by Sarah Noffke
In a rush he grips my other arm, his fingernails pinching into my skin. “Although I’m pleased to hear this, I must ask that you not play games with me, Roya.”
My breath hitches. “I...I...I…”
Pressing his fingers harder into my arm, he crowds his face up against mine. “You might think the streets of Las Vegas were loud enough to conceal your conversations,” he says through beautifully white clenched teeth. “They weren’t.”
“Chase.” A subservient plea in my voice.
“Yes?” he says in a hiss, his canines flashing at me.
“You’re hurting me.” I let my voice quiver, and swivel my gaze to my arm. The skin has turned blotchy in places due to the constriction caused by his fingers.
Loosening his grip on me he skims his hand until it meets my wrist. Like a handcuff he cinches around it, but not as tight as before. “Imagine how upset I was to hear your recount of your revelation to those men in Las Vegas. It almost sounded as though you were unhappy to know why I wanted you.”
“I’d never want you to be upset,” I say, realizing my fingers are still inside the waistband of his pants. I pull them away and step back as far as he’ll allow me, his grip still on my wrist. Staring down at the crumbling marble under my feet, I practice a look of shame. “I’m sorry if I hurt you. It’s only that the circumstances involving us are so complicated and have been a lot to digest.” Bringing my submissive eyes up to his I say, “But I’ve decided that no matter your reason for wanting me, I’m grateful.” He searches the features of my face, with an expression that isn’t quite anger.
He tucks his chin, swallows hard, and turns his gaze to the distant corner of Athens. “Who are they?”
“They’re like my parents,” I say.
With a lift of his chin he flicks his eyes back to mine. “Will they come between us?”
“How could anyone come between us? Will your parents be a problem to our union? Please tell me there’s no one who has that power,” I say, my voice dripping with fake desperation.
“Oh no, it’s our marriage that will finally put me back in my father’s graces. Bearing children with pure blood will not only reinstate me into the Blain family, but it will put me in the highest position.”
“It appears that our relationship will mend many fences and for that I’m glad.”
A wicked smile quirks his lips up, a clever gleam in his eyes. “Oh yes. It will mend castle walls and once I’m back inside the Blain estate…I’m going to kill every last one of them. Then you, my queen, will have a proper place to birth my children, since the Grotte is no place for them.”
In a palace of blood. How romantic…
“How do you always know where I am?” I ask.
“Roya.” He shakes his head and clicks his tongue. To my relief he’s softened a bit in appearance and with his grip. “You haven’t been paying attention, have you?”
“Not enough, apparently,” I say in a meek voice.
He releases me and gracefully steps closer. “I’m targeted on your energy. I know it like I know the contours of most people’s minds. Even when you’re awake, I know where you are. I wish I could say that I knew what you felt and thought, but you’re too good at shielding. Soon a day will come where you will never use a shield against me, but for now I’ll allow it. I do enjoy the game of love and it isn’t as much fun if I have too many advantages.”
He’s sick. Corrupt and sick. I lace a smile across my lips, plant my hand softly on his chest, and feign a shudder as though his heartbeat under my fingertips is erotic. The only thing turning me on right now is the idea of ripping his heart out.
With unhurried, deliberate steps he begins snaking his way around me. “Did you know that the word Parthenon refers to a virgin’s apartment? Funny place for us to meet tonight.” He’s completed the tight circle around me. “So, Roya, now you know why I want you. Why don’t we cut to the chase?” His smile is inches from my mouth. I run my eyes over the features of his intricately beautiful face.
Cupping the side of my head, he pulls me in to him. Sickness rises in my stomach, but I make a silent plea just as his mouth covers mine. Under all the breath and movement I find a way to forge the lust and the allure. The animalistic desire I once felt for him is gone, replaced by repulsion as deep as the pits in hell. I know the moves to this dance, though, even if I’m forced to do them with the devil. When his mouth grazes mine I push into him, thinking maybe I’ll make his lips hurt and he’ll mistake that as passion. He bites me. I let him pull away first and then I lunge for him, pretending to still be hungry. His pink mouth twitches with a smile. I thank my inner goddess.
“Well, it’s settled.” He flattens his shirt, like I’ve wrinkled it. “You’ll be my wife.”
I pull him toward me, enjoying this little game he’s unaware I’m playing. With a shaky hand I find the place where his shirt opens to his chest, three buttons down, and slide my fingers up until I feel the blood beating in the vein along his neck. I push up on my tiptoes until my lips meet my fingertips and kiss him softly. His purr masks the revulsive shudder I let slip out. He tastes like juice concentrate, making my mouth feel like it’s now coated in syrup. His skin is as hard as what I suspect the statue of Zeus on the east pediment feels like. If it wasn’t for the beating under his skin, then I’d question whether he was human.
“Yes, but we have eternity to be together,” I whisper against his skin. “I don’t want to rush this.”
My scalp suddenly screams. His fingers yank my head back, almost ripping out a chunk of hair. “I’ve waited a long time for this. Don’t you forget that.” He releases my hair and stares at me behind sinister eyes.
“As grateful as I am for this opportunity, as much as I want you,” I say, “I need to know you want me, and not just my blood. Now that I know the truth it’s more confusing than ever.” I pause for effect and then look at him like he’s the answer to all my problems. “Make me believe you want me. Prove you love me.”
His black eyebrows furrow in confusion. This gorgeous and powerful man is suddenly lost. “How?”
I thread my fingers through his smooth hair, rubbing them against his scalp. “That’s the thing about love. It’s a mystery. You’ll figure it out and when you do, I’ll be yours…forever.”
I pull my bottom lip into my mouth, my top teeth press down against it. He yanks me to him and growls. His excitement is palpable; it almost courses through my body. Chase loves games and that’s what love is to him. A game. He probably thinks I’m smiling due to the ecstasy of the moment. He leans down, his mouth going wide. I almost don’t hide the horror in my eyes before his teeth pierce my neck and rack against my skin. Pain sears from the bite, like a hand held too close to a flame. However, if this is a battle scar, I’ll endure it. His breath presses against my skin sharply, eliciting a response that even my revulsion can’t overcome. Goose bumps rise to the surface. His eyes meet mine and I smile back at him with feigned unabashed adoration. He kisses me once upon the lips and steps away. A distance I’ve been looking forward to.
“Until next time, mon amour,” he says, lowering his chin.
Chapter Thirty-Four
“Are those teeth marks on your neck!?” George says too loud when I sit down with a bowl of salty grits. After last night if I never have anything sweet again I’ll be fine.
“George,” I reprimand in a hush. “Be quiet.” Keeping my eyes low I scan the main hall. Thankfully it doesn’t appear Trey is present, but half a dozen people are twisted around in their seats, curious looks on their faces. One of them I stare at too long. Aiden’s. He’s wearing a look that matches George’s horrified expression.
“He did that, didn’t he?” George grips my hand and points his gaze at Aiden. The three of us are locked in a staring contest now. Thankfully, most everyone else has turned back to their breakfast.
Aiden must have read George’s lips or sensed the allegation because he shakes his head with a deliberate force. Unable to stoma
ch the look of gross disbelief on Aiden’s face I slip down in my chair, using my hands as a visor over my forehead. “No,” I say so only George can hear. “It wasn’t him.”
“Chase did this to you?!” Again his voice is too loud, drawing uninvited attention from neighboring tables. The only thing I’m grateful for is the onlookers are mostly a group of research scientists visiting from our sister society in the Pacific Northwest, the Reverians. Hopefully they don’t know who Chase is. More importantly, hopefully they don’t know who I am. Ungratefully, through the crack in my fingers I spy that Aiden is still staring, his mouth now gaping open.
“George, it isn’t like you think.”
He slips my hair back, taking in the pair of long, red streaks running from just under my earlobe to the middle of my neck. “And what should I think?” he says, his voice flat with hostility.
I rearrange my hair so that it covers the marks. “Look,” I say, finally daring to glance at him, “I have everything under control.”
“It doesn’t appear that way,” George snaps. “Did he hurt you anywhere else?”
I remain silent, pinning my eyes on the table. Although I found it impossible to cover up the bite marks completely, I was able to wear a long-sleeved shirt that covered the bruises where Chase had gripped me too tightly.
“Damn it, Roya,” George says in an angry hush. “What are you getting yourself mixed up in?”
“I just needed to see if my protective charm worked against him, that’s all,” I lie.
“And?”
Planting my elbows on the table I cradle my forehead in my hands. “It works.”
“But it looks as though things got out of your control,” George says, still sounding on the verge of exploding.
“No, I need Chase to think he’s in control. I need him to…” I stop, realizing that I can’t divulge any more to George, especially with other people likely to eavesdrop.
“Roya, what are you not telling me?”
“Don’t worry about it, George,” I say, flipping my head up and meeting his eyes, which look like they’re about to bulge out of his head. “I’m not going to dream travel while Chase is still after me, okay?”
“You’re hiding something though.” He slides his eyes in Aiden’s direction. To my horror, Aiden is still locked on us, not even remotely trying to hide his interest in what’s going on at my table. “I get the feeling,” George continues, refocusing on me, “that you’re hiding a lot.” He pushes up from the table and stares down at me contemptuously. “I need some time to think about this.”
His ominous words hang in the air as he charges out of the main hall. I crumble onto the table, not caring an ounce what everyone’s spying eyes see. Not even Aiden’s. The idea that I’ve hurt George takes over my being. Wraps around my mind and constricts.
♦
“That’s more than rough, Stark,” Joseph says after hearing my recount of what happened during breakfast. “You can’t catch an emotional break lately, can you?”
I shake my head.
“Well, maybe you should consider staying in your room for a while. I’m not sure if Mercury is in retrograde, but there’s definitely something affecting your interactions lately,” Joseph says, taking a seat in his news reporting chair. “Not that you ever have an easy time of it, but you seem to be extra provoking lately.”
“Thanks for the concern, but I can handle it. And besides, we need to get some strategizing underway. Zhuang isn’t going to kill himself, if you know what I mean.”
Joseph’s laugh sounds especially loud in the serene space of the Panther room. “Yeah, that’s true.”
“Tomorrow morning let’s meet in the same classroom as last time,” I say. “Since we don’t know when this whole thing is going down we need to go ahead and work through the entire strategy. If you could hone this fire business, that would be extra handy.”
“Oh sure, I’ll just get right on that.” Joseph rolls his eyes. “I can’t so much as start a campfire by rubbing two sticks together, so I’m not sure if we should hold our breath that I’ll make a spark out of thin air.”
“But have you really tried?”
“With the persistence of a hummingbird after nectar.”
“Well, these kinds of things take practice,” I try and console.
“Oh, yeah, really? How much you practice before you made a mini cyclone in the Grotte?” Bitterness wells up in Joseph’s tone.
“Actually, that’s a fantastic point. I was super emotionally charged then. Maybe we can get you really riled up and see if that helps.”
“Yeah, maybe,” Joseph says, dispirited.
“I’ll practice harnessing the wind and see if I can figure out a strategy. How does that sound?”
“Sounds like we’re a bunch of stupid kids pretending we’re super heroes,” he says in an uncharacteristically melancholy voice.
“Everything is about perspective.” Bob and Steve said that to me once. It’s helpful advice that grounds me sometimes.
“And currently I’m having a hard time wrapping my mind around this ridiculous idea that through the forces of my mind I’ll control an element like fire.” He throws his hands up in the air. “This whole idea is absurd!”
I caution Joseph to be quiet with a single look. “George Bernard Shaw wrote that all great truths start out as blasphemies.”
“Thanks, Shuman, I appreciate the adage.”
“Fine,” I say, lying down in my chair, “you’re allowed to be cynical this one and only time. But I want you to get it out of your system and show up with a better attitude tomorrow morning.”
“Sure thing.” Joseph salutes me. “So while I’m being allowed to act like you, I mean pessimistic, I’d like to say that I’m doubtful about how this whole plan can realistically be executed. There’s tons of security in place that specifically protects us from being able to do this kind of stuff. How’s it all gonna magically go away so that these events unfold?”
“We know Zhuang enters the Institute,” I say, holding up one finger. “So right there tells you that something in the security system doesn’t work on Day Z. Secondly,” I count off another finger, “you saw the vision so it can happen. We just have to figure out how.” I tick off a third finger. “And lastly, maybe in the end it will take a bit of magic to save the day. After everything I’ve witnessed, that wouldn’t be so unbelievable.”
♦
Each hour that passes that I don’t see George makes the open wound deepen. How would I feel if the roles had been reversed? If he showed up with teeth marks from another woman? I’d be hurt and that’s exactly what I did so dismissively to him. He’s my sweet George. And sometimes I wish I knew how to punish myself for my apathetic attitude. The look in his eyes this morning scratched my heart and throughout the day it’s become infected.
“Come in,” he says, a few seconds after I knock.
Pressing the button, I will myself forward. Willing myself to make apologies. Willing myself to take off my pride if it repairs the mistakes my stupidity caused.
George sits on the ground, a few books splayed out around him. One in his hand, clasped shut. He’s wearing the brown T-shirt that has a chest pocket. I always pretend to stick something in there and only the last time did he call me out, saying I was just looking for an excuse to touch his chest. Looking up at me, he lays the book to the side. His expression reminds me of a dust storm for some reason, brutal and also blindingly unreadable.
“Do you want to see me or should I go?” I say, threading my fingers together in front of me.
“Don’t go,” he says, and although it’s what I want to hear, the way he says it is all wrong. Kneeling down next to him, I wait until he looks at me. Deep in his brown eyes there’s a pain, but preceding that is still his love, so unwavering it hurts. “I’m sorry, George. I know the way I reacted earlier was insensitive. It was––”
“It’s all right, Roya,” he interrupts. “I trust you if you say you have things under
control with Chase. I just worry.”
“George, Joseph and I have a plan.”
“I get that,” he says, picking at the fabric of the blue carpet. “But he hurt you and do you know what I’d do if anything––”
“Nothing is going to happen,” I say, knowing I can’t make that promise. So to make up for my words I move forward, crawl into his lap, and wrap his arms around my torso. “I don’t want to make you worry. I…”
“You what?”
I love you. Why can’t I say it? I feel it with all my being, but the words are somehow stuck inside me.
I lace my fingers into his, turn sideways, and put my ear to his chest. “I’m an idiot, undeserving of you.”
He uncurls his fingers from mine, taking back his hand and moving in such a way that I have to sit up. “Roya,” he says, his tone bordering on frustration.
I turn and look at him. For some reason I just want to kiss him, make his lips erase all the pains in my heart, all my doubts and fears.
“Roya,” he begins again. “I don’t…there’s…” He sighs, at a loss for words.
Swiveling around so I’m fully facing him, I perch on my toes right in front of his curled up legs. “George, whatever you’re about to say just stop.”
“I can’t. I need to say something and I don’t want to.”
“Then don’t,” I say, taking his face in both my hands. “Just kiss me, please.”
He doesn’t respond, but a bit of tension resigns inside him. I lean in, feeling a new tenderness between us. It’s magnified when I brush my lips against his and feel only half his normal intensity. Hands grip my shoulders, urging me back. I can only guess my face is a portrait of bewilderment when George scoots away so we aren’t touching.
After sitting back and hugging my legs to my chest I chance a look at him. A wise and scorned look reflects off his face. “If you love me then why can’t you say it?” he says, his voice not sounding the least bit tragic, which is how his words make me feel.