~Prologue~

The Pond

Clarke

Clarke was well aware the she was probably going to get herself killed.

Go back, she told herself, but she couldn't force her body to turn around and walk back in the direction of camp, of the drop ship, of worrying and fear and the crushing weight of all her responsibility.

Was this how her mother felt? Constantly pulled in two different directions, between her emotions and her duty to the people of the Ark, as a member of the council? Did she sometimes wake at night with a crushing weight on her chest, and sit up in bed, gasping for air, convinced within the few seconds before reality set in that she was about to suffocate, about to drown in waves made of her own fears and failures, dragged under by a current she can't escape with nothing to hold on to? Clarke asked herself this, and then she pushed it out of her head. She couldn't think of her mother right now, of what she'd done, of the hole she'd torn in Clarke's life that she could never hope to fill.

But Clarke wasn't about to start thinking of what her mother had done to their family, not here, not now.

Not that far from camp anyway, she thought, I'll be fine.

That's when she heard the twig snap behind her.

Clarke froze, listening. There was nothing but silence now, spreading outward like ripples in a pond, the sound she'd heard the rock that someone had dropped in the water. The entire forest stopped to listen, the thick, ancient trees looming forward with their moss and their dangling leaves. They were listening, too. Behind Clarke, something shifted.

She whipped around, blond strands whipping into her face as she drew in breath to scream—only to be cut off by the hand that clamped down over her mouth.

Clarke inhaled, ready to bite into the hand and rip away whatever she could: flesh, blood, muscle and bone—anything to give herself a fighting chance—and stopped. She smelled smoke and soap and iron. And gun powder.

Bellamy.She shoved his hand away. "Bellamy!"

Through the darkness, she could see his teeth when he grinned. "Princess, what have I told you about screaming my name out of any emotion other than sheer, unbridled passion?"

Clarke snorted. "Passion? Go float yourself, Bellamy. You really are delusional, aren't you? Have you been eating wild berries, or did you just get hit on the head by a rock this morning or something?" She turned and kept walking.

Bellamy snatched her by the wrist in the darkness. "No," he said. "This way."

"I want to be alone."

"And I want to show you something. Besides, you didn't really think I would let you walk around out here on your own, do you? You're just making yourself easy bait for the grounders . . . Or whatever else could be hiding out here."

"Bellamy, I can take care of myself." She glanced back at him, barely visible in the twilight between the trees.

"I know you can. I'm still not leaving you alone."

Clarke sighed, and began to follow him, resigning herself to her fate. "If you're looking for someone to baby, you should go elsewhere. I'm not Octavia, you know. I'm not your sister."

Bellamy had just taken started walking, and he stopped so fast she nearly crashed into him. He spun around, and got so close she could feel his breath, warm against her lips. "Let me be very clear, you are nothing like a sister to me Clarke."

The words would have been cruel, if it had been anyone other than Bellamy saying them. There was an undertone to his words, a vein pumping hot blood beneath the surface of the skin, and all Clarke could think was that he was too close, and not close enough, and she wasn't sure if she wanted to kiss him or kill him, and she had never, in a million years, imagined herself wanting to kiss Bellamy, of all people. Before Clarke could say anything, could poke at the heat beneath his words, Bellamy turned and strode away through the massive trees, leaving Clarke no choice but to follow.

She walked exactly three feet behind Bellamy, watching him from behind. She could only catch flashed from behind, especially in the darkness. The dust coated back of his jacket, the tousled strands of his ink black hair, the swing of his arms as he walked and the broad expanse of his shoulders.

Where the hell are we going?

She was about to open her mouth to ask him when he stopped abruptly. Bellamy turned around to face her.

"We're here." He said. "Watch your step, okay?" He sounded . . . Tense. Clarke bit back a sarcastic reply, trying to make things easier on the both of them, and stepped forward, past him.

Bellamy took her hand and helped her down a short slope into a clearing. As soon as they were at the bottom, Clarke snatched her hand away, attempting, weakly, to wipe away the tingling sensation the contact had left on her skin by brushing her hand against the worn material of her pants. It didn't work. She started to look at Bellamy, to try to think of something to say, but as soon as she looked up, Clarke was rendered speechless.

In the center of the clearing was a pond.

A pond with water so clear it was impossible to miss the bio-luminescent moss growing everywhere underneath the water. The moss stretched across the large boulders underneath the surface, draping itself against the steep walls of the pond. Against the brightness of the moss, Clarke could see fish darting back and forth, each of them easily the size of her fist. They broke the surface every few seconds, trying to catch the tiny mosquitoes skimming the surface of the water. As her eyes focused, the glow of the moss seemed to grow brighter and brighter, and she found it gave her ample light to see the rest of the clearing. It spanned maybe thirty feet at most, probably less. The trees at the edges of the open space were thick and pressed close together, providing a moderate level of privacy and cover, and Clarke suspected that it would be hard to come on the clearing by accident, the way the trees were angled: you would have to be looking for it, you would have to know it was there to really see it. The ground was covered with a thick spread of grass, and the occasional boulder.

"What do you think?" Bellamy asked. He was still standing beside her, but she could see him well enough now to make out his features, his half hopeful, half curious, half defensive expression.

He was such a complicated puzzle to piece together, like the riddles and learning games she could remember playing on the Ark computer systems in school, but Bellamy was set to a difficulty level so high that she didn't have a chance of cracking his code. But that just made him even more fascinating. As Clarke tried to think of an answer, she found it difficult to distract herself from just how close Bellamy was standing, just how deep and rough his voice was, so intense.

She tried to ignore the heat she could feel rolling off of him in waves, even from here.

"Bellamy, this is . . ." Clarke shook her head. "This is amazing. It's beautiful here."

His lips parted, and he took a slight step closer. He was so close now she could feel the fabric of her jacket brushing against his, she could see the muscles in his neck tense as he swallowed, and she wasn't sure exactly why she wasn't moving away. What am I doing?

Bellamy leaned even closer. This is a dangerous game. She thought, and then, taking them both by surprise, she closed the space between them.

"Clarke," he whispered, voice hoarse, against her lips. And then he was pulling her against him, tightly, roughly, like he was afraid that she would slip from his grasp like water at any minute.

Clarke didn't feel like water. She felt like lava. She felt like pure electricity. She was feeling freedom and relief for the first time in her entire life, and both of them felt suspiciously like Bellamy Blake's lips crushing against hers, and his arms wrapping around her waist to keep her close.

Kissing Bellamy was like diving into a pile of scorching coals headfirst, and she was ready to let them both burn up in the flames if it meant she didn't have to let go.

Bellamy broke the kiss first, leaning back just enough that heir lips weren't touching, but their foreheads were resting against each other, sparks popping everywhere their skin met. They breathed each other in, explored the spaces between them, the gentle give and take of their bodies moving together, in and out like the tides and the moon, constantly reacting to each other, and Clarke knew she couldn't go back and pretend this had never happened. She couldn't even try.

She didn't want to.

"So, what now?"

"What do you mean?" Bellamy whispered.

"What do we do now?" She asked. Now that we've fallen into each other harder and faster than we fell from the Ark. Now that it feels like losing you would be worse than losing the oxygen in my lungs and the blood in my veins. Now that you're running through every inch of my body like a poison I can't get enough of.

Bellamy blinked once, then twice. "Well," he said. "Now, I guess we just have to hold on."

"Hold on to what?" She asked, remembering the very fears that had driven her into the forest tonight. Pulled under, with nothing to hold on to.

Bellamy grinned. "Each other, Princess," he said, and then he kissed her again so hard she felt the ground shift under her feet.

Clarke smiled against his lips. "Sounds like a plan."