Alight (The Generations Trilogy #2)(17)

No: if gods exist, they look like Bishop.

I squat down on my heels, cup my hand and fill it with cold water. I rub it on my face; it feels amazing. I am so unclean. Should I take off my shirt, be bare-chested like Bishop and Coyotl and Farrar?

The thought of that embarrasses me even more than seeing Spingate in her see-through shirt. I’ll keep my clothes on—I don’t want these boys to see my body.

At least, not all the boys.

I try not to stare at Bishop as I stand and look for a safe place to dive in. My foot suddenly slides off the wet rock and plunges into the water. I cry out in surprise—off-balance, I drop my spear and whirl my arms trying to stay up, but my other foot slips as well and I start to fall.



Bishop catches me before I go all the way under.

His arm is under my back, his hand on my hip. His body feels solid, so strong. His arms have the power to crush the life out of anyone, yet he holds me so gently.

He’s so close. His skin is so warm.

Bishop opens his mouth to speak, then stops, as if words have escaped him. He lifts me, sets me back on the rock. He’s still standing in the water. For once, I am taller than he is.

Water drips from my ripped skirt. The bottom of my shirt is wet—it clings to my ribs, drips down my exposed belly.

Coyotl and Farrar are laughing, splashing, oblivious to anything other than whatever new game they’ve concocted. Spingate, however, is looking right at me. My eyes meet hers. She smiles slightly, one corner of her mouth ticking up. She turns to Coyotl and Farrar.

“I want to test the water at the top of the waterfall,” she says to them. “I’m not sure I can make it up there on my own, can you two help?”

Farrar’s wide chest puffs out. “Yes! We’ll help you.”

Coyotl makes a strange face, then glances at Bishop, who still holds me in his arms. Coyotl’s lip curls into a small smile just like Spingate’s.

“Sure,” he says to her. “Happy to be of assistance.”

The stone steps leading up are wide and dry. Spingate doesn’t need any help. She’s taking the others away so I can be alone with Bishop.

He’s still staring at me. He doesn’t seem to notice anything but me.

Farrar helps Spingate stand on a boulder. He starts up after her, but she pushes him—arms flailing, he splashes back into the pool.



Water dripping from her scraps of clothing, Spingate hops off the boulder and runs for the steps.

“Last one to the top is an ugly Grownup!”

Coyotl and Farrar chase after her, laughing, enjoying the new game. They catch her almost immediately, but don’t run past—they’re more interested in walking by her side than winning. Up and up they go, talking as they climb. I can’t hear them over the waterfall’s roar.

Bishop looks down at my foot. “Does it hurt?”

It doesn’t hurt at all.

“Yes,” I say.

He kneels in the water. His big hands gently grip my ankle. His touch…it makes something surge in my stomach and chest. Just like my rage at Spingate was instant and overwhelming, so too is this new sensation of heat, of thoughts lost in a swimming, dizzy whirl.

He leans in, looking closely.

“I don’t think it’s broken,” he says. “I should check your shin and calf…”

His hands slide softly up my leg. Fingertips press in; is he really seeing if I’m hurt, or is he pretending just as much as I am?

He glances up at me with those beautiful dark-yellow eyes. A warrior who will snarl and fight and kill, yet he has such pretty eyes?

The waterfall’s roar fills my ears.

My heart…each beat feels like it’s punching my chest.

Bishop’s lips, so pink.

He rises slowly, sliding his hands to my hips, then my ribs. I feel weak…boneless.

This is the boy who saved my life.



My mouth opens a little, I lean forward and down. My eyes shut…

His lips on mine. Soft. Warm. My world is the sound of crashing water and the feel of his mouth, the taste of his breath.

His hands on my face, sliding to the back of my head. Fingers in my hair. My hands shoot out, cup his cheeks, pull him closer. I feel the tip of his tongue touch mine.

Something hits the pool, boom, boom, an explosion of water.

Bishop pulls away, looks toward the heavy splash we just heard, putting his body between me and the unknown danger.

Farrar breaks the surface, gasping for air—a second later Spingate does the same. I hear a yell from above, look up in time to see Coyotl leap off the waterfall. His legs kick and his arms flail as he plummets down. He plunges down between Farrar and Spingate, who are already swimming toward us.

They jumped?

Bishop launches himself into the pool, heads for Spingate. She swims like a fish, already leaving Farrar behind. She doesn’t need help, but Bishop goes to her anyway.

Coyotl pops up, gasping, swims toward me as hard as he can. He’s terrified.

I look up at the waterfall, and I see why.

The late afternoon sun silhouettes something, a shape blurred by the nearly blinding light. Long, jointed legs—a segment pointing up connected to one pointing down—Matilda’s memories rush forward, flash an almost matching image of that rough, horrifying form.

They aren’t that big, they can’t be that big, but there it is, larger than Bishop and Farrar and Coyotl combined.