The Countdown (The Taking #3)(6)

Maybe it would do me some good to kiss Tyler . . . to rid myself of Simon once and for all.

So why didn’t I then? Why couldn’t I just let things go back to the way they were . . . the way I wanted them to be between us? Clearly Tyler had feelings for me. I mean, he was standing here ready and willing to kiss me, wasn’t he?

But was that really enough? Could I really pretend nothing had changed, when everything had?

That’s the thing. I couldn’t because this wasn’t about Simon.

It wasn’t enough for Tyler and me to share the same DNA—to be part of the same species—because even if he never remembered who we’d been, there was no way we could move forward until he at least knew the truth about what I’d done to him. About my part in his abduction.

As much as I wanted him to love me the way he used to, if I didn’t come clean, anything we started would all be built on lies.

“I need to tell you something,” I said.

“I need to tell you something too,” he answered. But the way he was looking at me, his gaze flicking back and forth between my mouth and my eyes made it all too clear we were not on the same page.

Please don’t kiss me . . . I thought achingly, wondering if I’d even find the will to stop him if he did.

Oblivious to my psychic petitions, he lowered his head, and my heart stumbled hard as it tried to wedge its way into my throat.

I tasted his breath and his lips ever-so-lightly feathered across mine. And just as my mind was screaming at me to pull away, he stopped moving . . . going inexplicably-unnaturally-morbidly still.

And then, before I had a chance to process what was happening, Tyler grabbed me by the arms and hauled me deep, deep beneath the water.





CHAPTER TWO


TOO LONG. THAT’S HOW LONG WE’D BEEN DOWN there, for way too long.

Not for me, of course, I could hold my breath for ages.

But for Tyler . . .

I struggled in his arms, against his grip that was stronger than I’d imagined it would be. But he kept me pinned where we were . . . far below the water.

Far too deep, for far too long.

Shooting a questioning, and probably panicked look at him, I begged to know, Why? Why are you doing this?

But Tyler just shook his head and pointed a single determined finger toward the surface.

Somehow I understood what he was trying to tell me—something or someone was up there. I don’t know how he knew that. I hadn’t seen anyone, but that wasn’t important.

He was convinced. And he was freaked out by it. Enough so that he had no intention of going back up there anytime soon.

So what then? Did that mean he was willing to die because of it?

He kept his lips . . . lips that had nearly been on mine just minutes earlier, pressed tightly closed as he harnessed his air reserves. But he couldn’t hold his breath forever and he’d have to let it out soon.

Then he’d have no choice but to inhale.

His body wasn’t like mine.

Mine . . .

My lungs were fine. I had more than enough breath remaining . . . more than enough time.

An idea sparked. Something I’d seen once, probably on TV, which made the whole thing seem more than a little bogus. But maybe . . . just maybe, if there was even an ounce of validity to the concept I could buy Tyler an extra minute or two.

I closed the small gap between us, not completely unaware of how undressed both of us were as our bare skin pressed together. But more than anything, I prayed he’d go along with me. Hoping, if there was anything to this, I could get it right.

Blood rushed noisily past my ears as I strained to reach his mouth, and suddenly the feel of his lips on mine was no longer just a memory. It was achingly real.

Unfortunately, there was no time to savor it.

It took Tyler a second to realize my intention, but when he did, his eyes went wide and he flinched slightly in surprise. Only, now I was the one gripping him and I wasn’t about to let him go. I ordered him with my crumpled brow to Be still!

I had to concentrate, to be careful. Mindful. There couldn’t be any space between our lips, not a single gap or opening, or else water would bleed through. The seal would literally have to be airtight, or else I would be breathing water directly into Tyler’s mouth and I would drown him. I was already worried I wouldn’t be breathing any actual oxygen into his lungs, that all that was left in me was carbon dioxide—a little tidbit I remembered from tenth grade Life Science—and this whole effort would be futile to begin with because carbon dioxide was useless to him . . . just waste matter his body couldn’t process.

But I thought when I’d seen this on TV, they’d said there was some oxygen leftover when someone exhaled, and right now some oxygen was better than no oxygen, wasn’t it?

When I was as sure as I could be that my mouth was secured over his, I slowly . . . so very, very slowly, and very, very firmly began parting my lips. With my deliberate actions, I directed Tyler to do exactly as I did, at exactly the same rate. I tried to ignore how soft his mouth was, and the way I could feel his pulse beating where my fingertips pressed against his neck.

So far, so good, I told myself, trying to remain clinical about this despite my own rising pulse.

I blinked at him, trying to instruct him about timing, and as if reading my thoughts, as if we’d done this a thousand times before, Tyler blinked back. I ignored my doubts, the part where I knew that the tiniest wince or gasp could ruin everything. I tried not to imagine the worst.