Page 36

It was Micah; it had to have been. Maison’s hands are too gentle. I felt them on the plane, intimately.

The story is clear to me now. Micah physically hurt Olivia, then lied about it, and now she’s dead. Pretty fucking simple.

But what was Maison’s part in all of it? Why is he protecting his brother? My entire body is screaming at me that there is more to this story, a level of complexity I don’t quite understand.

We walk in utter silence for the next half hour, and I stomp ahead of him despite my swollen feet. I’m mad he wouldn’t continue answering my questions, but truthfully, I’m more mad at myself for being so bold with him.

Why would he trust a girl he barely knows with a secret that tore him apart from his twin?

He doesn’t attempt to talk, and every few minutes he stops and slips a sock or an article of clothing from his pack on a tree to leave our trail. I pick up my pace and pass him while his footsteps echo behind me. We finally get away from the tundra death patch and into a heavily forested area, green and lush, with just a hint of red and yellow foliage and long grass, reminding me of the season we are heading into. It’s wetter, full of life—birds, insects, colorful shrubs, and trees.

After a few minutes, sweat drips down my back. My head pounds from the heat, so I stop and pull off my backpack and sweater. I pause briefly and notice Maison is not behind me as the thick brush and large pine trees take form around me.

“Maison?” I call out.

Nothing but whistling wind and the rustle of leaves. For the first time since we landed, I can finally breathe, as if I haven’t had any oxygen since we crashed. The fresh pine in the air and a cool fresh breeze feels like heaven. Forgetting about Maison for a moment, I pull out a pair of shorts I brought with me and slip off my sweats, letting them fall to the ground, stepping out of them one leg at a time. I’m completely exposed now, just my black ribbed tank top and lace panties Naomi and Ezra were teasing me about earlier.

A snap of a twig alerts me, and I spin around and face Maison, who is watching me change. He quickly darts his gaze when I catch him, but I don’t miss the gleam in his eyes, or the bite of his lip, or the half smile on his adorable face. My heart flutters and heat pools in my belly at the thought of him looking at me.

I turn from him, bend over slowly, and slip on my shorts. I barely have them pulled up when his hands wrap around my waist, and his fingers find the little sliver of bare skin there.

His thumb rests on my hipbone, and he leans into me from behind. “Why are you teasing me, London?” he whispers and rests his lips on my neck.

I blow out a breath as he digs his fingers in, wiping his thumb across my skin. I close my eyes and let his touch soften me like it did on the airplane. Remembering how safe he made me feel then, and how safe he makes me feel now. The electricity of his lips makes me squirm, and his hands feel warm and inviting.

Then I remember the silent promise I made to myself not to fall for him, how his hands roamed so freely over Naomi during English class, and those same hands all over Serena the past couple of days. I think about all the people who lost their lives and how wrong it is to do what I desperately want to do. I grab his hands and remove them. He’s hiding something—Maison Matei is not who he seems. “You can’t touch me like that, Maison.”

He twists me around, our faces only inches apart. My body locks into place when it seems he is going to kiss me, but instead, he leans his forehead against mine.

He rests his hands on my hips. “Why are you so hardened? Who hurt you so badly that you had to put a shell over yourself?”

I close my eyes, the heaviness of everything weighing in on me.

“You are so beautiful, London,” he whispers, and my heart clenches as his fingertips tighten. “And despite what you may have heard or think, I’m one of the good ones.”

“They’re good, aren’t they?” Nigel’s words repeat in my head.

His talent is undeniable. He has me yearning for his lips just by saying all the right things—things that would make any girl melt. If Maison’s this good, I can only imagine how Micah must be like. The person I am not supposed to mention, who seems to excel at everything.

I look up at him. “Maison… I have blood and guts caked onto my skin. We can’t do this right now.” I feel it cracked all over my arms and wrists, soaked right into my stomach, as if marking itself onto me for eternity.

He smiles that lopsided grin. “Later, then?” A seagull flies by, squawking in my ears. Maison’s still holding me. I should push him off me, but I don’t—I have no energy to. Then it dawns on me…

A seagull!

My head whips around.

“Maison, that was a seagull.”

“Yeah, so?” he murmurs, not catching on. His focus is entirely on me.

I nudge him. “They rarely fly inland.”

His eyes light up, and he grabs my hand. “Let’s go.”

We hurry forward with a renewed sense of energy. I’d give up one of my kidneys if it means we find water. To be able to wash myself…

After a few minutes, the tree line breaks, and a thin shimmering line of blue emerges in front of us. And the smell—the fresh breeze from earlier. So familiar, I hadn’t clued in to how close to water we must be. A small rocky beach sprawls ahead, surrounded by large pine trees and a speckled escarpment with various blends of earthy tones. It’s a pretty sight, like a private oasis made just for us.