Fallen Angel [Bellamy Blake]

Chapter 34: in your arms

Clarke insisted on checking every single wound on my body. Bellamy, on the other hand, insisted on staying—hovering just close enough that I could feel him without having to look.

It took effort to get the others to leave. They lingered, argued, hovered like ghosts that refused to pass on. But Bellamy? Bellamy didn't budge. He never did when it mattered. Stubborn, infuriating. And, right now, grounding in a way I didn't want to admit.

I lay back on the cold metal slab, staring up at the curved belly of the dropship. Everything felt distant, dulled, like my body belonged to someone else. Clarke worked quickly, efficiently, pressing cloth soaked in moonshine against each cut.

The sting came a second later.

Sharp. Burning. Real.

I flinched when she reached the gash on my stomach, a hiss escaping before I could stop it. That one was deep. Deeper than I wanted to think about.

"Hell," Bellamy muttered, his voice low and dangerous. I didn't have to look to know his jaw was tight, his eyes scanning every bruise, every mark. "When I find those Grounder sons of—"

"Bellamy." Clarke didn't even look up. Her voice cut clean through his. "You're not helping. Go get me more water."

There was a beat of silence.

I could feel his eyes on me—checking, asking something he wouldn't say out loud. Then he nodded once and turned away.

The second he left, the space felt colder.

"Kat," Clarke said softly, quieter now. Careful. Like I might shatter if she spoke too loud. "Do you want to talk about it?"

I shook my head.

The word sat in my throat, heavy and useless.

Clarke sighed, and for a moment, she wasn't the calm, controlled medic—she was just my best friend. "I thought I was going to watch you die," she admitted. "Right in front of me."

My eyes slipped shut.

And immediately—him.

Sebastian.

That smile. Bloody. Wrong.

My eyes snapped open, breath catching as if I'd been underwater too long. I turned my head toward Clarke, forcing my voice to work.

"I'm sorry."

It sounded small. Inadequate. Like it didn't belong to the moment.