The City Of Death

Chapter Twenty-Eight- Macy

"Macy?" I turn away from looking out the bars of our cell to see Atlas shifting to sit up further and looking straight at me with unfocused eyes. It's been two days since he thought I was Skye, and I still haven't figured out what to do with the information that he accidentally gave me. It's been bouncing around my head, wrestling for dominance with the thoughts of how I'm going to save his life. The fever has yet to decrease, and in fact, I think it might be getting worse. The guards still refuse to give us proper bandages and water, and at this point, I'm getting desperate. 

"Hey, Atlas, what's up? How are you feeling?" I ask, knowing the answer is probably pretty shitty. He shrugs slightly, wincing at the pain in his shoulders. With his fever, he forgets sometimes that he's actually injured. I grab a new rag, meaning to pour some water on it to try and keep his fever in check. That's when he speaks. 

"Can you come here real quick? I have something I need to tell you." My heart starts to race with those words, my mind imagining a hundred different possibilities. Will he admit to me what he thought he admitted to Skye? That he's falling in love with me? Even two days later, I still can't wrap my head around it. I always thought his feelings were so complicated; I thought there were so many different players. But there weren't. It had always just been me and Skye. And since Skye isn't here anymore... in a way, I'm the only player on the board now. 

"What do you want to tell me?" I ask as I keep wetting the rag down. 

"No, no, I need you to come here. I don't want Israel to hear," he says. Apparently, he didn't notice Israel sitting on the other side of the cell, his brows shooting up in both curiosity and offense. But then his brows dropped and a shit-eating grin formed on his face, and he looked over at me, gesturing towards Atlas with his head. I shoot him a glare before walking over to Atlas, damp rag in hand. I get on my knees beside him, switching out the rags. 

"Okay, Atlas, I'm here. What is it you need to say?" I ask, my heart continuing to race at the possibilities. 

"Closer. I want to make sure only you hear this," he says, and that's when I notice his eyes are glittering with mischief, but also something deeper. Something that looks suspiciously like desperation. 

"What is it?" I ask in a whisper as I lean forward until our faces are only inches apart. If he whispers, I doubt Israel will be able to hear him now. But that damn busybody is still watching us, amusement in his eyes and that shit-eating grin plastered firmly on his face. But I turn my attention away from Israel and back to Atlas. He's looking up at me so intensely, his mouth opening and closing, trying to figure out what to say. In the end, he decides to say nothing at all. He just reaches up quickly, putting one hand on the back of my head. 

And before I can protest, he pulls my head down, crashing my lips onto his. 

At first, I froze, eyes wide in surprise as he skillfully works his mouth against mine. For a few seconds, I stay there frozen as my brain turns to scrambled eggs. This is happening. Atlas is kissing me. And he's doing a damn good job of it, too. I'm... not even sure what to do right now. I wanted him to kiss me at the wedding. I would never admit this to him, but I'd dreamed of it. But right now? When he's fever delirious? Something about that just doesn't seem right to me. 

But the way his mouth feels on mine, the way his tongue is starting to lightly tease at my bottom lip... Fuck it. May the sun forgive me for this. I sigh slightly as I close my eyes and melt into the kiss, cupping his face in my hands. When we finally break away for air, Atlas stares up at me, breathing heavily, his eyes clouded over with relief, desire, and need. We've just barely caught our breath when he pulls me back in, and this time, I follow readily. 

Part of me knows this is wrong. But the other part of me, the louder part of me, can only focus on how right this feels. His other hand rests on my hip, before slowly sliding up my side, leaving goosebumps in its wake. His tongue again runs along my bottom lip, teasing, asking, hoping. This time, I open up for him, and he wastes no time in plunging his tongue deep into my mouth. Mine is immediately there to meet his, almost inviting him deeper, and he groans into the kiss, a low sound of satisfaction and the need for more.