Chapter 36 Rosabelle
Rosabelle
I go nearly lightheaded at his approach, my sensory load roaring brutally back to life as the frigid night skins me alive.
I can’t feel my extremities. My lips have gone numb. I’m wearing thin, overly starched cotton basics on a winter night. Short
sleeves. No underwear.
My body starts shaking.
I can’t decide how to feel about what he does to me. I love it. I hate it. I don’t even fully understand it.
And it keeps getting worse.
Being around James is like gasping for air after nearly drowning; there’s a horrifying relief in his proximity, a violent
shock to my nervous system.
Pleasure and pain, over and over.
“Rosabelle,” he says quietly. “Come here.”
“There’s no way out of this place,” I say, my voice breaking.
“Not for you.”
When I don’t move he reaches for my hand, tugging me toward him, and the slide of his fingers against my palm is enough to
stun my heart, threads of electric feeling quickening through my blood. The heightened sensation is so destabilizing I can’t
withstand it for long; I draw away from him with a trembling breath, as if I’ve been burned.
“You can’t,” I say, panicking. “W-We can’t—”
“We can’t what?”
“You have to stay away from me,” I say, taking a step back. “I can’t get close to you or I—I might—”
He stills. “You might what?”
“James, please,” I say desperately, faltering. “Something—happens to me—when you touch me—”
“Say it,” he says softly. He takes a step toward me and I seem to melt at the edges. “Tell me what happens to you when I touch
you.”
I feel blood rush to my face, then elsewhere, everywhere. He’s watching me with an intensity that seems to reach inside of
me.
“I lose control,” I whisper.
“No.” He swallows. “You don’t.”
I go still. Stare at him. “Yes,” I say, “I do—”
“Not yet,” he says, his voice rough. “This hasn’t even started, Rosabelle. You have no idea what I want from you. You haven’t
lost control yet. Not even close.” His eyes darken. “But you will.”
These words bloom in my veins like fire, releasing a searing, exquisite torture all through my body. His gaze is unrelenting.
I can’t seem to take a full breath. My heart is beating so hard it scares me.
He takes another step closer and I nearly make a sound.
A heavy, warm weight lands on my shoulders, and I realize, through this dizzying haze, that he’s given me his jacket.
I back away from him on instinct, then slip my arms into the oversized sleeves without protest, my limbs aching in relief.
The denim has been warmed by his own body heat, the article infused with the scent of his skin.
I inhale him directly into my lungs, and the effect is so dislocating I nearly drop my gun.
Finally, with a few feet between us, I meet his eyes.
He’s still staring at me with a magnetized intensity; he’s almost smiling, except that his jaw is tight, his eyes drawn together.
He looks almost like he’s in pain.
“Where am I?” I whisper.
James shucks the beanie off his head and steps toward me; I hold my breath as he tugs the soft hat over my hair, pulling it
down gently over my ears. The warmth is instant. I want to tuck myself against him, rest my head against his heart.
Instead, I watch him look at me.
His hands skim my face as he draws away, first grazing my cheeks, then lingering along my jaw, and a sound builds in my throat.
Feeling sweeps through me like a storm. I can’t hold it inside.
I cry out and stumble back.
James exhales into the cold, his breath like smoke. His eyes are charged and fathomless, the moonlight catching him in relief,
glazing his edges. He turns away and he looks tightly wound; muscles tensing under skin.
Everything about him has become my favorite thing.
I never had a preference for blue eyes before I met him.
I never knew I cared for freckles until I saw his face.
I didn’t know I could love the way someone walked until I watched him enter a room.
Each time I see him he seems to come into sharper focus, every facet honed, every detail more exquisite.
It’s becoming harder to look him in the eye, to keep myself from touching him.
I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. I don’t know why I’m encouraging these thoughts. This is unconscionable behavior.
I’m going home to die.
“I’m going to say this nicely, just once.” James looks at me. “Hand over your weapons.”
I take another step back, steady my heart.
Shake my head.
“This is getting old, Rosabelle,” he says. “My nerves are shot, I have to get going, and I don’t want to do this anymore.
I’m tired of chasing you down and taking a bullet for it. There’s no point; you’re stuck here. Run for as long as you like.
Shoot me as many times as you want. Try stabbing me again. It won’t matter. You can’t get out of here without my help. All
you’re going to do is give me a bigger headache.”
“Then help me,” I say to him, taking yet another step back, trying to direct blood to my head. “Tell me where we are. Tell
me how to get out of here.”
He looks up at the sky as if searching for strength. When he meets my eyes again he looks almost angry. “You need to go back
to the house. Now.”
“You don’t understand,” I say to him. “James, if that vial falls into the wrong hands—”
“No, I’m not doing this again,” he says sharply.
“I’ve asked you a thousand times to explain to me why you need that vial and you’ve never answered my questions.
So unless you’re ready to tell me what it is and why you need it so badly, we’re done for the night.
I’ll throw you over my shoulder, carry you back to the house, and feed you to Nazeera. ”
“You wouldn’t.”
“Try me.”
“There’s no time to talk right now,” I say desperately. “I need to leave before it’s too late— We can have a conversation
about everything later—”
“Now, Rosabelle. Right now.”
“But I don’t—I don’t actually—”
“Fine,” he says flatly.
He moves so quickly I don’t even realize he’s picked me up until the world flips upside down. He actually tosses me over his
shoulder.
I nearly scream.
“James,” I cry, panicking. “Please— Put me down—”
He starts walking. He moves unimpeded, unbothered by the effort. “Go ahead and try to shoot me, it won’t help you get anywhere
faster.”
“James—”
“And you should know that Nazeera isn’t happy with you. She’s going to make your life a living hell.”
“I don’t actually know what’s in the vial!”
He stops, then spins around as if to face me—as if he’s forgotten he’s carrying me. “What do you mean you don’t know what’s
in the vial?”
“I don’t actually know what’s in it,” I say, trying to catch my breath.
The world is inverted, making me dizzy. “I don’t know its exact properties.
I only know that it’s going to be used by agents across the continent to set off a chain of undetectable explosions that will release a gene-editing virus that can rewrite your DNA. ”
“What?” James stiffens. I feel shock batter him, his chest lifting, tension radiating through his limbs. “What do you mean,
rewrite my DNA?”
I’m breathing hard now. Blood is rushing to my head. “Not just yours. All DNA. It will get rid of all preternatural abilities,”
I explain. “Reset the genetic slate, dissolve your powers, and prep your population for remote influence by synthetic intelligence—”
James staggers. He sets me blindly back on the ground, looking suddenly horrified.
Gutted.
He searches my eyes in the dark. “You waited this long to tell me that The Reestablishment is trying to turn us all into mind-controlled
zombies?”
“I’ve been trying to explain this to you since that night in the tunnel,” I say, anguished. “I’ve been trying to get back
to the Ark all this time, to set things right—”
“Why couldn’t you just tell me?” he says, panic rendering him taut. “At literally any point you could’ve given me the explanation
that took you two seconds to give me just now—”
“I didn’t know if I could trust any of you!”
Now he looks stricken.
James falls silent, the words visibly crushing him. “You didn’t know if you could trust me?”
“I didn’t—I didn’t mean you, specifically,” I say, backpedaling, trying to calm my heart. “I did trust you. I do trust you— Of course I trust you—”
“Then— What—” He drags his hands down his face. “Jesus, Rosabelle, I don’t understand—”
“I just— I knew that if I told you everything, you’d want to help me.”
His head snaps up. “How is that a bad thing?”
“Because I’ve seen enough of your society and your methods to know that none of you would survive on the Ark long enough to
do what’s necessary and I really”—I falter, my voice catching—“I really don’t want you to die.”
James stares at me, stunned.
“I wanted to do it on my own,” I say, forcing myself to keep talking. “I didn’t want to wait, to explain things, to have to
justify my reasons. I didn’t even want you to worry. I just wanted to make things right.” I shake my head. “But I was going
to tell you anyway. Tonight. I was going to tell you all of it. I just didn’t have a chance.”
The tension in his body eases slightly, but his eyes draw together in confusion. “So you didn’t tell me the truth because
you didn’t think I’d be capable of surviving a mission into the Ark?”
“I just wanted to protect you—”
He shakes his head. “Rosabelle, that’s maybe the nicest and the meanest thing you could possibly— Shit—”
He pulls his pager out of his pocket, the notification silent this time. His jaw hardens as he scans the message.