Elites of Eden (Children of Eden #2)(56)

He sits up suddenly, as if he just realized his vulnerability. “I have something for you.” He fumbles in a pocket and pulls out something. He holds it out in his closed hand. All I can see is a bit of cord woven in and out of his fingers.

I put out my hand, and he covers it with his own, letting his knuckles rest there a moment before uncurling his fingers. I feel something drop into my palm. When I look, I find a stunning piece of pale pink crystal, two inches long, its six sides beautifully smooth.

It is so clear! I hold it up and look at Lachlan through it. His face is softened to rose tones.

“Every second child has a piece of crystal from the cavern. It is a symbol of our unity. You’re one of us now.”

“It’s lovely,” I say, stroking the cool stone. “It’s perfect.”

Overwhelmed by the gift—and more by what it implies—I lean toward him, intending to kiss his cheek. At the last moment he turns his head, just a bit, and my lips touch his. Just the lightest touch. I don’t retreat. Our eyes lock, second child eyes, and I hover, his breath on my mouth, waiting to see what he’ll do. What I’ll do. The memory of Lark’s kiss fills me, then fades a little as I look at Lachlan. I have no idea what I want. But Lachlan does.

Suddenly his hand is in my hair, pulling me to him in a kiss that is fierce, delightful, frightening in its intensity. I feel wildly alive . . . but as I reach to take his face in my own hands his fingers twine in my hair and pull me back. I gasp.

“You should get some sleep before we leave,” he says firmly, though I notice his breath is coming fast, too, and his pupils are huge and luminous.

I know what he means, of course, but I pretend I don’t. I don’t want to be alone.

“Good idea,” I say, and stretch myself on the bed beside him, my head nestled in the crook of his arm. I can hear his heart racing.

He doesn’t tell me to leave.

Though my body is comfortable, I’m also too tense with the strangeness of it to fall asleep right away. My mind is whirring, bouncing from the terrible truth I discovered about Eden’s hero, to the kiss, to Lark, and back again.

As I listen to the soothing sound of his steady breathing my mind clears, my body relaxes, and I fall asleep . . .





I AWAKE WITH a jolt, thinking someone’s trying to break the door down. I’m confused, first to not be in my own bed at home, then even moreso when I realize Lachlan is lying beside me. I’d thrown an arm over him in my sleep, and he peels it off to roll over my belly and spring to his feet. His gun is in his hand.

“What’s wrong?” he asks as he pulls the door open, the same words he spoke to me when I knocked. He must always be on edge, waiting for the worst.

I shrink back, suddenly aware that I’m in Lachlan’s bed in the middle of the night. Fully dressed, to be sure, but whoever is at the door is going to think . . .

“We can’t find Rowan.” It’s Flint’s voice, and he sounds angry. “She’s not in her room, not in any of the common rooms. You said she could be trusted. If she slipped out and betrays us . . .”

With an inscrutable smile on his face, Lachlan slowly pushes the door all the way open, revealing me sitting awkwardly on his bed.

“Oh,” Flint says, and looks at Lachlan with raised eyebrows.

“It’s not—” Lachlan and I both begin at the same time, but Flint interrupts.

“Get up, Rowan. I need you. Now.” He starts toward me.

“What’s this about?” Lachlan asks, and I notice that he subtly imposes himself between Flint and me. I’m indescribably touched by the instinctive protective gesture.

“We’ve captured an intruder snooping around the tunnels.”

“What do you need Rowan for?” Lachlan asks, glancing back at me.

“You’ll see.”

Baffled, I smooth my disheveled hair and follow him. Lachlan stays close at my side. Once, I think I see his hand start to reach for mine, but he seems to check himself. Still, it’s good to have him so close.

Flint leads us swiftly around the gallery and down two flights of stone steps. I stop dead when I recognize our destination: the interrogation chamber. I can feel the wet bag suffocating me, and I have to bend over, breathless, hugging myself as I try to breathe.

Lachlan has an arm around me, bends low beside me. “In through your nose, out through your mouth. Slow. Easy. You’re going to be okay.” It takes a minute, but my breathing returns to something like normal. I stand up straight and try to maintain my dignity, but it is hard when I remember the torture I received in that room.

Flint enters first, then Lachlan. He blocks my view with his shoulders, but I can see two people inside. One, a woman I met briefly beneath the camphor tree, holds something in her hand that looks like a small sock filled with sand.

The other person is tied to the chair and has a bag over their head, and my lungs convulse again, though I keep myself visibly under control. I see bare arms covered with bruises, and as I watch, the Underground woman—Flora, that was her name—cocks her arm back and hits the prisoner in the shoulder.

The prisoner groans. “Please . . .” The gasp is muffled under the soaking bag, but I know that voice, know the down of golden hair on those poor bruised arms.

“Lark!” I shout, and surge toward her. Flint grabs me roughly by the shoulders and forces me back.