Chapter 57
The next day is rough.
I’m not sure how long I sleep before my crusted eyes peel open, and I immediately bolt for the toilet.
When I return, I notice someone has left me a glass of water and a bottle of painkillers on the nightstand.
My gaze travels to Rook sleeping peacefully in his bed, one arm thrown up over his head and the other resting on his bare stomach.
I attempt to piece together the events of last night, but I’m almost positive I’m still drunk. Skies, going out to party seemed like such a great idea twelve hours ago.
I take some pills and drink the entire glass of water before I disappear under my blanket. For the rest of the morning, I alternate between my bed and kneeling on the bathroom floor, wishing I could die.
Around midday, Rook arrives with some plain toast, fruit, and coffee. I sit up and accept the mug, taking a long sip. It instantly makes me feel more human.
“Thank you,” I moan. “Why are you so perky? You were drinking, too.”
“Clearly, I can handle it better,” he answers with a wink.
“Well, you’ve been way too good to me this morning.”
“Stop that,” he says somewhat tersely as he pulls up my desk chair and sits. “You needed to blow off some steam. We’ve all been there. You deserve to be cared for.”
His voice softens at the end, and his earnestness is so sincere that I almost believe him.
“I appreciate it,” I say.
He nods and rests his elbows on his knees. “Now that you’re feeling better, there’s something you need to see.”
“What?” He hands me his phone, open to a news bulletin.
“There were more murders last night.”
I scan the article. Two dozen people this time, found in the middle of a market square.
“They’re saying it was a Spark Keeper?” I ask. “I thought it was Solitudes?”
“Yeah.” He presses his mouth together. “But the bodies resemble those who died at the hands of Keepers. There’s no reason Solitudes would kill with such reckless violence. Only a tortured mind would be capable of such brutality.”
I scan the article. Scion Beaufort is quoted as saying Extinguisher patrols will be doubled as they ramp up their efforts to root out more of the infected in light of these deaths.
“What’s this?” I ask, noting where she hints that they also have a new tool at their disposal. “What is she talking about?”
His gaze holds mine. “I have no idea, but it doesn’t sound good.”
“It sounds dangerous,” I answer, handing the phone back and exhaling a sound of frustration. “Are we monsters, Rook? Should we be turning ourselves in? What if we kill someone?”
He considers me. “Do you think you’re a monster, Poet? Do you think I am?”
I exhale a sharp breath. “That’s all I’ve ever been told,” I say. “That I’m a danger. A problem to be dealt with.”
He says nothing, giving me space to continue.
“But they lied about you.”
His brow arches, and he sits straighter.
“Maybe they lied about this, too.” I read the article again. “They should be helping people like us, not hunting us down.”
“I know,” he answers, and I look up. It feels like there’s something else he isn’t saying, but we’re both silent for a moment.
“Do you ever feel like you’re losing your mind?” I ask carefully.
He inhales and considers the question. “Sometimes after I’ve touched Spark, my mind feels stretched. Porous. Like it’s not fully intact, but just for a little while.”
“Same,” I say.
“But the last two times, when we were together, it didn’t happen. Something was different.”
I nod because it’s been the same for me. He gives me a look I can’t interpret. All I know is I’m scared.
Skies, I’m so tired of being scared all the time.
Fuck the Extinguishers. Fuck The Shield for doing this to us.
“We need to be careful,” Rook says. “If they suspect either of us . . .”
Our eyes meet. If either one of us is caught, we’re dead.
“Could your father protect you? He’s a powerful man.”
I shake my head. “He doesn’t want anything to do with me, and even if he did, I’m not sure he wouldn’t be the first in line to turn me in. His loyalty has always been to The Shield.”
Rook is silent, and I glance up to find him glaring at a spot on the floor with a dark expression. He mumbles something under his breath that I can’t quite make out, but it sounds scathing. He runs a hand through his hair with a prolonged sigh.
Then he holds out his hand and pulls me toward him. “How are you feeling now?”
I shrug. “Exactly like you might expect. Thank you again for taking care of me last night.”
His face spreads into a grin. “I think I like seeing you messy.”
I exhale a sound of indignation. “I was perfectly composed.” He chuckles, and I lean into him. “I liked it when you yelled at Riley for letting me trip. Why were you so mad?” His expression turns contrite as I fold my arms and cock my hip, giving him a smug look. “It wasn’t really his fault.”
“I had to be mad at someone,” he answers like he’s still kind of angry about it.
I smirk and take a step closer. “And just how long were you at Sogno anyway, given that you saw Knox and me talking?”
He faux scratches his head. “I . . . uh . . .”
Now I’m right in front of him, peering up. “What were you really doing there? Do I remember you saying that our room felt empty? Or did I imagine that?”
He cocks his head, trying to contain a smile. “You must’ve imagined it. I just wanted to see what all the fuss was about.”
“And what did you think?”
His heated gaze scans me up and down. “I think the view was excellent. One person in particular.”
“Oh yeah? And who might that be?”
He licks his lips as his gaze dips to my chest and stomach and thighs. “Someone in this little black number that made me fucking wild as she danced the night away.”
I tap my chin. “Hmm, she sounds interesting.”
He smirks. “Oh, you have no idea.”
“Does she have a rich-girl voice?” I ask with a tip of my head.
That earns me a wicked smile. “She does. She smells rich, too.”
“So that’s the only reason you came?”
He shrugs. “Among other things.”
“And making sure I got home safely?”
“Someone had to do it.”
I huff out a small laugh. “You called me beautiful,” I whisper. He moves closer, his hand sliding to my nape before he tips my head back.
“Because you are.”
“Then why have you been avoiding me?” I unfold my arms so he’s flush against me, and I grip his biceps for balance.
“You know why.”
“You’re worried about us.”
“Not me. You. I was only worried about you.”
“Why?” I ask as he lowers his head, pausing an inch from my mouth.
“I don’t know,” he answers. “I’m not supposed to worry about you, yet . . .”
He stops, and the air around us condenses, sealing us in this moment.
“Maybe I came because I wanted to kiss you again,” he says softly. “Maybe it made me a little reckless.”
“I liked it when you kissed me.” My voice is breathless, stretched thin by his confession.
“Yeah?”
“Yes. Do you want to do it again?” I offer, and then he leans in and seals his lips over mine. I exhale into his mouth as his hand wraps around my waist, and he yanks me closer.
We moan as our tongues slide together, and his touch slides lower, smoothing over the curve of my butt and then down my thigh as he hitches my leg over his hip.
I’m light as air as he lifts me up and then lowers us onto his bed before he stretches over the top of me.
“Rook,” I gasp as he wedges himself between my thighs, and he sucks on the curve of my throat before his mouth travels over my collarbone and then back to my mouth, where he consumes me with his kiss.
We lie together, our bodies moving, our hips insistent, and I feel what this is doing to him in the hardness pressing against me. After a minute, he pulls away, his eyes bright and his cheeks flushed.
“Poet,” he says in a rough voice as he hovers over me, his hands planted on either side of my head. “I wasn’t expecting this. I didn’t think I’d feel anything at Amery.”
I smile up and tuck a piece of his hair back before my fingers dance across his lips.
“Feel what, Rook?”
“Like . . . I want to question everything I’ve ever known.”
I sense something important in that statement. In the wild, churning heat in his eyes. I’ve never been in love, but I’ve always wanted it. It’s too soon for those kinds of sentiments—I know that. But I can’t help but acknowledge this bubbling in my chest, churning to the surface.
“Me too,” I answer, because I didn’t expect it, either. Because over the last few months, I’ve also looked into the shadowy, hazy eyes of truth and wondered if it has been ringing false all along.
“Whatever happens, I’ll protect you, Poet.”
“But you think I’m trouble,” I say, and he smiles.
“Nothing but.”
Then I don’t get the chance to answer, because he closes the distance, and we’re kissing again.