AH the reviews for the last chapter made me grin like a monkey, thank you SO MUCH! I'm so glad you enjoyed it, I was tossing back and forth in my head for ages trying to figure out how to make THE kiss happen but that one was my favourite! This chapter has more tense scenes which I hope you'll enjoy!

Clarke's POV

The fingers wrapped around my ankle and I fell twisting, trying to pull myself out of his grip, my throat raw from screaming. Laughter sounded behind me and suddenly I was being pulled backward, sticks scratching at the soft skin on my stomach, my desperate screams cutting through the silence. Then two figures emerged; Bellamy and Miller, I screamed Bellamy's name, relief flooding through me. He walked toward me, too slowly, I was being dragged further. I wailed, kicking my legs, but to no avail. He continued toward me, a small smile pulling on his face, calm.

"BELLAMY!" I wailed, my voice cracking.

"What's up princess, can you save everyone but yourself?" His voice was like an icy blade at my throat.

"Clarke." Hands were on my shoulders, tugging at me, shaking me, urging me.

My eyes flew open and I lashed out, smacking the hands away and twisting my body away, launching to my feet and throwing myself to the back of the tent, whipping around to face the threat, my shaking hands raised protectively in front of me.

Bellamy knelt frozen in the middle of the tent, his hands held up in front of him, palms facing toward me, alarmed.

I eyed him for a moment, ragged breaths tearing from my lips, my entire body shaking as the images of the nightmare flashed at high speed through my brain.

"Are you alright?" He asked, rising slowly to his feet as if he was afraid any sudden movements would freak me out.

I inhaled deeply, pressing my palms to my stomach and feeling my heart beat reverberate loudly through my body, pounding through me, squeezing my eyes shut quickly and reopening them.

"Sorry," I said quietly, not meeting his eyes, the memories of the real events flooding back through me, as my body began to slow to its normal pace.

Bellamy had held onto me tightly as someone had yanked the blonde boy to his feet, shrieking frantically in both pain and fear. Then he had led me slowly back to the camp, both of us silent, his strong arm hooked around my waist, the only thing keeping my upright. Terror had surged through me as I tried to make sense of what had just happened. Bellamy's woody scent, mixed with honey had comforted me, as I had pressed my face into his shirt. When we'd reached the gates, he passed me onto Raven and Octavia and I vaguely remembered watching him storm off toward the drop ship, his fists clenched tightly at his sides, the tendons standing out of his arms, anger radiating through his stance. I loosely remembered the girls helping me into a tent and pressing cool, damp material to my forehead, soothing my fright with soft voices and warm blankets.

I must have fallen asleep, which brought me to where I was now; pressed in the corner of Bellamy Blake's tent, trying to calm my breathing, whilst he stood a couple of metres away, his eyes locked onto mine, arms still in the air as if he were preparing to catch me, were I to suddenly collapse.

"Sorry," I repeated, straightening my spine and composing myself, "I just, I had a nightmare."

He nodded slowly, lowering his hands, "Yeah, I ah I heard you say my name, or sort of scream it really and so I came and ah…" There was an air of awkwardness about him, and the full memory of the kiss slammed into me.

"Thanks," I said, ducking my head, "Not just for now, but for before, out there, I really thought that he was going to kill me."

"Hey," Bellamy stepped forward, catching one of my shaking hands in his, "I wouldn't have let that happen."

I nodded, meeting his eyes which were the colour of warmth, "I know, you didn't."

His eyes flickered up to my forehead and he reached one hand slowly around to rest on the back of my hair, gentle. My heart beat was in my throat, his touch sending a warm flush across my cheek, "How are you though, seriously, did he, did he hurt you?" The words seemed to come with some difficulty to him and he avoided my eyes.

"No, my head feels like a brick and I bet my face looks like I've been in a fist fight, but I'm okay." I said, trying to lighten the mood.

The corner of his mouth lifted slightly and he gently dropped his hand to rest on my cheek, gently sliding his knuckles against my skin, "There's a couple of bruises, here and here and there's a cut here." He gently traced his thumb across the corner of my lip.

I was barely registering what he was saying. I was imaging the feel of his lips on mine again, soft, urgent, warm, like sweet honey, and his knuckles were spreading liquid fire across my skin.

"But," he continued," finally meeting my eyes, his gaze intense, making it impossible for me to look away, "You look pretty badass."

A grin stretched across my face and I winced as the cut on my lip stung.

Bellamy laughed, casually letting his hand slide down so that it rested on my neck, the tips of his fingers reaching the back of my neck and my hair, "Apparently smiling is now prohibited." He teased.

His laughter caused the smile to stretch further across my mouth and I pressed my cool fingers to my mouth, attempting to hold my lips in place, "Stop it, you're making it hurt more!"

He grinned, leaning forward and letting go of my hand, gently tugging my fingers away from my mouth and sliding his hand onto the opposite side of my neck so that I was trapped between his warm hands. His breath, almost minty, blew across my lips gently before he pressed his own to the corner of my mouth, being careful to avoid the cut. It was different from our first kiss which had been gentle but with urgency, this one was tantalizingly slow, spreading warmth all the way through my body, he was setting fire to my skin. I let one of my hands drop to his waist, easing my fingers under the hem of his shirt and around so that they were pressing into the strip of skin on his lower back, his muscles tensing slightly beneath my fingers. I reached my other hand up under his shirt so that my hand pressed against the sharp, hot skin that stretched over his shoulder blade. His body was alive against mine, all sinewy muscle, beneath my fingers.

He exhaled a little more heavily into my mouth, and gently pushed me so that I was flush up against the side of the tent, one of his hands dropping to rest on the bare skin at my waist, my shirt crumpled above his hand. My heart spluttered in my chest and I wanted to yank his shirt over his head, to feel his burning skin pressed against mine.

"Bellamy!" A yell, sliced through the moment like a knife and I let go of him quickly, stepping sideways, hot embarrassment climbing up my neck and cheeks.

Bellamy stared at me raggedly, his eyes fiery in a way that made my stomach clench and my fingers ache to grab hold of his hair and yank him back toward me. We were both breathing heavily, eyes not leaving one another's.

"Bellamy!" the voice called again and Bellamy turned just in time to see Miller step into the tent, "The prisoner is-"

His eyes darted between the two of us, my rumpled hair and flushed cheeks and Bellamy's heated eyes and slightly hitched up shirt, I could almost taste the electricity in the air.

"Clarke you're up!" He was either oblivious or knew how to handle tense situations, "We were a little worried about your head wound."

I nodded, trying to appear nonplussed, "Yeah I'm alright, I might go and grab something to eat now I'm up." I smiled, ducking past Bellamy, refusing to meet his gaze, knowing that my skin would go up in flames, and sending Miller a small smile.

As I ducked through the flap I realized that I was making a habit of darting out of Bellamy's tent like a scared girl. I also realized that I had absolutely no idea what the hell he and I were or what he expected out of it. All I knew was that I had screamed for him and he had saved my life.

Bellamy POV

My fist cracked across his nose, blood spraying across his pallid skin and the skin on my knuckles. Fury was like a fire cracker, lighting every tiny atom within me, until my entire body felt like it was on fire. He wailed, a high keening noise that I knew could probably be heard across the entire camp. His body was shaking and he was slumped against the chair, his hands tied behind his back.

"What the hell were you doing attacking Clarke?" I demanded, pacing across in front of him, Miller and Reynolds standing behind me.

The boy couldn't have been very old, he had hair almost the colour of Clarke's and blue grey watery eyes that pleaded for mercy. His skin was pale and the blood that oozed from his nose and splattered across his lips was stark a stark contrast. I felt like I was beating up a child, my fists, so accustomed to making marks on skin, felt like weapons that obliterated rather than caressed. I wanted him to fight, I wanted him to hiss and spit and stare me down so that I would feel as if the anger that raced through my veins was well founded. How could this boy have attempted to murder someone?

Fat tears were beginning to roll down his cheeks, "Please," He stuttered, a choking sob forcing its way out of his throat, "Please stop."

I growled, digging my fingernails into my palms and turning back to Miller and Reynolds, "Who the hell is this coward?" I demanded.

Miller shook his head, eyeing the boy with utter disgust, "His name is Gerard Riley, he was sceptical to become one of the guards when we first landed but eventually he did. He's seventeen and according to Roma, who was imprisoned near him on the Ark, he's a total chicken."

"Well what the fuck is he doing attempting to murder his leader and our doctor?" Reynolds asked, stepping forward and placing his knife under Riley's chin, sweat breaking out across his forehead, his grey eyes wide in terror, "Repulsive, weakling, swine." He hissed.

"Don't kill him Reynolds," I said, although my fingers ached to wrap around his throat, "We need information and we need to know whether he was working alone."

Reynolds shrugged, stepping back, but not before flicking his knife and cutting a thin gash in the boy's round cheek. The boy yelped, the blood trickling, unhindered down beneath his chin and across his neck until it disappeared beneath his collar.

"I don't think it should be too hard to get information," Miller considered, "Look at him, he's a bumbling wreck, threaten him enough and he'll fall to pieces and tell you everything you need to know."

"He better, or else," I snarled, stalking toward him slowly, and holding the tip of my knife just in the soft skin between his nose and eye, "I will slice your fingers off, one by one, until you tell me everything."

The boy shivered, his eyes staring into mine in horror.

"That's what you get," I thought, "For trying to kill Clarke Griffin."

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