MILES
I AWAKE WHEN THE COOL AIR OF THE EVENING smacks me in the face. Juneau is offering me her arm. “You’re going to have a crick in your neck and be no good for driving if you sleep like that,” she says. She shuffles me out of the car and over to the tent, where I groggily lie down on my side.
Juneau leaves and then returns with a mug of steaming liquid. “I made some tea. This will help you sleep better.” It tastes like licorice and marshmallow, and I drain the whole thing before lying back down.
“I’m sorry if it seemed like I didn’t believe you,” I say sleepily. “It’s just a lot to hear all at once. But I definitely wasn’t making fun of you. I’m only trying to help.”
Her lips curl at the edges and she looks almost embarrassed. “I know. I could tell,” she says, and takes my hand in hers.
The touch of our skin sets off a reaction in me. I am immediately awake . . . 100 percent present. And it feels like a whirlwind of thorns is whipping around in my chest, stinging me all over from the inside. That makes it sound painful. It isn’t. It’s the kind of itching sensation that makes you want to do something crazy. That spurs you forward to act on an idea you didn’t even know was in your head.
Or maybe I did know it, but have pushed it away because Juneau was my ticket to redemption with my dad and I didn’t want to mess that up. Now that she’s told me her story, I’m certain there’s been some kind of mix-up. No matter what Dad says, she’s no spy. Okay, she’s been raised to believe some pretty weird things, but that’s clearly not her fault. And for her to have gone through what she has, Juneau must be incredibly strong. And brave.
I realize all this just as I notice that, for once, she’s dropped her defenses. Her tawny eyes brush my face with compassion, and I have an overwhelming urge to pull her to me, take her in my arms, and kiss her.
33
JUNEAU
I SHOULDN’T HAVE HELD HIS HAND. IT DID SOMETHING to him. It did something to both of us. It set off this kind of lightning storm all over my body. The electricity generated when our skin touched was like the tingle I feel when I connect with the Yara. Multiplied by a thousand.
I was just trying to reassure him. To get him to trust me. Saying I might have overdone it would be an understatement. Because one second I was holding his hand, seeing him once again like Nome would—I couldn’t help it. He looked so sleepy and defenseless . . . and, to be honest, utterly gorgeous.
And the next second his hand is behind my head and he’s eased me down on top of him and we’re kissing . . . kissing like crazy. My whole body’s buzzing, and all I want is to keep pressing my chest against his and lacing my legs through his and winding my fingers through his beautiful curly hair and feeling his lips brush mine for the rest of the night. But I can’t. I can’t do this. I have to . . .
“Stop,” I say, and push myself up onto my hands and knees, perching above him. Miles reaches up for me, yearning written all over his face, but I shake my head. “No,” I say, and pivot so that I’m sitting next to him in the tent.
His expression is a mixture of regret, confusion, and disappointment.
“I’m sorry, I can’t,” I say.
“No, that’s totally okay,” he says, raising his hands to his forehead and squeezing his eyes closed. We’re both breathing heavily, and my heart is hammering a million miles an hour. I scramble to the mouth of the tent, push through the flap, and then peer in at him once I’m safely out.
“Are you all right?” he asks.
I nod and zip the tent flap up behind me, shutting him in from the night.
I walk over to the fire and flop down in front of it. This is too much. Too much at once. I run my tongue over my burning lips and think of Miles’s mouth on mine, and my body flares with heat.
Miles wasn’t my first kiss. But kissing Kenai was different. He was a friend, and Nome and I had talked him into trying it out. It’s not like we had a large selection of potential kissing partners in our clan. Besides, Kenai was the only boy I could kiss without it meaning anything. It was kind of nice, in a friendly, warm-hug kind of way. But it was nothing like the searing heat of kissing Miles.
Stop thinking about it, I urge myself. I have to stay in control. Miles is nothing more to me than a means to an end. I can’t get attached to him. I ready myself for what I’m about to do.
I cast all thoughts of Miles and his soft mouth and his strong arms out of my mind. There’s no way I can slow my heart rate if I let myself remember the kiss. I think of what I need to ask. This might be my last chance.