opportunity to be alone, she preferred his company.
He was still trembling when he took her hand, and she felt for him. What could make this man so vulnerable? Surely he had kissed many women. What was it that shook him so? Was it the situation? Or was he, like her, trying to figure out how he found himself in this position, falling for someone of the opposite side, though they were on the same side now. At least according to him. And really she had no reason to doubt him.
"Should we set up camp?" she asked.
He nodded in reply.
As night fell, they set up camp in much the same way they had the night before. Edward had with him a set of matches, which made lighting the fire easy; she had just run out of matches the night before. In his sleep, he had—gratefully—missed her scuffle with lighting matches in the rain, during which she used up nearly every match she had. Finally, at the last, the rain dispersed and she was able to light the fire. He didn't ask her how she had run out of matches, and she was glad for it.
It was fully dark, and only a few stars peered through. Even the angels didn't want to see this kind of rebellion. Not tonight. This night they sat on the same side of the campfire, and she rested in his arms against the tree they had chosen to set up camp near. Watching the firelight, she gazed up at him and said, "What are we doing?"
He shook his head, as though he didn't know, either. "I don't even care if this is right, Abigail. I just know how I feel. And that scares me more than anything."
His blatant honesty scared her and put her at ease all at the same time. She stared at the campfire a bit longer, and then realized that his breathing had changed. Looking up at him again, she saw tears in his eyes, no doubt rebellious in their own right for escaping his attempts at holding them back. She couldn't resist anymore, she had to comfort this man.
She reached up and embraced him, wiping the tears from his eyes and then holding him close. His returning embrace was firm, hard, as though he was clinging to her for dear life. And maybe he was. His sobs were unbridled now, and she began to kiss his neck. Moving her hands down to his side and facing him, she looked him in the eye. Her legs were on either side of him as though he were a chair, and she was sitting backwards, and when their eyes met he enveloped her in the same passionate kiss she had just recently experienced.
They kissed for several moments, and the euphoric feeling she experienced spread over her entire body, through her veins, through every nerve in her body. She leaned back, allowing him to kiss her neck. It was too much. Too much to resist.
In a moment she was on the ground, her back against the hard tree roots, not caring about the pain, simply engulfed in this man and his sorrow and vulnerability. Now she knew why the angels weren't looking tonight. This night was theirs alone, and it seemed they had the entire universe to themselves.
He moaned her name deeply, and she embraced him as tightly as she could, exploring his body with her hands, memorizing everything about it, though she could barely see anything. She didn't need to see. She just wanted him.
Without another word, they continued to embrace, and as the night wore on, they made love, for the first time, and then again. She didn't want to think, didn't want to know what was happening, she only wanted him, and he seemed to want her, as well. It was healing—she felt it was for him, too—just to embrace another person and be one with some other soul on the planet.
Finally, they dressed and fell asleep in each other’s arms. The
Landon Dixon, Giselle Renarde, Beverly Langland