intense. They dance as if singing a silent song—a rhythm, a beat, a pulse of nature. They twist, twirl, stretch, and curve, completely mesmerizing me into stillness and peace I never thought would be possible again. I fall back into Maison’s warmth and stare out at them.

“They’re beautiful,” I whisper, even though beautiful is hardly the word to describe them. They leave me breathless, and I can’t help but grin as I’m swallowed up by them.

His fingers nudge the edge of my sweater—his sweater. “I love seeing you smile,” he says, watching me instead of the celestial show above us. “We’re alive, London. Remember moments like this to remind yourself of that. We survived that plane crash, and we will survive this island. You’ll be back to writing your news stories in no time.” He chuckles.

He lays his head down to join me and his hold is unwavering as his lips graze my neck.

I flinch as he tugs on the edge of my sweatpants and moves my hair to the side of my face. A scent must be radiating out of me—a primal response to this situation, as his fingers tease the fabric of my shirt. My body bursts with the need to release, for his touch, and to feel good in this moment with the hottest guy I’ve ever cuddled with like this. The fact he could be dangerous only causes a clench inside me in places it really shouldn’t.

His lips begin to suck, his tongue lapping up my neck so softly, I take a minute to realize what he’s doing or that he’s kissing me.

“Maison,” I whisper as the feel of his kisses travel across my entire body. It takes every ounce of control to say his name without trembling while he seems so languid beside me. He presses his hand to my heart and covers the swells of my breast, which seem to have tightened in the anticipation of being touched. It’s a painful sensation that brings me nothing but euphoria, and my pulse is beating out of control.

He stops his soft tongue strokes. “Why is your little heart racing so badly, baby? Do I scare you?”

My hands edge toward his hair, desperate to pull it and run my fingers through it. He smells like the shampoo from our bath yesterday—a pleasant scent since my nose is still scarred with phantom decay. My voice comes out unsteady. “Why did you pretend to be Micah in English class the other day? How often do you do that?”

He flinches. “I thought we weren’t talking about Micah?” I seem to have struck a nerve, especially since with every mention of Micah, Maison stiffens and hardens.

“I think under the circumstances, it’s a fair question,” I say pointedly.