by R. Scarlett
“Tina,” Molly whispered, collapsing by her friend’s motionless body. “Tina, just hold on.” Her hands fluttered over Tina’s many wounds, unsure of what to do or how to stem the bleeding.
Slowly, Tina’s eyes fluttered, and she mustered a grin. “You came back.”
“Of course I did,” Molly whimpered.
The pain wrecked her entire body. She was too late. She’d hesitated, hadn’t fought hard enough. No, don’t stop! She frantically searched for her phone with one hand.
“911,” she repeated to herself, her hand digging into her dress pocket.
“Molly,” a voice called behind her, at the edge of the warehouse.
Molly turned her head halfway and wetness blurred her vision, but she saw the beast, the man who’d poisoned her to love him.
“No,” she mumbled, clinging Tina more tightly to her body. “No. We have to get help.”
Tensley walked over and untangled Molly, lifting her to her feet. “She’s dead, Molly.”
Molly violently shook her head. No, Tina couldn’t be dead. She heard herself say it over and over again as Tensley ran his hands over her back, consoling her. “It’s okay, Molly. I got you.”
“Pearce is gone too,” Illya said from behind them, his boots crunching over the gravel as he approached.
Tensley continued to stroke her hair, but Molly barely felt it. Her heart was what needed soothing.
“Deal with the bodies,” Tensley said to Illya, lifting Molly into his arms.
He brought her to a waiting car and put her in the back seat; it was the same driver as before, and the man was too professional to question her appearance or what had just transpired. Molly clung to Tensley the entire ride, feeling numb, lost, too shocked to speak.
Tensley’s fingers smoothed along her bruises, along the slash in her side, and he cursed, over and over, her eyes going to his pursed mouth.
“You’re going to be fine, dolcezza,” he murmured. “And I’ll have your suitcases brought to my home until you’re ready to get them.” He stroked her weak jaw. The endearment struck her deep in her chest and she nuzzled in closer, eyes blinded by the blur of moving lights.
“How did you find me?” Her voice was too quiet, but in the silence of the car, he heard.
“Our driver, he told me the area he’d dropped you in. I followed your scent after that,” he said softly, stroking her bruised cheek over and over again until it faded to nothing.
The car finally stopped, and he helped her out. They were at Lance’s apartment so he could help heal her, and Tensley carried her effortlessly through the music store, up the stairs, and into the spare bedroom they’d stayed in once before. She stood in the middle of the room as he bustled around, staring at the perfect white sheets on the bed—so clean, so different from the huge amount of red she’d just seen.
“Molly?”
She turned, scanning his white dress shirt splattered with red. Her breathing quickened.
“Take it off,” she muttered, her fingers prying at his buttons.
Tensley stared hard at her, plucking each button open and letting his shirt fall.
She looked down at herself, the blood painting her flesh and clothes. Her heart raced. She was covered in her own blood, Pearce’s blood, and Tina’s.
Frantically, she yanked at her clothes and Tensley’s strong hands shed them, leaving them both partly nude and beaten.
Her fingers lingered over his chest, aching to reach for that iron heart.
“Molly, you’re fine. Here, let’s clean you up,” he said softly, gripping her hand and leading her into the washroom. She leaned against the wall, watching him turn on the shower and check the temperature with his fingers. His eyes glanced back at her and he stretched his hand out. “It’s warm.”
She took off her panties, now completely nude, and took his hand so he could help her into the spray of warmth. She slid down the tiled wall and curled into a ball, letting the water pound on her head and back.
Then she felt him get in behind her and bring her back to lean against his naked torso. “I’m here,” he said soothingly, rubbing her arms and holding her tightly.
“I wasn’t fast enough,” she mumbled as he cleaned the blood off her skin, throat too dry to speak clearly. “I could’ve have saved her. Pearce…Pearce wanted to take me to someone—someone he said was powerful.”
Tensley’s hands gripped her tighter as if he could protect her now. “Shh, Molly, it wasn’t your fault.”
She didn’t hold back, screaming into the steam and shaking her head, unable to manage words. Instead, she melted into him and he held her.
Soon the water turned cold and Tensley lifted her up, wrapping a towel around her and carrying her to the bed, not seeming to care about leaving a trail of water.
He toweled her off and slipped a dress shirt over her body, tucking them both underneath the covers. She burrowed into him, smelling his thick wood and mint and whiskey scent. His fingers stroked her hair and he murmured things in Italian over and over again, because he knew it had soothed her before.
“I killed him and I didn’t—” she said, tears rolling down her cheeks, into her ears, soaking into the pillow.
Tensley peppered kisses along her cheeks and nose and lips. “The bastard—he was fucking unstable.”
She stared at his moving chest, watching his heavy breaths move through him. “I feel empty,” Molly said after they’d lain there for an indeterminable length of time—could’ve been seconds, or hours, or days.
Tensley’s throat bobbed. “I used to feel that way.”
“But it went away?”
He pressed his nose into her temple and exhaled. “Yes. It went away.”
All she saw was darkness. All the venom inside her had dried up, and now she was empty and numb.
She wasn’t bothered by the taste of the poison anymore.
WHEN MOLLY AWOKE, a heavy arm was hanging across her hip. She blinked at the stubbly jaw against her cheek and tried to swallow down the dryness in her mouth. Tensley’s eyes were closed, and his light breaths fanned across her lashes.
Her heart ached, but she told herself not to reach out for him, not to waste another breath. In her shocked, foggy mind, she had forgotten how Tensley had handed her over to Ares because he didn’t want her. He wanted to trade her like some object.
But her damn heart mixed with her mind.
Her warm breath hit his sharp nose and she reached out, her fingertips grazing—
She stopped herself. No. She was done.
She sat up, gently sliding out from under him. She found one of her dresses slung over a nearby chair and put it on, then found her purse on the bedside table.
Down in the kitchen, Molly stumbled upon Lance cooking bacon and eggs in another one of his frilly aprons.
The smell of frying meat made her want to gag.
“Hey, good morning sunshine!” Lance said, waving at her with the pink oven mitten on. The longer he stared, the more his smile dropped. “You look like you’re about to hurl.”
She shook her head, taking deep, shallow breaths. “I’m fine.”
The warlock frowned. “Something’s different about you”
“Huh?” She swallowed down her thick saliva and watched him.
He stepped toward her, scanning her entire frame. “Yeah, something’s definitely different.”
“What?” She scanned herself too, wondering if she had an open wound she or Tensley had missed.
“I sense a daemon,” Lance began, “and a demon.”
She cocked a brow. “Well there’s me and Tensley—”
“No.” He shook his head. “Inside of you.”
Molly stared back at Lance, hands falling to her sides. “No, no, no,” she whispered, shaking her head back at him. “That’s not… That’s impossible.”
“I mean,” he said, shrugging after a pause. “Maybe it’s just his mark…”
She shook her head again. She couldn’t be, not now. “It’
s just his mark,” she agreed sternly. “I have to go. Thanks, for everything.” She was going to vomit if she stayed in the kitchen any longer.
She rushed to the front of the store, found her blood-splattered shoes by the door. She leaned over, pulling each one on with difficulty.
“Molly,” that powerful voice stalled her movements.
She squeezed her eyes shut, praying to gain strength for the next minute. She took a deep breath and turned to face him.
TENSLEY GLANCED at her sideways, noticing her fidgeting with the dress shirt he had draped over her. Lightly bruised, blonde hair a curly mess down her back, those doe eyes staring back at him…
He grew breathless.
Then she lifted her hand, waving the wedding ring back and forth. The glistening of the gold and black ring blinded him. “Take it off.”
Tensley cocked a brow.
Her bloodshot eyes pleaded and she blinked back the redness. “Please, Tensley. That’s what you want, isn’t it?” The sadness vanished and a viciousness plunged into his chest. “To trade me? For power? For land?”
Realization dawned on Tensley’s face, and he wilted before her. “I tore up the contract. It was a huge mistake, I’m sorry—”
“The fact that you could even consider it makes me question this entire fucking thing!” She shoved his chest and stomped past him. “I’m so tired of giving and giving and getting nothing in return. I’m not an object. I have feelings.” Her entire body shuddered. “I have feelings for you and you broke me.” She stared at the ground as he stood, unable to move, unable to speak. “I need time alone.” Her brow creased and she huffed, the sadness and exhaustion returning.
Then she left, leaving him empty and craving her soft touch, her soft words, and her lion heart.
THE ENTIRE ROOM was filled with faces both strange and familiar as Molly put the tray of drinks down in front of Tina’s family. The wood of the table shone, reflecting her blurry expression, one she knew looked beaten and exhausted after three days of planning a funeral for someone too young, too innocent in all of it.
Her heart ached, but Molly shook it off, reminding herself not to ponder over what-ifs, what else she could’ve have done. Tina was below their feet now, dressed in her black Chanel dress and her favorite Gucci shoes, along with her teddies and her worn copy of The Great Gatsby, which she’d first read to charm one of her crushes but had ended up loving more than the guy.
People murmured about the ‘mugging’ and how Tina had been shot dead in Queens after a struggle with someone trying to steal her Valentino purse.
Tina’s mother, Sarah, sat on the couch, surrounded by at least five whining terriers. Molly felt the heavy, thick desperation in the air, and heard the constant chatter about ‘the mugging in Queens’ and how Tina had lost her life over a Valentino purse.
Tina’s father wasn’t there; Molly hadn’t seen him since they’d exited the cemetery, his weeping louder than any other.
Molly wandered around the house looking for Stella, finally locating her bent underneath Tina’s bed.
“Stella?”
Stella ignored Molly, continuing to dig through a pile of clothes stuffed in the space between Tina’s mattress and the floor, so Molly edged closer. A picture frame on Tina’s dresser caught her eye and her heart sank; it was a picture of the three of them when they were in first grade, standing wedged tightly together, toothy grins so happy and full of life.
“Okay, okay,” Stella said, nervously picking up a makeup bag from Tina’s closet and dumping out its contents. Condoms, unmarked pills, and a lighter fell to the floor and Stella scrambled to collect them, transferring them to her own purse.
“We have to get rid of this stuff before her parents find it. They would be so angry,” Stella muttered frantically, stuffing everything into her purse. “She wouldn’t want them to know about this stuff, about the birth control and the smoking and the sex.”
“Stella,” Molly whispered, bending to join her on the ground.
Stella shook her head, struggling to pick each tiny pill up and into her purse. She stood and growled as the zipper failed to work. “Dammit!”
“Stella, Stella,” Molly said, taking the purse and zipping it up. She gripped Stella’s forearms and stared into her glistening, swollen eyes. “We’ll get it cleaned up, okay? Just take a deep breath.”
It began slow, Stella’s eyes watering until she sobbed, falling into Molly’s body. If not for Molly holding her up, she would have collapsed on the floor. Molly cradled her, shushing her, repeating over and over again that she wasn’t alone. Molly’s fingers dug into her back and she held on tighter, because she didn’t want to lose her, not another friend, not another innocent soul in all of this.
“Shhh,” she cooed into Stella’s ear.
Her eyes caught movement in the doorway and she looked up to see Tensley as well as Illya standing there. Tensley’s chest swelled, a deep breath releasing into the thick air, and she saw a muscle flicker in his jaw.
Molly patted Stella’s shoulder and Stella paused, glancing back to see both men. She spun, dotting underneath her wet eyes.
“I’m such a mess,” she muttered, dropping to the floor to grab her purse.
Illya beat her to it and he handed it to her, smiling kindly. She sniffled and hugged her purse to her chest. “Sorry,” she said, eyes on the floor.
All that was heard was her sniffles and then Illya wrapped her in a warm hug, nuzzling her head between his head and shoulder. She broke down, clinging to him, weeping into his worn black suit. Illya led her out of the room, his soft voice calming her fading as they walked away.
Molly sidestepped, her gaze downcast as she moved toward the door and Tensley. His hands were stuffed into his pockets, his chin held high as he scanned her.
A worried crease sat between his dark brows, and his pinched mouth didn’t stop her heart from hammering like a hummingbird.
“Three days…” Tensley began, her eyes going to his thick mouth and the scruffy five o’clock shadow around it. “Three days is a long time without seeing you.”
Her heart seized and she blinked up at him, her cheeks heating. She changed the subject fast. “Why are you here?”
He angled his head downward and sighed. “I wanted to pay my respects to your friend.”
She simply nodded. “I should go back downstairs, Tensley. Someone might need me.” When he simply stared at the floor, his jaw working, she moved past him. Now that Stella had Illya to comfort her, she had no need to stay upstairs, close to Tensley.
Then he spoke, the timbre of his voice low and smoky. “I’ll wait for you.”
The words punctured her heart and her lungs and her mind. There were two different possible meanings: he’d wait until she was done with the funeral, and he’d wait for her to come back to their relationship—for how long though? She paused in the doorway, fingers biting into the wood for support. She would have killed for him to say that weeks ago, but now—now she just felt empty and exhausted and unsure.
“You don’t have to,” she whispered back, meeting his longing, serious eyes. The darkness swarmed, calling to her.
She’d already gone three days without his venom; she’d felt dry and damaged, but she had survived.
She knew she could survive without him, but she didn’t know if she wanted to.
She moved away, down the stairs, and continued helping with what she could. Stella had managed to collect herself and Illya helped her hand out coffee and tea.
Tensley lingered, standing at the doorway.
She caught him watching her, those black eyes examining her like she might vanish or hurt herself, like he’d be the one to kiss the bruises away if she did.
Maybe I need to stay bruised, she thought. Maybe she needed to settle into the pain and never forget, never make the same naïve mistakes as before.
WHEN MOST EVERYONE had left and Stella and Molly had both helped urge Tina’s family to bed, Tensley still stood there in Tina’s hou
se, an imposing statue of strength and beauty and determination.
Molly moved toward him, keeping her breathing level and her heart from escaping.
He dug deep inside of her and when she didn’t want to feel, when she wanted to hate him, she couldn’t.
He walked her quietly back to her apartment and they entered the tiny, cluttered space.
She balanced one of her hands on her bed and slipped off her high-heeled shoes, flexing her beet-red toes.
She sank down onto her bed and stared ahead at a wall of stickie notes and the packed suitcase on the floor.
Tensley stood, his broad shoulders low, his suit jacket hugging those thick muscles. Slowly, he made his way over and sat beside her, large and imposing, but silent and calm.
She watched him stroke her hand, up her wrist to her ring finger, and prod the gold and black ring, their connection.
“You going somewhere?” he asked, trying his hardest not to glare at her suitcases.
“They accepted me at Louvre,” she said.
His head whipped so fast she heard his bones crack. His mouth was a straight line, but his eyes held the emotion she didn’t want to see now. “I’m not surprised.” The silence filled the space, her staring at her wall while he watched her. “For how long?”
“Three weeks.”
He rubbed his chin.
She sighed loudly. “Tensley,” she began, unsure. Some things needed to be said, and it was now or never. “If you didn’t want to be with me, you simply had to tell me,” she whispered, his hands halting their movement at her words. “I am not, and never would have gone to Ares. I’m not an object to be traded.”
His fingers intertwined with hers and lifted them up to his pouty mouth. He kissed them tenderly, soothingly, as if she was bruised there, as if he could heal her pain inside.
“I know, dolcezza,” he said, a thick accent coming out when spoke the term of endearment. “I broke the contract. I was never going to give you to them. I was scared of what you were making me feel, what a demon should never feel.” He took a deep breath, expanding his heavy lungs and letting it all out. “But I don’t want to let you go. I want you, but only if you’ll have me.”