Our W.I.C.K.E.D Fate (The W.I.C.K.E.D Girl sequel)

20

It was a stray tendril of sunlight pouring into the room that woke Emily. A pair of strong arms were wrapped around her, and their warmth almost lulled her back to sleep. She shifted before she could succumb to the realm of dreams again and tilted her head back against the pillow.

Newt was still sound asleep, his messy, blond hair sprawled across his forehead. Smiling, Emily traced the contour of his cheekbones and jawline with a featherlike touch. By the time she'd gotten to his chin, Newt's eyelids fluttered open. When he caught sight of her, he offered a soft, hazy smile. "Hey," he muttered, voice deep with sleep. The sound of it flung her thoughts back to the previous night, Newt's mouth pressed against the hollow of her throat, his fingers trailing down the sides of her body, setting her on fire—

"I didn't want to wake you up," she whispered.

Newt rubbed at one of his eyes, stifling a yawn. "Do you want to stay in bed?" he asked, half-serious.

Emily buried her face in his shoulder, and Newt began running his fingers through her hair. "Yeah," she mumbled. "I don't ever want to leave here." She paused, soaking in the quiet, the peace mornings had never brought along. "Do you think it'll ever be just this?" she said. "No more running, no more fighting for our lives?"

Newt tucked Emily's hair behind her ear and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "I'd like to think so. We deserve it."

The sound of Emily's grumbling stomach tore through the silence. Newt was grinning as Emily sat up. "Let's go get breakfast," he said. "I heard there's a surprise in store for you."

Emily scooted to the edge of the bed, trying to divine what surprise Newt could possibly be talking about. Not a single day had passed since they'd arrived, led by Ella and Emily, to the underground headquarters of the organisation fighting against W.I.C.K.E.D and everything they stood for, spawning beneath the surface of the earth like the roots of an old tree. They'd been met by the remaining members of Group B—Emmett, Nat, Mila and Charlie—countless others survivors of the Flare, and scientists who'd deserted W.I.C.K.E.D. Exhausted, the former Gladers had barely managed to get a bite in before being shown to their rooms. Newt's room was right next to Emily's, and she didn't have to wait long for the knock to come. This time, she hadn't pushed him away.

As soon as Emily stood, Newt swept her off her feet and into his arms. "What are you doing?" she yelped.

Newt's brows moved up. "I did promise I'd never let you go."

A mischievous smirk crept onto Emily's face. "Not even in the shower? I feel like, if I don't have one right now, Minho will be able to somehow see everything that we did last night on my skin."

Newt rolled his eyes, but he set her down, a faint blush staining his pale cheeks. Emily took his hand and said, smiling coyly, "But I wouldn't mind if you joined."

Some time later, dressed in a fresh change of clothes, feeling better than she did in weeks, Emily walked beside Newt down the damp, warm halls, their walls made of clay the shade of burnt umber. Everyone they met greeted them with a genuine smile, some even stopping to shake their hands. They continued down the halls until they reached a pair of shut doors. Newt pushed one open, and Emily stepped inside.

The others were already in, gathered around a wooden table, half-full plates and glasses set in front of them. Everyone cheered loudly when they spotted the two—Minho gave a deafening whistle and clapped his hands together—but Emily could only focus on the stranger sitting amongst her friends and acquaintances. His hair was salt-and-pepper, and, judging by the look on his face as he regarded her, even though she didn't know him, he knew her all too well. He vaguely reminded Emily of someone, but she couldn't . . . Suddenly, a sharp pang of the familiar migraine stabbed one of her temples. Emily hissed, and felt Newt's arm wrap around her waist. "Are you alright?" he whispered, concern lacing his words.