I wrap my arms tightly around myself as I remember life in the clan. How I was never alone unless I really wanted to be. Unlike now. It’s me against the world . . . against the bad guys, and unless I win, I might never see my clan again.
I think of the heavily armed guards with Whit, and it occurs to me that I might die. I remind myself that I’m the one everyone seems so concerned about catching. They all want something from me. So maybe I’m too valuable for them to kill. I can only hope that this is enough to protect me.
I glance over at the tent, and remember that I’m not alone. Miles is with me. He chose to come with me, although neither of us understood at the time what that would involve. He cares enough about me to go against his father. To leave his home.
I scatter the embers with a stick and make my way to the tent. Looking inside, I see Miles’s outstretched form. He’s sleeping in his T-shirt and boxers, his bloody jeans folded up in the corner. His face is peaceful, like he doesn’t have a care in the world. Like he’s just any eighteen-year-old on a road trip.
I long for that kind of freedom. To be a regular person. Not someone on whom the lives of forty people depend. Not someone who is being hunted across the country because I carry a secret other people will kill to get. I feel the weight of my burden, heavier than ever. I wish I could sleep and never wake up. But that isn’t my fate. That’s not why I was given my gifts.
Crouching, I climb into the tent and zip the door closed behind me. I sit down next to Miles and stroke his light brown curls with my fingertips. I want to tell him how I feel. To explain the responsibility I’ve always felt toward my father and my clan. To have someone to share the burden with.
“Miles?” I ask, and his eyelids flutter open.
“Juneau,” he says, waiting.
“I . . . I can’t . . .” is as far as I get. I have spent too long keeping those feelings to myself. Hiding my emotions from even my friends. The words disappear on my lips.
Miles sits up. His eyes brush my face, reading the set of my mouth, the pain in my eyes. “You’re worried,” he whispers, and I nod. If it were only that simple. He wraps his arms around me and draws me in to him, hugging me and stroking my hair until I push him softly away.
“I don’t want comfort,” I explain. “I want to erase everything. To chase reality away. I want . . . I need to escape. Just for a moment.” The words are spilling out—unplanned, unfocused—but their meaning doesn’t matter. Miles understands.
I lean toward him, and he meets me halfway. His lips brush mine and set off a firestorm of sensations inside me—feelings so powerful that I have no doubt that more is involved than just a boy and a girl kissing. It’s the Yara, whipping around us like a wind. Sweeping us into its current and filling us with its fire.
Miles pulls me to him until my chest presses tightly against his, but I want to be closer. I run my hands under his shirt, and he lets go of me for as long as it takes him to rip it off. My fingertips crackle with invisible sparks as I run my hands over his bare skin.
His eyes widen with surprise: The fireworks set off by the touch of our skin are obviously something new to him. I pull him back down so he lies beside me. We watch each other from inches apart, weaving our arms and legs and bodies together into a tangle of us. And then I kiss him and the world falls away.
We are two tiny dots on the surface of the planet, so close that we look like one. One with each other. One with the earth. Joined together, we are both set free.
16
MILES
I WAKE UP NAKED IN AN EMPTY TENT. I GROPE around until I find my clothes, and pull on underwear, jeans, and the T-shirt Juneau bought me. Running my hands through my hair I try to pat down my bedhead before unzipping the door and stepping out into the oasis of trees where Juneau pitched our camp.
Flashes of sunlight bounce off the surface of rapidly moving water just yards away, and I catch a glimpse of Juneau’s red tank top from where she crouches next to the river. An enormous smile hijacks my face as I think of last night, and hope to God that things won’t be awkward between us. I push my way through thick bushes to the river’s edge.
She turns and, seeing me, puts her hands on her hips. Her expression is one that’s new for me—an intimate but teasing smile acknowledging that last night actually happened and wasn’t just the best dream I’ve ever had. “So . . . did you sleep well?” she asks.
“I think I could call last night Death-Sleep 2: The Sequel,” I admit, and not knowing whether or not I should go up and kiss her, I stick my hands in my pockets and wait for a sign from her.
She looks like she wants to laugh, and extends a hand to me. Deciding to do what’s natural, I take her hand and pull her in for a hug. She feels like pure joy in my arms. I wonder if that’s how I feel to her. “Are you still worried?” I ask.