One. “Micah?” A soft, warm hand slid over the skin of his naked back, followed by a pair of lips on his shoulder blade. Eden. “What happened? Are you ok?” Eden drew nearer, the warmth of his body spreading through Micah like a velvet blanket.
“Yeah,” he whispered, rubbing shaking hands over his sleep-blearied eyes. “Just a dream.”
“Bad dream?” Eden’s head rested on Micah’s shoulder, a comforting presence. Micah wanted to sink into it. But he couldn’t shake those images. What he had seen, what he had felt, what he had heard.
“Yes,” he finally whispered.
Silence settled between them before Eden spoke again. “You’ve been having a lot lately.”
It had been only a few nights of them sharing the same sleeping space, only a few days of being together almost every waking moment. Since the destruction of Desmoterian, EPs had swarmed the underground, forcing their band to keep moving, to abandon each new shelter for another in hopes of avoiding detection. But always, they were together. It was as if, after almost losing one another, neither of them was willing to let the other out of sight.
Micah turned to meet Eden’s gaze. The bruises on his face had faded from dark purples and reds to bright yellows and pale greens. His nose, once obviously broken, was healing with a slight crook that hadn’t been there before. Micah found that he actually liked it.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Sincerity shone on Eden’s face. Micah swallowed. There was still so much Eden didn’t know about him, still so much Eden might never understand. Parts of Micah even he himself didn’t understand. Perhaps those parts would frighten Eden, confuse him, make him second guess what they had.
“No,” he said solidly. “I just want to forget it.”
A smirk fell over Eden’s lips. “Do you want me to help you forget?”
Micah’s eyes fell shut as Eden’s hands wound through his hair, sending shockwaves of electricity down his spine. As Eden’s hand gripped the nape of Micah’s neck, his lips found Micah’s bare chest, kissing along his clavicle and up the side of his throat. The rumble growing in his throat was only intensified by the yearning already standing rigid between Micah’s legs. But Micah still felt chilled, horrified. That name still resounded through his head.
“Micah.” Eden stilled, pulling away. “Talk to me.”
He could sense Micah’s discomfort. Of course, he could. And not due to some innate or mysterious power. Just because he was kind, good. Sensitive and in tune with Micah in some strange, unfathomable way. Micah stiffened, watching those soft blue eyes rove his face.
“I was just thinking…I haven’t stopped thinking…about what you said about Tovar. And your mother. How he killed her.” Micah almost regretted his words as a pained expression flickered over Eden’s features. He forced himself to continue. “You said he did it with his mind.”
“What made you think of that? Something in your dream?”
“What did he do? How do you know he did it with his mind?” Micah implored.
A long moment passed. Micah feared he had touched a nerve. But finally, Eden responded, hesitantly at first. “He touched my mind first. It was almost like he reached inside. I could feel him in there, influencing me, toying with me.” He shuddered. “Why are you asking me about this? You don’t believe me, do you?”
“I do. I just…” Micah stumbled, unsure how to put his thoughts into words that Eden would understand. “Have you ever heard of anyone else being able to do something like that?”
Recognition dawned over Eden’s features. He swallowed. “Delta,” he said, and Micah felt a chill run through his body.
“Delta?” Micah’s mind churned around those words. Someone else. Someone else with a power that seemed to defy logic. To defy nature. Someone like him.
Eden nodded. “Before the Games, she took my hand. She felt something inside me. Demond said she knew my heart.”
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