by Bea Paige
Inside me, the flower begins to bloom once more.
Erik’s head snaps around the moment he notices Ivan approach. Automatically, his hand jabs forward, the knife glinting in the light as red droplets of blood splatter against the white linen of the table cloth. There’s so much blood.
Too much blood.
“Erik, it’s me, Luka,” Ivan says gently.
It’s the first time I’ve heard him refer to himself as the person he once was. Why not say Ivan? Why Luka now? His manner is entirely different. He moves and talks as though trying to calm a child in pain. I see a glimpse of a man so contrasting to the one presented to me in the past few days.
Erik twists around, a flash of recognition in his eyes before it’s lost again beneath the nightmare he’s living.
“Erik, you’re safe,” Anton says gently.
Erik’s chest heaves as he pants heavily. I see him rock on his feet, the weight of his fear forcing his body to move, whilst his memory holds him firmly in place.
“It’s worse this time,” Anton murmurs as Ivan approaches.
“You think it’s…” Ivan’s voice trails off.
Me? I think.
I touched him. I caused this and I need to fix it. Pushing off the wall, I take a step forward.
Anton catches my movement from the corner of his eye. He shakes his head.
“No!” he says a little too sharply, a little too loudly. That sudden noise breaks through Erik’s haze and his head snaps in my direction. Our eyes meet. My breath catches.
The pain I see within him is swimming in fear. Fear so overwhelming, so expansive, so deep that he’s drowning in it. But beyond that, in the deepest darkest depths, is rage, and that rage is directed at me now, or at least the person he sees in his memories.
“You!” Erik snarls at me, baring his teeth.
“Erik, don’t,” Ivan warns, as he reaches out his hand towards him. “This is Rose, you just met her.”
But he doesn’t hear Ivan, he doesn’t hear Anton either. In fact, neither can I. All I hear is the pounding beat of my heart and the whooshing sound of air as I push off the wall and step forward. I don’t think about anything other than the fact that in this moment Erik needs to see me as someone other than the woman who tortured him. Someone so completely different to the woman who broke him. I need to shatter the darkness and pull him up from the depths, and the only way I know how to do that is through ballet.
It’s saved me too many times to count.
I hope it will save him too.
Without thinking about the consequences, I place my arms and feet into fifth position, then lower into a demi-plié before brushing my right foot across the floor. The bottom of my shoe slides across the wood as I leap forward into a brisé, my shirt rippling with air as I spin on my toes finishing with a pirouette. I land lightly despite the heavy ache I carry with me always. My arms are still held wide as the three men freeze. It takes just a couple of seconds to complete the move, but that’s all it takes for everything to change.
Pandora’s box has been opened.
Erik drops the knife from his hand and falls to his knees, a cry of pain ripping up his throat as his hands press against his right flank.
Anton rushes forward, kicking the knife out of the way as he crouches beside him.
“We need a doctor now!” Anton shouts at Ivan who’s staring at me with a mixture of shock, lust, awe and despair.
“Ivan, now!” Anton repeats.
Ivan’s head snaps around to Erik cradled in Anton’s arms. He pulls out his mobile phone and punches in a number. In a few sharp commands he’s called for an ambulance.
“Is he badly hurt?” I ask, as my hands begin to shake uncontrollably now.
“There’s enough blood to suggest he is,” Ivan says, kneeling before Erik. He shrugs off his suit jacket and hands it to Anton who grabs it and presses it against the wound.
“Press it tight against him. I’m going to check she’s okay,” Ivan says quickly.
“Make sure who’s okay?” I ask, taking Ivan’s spot on the floor by Erik. His face is pale, his eyes pressed shut as he mumbles nonsense. Anton eases Erik backwards so he’s lying on the floor.
We lock eyes. “You think he’s hurt someone?”
“Fran took Erik his supper,” Ivan says quickly, giving Anton a look I can’t interpret. “I’m going to go and check on her. Stay with him,” he orders before rushing out of the room.
“That damn ambulance better hurry,” Anton bites out, fear and agony rippling across his features.
“How did this happen?” I murmur, looking between Erik’s pale face to Anton’s concerned one.
“He must’ve had an episode. A flashback…”
“This is my fault. I touched him.”
“No! No, this isn’t you. He let you touch him. That doesn’t happen, ever, Rose.”
“But you said he was tortured by a woman. I must have set something off in him. God, this is my fault,” I say, my hand flying to my mouth.
“No, not you…” Erik grinds out.
I snap my head around to look at Erik, who’s staring up at me with wide eyes. The amber orbs have lost some of the wildness now, and all I see is that deep ocean of sadness. My heart constricts, and the breath tightens in my chest. I know I shouldn’t be thinking it, but I want to dive into his pain, submit to it. I want to wrap myself in the undercurrent of it and make it my own. The deepest parts of me, the shores of my soul, drawn to it inexplicably.
“Erik, what happened?” I ask. I want to touch him, my hand reaches forward, my fingers hovering over the bare skin of his arm.
“She came to my room… Why did she come?”
“Oh, fuck!” Anton exclaims.
“Is Fran okay? Is she hurt too?” I ask, not taking my gaze off him. I remember the older woman’s kind, genuine smile and worry for her.
“Fran? I don’t…” Erik’s eyebrows pull together as though trying to make sense of my words.
“It’s okay, Erik. Don’t think about that right now…” Anton says, his voice trailing off as he looks at me.
Could Erik have hurt Fran? Is he really capable of that? Then I remember the wildness in his eyes, the sheer fucking terror, and I know that it’s possible. Probable even.
“I’m sorry,” Erik mutters, his eyes losing some of their focus as he reaches for his friend.
“It isn’t your fault, Erik. None of this is,” Anton replies.
Erik doesn’t seem to hear him. Instead he turns to me, a grimace marking his handsome face. “Thank you,” he murmurs.
“For what?”
“For dancing…” then his eyes flutter shut but not before his fingers graze gently against my
own.
It takes a further ten minutes for the ambulance to arrive and for Ivan to return, his face sombre, pale. As pale as Erik’s is now.
“Fran?” Anton asks the moment Ivan steps into the room. He stands, giving the paramedics space to deal with Erik. Medical paraphernalia litters the floor as they attempt to stem the flow of blood and ease Erik’s pain. Not that he’s lucid at all now, he passed out not long after Ivan left the room.
Ivan’s gaze flicks between us. “She’s absolutely fine. He didn’t hurt anyone apart from himself.”
“Thank fuck,” Anton murmurs, letting out a long steady breath.
“How is he?” Ivan asks.
I notice a smudge of blood on his cheek. I don’t remember seeing it when he left the room, but there’s so much blood everywhere it’s no surprise he’s got some on him too.
“They’ve managed to stem the bleeding, at least enough to get him into surgery.”
“We’re going to take him now, Mr Sachov. Will one of you be accompanying him?” the paramedic asks.
Ivan glances at Anton. “Go with him. I will call Ms Hadley, let her know what’s happened. I need to ensure Fran gets home safely, she’s a little shaken up.”
“I thought you said she was fine?” I ask.
“Jesus Christ,” Anton says, swiping the back of his hand against his forehead leaving a smear of blood in its wake. “This could have been so much worse.”
“Yes, it could’ve. I’m guessing somewhere deep inside, Erik’s instinct was to protect Fran. That’s why he sought us out.”
“But I thought…” I begin, not understanding how he could stand to be alone with her given his issues with women.
“Fran has been one of the few people Erik can tolerate in small doses. She’s not been able to touch him since he returned home, but she’s never triggered an episode before now… Fuck!” Ivan says, swiping a hand through his hair.
“You weren’t to know he’d react like this,” Anton says, trying to ease his conscience.
“Don’t make excuses for me, Anton. Rose was right, I pushed him too hard. I fucking caused this.”
Anton doesn’t try to dissuade him. I’m guessing he agrees with Ivan deep down, and despite what he’d said to me earlier, I feel just as responsible. I’d seen how broken he was when he’d been introduced to me. I’d recognised his damaged soul and despite that, despite my outward concern, for selfish reasons I’d wanted to reach out to him. I’d wanted to touch his darkness so mine wouldn’t feel so bottomless.
The paramedics slide Erik onto a carrier and lift him off the floor.
“We need to get him to hospital. We’ve radioed ahead to the surgical team who will be prepped and waiting for him,” the female paramedic says.
Ivan nods sharply. He steps forward and rests a hand against Erik’s bare arm, squeezes gently before letting go. They carry Erik out, Anton following behind, leaving me alone with Ivan once more.
Chapter Fourteen
Ivan
“Are you okay, Ivan?” Rose asks, approaching me.
I’m standing by the window, looking out as the ambulance drives away with Erik, my friend, a man who is family, a man who is so scarred by a woman’s cruelty that he hurt himself to try and block out the pain.
A sickness rises in my throat as I remember Svetlana’s limp body, the wounds she inflicted on herself, and the pain in her eyes before she passed out with blood loss. I remember the heartache caused by my emotional torture and realise that I’m no different from that bitch who tortured Erik…
“Ivan, are you okay?” Rose repeats, as she settles in the chair beside me.
I think about what she’s asking me, and that question seems too big to answer. I’ve no idea if I’m okay or not. I’ve no fucking clue.
What does that even mean; ‘Are you okay?’
Am I okay that my friend has stabbed himself? Am I okay that this woman has shaken me to my very core? Am I okay that Anton appears to want her too? Am I okay that Erik allowed her to touch him? Am I okay that she broke through the one barrier no other woman has since he returned from Afghanistan? Am I okay that Rose has crept into my psyche in such a short space of time? Am I okay with the fact she just danced to stop Erik from doing something stupid, to save him from attacking us? Am I okay that she’s opened a festering wound that fucking hurts? Am I okay with the fact that she’s mine now, whether she likes it or not?
I don’t know the answers.
For the first time in my life, I don’t know myself, and it fucking terrifies me. Holding the glass of wine in my hand, I take a long drink, doing everything in my power to stop my hands from shaking.
“Perhaps I should call a cab?” Rose says, reaching for her bag.
She opens the zip and pulls out her phone. I snatch it from her, shoving it into my suit pocket.
“No!” is all I manage to say.
I don’t want her to go anywhere. She can’t leave, not until I figure out what’s wrong with me. I almost laugh at that.
Everything is wrong with me.
I’m a twisted fuck, if I weren’t I wouldn’t be thinking about the thousand ways I’d like to fuck Rose right now. I wouldn’t be thinking about the creaminess of her skin coloured pink by the hard slap of my hand, or her ankles and wrists tied together with ribbons of silk. I wouldn’t be thinking about her legs stretched wide and my face buried in the lushness of her thighs, my mouth tasting her essence. I wouldn’t be thinking about all the ways I can make her mine, and all the ways I could take what doesn’t belong to me… her heart, her love, her passion, her fucking soul.
“It’s been a long night… I think it’s best if I go. Will you let me know how Erik is doing once you hear?” She moves to stand, but my hand flies out gripping her thigh instinctively.
“You’re not going anywhere,” I mutter, my fingers squeezing a little too hard.
This time Rose doesn’t try to escape my hold. Instead she remains still, tense.
“Ivan… you’re in shock,” she whispers.
She’s right, but not for the reason she thinks. This isn’t the first time Erik has hurt himself and it won’t be the last. There’s more to how I feel and all of it is wrapped up in her.
“I still haven’t told you,” I say, lifting my gaze to meet hers.
“Told me what, Ivan?”
She tips her head to the side. There’s a softness in her gaze and I’m not sure I like it. Where has that woman gone? The one who looked as though she could devour me and not the other way around. The look she gives me now reminds me too much of Svetlana. Sweet, sweet, Svetlana.
I remove my hand from her thigh and take her hand in mine.
“Come with me,” I say, pulling Rose to her feet and leading her from the room. She doesn’t protest, she simply follows me as I lead her through locked doors and dark hallways.
Each time I stop at another door, unlocking it, I expect her to bolt, to run. But the deeper we move through the house, the closer she seems to move towards me, entwining her fingers with mine, her body pressing against my side.
Stopping at the door to the studio, I let go of her hand and lean my forehead against the wood, my palms pressing against the frame. I breathe in deeply, knowing that the moment I step over the threshold the demon I’ve been keeping at bay all night will be set free. It will escape free from its cage and it will fucking devour her.
“Ivan, what’s behind this door?” she asks softly.
There’s a noticeable tremor in her voice. It holds a mixture of fear and excitement, making for an intoxicating combination. The demon within me begins to stir.
“A place I’m not sure you’re ready to see,” I respond, pushing back off the door and turning to face her.
She looks up at me, curiosity flashing in the meadow-green of her eyes. Those eyes that make me want to be someone else. Someone who can give rather than take, who can give love rather than steal it. I rip my gaze away, choosing to look at her cherry red lips instead.
“Is this to do with the red ribbon?”
“It’s to do with everything,” I respond.
She nods her head, folding her arms over her chest. A move I’ve come to recognise, to protect herself.
“Am I making a mistake?” she asks.
Her question isn’t directed at me, it’s a question she asks herself. The fact is, it doesn’t really matter if she is or she isn’t. She could turn around right now, walk out of this house and I would respect that. After the events of tonight I owe her at least one night’s reprieve.
But that’s it. That’s all she gets.
Four days ago, we made a deal. She had her terms, and I had mine.
Tonight, Rose may have danced to distract Erik, to save him from himself, but she opened the door to the demon within me and I know myself enough to know that once released it won’t stop until it gets what it wants, and it wants Rose.
I want Rose.
Stepping around her, I back Rose up against the door, my hands resting on either side of her head. I already feel the darkness within me begin to unravel. My need to take from her a sickness that wi
ll devour me if I don’t set the demon free. It’s her or me, and self-preservation is kicking in.
“Agreeing to come here tonight was a mistake, but you know that already, Rose.”
Her lips part on a breath as I push my hips against hers. The pink flush she always gets, that turns me the fuck on, blossoms on her cheeks.
“Ivan…” her voice trails off as I circle my hips, rubbing my cock against the mound of her pussy. She must feel how hard I am for her. Fuck, I want to rip off her clothes. I want to bury myself into her. I want to dive beneath her skin. I want to lure out the darkness that glitters like an obsidian stone within her chest.
“There was a moment just before Erik appeared that I saw something in you, something that called to me,” I say, tracing my finger along the length of her jaw.
“And what was that?” she whispers.
“Hunger…”
Her breath catches as I dip my head, sliding my lips against the curve of her neck. She twists her face away from mine, baring her most tender spot. Whether she understands it or not, it’s a sign of submission, that expanse of skin where her pulse thrums telling me all I need to know. Everything about the way she’s reacting now is submissive and whilst it turns me on, the other side of her, the hungry side, the sharp mouth and will of steel calls to me even more. She has the power to rule me.
That’s a first.
As I run my lips lower, swirling my tongue into the dip of her neck and sliding my lips and fingers out across her collarbone, I understand something about Rose.
She’s a contradiction.
Like a garden rose she has the delicate fragility of velvety petals, soft to touch, layered, but easily plucked. Yet, I need to be careful because one wrong move and the sharp thorns that protect the truth of her have the ability to make a person bleed, to fucking shred the skin.
Like she’s shredding mine now.
Chapter Fifteen
Rose
Hunger… that word hangs in the air between us as Ivan bends his head and presses his mouth against the sensitive skin of my neck. The soft caress twisting my stomach in knots. I could let him take me. I could let him devour me.