"Camila, can you hear me?" Someone shook her by the shoulder. The voice sounded distant, like screaming underwater.

"Camila, I need you to answer me. Camila?" Her body felt heavy. Like steel or bricks, but with a limp flexibility. Her lungs burned for air.

"Fuck it. I'm calling Anders."

Her chest shook when she inhaled, a single, shutting breath that rattled her ribcage. The second breath was easier.

"Camila." Someone took her hand, cradling it as if she was made of glass. "Can you hear me?"

Camila nodded. She cracked open an eye.

Declan crouched beside her, her hand cradled against his bare chest. He looked like he'd just woken up, his hair shooting in every direction, clad only in a pair of simple sweatpants. "You're okay," he breathed.

"I think so." Her voice sounded soft, almost weak. She made a conscious effort to steady it. "What happened?"

"I- I don't know. I woke up and you were-" His voice broke. "You were under some kind of spell. You weren't breathing and your eyes were open and just- they were empty, it was..." He trailed off.

Declan tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. His eyes burned into her, as if he was scared to look away for even a moment. Then, with a sudden ferocity, he wrapped his arms around her and buried his head into her neck.

Should she move? Try to get away? His arms were strong as iron, corded with muscle, and he held her like his life depended on it.

He was close, shirtless, and her blood burned with need. Camila pressed a quick kiss to his shoulder.

She instantly regretted it.

Declan held her tighter, pulling her closer if that was possible. She was suddenly very aware of her missing bra.

Camila cleared her throat. "...You can let go now."

"Oh. Right." He released her, moving down to the other end of the bed. "Sorry."

"No, it's- It's no problem."

Declan stood. He looked over at her, opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it. "...I'm going to make eggs. Does that sound okay?"

"That sounds perfect. Thank you," Camila murmured, guilt sinking into her stomach.

Today was the day. By the end of the night, assuming all went well, Camila would be free and clear to chase after the Heart of Catalina with Alex by her side. With Dragomir's threat on her parent's lives, she needed to escape Declan's control as soon as possible.

She just hadn't expected to feel so, well, guilty about it.

Camila tried to remind herself who Declan was: dangerous, murderous, with a radical political agenda she couldn't support. But mostly, she remembered his arms wrapped tight around her.

I'm going to do better.

She remembered his voice, deep and rough, and the look in his eyes, set with an unusual intensity. Was it cruel to never let him try? He'd been so sincere, convinced that they could make a relationship work. Should she have given him the benefit of the doubt?

Camila pressed a hand to her forehead and sighed. She couldn't afford to take risks. She couldn't afford to offer him yet another second chance.

The digital alarm clock beeped at her. It was ten o'clock. Only two more hours before Alex got here.

"I'm seventy percent sure these are edible?" Declan set a plate in front of her, a pale yellow lump congealing on the white china. "You might want to let me try it first."

Camila hesitantly sniffed. It smelled like eggs, if a bit burnt. "Wow. You are not a good cook."

"There is no such thing as a perfect human being and I'm pretty sure the stove's broken."

"So... this isn't your fault?"

"No." He stuck his fork into the eggs and frowned. The eggs were strangely solid, almost hard. "Absolutely not." Declan frowned. "Maybe you should go first though, just to be safe."

"Remind me which of us is royalty."

Declan flashed her a brilliant smile. "Please?"

"Fine." Camila took a bite. It was tasteless, with a burnt aftertaste, but edible. "I'm guessing you don't cook a lot?"

"Is it that obvious?" Declan tried the eggs. "You know, this is actually not the worst thing I've ever made."

"Impressive." Her voice dripped with sarcasm.

"Thank you. What were you thinking about while I was cooking? You looked like you were on another planet."

"I was. It was nice. Great weather. Good food. Everything I need."

"That sounds nice." He inched closer to her and leaned forward so she had to look at him. "Camila... You know you can talk to me about things, right?"

It began to drizzle. Raindrops dappled against the roof like miniature gunshots. Her heart ached. He looked so earnest sitting there, so determined to help her with whatever she needed.

"We're not allies." She went back to her eggs, choking down the last few bites. "I can't talk to you about everything."

The rain picked up. A rogue wind battered at the windows, rattled the trees far below them. Declan reached over her, picking up her plate. "We could be." He walked to the kitchen. "Allies, I mean."

They would never be allies. It was a truth Camila knew in her bones.

Declan returned. "Think about it, okay? I have to leave for a bit, but I'll be back around noon. If you need anything, press the red button by the bedside table. It'll let the hotel staff know to come help you. I'll see you soon?"

He gathered the duffel bag in his arms, gave her one last smile, and left.

"See you," Camila whispered, right when the door shut softly behind him.

Camila wandered the kitchen, desperate for something to do. Her body was tense, muscles flexed and ready for a fight. She simultaneously wanted Declan to get back now, immediately, so she didn't have to endure this endless waiting, and she wanted him to stay away.

She sat down on the bed and turned the TV on. She flipped through the channels. Ad after ad glared back at her from the bright screen. Unsatisfied, unwilling to put energy into a new TV series, she turned the flat-screen off.

She looked at the clock: 11:27.

The rain drummed on, relentlessly battering the building. Thunder rumbled in the distance. Camila walked to the window and caught a glimpse of lightning, igniting the sky.

She paced until her feet were numb, until her calves ached. She wondered where Declan was—robbing a bank, assassinating someone, buying groceries—she didn't know. Maybe she didn't want to know.

11:45.

Camila made her way into the bathroom. She ran her fingers through her hair, trying to comb it as best she could. The bathroom vanity was made of polished black marble. She searched through the cupboards, desperate for a single tube of mascara—no luck. She missed Serena and her painstaking care with Camila's appearance.

The door clicked open.

"Camila?" Declan called out. "I brought lunch."

She took a breath. Butterflies danced in her stomach. You can do this, she tried to tell her reflection in the mirror, but the words stuck in her throat.

You can do this.

She pulled her shirt off. Then her pants, although she let her underwear be. Camila adjusted her hair one final time and stepped out of the bathroom.

"Declan."

His eyes snapped to hers. He held a plastic bag in one hand—lunch, presumably—and it dropped, unnoticed, to the floor.

She was practically naked, excepting the simple pair of black underwear that covered her lower half and the thin silver bracelet on her wrist, the air nipping at every inch of her smooth brown skin. Camila shrugged, casually, although the last thing she was feeling was casual, and said. "I'm tired of waiting."

Question: How will Declan respond? Your options are a) kiss her immediately and b) suspect that something's up.

You're still reading! That's fantastic! You're fantastic! We're all fantastic! Yay!

-Harley