Glory Page 11

  The words are out before I can think. Heat singes my entire body as if the water between us is boiling. Burn looks down like he’s discovered something fascinating below the water’s surface.

  Am I wrong about how he feels? “Burn?”

  He raises his gaze, and in his eyes I see nothing but pain.

  I reach toward him but he shifts away, and I drop my hand back into the water with a splash. “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “For saying . . . for saying that I love you.”

  “I’m the one who’s sorry. I don’t—” He stops.

  His meaning’s obvious.

  I force a smile, but I can’t look him in the eyes anymore. Instead, I focus on his left shoulder, on the scar that’s the shape of a pine cone, a remnant of battle during our first trip out of Haven together. “Don’t feel bad,” I say. “It’s okay if you don’t feel the same way.”

  A thousand gallons of adrenaline slam into my chest, and suddenly I’m giddy. My hands stroke back and forth under the water, and I dig my toes into the sandy bottom. “It’s kind of funny when you think about it. Well, not funny. More like ironic or tragic.” It’s so much easier to talk to his shoulder than his face.

  “Glory.”

  My cheeks are on fire again and I look up to the sky. “I’m not kidding. It really is funny.” I raise my hands, then drop them, splashing us both. “Cal wants me, but I don’t want him. I want you, but you don’t want me. And now you and Cal are friends. Ha! I guess your friendship with Cal is easier this way. That’s a good thing, right? And when you think about it, this is all good. I mean great. I mean there’s so much going on right now. None of us needs extra complications like . . .”

  Gulping for air, I push off with my legs and float, dropping my head back. I rise and look down at the water. “I got the wrong idea. Crazy when you think—”

  Burn strides through the water and takes my face in his hands.

  His large fingers dig into my hair and his palms cover my cheeks. His eyes seem to darken, and I can’t catch my breath. With so many emotions coursing through me, looking him straight in the eyes is dangerous—I could hurt him—but I can’t look away.

  He leans down, closer and closer, until our foreheads touch.

  “Glory.” The sound is so deep that I feel it as much as I hear it: the heat of his breath, the vibrations from the pitch and timbre of his voice.

  I’ve run out of words. My lips part but nothing comes out.

  His mouth hovers so close, there’s barely a molecule of air separating our lips. His nose slides against mine as our mouths draw even closer, as we breathe the same air, and I don’t want this perfect moment to end. I want to stay here forever, lost in time with my lips aching to taste his, my wet skin yearning for his touch.

  His thumbs brush my cheekbones, and he exhales so loudly it’s more like a groan. I raise my hand to the scar on his shoulder, and the space between our mouths is erased. His lips crush mine in a hungry kiss.

  My fingers dive into his hair, grip his neck, slide over his back. He lifts me against him, and his body’s hard and hot against my cold, wet skin.

  As we kiss, Burn cuts through the water toward the shore, and I grip the sides of his chest with my knees.

  The stones crunch under his feet, and he sets me gently down on the same sloped boulder where we first kissed. He balances above me, our bodies close but not touching. His breaths come heavy and fast; his eyes stay focused on mine.

  Fear eats into my joy. This is too much like last time when he changed and almost hurt me. I can’t stop shaking. He’d never hurt me on purpose—I know that—but that doesn’t mean it won’t happen.

  As if sensing my thoughts, he rolls to the side to lie next to me on the boulder.

  “Burn, I know you won’t hurt me.”

  He doesn’t respond. He puts on his shirt, then lies back beside me and shifts to put his arm under my shoulders. As the sun bakes our skin and dries our clothes, I cuddle against him, and our breathing synchronizes.

  I don’t think I’ve ever felt so calm, so content. This—lying like this in his arms—is enough.

  But as time passes and the sun sets, reality creeps in.

  “Are you going to Haven with the invasion team?” I ask.

  “Yes. Are you?”

  I turn toward him. “I don’t want to leave until my dad gets back. I’m terrified that I’ll never see him again.”

  Burn shifts onto his side to face me. “He’ll be back.”

  I want to ask him how he knows, but now that we’re lying face-to-face, body-to-body, I can no longer talk. My senses heightened, I can almost feel the air flowing between us—heating, pulling us closer together, even though neither one of us is moving.

  Looking into his eyes, I concentrate on suppressing my Deviance. I want to see Burn, really see him, and not in the way my Gift allows. I don’t care about his inner workings, the organs, the blood, the synapses in his mind. I want to see the truth of him—what people BTD called the soul.

  He draws his hand down my arm. “Are you cold?”

  I shake my head.

  “Are you comfortable?”

  “I’m fine. I’m great. I’m perfect.”

  He takes a breath. My shirt brushes his and it’s like the cloth is part of our bodies. He closes his eyes. “Maybe . . . We can . . . One more kiss.”

  “You’re trembling.”

  “I’m—”

  “It’s okay.” I cup his face. His chin stubble rubs against my thumb, lighting sparks inside me. I feel like we’re connected, joined as one person. He’d never hurt me.

  Minutes ago, I was content just to lie in his arms, but now—now, now—I feel like if he doesn’t kiss me, I’ll die.

  I slide on the boulder until our faces are close together, our lips inches apart, his breath, heavy and hot, mingling with mine. I tip my chin up to press my lips softly to his.

  “Just one,” he says against my lips.

  “Mmm,” I say, not wanting to break the bond. I’m not frightened, not really, but his fingers are stiff, frozen in place on my back.

  “Relax,” I murmur, as my hands roam over his shirt.

  His muscles are like rock—hot, rippled rock—and when I slide my hand up, his shirt comes up, too. My fingertips brush his skin, and a sound—almost a growl—vibrates against my hand.

  He cups my head in his palm and deepens our kiss.

  I can’t think, I can’t hear, I can’t reason—the only sensations I can process are the heat and texture and movement of our exploring mouths and hands. His tongue grazes mine, and a new feeling, urgent and sharp, flashes through me. It’s like the world has vanished. I can’t sense anything but him—his skin, his breath, his heartbeat. My own.

  Rolling me onto my back, his body presses me down. I’m drowning in his lips, engulfed in his scent, willingly captive to his muscles and weight.

  Then he flies off me so quickly I gasp. The air over my body is cold but still charged.

  I sit up. “What’s wrong?” I don’t want to stop. We said just one kiss and have already gone past that limit, but my whole body vibrates, and all I can think about is having his lips on mine again and again and again.

  “You won’t hurt me.” I reach toward him. “It’s okay. I trust you.”

  He lunges forward, and I have no choice but to lie back down on the rock as he hovers above. His huge arms bend, his forearms flat against the boulder on either side of my head. He lifts one arm and remains above me, leaning on one hand, his other tracing through my hair, over my face, my neck, my shoulder as we gaze into each other’s eyes.

  When he finally kisses me again, I realize he’s changing. Under my touch, his body expands—muscles stretch his skin, veins pulse on his forehead, and his lips become larger, harder.

  Pushing down my fear, I run my hands up the sides of his torso, testing the changing surface, exploring the hard disks and ridges, the heat of his skin through his shirt. I arch, and ou
r bodies brush.

  He pulls back to hover over me again, and I look deep into his eyes. His face has changed, but he’s still there, I think—I hope. As long as I can see into his eyes, I’ll be safe.

  Yet I’m aware that, at any moment, he might push against me too hard, he might crush me, or his body might demand things mine’s not ready to give. And when we’re kissing, I can’t see his eyes.

  I try to force down my doubt. I want the heat from Burn’s body to melt the snaking tendrils of fear that have chilled the delicious fire inside me.

  But my fear doesn’t melt. Instead, my Gift kicks in.

  Trembling, I connect to him until I can sense the sparks in his mind. They flash from green to red, as he struggles to stop the transformation.

  You won’t hurt me. I think calming thoughts as I look into his eyes. It’s okay. Don’t be frightened.

  I don’t know whether I’m trying to reassure him or myself, and I have no idea whether he even senses what I’m thinking, but the sparks change from black and red to blue and green. Then, drawing ragged breaths, he slowly changes back to his normal self.

  I blink to break our connection, and he rolls onto the rock beside me.

  A screaming pain grabs my head. I raise my hands to my temples.

  “What’s wrong?” Burn sits and pulls me up with him.

  It’s as if someone drove a spike through my head. The pain’s too intense. I can’t fight the darkness as Burn gathers me into his arms.

  Chapter Seventeen

  MY EYES OPEN. Where am I? covered by something soft and heavy, I run my hands over its surface. Fur. From a big animal, based on the size of the pelt.

  Through the remnants of my headache, memories flash, but I can’t form a full picture of what happened, where I am, or why.

  Across from me, sunlight paints stone walls as it streaks through the wooden shutters. A wooden table, like the ones they have in the Concord pub, sits in the center of the room with two chairs built from branches. A cupboard is next to a fireplace on my right.

  Burn must have brought me here.

  The door opens, bringing a rush of light and fresh air. I shield my eyes against the brightness and see Burn’s silhouette filling the doorway as he ducks through.

  “You’re awake.”

  “Is this where you live?”

  “Yup.” A wonderful smell wafts through the room as he strides over to the table and sets down a cast-iron pan. He goes to the cupboard and retrieves metal plates, forks, and two cups that he fills with water from a jug. “Hungry?”

  “My stomach’s been growling since you brought in that pan. What’s in it?” I lower my feet and they land on a small gray rug. Under it, the floor is formed by hundreds of interlocking flat rocks, fit together like a puzzle. Someone spent a long time creating it. Burn?

  “Eggs and bacon.” He scoops the food onto the plates. “The only way to cook in my house is over the fire”—he tips his head toward the fireplace—“and it’s too hot today, so I used the stove at the Assembly Hall.”

  “What’s bacon?”

  “It’s salted and smoked pig meat. Really good.”

  Stretching, I walk over to one of the chairs. “What happened last night?”

  His head snaps up, but he doesn’t answer.

  “How did I get here?”

  He leans onto the table, his knuckles turning white. “I hurt you again.”

  “No. You didn’t hurt me.” I rub my temples. My memories are drifting back. “But I have a headache.”

  “Eat.” He pushes a plate toward me. “The food’s getting cold.”

  I dig my fork into the scrambled eggs and close my eyes at the first bite. “So good.”

  Burn picks up a piece of the bacon with his fingers. Following his lead, I eat with my fingers, too. The fried meat is crunchy in places, soft in others, salty everywhere—and so, so good. I barely breathe as I gobble up everything on my plate.

  Popping the last piece of bacon into my mouth, I look up.

  Burn’s smiling. Unable to waste even a drop of the fat and salt, I lick my fingers, and the intensity in Burn’s eyes deepens.

  “Thank you. That was so good,” I tell him. “It cured both my hunger and my headache.”

  He nods and piles my empty plate on top of his.

  Full of happiness and food, I run one of my hands across the wooden table toward Burn’s. He stares at the decreasing space between our fingers. I let my fear take over last night, but it turned out okay in the end. Next time I’ll trust him fully. Next time will be better.

  “Last night was encouraging, don’t you think?”

  His brow furrows. “Encouraging?”

  “We kissed, and you didn’t hurt me.” I reach for him, but he pulls his hand back.

  “Only because you used your Gift.”

  “And it worked. Everything was okay.”

  He stands, and the legs of the chair scrape along the floor. “You got a blinding headache. You passed out. How is that okay?”

  “I haven’t passed out for ages.” I rub my temples. “I can’t figure out why that’s started again. I’m sure I’ll get over it.”

  “It’s because of me. When you’re in my head, it hurts you.”

  “No.” But as soon as he says it, I realize he might be right. A lump rises in my throat. I didn’t get a headache when I used my Gift on Caroline. It didn’t happen when I knocked out Gwen, and it didn’t happen when I killed that Shredder. The only other time was when I calmed Burn.

  He puts our plates into the empty pan and moves it to the cupboard. “I can’t put you through that again.”

  I walk slowly toward him. “But we don’t know for sure why it happened.”

  He gives me a look.

  “Okay. But it might stop. I used to pass out killing rats. That changed when I learned to control it better. This side effect will go away, too.”

  He shakes his head, but I realize something else.

  “Back in Haven, the day of the President’s Birthday”—hope bubbles inside me—“you said I calmed you that day, and I didn’t get a headache.” Sadly, I didn’t calm him until after he killed the former President, leaving the door open for Mrs. Kalin. But I feel sure that I kept him from killing others.

  He leans back against the cupboard. “Did you use your Gift on me that day?”

  “No, but don’t you see? I didn’t need to. You recognized me. You didn’t hurt me, even though you were . . . bigger.”

  “I don’t remember.” His voice is low and sad.

  I take another step toward him. “It proves that you can control it.” I reach my hand toward his.

  He shifts out of reach. “No. Both times we’ve gone past a short kiss, I’ve lost it. If you hadn’t stopped me—” He raises his hands to his head, then drops them. “I’m too dangerous.”

  “Burn.” I touch his arm. “You can’t get rid of me that easily. We’ll figure this out.”

  He pauses, and I think for a moment that he’s going to agree, but he nods toward the door. “You should go find your brother. You were out all night. He’ll be worried.”

  On the way from Burn’s house to mine, the sun brightens the cottages and has the same effect on my mood. Not far from our house, two young boys are throwing a rock back and forth. I smile and wave as I pass, then tilt my chin up to the sky.

  Burn loves me. He’s never said it, but I can tell how he feels. We’ll figure out the rest.

  I reach our cottage and push with my shoulder to open the door. It sticks when it’s warm. The cottage is empty. I hope Drake is training. What if he goes to the ruins and discovers Caroline? It’s past time to get her out of there.

  A piece of slate sits on the table, and I cross over to take a look. It’s a note written with a soft, chalky rock.

  Glory,

  I’m going to get Dad. I’m pretty sure he’s at a Shredder camp. Sounds bad, I know. But don’t worry. I know where to look. Jayma’s coming. We’re hoping to be back before the in
vasion team leaves.

  See you soon,

  Drake

  I sprint back to Burn’s, run into him halfway there, and quickly explain the note.

  “Please, help me find them. What if they get captured by Shredders?” I can’t stop my heart from racing. My muscles are twitching, like everything inside me is already running after Jayma and Drake, but I have no idea where to look or which direction to go.

  Burn frowns. “I could kill Hector for this.”

  “Do you know where this Shredder camp is?”

  “I’ve got a pretty good idea.”

  “How far away is it?”

  “For Jayma? I’d say an eight-hour walk. When did they leave?”

  “I don’t know. Were they still training when you came down to the lake yesterday?”

  Burn shakes his head. “We were done for the day.”

  My heart sinks. “They could have left any time after that. Let’s go!” I tug on his coat sleeve. “Now. Please. Maybe we can catch up before they get there.”

  He puts his hands on my shoulders as if he wants to hold me in place. “Drake’s a smart kid, and Jayma’s strong. They’ll come back.”

  “No.” Fear rises, making it hard to control my Deviance. “I’ve already lost too much. My family has been separated too many times. I will not let them be captured by Shredders.”

  “We don’t know where they are, or if they’re in danger,” he says, but his eyes tell another story.

  “If you know where they are and don’t help me . . .”

  Burn’s jaw is tight, but he nods. “I know one place we can check.”

  I pull him up the hill. “First, I need to check on Caroline.”

  Burn stops just as we reach the ruins. “Wait.”

  “We need to hurry.”

  He crosses his arms over his chest. “Before we go down, I need you to agree to something.”

  “What?”

  “I get to decide if the Shredder lives.” He thumps his chest. “Me.”

  I back up a step. “Who said anything about killing her?”

  “I did. I said it. Just now.”

  I grab his sleeve. “I came to bring Caroline food and water”—and maybe release her—“and you want to kill her?”