The Cage(92)

She felt just as hollow as she had at home. She wanted those stars back. She wanted her room back. She wanted her life back—the real one.

Lucky leaned in. “I’ll always look out for you.” He kissed her cheek.

As he closed the door and pulled her down with him onto the bed, she couldn’t find words for how catastrophically heartrending it was. His lips were on her cheek, her forehead, her neck, her mouth. He whispered in her ear how he was so glad she had been standing in the surf twenty-one days ago, how he had been so afraid she would hate him, how he would take care of her forever. Her tears were hot against her cheeks. He kissed them away without asking their reason. He said they had a chance to change the world. They would have children that would grow to have children of their own, ensuring the continuation of their species, under the Kindred’s guidance. He said they were so lucky that out of all humans the Kindred chose them to entrust with this important role. He said their love was going to save humanity.

Cora had thought, when she’d so desperately agreed to obey the third rule, that she could do this. She had thought that the relief of giving in would make up for the awful feeling of bowing to the Kindred’s will.

But the voice inside her was screaming now, and she wasn’t sure of anything.

Lucky shrugged off his leather jacket, setting it carefully aside, not rushing anything. Cora glanced at the black window as she shed her dress. She had to believe Cassian wasn’t watching. If he was knowingly letting this happen, then she really had been blind. Cassian said he’d never be cruel to her, but this was the definition of cruel—watching this happen, knowing how terrible it was. He must be able to see inside Lucky’s head and read his intentions: that they would sleep together tonight, that they’d soon be as deliriously in love as Rolf and Nok, that Cora would get pregnant too, and then next year the same thing, and the year after that. It might have been paradise for the others, but it was Cora’s hell.

As Lucky slid one camisole strap over her shoulder, she looked at the ceiling, at the stars he had drawn there. He’d done the best he could, but it would never be right.

A realization suddenly struck her.

That’s why Cassian isn’t stopping this.

Just as Cassian could see inside Lucky’s head, he could see inside hers too. He knew that Lucky might have every intention of them sleeping together, but she didn’t.

She couldn’t.

Cassian wasn’t stopping it because he knew she was going to stop it herself.

A tear rolled to her chin. She imagined what would have happened if she and Lucky had met on Earth, before the accident, just two strangers. Maybe her expensive car had broken down, and he’d come to fix it in his worn jeans with a rag in his back pocket. She might have loved him there, on the side of the road, on Earth.

But not like this.

She whispered, “Lucky, do you remember when you taught me to spar in the desert?”

He nodded against her neck. She squeezed her eyes shut. The memory was fresh: sand warm against her back, hunger to feel his lips on hers. “Of course I do,” he said. “It’s hard to forget having a beautiful girl under you.”

“I just want to say that I paid attention,” she choked. “And that I’m sorry.”

She dropped her hand down, curling her fingers around the ceramic dog on the floor. If she told him how wrong all of this was, he would only smile and whisper something about fate. He would never force her to obey Rule Three, but he’d never understand, either.

She thrust her hip up, throwing him off balance, escaping the mount like they had practiced. His surprise gave her enough time to slam the ceramic dog into the side of his head, where it connected with a sickening sound.

He slumped against the bed, moaning.

Tears spilled from her eyes as she held on to him and murmured apology after apology, hating what she had done, hating the Kindred for making him into this twisted person. She pulled on her dress and gave his forehead a trembling kiss. He would wake with a killer headache, but that would be nothing compared to his heartache when he realized she’d deceived him.

The hallway was quiet. Mali’s door was closed. Nok’s and Rolf’s voices came floating up from the living room—she couldn’t go out the front door or they’d see her. She pushed up the bedroom window as silently as she could, and climbed onto the roof, dropped to the grass, and raced out into the town square, where she doubled over, feeling sick and guilty and confused, and fought the urge to throw up.