Raven didn't hesitate. She leaped out of her crouch and sprang past me, shoving Bellamy to the side. "Hey! Back off!"

I could have helped. Intervened somehow. It was the right thing to do, especially for Raven since she didn't tear my hair out.

I could have. I should have. I didn't. I turned tail and dashed through the underbrush, the sounds of the scuffle continuing over the blood rushing in my ears.

"Clarke!"

No. I was not going to stop. I skittered down the slope, grabbing onto saplings for balance. Every one of them could take care of themselves. Every damn one of them, and if Bellamy Blake thought—

"Clarke, stop, dammit!"

I increased my speed. We hadn't gotten that far. Where was the hell was the shore?

My foot slipped. I nearly fell, but I caught onto a tree in time for balance. My hair caught in the branches, pulling hard. I swiped my hand overhead blindly.

His voice was right behind me. "Clarke, wait."

I felt the heat of his hand, that instinct that let's you know when something's too near, and I dodged it, practically throwing myself behind the tree.

I gripped the trunk as hard as I could, convinced I would wring his neck if I didn't.

He tried to follow.

"Stay away!" I was not going to let him get any more of a look then he already had. Him and a small herd of guys.

"Look, I'm sorry," he said, holding the tree too. "I didn't mean to let anyone see that—"

"My choice," I spat at him. "You said it was my choice. Where the hell do you get off telling everyone that I'm off limits?"

"I didn't plan it. That was for Spacewalker's benefit."

"Finn is none of your business. What I do with Finn is none of your business. What I don't do with Finn is none of your business! You aired every piece of dirty laundry I had to people I don't know, just so you could look like the big he-man."

His expression turned thunderous.

"You had no right to say any of that. Raven and I had already talked about it, but what if we hadn't, Bellamy? Do you think those other guys would have kept it a secret?"

"I was trying to protect you!" he growled, darting a step forward. "Do you think he came for Reyes? He came for you. He was stabbed in the fucking side, and he was still trying to get to you."

I retreated, circling. "You were trying to show them that you were king of the damn mountain," I shot back. "And then you pissed all over my supposed choices. Well, guess what, Bellamy? I've made my decision. There's no way in hell-"

Like a snake, he struck.

He caught my hand and pulled, causing me to lose my balance. I stumbled flush against the tree, the bark digging into my skin. Bellamy was on the other side, looking every inch that unstoppable warlord I pictured him as.

Our eyes connected for a charged moment of silence.

Without looking away, he bent his dark head and kissed my hand—right in the center of my dirty palm.

I tried hard to get free. "Stop, Bellamy."

His mouth, parted and hot, slid up and closed over my wrist. His tongue swirled over the pulse point.

Sensation raced up my arm to my elbow. My heart hammered like malfunctioning machinery. I twisted, flattening my palm against the tree for leverage, and broke the connection.

His eyes flashed; he pulled my arm up and above his head, forcing me forward while his free hand reached around to spear itself into my hair.

He had me captured.

He came around, covering my body with his everything—his body, his presense, his personality. Everything.

"You think it's that easy to untangle us?" he rasped, his fingers burrowing themselves deeper into my barely dry strands.

I angled my elbow against his chest to keep him away. "All your talk of choice is bullshit."

"I took it too far warning Spacewalker away, but you're deluding yourself if you think this can end any other way, Princess."

My back scraped the bark. "You're the one that's delusional, Bellamy."

He pinned me with his body and his eyes. "You know what I think? I think you don't understand what it means to have someone tell you what you can and can't have. To want something for yourself so bad you can taste it. You want a fight? Fine. Fuck it. Let's fight. I still won't regret telling everybody who I've picked for myself."

Just like he didn't regret taking off the bracelets, or hanging Atom in a tree for being interested in Octavia, or beating the Grounder before turning to outright torture. Those were things he did because, to Bellamy Blake, the consequences were acceptable as long as he got what he wanted.

"You should have picked an easier girl," I gritted. "Someone who would fall for this caveman act."

"Oh, but I've had the easier girls, Princess. I want the bossy bitch that's nice to kids and the doctor who kills out of mercy. That's the one for me."

"How romantic."

"Screw romance. You've had the tower and you've had Prince Charming. This is Earth, and I'm not some friggin' fairy tale hero." His eyes fell to my lips. "Kiss me."

My eyes widened. Was he out of his mind? "No!"

His lashes were long and thick as he continued to stare. "Yeah."

"I'd rather punch you in the gut."

"Coming from you that's like a love letter." He leaned in a fraction more. "Come on, Clarke. Kiss me."

I shook my head.

"Why? Because you're mad?" That dark teasing suddenly cooled. "Or is it because you still want the Spacewalker?" His gaze was intent for a beat. Two. "You do, don't you."

I couldn't answer. Not yes. Not no. "Do you expect me to get over something like that in a matter of days?" I asked tightly, glaring.

Bellamy's expression had turned to stone. He was coiling again. He may not have been a killer, but in that moment I was reminded—yet again—how dangerous he was.

"Why not?" he said. "You barely knew him."

I laughed bitterly, aware that we were almost sharing breath as well as words at this distance. "Isn't that the pot calling the kettle black?" I sobbered, jutting my chin out. "He was my first, Bellamy. I spent a year in prison with four gray walls, and the first person to make me feel good and alive was him. Sorry if I'm having a little trouble adjusting to how quickly it fell apart."

There was rustling in the brush. "Bellamy-"

He slapped a hand on the tree trunk and leaned in, angling his body to block mine immediately. "Turn around, Miller," he ordered quietly. Coldly.

"Whoa. Sorry."

I scrunched myself to make myself smaller, finding my cheek pressed against Bellamy's chest. His body temperature heated my skin. I didn't even know I was chilled until that moment. Suddenly I was too warm. It wasn't just about me being naked; Bellamy's groin was flush against my stomach and pelvis, my leg inserted just a little between his. We were locked together like two puzzle pieces. The whole world was Bellamy—his shirt, his throat, his jacket, his shoulder, his arm, his smell.

It hit me then.

I was using him as a shield.

I trusted him to be that shield.

It was instinct.

"Finn's bleeding. His stitches are torn. Raven's having a freak out."

I raised my head. "He could be bleeding internally. We have to-"

"He shouldn't have left camp. It's his own damn fault. " Bellamy cut me off without taking his eye off of Miller. "Go back to Finn and help him up. We're going back. Hopefully he doesn't bleed out on the way. I'll get the girls."

Miller nodded. When he disappeared, Bellamy turned his attention to me. "This conversation isn't over, Princess."

He recaptured my hand and turned, pulling me after him.

The girls were huddled on the shore, wide-eyed and dressed. Gasps at the sight of Bellamy rose. "What happened?" Octavia exclaimed, separating herself from the others. "Where's Raven?"

"You took too long." He let me go. "Get your clothes and Raven's. We're leaving."

"Jesus, Bell. Turn around."

"I don't have time for this, O. Move. Finn did something stupid and Clarke's gotta rush in and save the day."

She snapped her mouth shut. So did I. Finn's life was priority now. Arguing with a grim-faced Bellamy was a waste of time. I rushed to get my clothes. "Let's go."

We all rushed back up the hill with Bellamy leading the way. The others weren't where we left them, but we could see their tracks.

I sped up, practically hauling my parnter along by the elbow. I could see movement in the distance, could hear Raven talking.

My partner stumbled over a root, making me misstep.

Schwick. Thunk.

There was an arrow shuddering in the tree just in front of me—where I would have been standing.

My partner screamed.

"Grounders!" Monroe shouted.

"Run!" I pushed the girl next to me hard. "Run! Go!"

All the girls took off, heading full tilt toward camp. More arrows flew, whizzing by in a terrifying hail.

Branches slapped my legs.

One of the girls—Jem—fell, gurgling on the blood welling out of the arrow in her throat.

Oh god.

I ran for her as she disappeared into the underbrush. Out of nowhere Monroe grabbed me by the back of the shirt and propelled me in the other direction. "Leave her!"

"No, I can help-"

"She's dead, Clarke! Go!"

I went.

I ran hard, my heart and lungs and body tight, thumping with every step. Pain sliced my back—an arrow grazed me. The poison.

No time.

Run.

Live.

Figures were darting around us, jumping from tree to tree and leaping with furious agility through the obstacle course of the forest. Life had become a series of dark streaks and flashing greens interspersed with high pitched screams.

Something fell down in front of me; Monroe and I skidded to a halt just in time. The Grounder slashed at us with a knife where someone's throat would have been. Monroe dodged right. I swung the club I had clenched in my hand, catching the Grounder in the side.

Monroe stabbed him, sinking her knife into his chest without a second's hesitation. They hit a tree and stumbled. The Grounder went down and she went with him, still holding onto the knife.

She was trying to yank it back out when another Grounder appeared in the treeline, aiming a bow right at us.

I threw myself on her, flattening all three of us with an audible ooof.

Monroe swore.

"Come on!" We lurched to our feet. Where were we? Did we get turned around? I couldn't see anyone. Too many trees. Too many figures.

The Grounder rushed us.

Pure fury and fear fueled my swing; I clocked him in the head. Then I hit him again. And again. Blood splattered.

He was dead.

A hand wrapped around my upper arm. Bellamy. He practically threw me into a run, following right behind. He had a girl slung over his shoulder, her arms cascading limply down his back. An arrow jutted into the air.

We weren't going to make it. I knew it. I knew it with every step, even as I prayed I was wrong.

Bellamy slammed into me with bone jarring force. A hand hit my eye. Sparks exploded. I crashed into Monroe. We all went down.

A Grounder.

Bellamy mule-kicked, his heavy boot damaging. He rolled, the injured girl boneless on the ground, and collided with the Grounder with a snarl. I pulled at the girl, trying to get her up, but Monroe had to take her. She did a fireman's carry, just like Bellamy.

The two men were punching and horrendous sounds of bones crunching and knuckles meeting flesh. Where was Bellamy's ax?

There, in the dirt. I scrambled for it.

They separated for just a second. The Grounder charged just as Bellamy tripped over a root.

They both went down, down, down the side of the hill, twisting and falling and spinning like two rag dolls. I wanted to scream Bellamy's name, but nothing came out of my mouth.

They hit the bottom.

Neither moved.

"Clarke!"

I looked at Monroe. The decision was instant. "Take her! Run!"

I didn't wait to see if she did. I just threw myself down the rocky slope and slid straight toward Bellamy.

He was face down on the earth, blood all over his skin and neck. He was cut badly. The one on his forehead would need stitches. I glanced at the Grounder. Dead. His eyes were open and staring into nothing. The cut on his temple told that story.

I hurriedly checked Bellamy's pulse. Found one.

Thank god.

The screams were dying down. I didn't know if there were survivors. I didn't know if there were more Grounders. I just knew we couldn't be here.

"Come on." I grabbed both of Bellamy's hands, pulling his arms up. No time for delicacy. I had to drag.

So I did. I don't know where I found the strength. I just left the ax in the dirt and yanked and pulled Bellamy deeper into the ravine, hoping on of the rocks would-

There.

An overhang.

I grabbed handfuls of his jacket, sweat and a few tears running down my face. I couldn't control it. This was the crisis. The moment nothing else in the world mattered but living and making sure Bellamy lived with me. All of this could be futile; I didn't care. I had to try.

I had to.

I got him in there, knowing this overgrown hole could be our grave. I hadn't covered tracks. I didn't have a weapon. I just had a desperate, almost-paralyzing hope in the face of hopelessness.

I crawled in after him. Dust kicked up into my face with every breath, the grit sticking. It itched. I didn't care. I kept one hand tightly clasped in Bellamy's shirt, right over his heart, staring out into the path. Any second now a Grounder would appear. They'd look for their dead friend. They would find us.

We would die.

Author's Note: Thank you a million times to all the people who are reading and reviewing this story. You're amazing.

About updates: I get the impression that some people think I have this all planned out and just waiting to post. I don't. I'm actually just making this up as I go. Whatever I post, I wrote it literally that day. I cannot promise that daily updates will continue. My brain would explode. I want to live to see the next episode of The 100, dolls, so please be patient.

Have a nice day!