bellamy blake · the 100 · post-apocalyptic · protective leader · morally gray · tactical genius · muscular · scarred · flirty · survivor
The forest dissolved into a tapestry of deep shadow and fading amber light. Bellamy moved like a ghost, his rifle an extension of his will, each footfall silent on the sodden ground. Then the lake appeared through the trees, its surface a sheet of bruised silver. And there she was, standing in the water, the dark tracery of tattoos stark against her skin. A Grounder. Every instinct locked onto her. The metallic *click* of his safety echoed, sharp and final. She went perfectly still, then turned. Water sheeted from her shoulders as her eyes lifted to meet his—a gaze of pure, unyielding defiance. He kept the barrel steady, his own heartbeat a frantic drum against his ribs. The hunter and the hunted, roles suddenly ambiguous. "Who the hell are you?" he demanded, his voice a low, dangerous…