Page 146 of The Art of Exiley
“Don’t cry,” he says softly. He steps closer and tilts my chin back toward him, then swipes his thumb across my wet cheek. “Part of me thinks this is all an act, yet I can’t bear to see you cry.”
My body reacts to him as someone familiar, something it wants. It hasn’t caught up with what my mind and heart know to be true. He steps even closer, and I don’t push him away, not when he cups my face in his hand, not when he skims his thumb across my bottom lip. Not when he leans into my ear and breathes, “Maybe being on the same side isn’t such a bad thing.”
For a second I almost believe him. Almost forget that we aren’t actually on the same side. My lips tingle with the memory of his mouth, my body primed to slip right back to where we left off.
I could rise on my toes and kiss him now. I could do the very thing he’s just accused me of doing and use our connection to secure his trust.
But I don’t want this version of him.
I don’t.
His gaze smolders with anger and want, as if he could punish me with a kiss, vent his anger with our bodies.
It would be hot.
And heartbreaking.
I look away.
Michael steps back and clears his throat.
When we exit the elevator, he says, “We’ll go straight to Bloche. I have a plan to explain how they escaped.”
“I have one too,” I say. Because I do. But it doesn’t involve him. “It’s better if you seem unconnected to any of this. Your cover is more important than mine. Let me take care of it alone.”
He raises his brow, but there’s no dimple to be seen. “Okay, we’ll do it your way. Your manipulations have gotten you this far.”
It’s like a knife through my heart. And with each step we take toward the institute, I feel it twist deeper.
43
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Rafe asks me for at least the third time. He’s escorting me to meet with the headmaster and the Crown Prince, with whom he has called a meeting at my request after the events of last night. “You… don’t look well.” I’ve told him about Kor’s escape, but I neglected to mention the part about my heart being ripped from my chest. Or anything at all about Michael.
“I’m fine,” I assure him.
I want to come clean to Genesis, but how can I do that without telling them about Michael? Not telling them leaves them so exposed, yet there’s a part of me that still can’t imagine that whatever choice he’s made could be wrong. And to be able to help both sides, I’m going to need to utilize Michael as an ally.
I resolve to tell them if it becomes necessary, but not yet.
However, I’m ready to confess my own involvement and help to make sure the Makers are protected for whatever the Inquisitors may plan next.
“You do realize,” Rafe says to me, “that I’ve always known.”
“Known what?”
“Who your family is. Why you were here.”
I stop in my tracks. “What do you mean?”
“Why do you think I mistrusted you so much? Do you think the Guard managed to keep the Makers hidden for all these years without checking the background of all recruits? You think we didn’t immediately realize that you are a direct descendant of the Castile line?”
My skull throbs. “Then why did Genesis accept me?”
“Chorus told them to, and they trust her visions implicitly. No one other than the Council knew, but I found out from Alex.”
“I don’t understand. If you knew, then why did you agree to work with me?”
He shrugs. “I thought you could be useful to me. More asset than enemy… and then—”
