by Jasmine Walt
His mind's running away with him. “That's not me, though,” I protest.
“Sure it is. Or it could be. Even if you go back, things are gonna be different. You can't be who you were; you can't unsee the things you've seen. So the only question is who you'll become.”
“I don't want to be someone different.” Tears well in my eyes. “I want to be home, getting ready to go dance while other people party. I want to be babysitting my friend's kid and be in my own space.”
Knowing he can't hurt me here gives me the courage to actually talk to him, free from the other baggage. But he doesn't look thrilled at what's coming out. “I want you to be happy, Alisa. You can't be happy if you're not safe.”
“Your brother hates me. He would have killed me.”
“My brother hates everyone. He always has. He's an old man's soul in a young whippersnapper's body. It's nothing personal. He'll like you well enough once you've stuck around a little, and he's seen that you can contribute. We grew up within a pack; everyone pulls their weight. But this ward you're playing with, that's a big contribution. Once we integrate it into our defenses, he won't say a fucking word against you.”
Reza sits next to me on the bed. I tense, despite myself. His arms so close remind me of the last time he tackled me to the ground. My bruised body still hurts. He flinches. For a moment, my stomach knots with guilt. I don't like that that wounds him, but we both know that he earned it. Then a little smile creeps onto his lips, and he starts to become Ballad. I've never seen it in good light, at least, not when I was calm enough to understand what I was seeing, and it's odd watching his clothes slump to the floor as his legs get shorter. He puts his head in my lap. I let him. I don't fucking know why, but I let him. Maybe I just don't have it in me to be mad at him anymore.
I want something familiar, something comforting. Something that makes sense.
I fall asleep with my face buried in his fur, and I dream we're back home in my bed, that the rest of this was an elaborate nightmare. In the dream, I wake and get him some food. I take him for a walk, mentally thumbing through my calendar to make room for my regulars. I never would have thought something so normal could seem so ludicrous.
A few hours later, I wake to Reza's taut stomach flexing subtly under me. He's trying to slide back into his pants. “Sorry,” he whispers. “I didn't want you to have to wake to this.”
“It's okay,” I yawn, sitting up. He buttons his pants shut, and I see why he was in such a hurry to hide away from me. He pretends not to notice. It all reminds me of that night I came home drunk and saw him, the real him, standing over me, how he carried me to my bed. I wanted to touch him then, have my way with him, but the booze haze made me move so slowly I was in bed and asleep before I could. And I thought I was dreaming, so I didn't try too hard.
“I was thinking,” he says, “maybe we could use lemon and sea salt to juice your spell.”
“Aren't those for dream protection?” I ask, hardly paying attention to anything but the subtle tensing of the muscles in his chest as he bends over for his shirt.
“Technically. But this place is almost more like a dream than where you come from. And some of those we most want to keep out can travel through dreams.” He shudders, but when I raise an eyebrow, he shakes his head. Clearly, he doesn't want me to ask. And ordinarily I would, but despite every garment blocking his body from view, my mind is still elsewhere. He pushes his head through the neck hole, but the shirt doesn't fall into place because my hands are already against his stomach. I stroke my fingers along his abs and realize its close to how I'd pet Ballad's tummy. “Lis?” he asks breathlessly. I lean away from him and pull his lips down to mine.
His palm splays between my shoulder blades, his body so sturdy and hard against mine. Like nothing could break him, and while he's wrapped around me, nothing could break me, either. I need that right now. I need him.
It's a terrible idea; I like him well enough, but that liking is a muddle, confused by the memory of that first moment, waking up with him naked, standing over me. Our history…it's full of secrets and little violations. I can't pretend to be a blushing virgin, not knowing he's seen me naked, seen me pole dance, seen me pleasure myself. He's already seen every secret of mine I might reveal while letting him have me tonight. Only he's seen it all without permission. I shouldn't do this, shouldn't jump in headfirst, drowning my cares in his eager, handsome body. Not without unpacking all that means. Whatever we might have, whatever we might do, it's a lot more complex than a simple hookup or booty call.
And still I can't drag myself away from him. I'm panting, breathless as his teeth catch my lower lip gently. I'm moaning, arching into him as he clutches me close.
I need this.
I need him.
I'm all but crawling into his lap, wrapping my legs around his waist. He moans, his cock hard against my center, a promise of things to come. My fingers catch in his hair and play under the neckline of his shirt. Every bit of his warm skin that I can touch fills a want, deep down. A desire to return to when things were simpler. When he was only that eccentric, cocky man who liked me a little too much for helping his pet.
Maybe, just for a few minutes, I can let this all go.
“Lis—” he groans, twisting his lips away from me. I kiss his earlobe, blazing a trail to his jawline, then his neck. My fingers are knotted in his shirt, dragging it up over his head. He refuses to raise his arms so I can tug it the rest of the way off. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” I answer without hesitation. Even I'm surprised at the force in my voice.
He raises his arms, and the fabric slips away from his skin. His eyes catch mine, full of heat, urgency, and delicious temptation. I know the feeling.
I explore his skin with my hands and mouth, my lips lingering over the scar where he was shot just earlier today. Just earlier today. That still seems like an alien thought. It's barely a bad memory…because of me. Because of the symbol I drew, which I now know enough to recognize. He thinks I belong here. Have a space here. Am worth teaching and encouraging.
I still don't believe it. Can't.
His fingers pull apart the knot holding my dress's neckline up, and slide the zipper at the back down. The fabric falls away from me, catching between us. His skin is hot against my breasts, though I'm not sure whether the heat is his own or just the powerful awareness of every bit of skin touching.
In this strange, strange new world, this makes sense. Sex. Affection.
I reach for the button on his pants, but he puts his hand over mine and glances toward the open door. I stumble to my feet and close it, wiggling out of the dress as I go.
There's no self-consciousness when he surveys me. He's seen it anyway. I shouldn't dwell on the fact that thought is still bitter.
He stands, already undoing the fastener on his pants. They drop to the ground, and he kicks free of them as his hands find my skin again.
He kisses me, lifting me off my feet to do it without slouching. I lock my legs around him, nothing inside me but the wanton urge to savor every bit of him against my skin. He gasps, and his tongue strokes my lip. Mine darts out to meet it.
The bed creaks with his weight. He lies back, taking me with him. My weight falls across his chest, and he holds me there, not giving so much as a centimeter of distance back. Nor would I want him to.
I grind against him, unable to so much as articulate my desire. But I'm sure he feels it in how wet I am, in how his cock slides against me, coated with my arousal. He jumps to attention, his erection flexing at my entrance. Our eyes find each other's for an electric moment, mine pleading and his ravenous.
His hands catch my hips, pulling me down and impaling me onto him. The first penetration is heaven and hell, his cock feeling enormous inside me, like there's no way I can take it all, yet setting every nerve alight as he proves that yes, I can take it all. With him buried in me to the hilt, I'm full, breathless, and on the edge of begging for everything he'll give me.
&nb
sp; I'm free. In my skin and out of my head.
His thumb strokes my lip, and I begin moving, riding him slowly at first, then desperately. His nails dig into my shoulders, and the pain is delicious, heightening every other pleasant sensation to new highs.
I shut my eyes, only for a moment, and his voice rumbles through me. “Lis, look at me.” He sounds raw, and my eyes pop open.
The view's pretty spectacular, every muscular dip and angle bared for my view—when I can take my eyes off his face and the place where we join. His body looks right against mine. Like he was made for me to be touching him.
My feet slide under his thighs as I strain to feel him deeper, harder, anything just to feel him. With his hands tracing my curves and the look in his eyes, my body is a live wire, ringing with every sensation until the echoes are almost deafening, overwhelming me in wave after wave of ecstasy.
His hand slides between my legs, teasing my clit as I writhe on top of him. He knows just how to touch me to send me over the edge, crying out his name and clinging to his shoulders. My pussy tightens, the rest of me almost exploding from the pressure. His dick flexes. “Lis—” I can hear it in his voice. He's close, too. And I want to watch him experience the pleasure that I just did. I reach behind my back and caress his balls.
His eyes widen, a cheeky grin playing across his lips before the expression's overtaken in another moan. He holds me where he wants me, gripping my hips to guide his rhythm. And then he's gasping, giving himself over to his own release. I bring my arm back in front to support myself and smile at him.
He drags me down by his side, brushing the hair away from my face. I bury my face into his neck and heave a soft laugh. He kisses my forehead and pulls me closer to the center of the bed. “Lis—” he starts but can't seem to think of what he was gonna say next.
“Thanks. I needed that.” I'm all but holding my breath, hoping he's not going to say something that ruins it.
“I wasn't expecting that. I should have used a—”
“Do you guys use birth control?” If I'm reading that right, it seems like a strange place for his mind to go. “I've got an implant.”
He flushes, and I can't help but laugh at his awkwardness. “What was—”
I know what he's trying to ask, but I don't have words for it, either. “Exactly what I wanted.”
His arm tightens around me, and I laugh anxiously. There'll be hell to pay for this in the morning, I'm sure.
But that's in the morning. And this is now.
30
Alisa
In the morning, I try to talk to Reza again over breakfast at the counter by the bar. Sleeping in his arms helped; it felt familiar…but waking up in this strange place, it's not something I want to do again. If I truly know magic, if I can truly protect myself, I'd rather do it myself and not be in the circle of his protection. Maybe it's stubbornness or a sense of pride…I don't know. I just, I disagree with letting other people do things for me that I should be able to do for myself.
“That ward worked. I could use it at home—”
“Are you so eager to get away from me, Lis?” He flashes me a hurt glance.
“It's not about leaving you. It's about being home. Handling my own life. Not being stuck in a situation that makes me feel useless, ignorant, and trapped without everyone I miss at home.”
“Where you have no clue whether your spell work will be strong enough to protect you. You're new to it yet. You should practice. And the Well, it can do things to your power. Amplify it sometimes. How do you know how much of your spell's efficacy came from that? You'll be even more helpless out there. The people you have waiting for you will still be there when things calm down. But you can't spend time with them if you're dead, a Reaper having evaded your protections. And you might even bring them to the Reapers' attention.”
It's probably coming from a place of concern, a place of protectiveness, but it's the last thing I can stomach right now. I shove my plate to the side and storm up to my room. I sketch the sigil for locking on my door. I have no clue whether it'll keep Reza out, but at least he'll be perfectly clear that he's not welcome if he tries to break through it.
I'm not used to being a pawn. Not used to running my life by someone else's rules.
Is it because of last night? Because now there's sex-fuzzies in the mix, and he's hoping he'll get lucky again if I stay? Realistically, he probably would. I think if I am stuck here, fucking him is gonna be the high point of my existence. I've never handled boredom well, and reading alone is not enough to keep me busy.
It all seems so juvenile, me hiding here like I'm a kid who's been exiled to her room. I fucking hate it. I fucking hate him for insisting on grounding me to his house. I fucking hate myself for locking myself in here as the only way I can assert myself.
I may not be a prisoner, but I'm also not exactly allowed to stand on my own two feet, am I?
If I'd known then what I know now, would I have rescued him? Had I known that I'd lose my independence and my self-determination to his protective instincts?
Probably yes. I don't think I could have let him die. I doubt it would play out any differently if it happened again. But that doesn't mean I've forgiven him for putting me in this position.
Damnit, Reza? Why can't things be as simple as they seem when you kiss me?
31
Reza
Alisa takes the warmth in the room with her, leaving me eating cold cereal with an unhappy expression. Eren raises his eyebrows. “I was organizing shit under the bar. You want to tell me what that was about?”
“Not really. It's self-explanatory. You think you'd be happy being uprooted like that?”
“I meant you pushing her that hard. And I know what you got up to last night.” He rubs the side of his nose. “I smell her on you. It's not just that you owe her a blood debt. It's that you're in love with her.”
“You're full of shit.” I don't expand on that out loud; it'll only convince him I'm defensive. I'm not in love with her—I just value her and want her to stay safe. I pick at a knot on the bar with my fingernail. I shouldn't have screwed her. The moment carried me away, but in the aftermath, I can't help thinking that, somehow, I was taking advantage of her. She was afraid—that's understandable. And she reached out to me, not because she wanted me in her bed, but because she didn't have anyone else to reach out to. I'm a shithead for letting her.
“No, I don't think so. And what it comes down to, I guess, is what you're gonna do with that. If you force her to stay, she'll never love you back. And you can protect her; you know it. But you know what it'll cost you.”
“I'm not in love with her. Fuck.”
“You're playing happy homemaker with her, pushing her to share your interests, to scratch her name into your home where you can see it every day. You don't just want her forgiveness for uprooting her. You don't just want her friendship. You want her partnership. And if you don't find a way to tell her that and reconcile what both of you want, you're gonna hate yourself in a century, when she's gone and all that's left is the ‘what if's’.”
“Since when are you the people watcher?”
“Since you disappeared and I had to start being the sympathetic damn bartender. God, I can't wait to get away from that shit.”
I laugh at his dour look. “Good thing I'm back, then. Because you're damn bad at reading people. It's a debt, that's it. She's a delightful person, but there's nothing like that between us. Nothing.”
“You're an idiot.”
“It runs in the family.”
“So if there's nothing like that between you, why did you sleep with her?”
“Why do you sleep with anyone? Because, in the moment, it seemed like the right thing to do.” No way in fuck I'm gonna elaborate on the awkward details, like the confidence in the way she looked at me as I took in the sight of her naked or how perfectly she fit in my arms. How her tight pussy gripped me and created heaven on Earth knowing it pleased her, too. That we'd given an
d taken equally.
Eren cocks an eyebrow at me. “Gutter-mind. Spare me the details.”
“Wasn't planning on spilling. I don't kiss and tell.”
He wrinkles his nose. “I'm gonna pretend it was no more than kissing.”
But he knows from my dopey smile that it was so much more. And yet, it was so much less than it could have been, too. It was rushed. Urgent. I didn't get to kiss every inch of her, or finger her. I didn't get to act out every inappropriate urge I'd ever had. I didn't get to learn her body's responses. And I'm not gonna have the chance to again. Not if it comes with this kind of guilt.
“Off topic, though. It was a physical thing. Nothing more.”
Eren rolls his eyes. “You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make him drink, I guess. When you pull your head out of your ass, I won't even say 'told you so'.”
“Were you always such a know-it-all?”
“No. Usually I'm the one with my head up my ass. But since you've taken that responsibility on, despite your busy schedule, I've had to expose my head to the harsh light of day. So enjoy your warm, cozy, dark place while you can stay there.”
“Asshole.”
“Just let me know when you've got your head screwed on straight.” Eren whaps at the back of my head, and goes back to his work.
My cereal tastes like ash. Today's gonna suck, I can already tell.
When I'm done eating, I'll shower more thoroughly. I'll wash Alisa's fragrance off me if I have to claw my skin off to do it.
32
Alisa
Reza and I pass each other twice on my way to get more books, but each time, he ignores me except for a short nod. It's infuriating. Out of all the people to play dumb post-banging, I'd expected more from him. Not flowers and chocolates or anything, but I'd expect him to at least be civil. I guess I upset him this morning.