by Bea Paige
“Love, it’s something the child in me always longed for, the teenager sought out and the man I am desires. So much hope is placed in an emotion we can neither control nor contain. Is this about love, Rose?”
Love has nothing to do with this. What a ridiculous notion, I barely fucking know him. I can’t even love myself and I’ve been this person my whole life, so how the fuck am I supposed to love anyone else?
“I wasn’t brave enough to step out of that open door just now and be the man I once was, but you were brave enough to step inside with me despite knowing what I’m capable of. That has to mean something more than you claim.”
No! The word is on the tip of my tongue. I want to tell him he’s wrong, that this has nothing to do with love. Nothing to do with the fact I can’t face Ivan’s emotions or Anton’s. I’m here to help Erik. That’s it, that’s all.
Erik’s hand slips into my hair and he cups the back of my head, giving my hair a sharp tug, forcing my head back further.
“I’ve been sitting here watching you and something occurred to me. No one with a heart as giving and courageous as yours should fight so hard against their true nature. Don’t run from it. You’ll only destroy yourself in the end.”
That’s it. I can’t take any more of this. I flick my gaze up and meet his, trying not to be affected by the amber orbs that strip away every layer of protection I’ve ever had to wrap around my heart in order to survive.
“You’re wrong. I don’t do this out of love. I do it because I need the darkness to survive. It’s who I am, what I crave,” I snap, all reason leaving me. If I’m going to be punished for speaking, then I may as well make it worth it.
“Liar!” he shouts.
“It’s the truth, whether you want to believe it or not. Don’t make me out to be someone I’m not. This is me. There are no hearts and fucking flowers in my life. There is only the empty fucking field of barren soil,” I reply hotly.
“That might be partly true. I think you even believe that, but here’s the thing, Rose, you claim to want to help me and yet you come here with lies and deceit in your heart. She lied to me and bore the consequences,” Erik spits, his fist tightening. I can feel my scalp tingle under his hold. “Do you think I want a woman in here who is heartless? Do you think I need more of that? Do you have a fucking death wish, Rose?”
“Maybe I do, maybe I always have. After all, the ultimate darkness is death, isn’t it? I’ve always known that it’s only ever been a step away for me. This darkness, this despair I carry, it's been with me my whole damn life,” I blurt out, haemorrhaging my truth.
He draws in a sharp breath, letting my head go before grasping my face, my cheeks pincered roughly between his fingers.
“You’re dancing a fine line here, Rose. I could end this all now. I could kill you with my bare hands before Anton even has the chance to open that door. But you know that already, don’t you?”
I nod in response.
I do know that. I’ve always known it.
That’s why I’m here, after all. I seek out the darkness for the danger it brings, the thrill. Even back with Roman, I’d always felt an undercurrent of wrongness in his presence. Despite that, I hadn’t walked away.
“Yes,” I tell him. “That’s why I’m here.”
“I believe that. You do thrive on danger, maybe you even seek out death, but that isn’t the only thing… It all boils back to the same thing, Rose. Darkness might draw you in, but love- the possibility of it- is what keeps you here.”
“You’re wrong.”
His grip releases and instead of inflicting pain, he caresses the skin on my arm gently instead.
“You think you understand me, don’t you?”
“I guess we’re the same in that respect, because you sure as hell think you understand me,” I retort.
“Touché.”
I drop my head immediately. Submitting to him once more.
The thing is, I do understand Erik. He’s the lion beaten down by the circus master. His true nature kept at bay by fear, but underneath it all his heart beats strong and fierce, wild. His kind of darkness can’t be tamed like Ivan’s, it isn’t a place of safety like Anton’s is now. Erik’s darkness, just like Roman’s, is something you either survive or don’t.
Can I survive it a second time?
Do I believe he can survive it?
The answer is yes. I wouldn’t be here otherwise, but I must remain strong. Keeping my gaze downcast, I force myself to regain control and focus on the firm muscle of Erik’s Adonis belt that slips in a v under the low slung tracksuit pants he’s wearing.
Minutes tick by as he decides what move to make next.
“Look at me, Rose,” he murmurs, eventually.
Something tells me that I shouldn’t. That I should call out to Anton and order him to open the door. But I don’t do that. Instead, I do as he asks, not able to deny him. I look up slowly, taking in the perfection of his abdominal muscles, the firmness of his pecs, the strength of his arms and shoulders until finally my gaze meets his.
What I see in his eyes scares me, yes, but it also thrills me.
Fuck, it thrills me.
This is a man who can tear me apart if he chooses.
The man with a lion’s heart; regal, beautiful, dangerous.
This is the truth of who he is.
“You hold on to so many words, Rose. But I’m giving you permission now to talk freely. I never wanted your silence. I want you to share everything you hold inside, with me. Speak,” he demands, his golden eyes flashing with challenge.
“What do you need?” I retort, my throat constricting as he steps closer. This isn’t about me. It’s about him. I force him to face that with my question, deflecting any of his own.
He laughs. The trembling man afraid to be near me has completely gone, vanished.
Just like that.
The simple act of tying a rope around my wrists, has released him, has taken away the fear he held onto. It may not be permanent, but it’s a start. I know that, understand it, but I ask the question again because I need to hear the truth from his mouth.
“What do you want?” I press, changing the question.
“The same as you. I don’t want to be afraid anymore.”
“I’m not afraid.”
He barks out a laugh, his large hands warm against my skin. “That’s a lie, Rose.”
“Tell me, Erik.” I don’t try to argue with him, it’s pointless.
Erik regards me for a long time, his gaze running over my face as his thumb traces over my lips. “What do I want…? I want the freedom to be who I am, not the decorated soldier, not the gifted violinist, not the fucked up son or the broken friend. Not even a man who needs saving, but me.”
“And who are you if not those things?”
“In all honesty, I don’t know who the fuck I am anymore. Right here, right now, I’m just a man staring at a woman, wanting more than anything to rule her, dominate her, claim her as my own. But more than that, I want what Ivan and Anton have, at least I can be honest about that, even if you can’t.”
Erik cups my cheek gently this time and despite everything, I lean into it.
“I want to feel something, anything other than this shit that exists inside my head and the violence that’s never very far away. I want to feel like a man again, Rose. I want to feel.”
I see the violence rippling just beneath the surface. I feel the danger of it, the thrill, and despite knowing that this man might just have the power to strip me raw, I don’t ask Anton to open the door.
Swallowing hard, I meet his gaze. “Then that’s where we start.”
Erik nods his head, and just for a moment I lose him to his past once more.
Chapter 17
Erik, Kirkwall – Summer, 1998
The cottage smells of rotting wood and seaweed, but beneath that sorrow and death, of ghosts that linger in the creaking wood and flaking paintwork. A chill scatters up my spine, Emmie moves closer
to my side as we push open the door and step inside.
The floorboards groan beneath our feet as Emmie and I walk down the hallway. There’s no light bar that of the torch. It illuminates the peeling wallpaper and motheaten net curtains blowing forlornly in the breeze.
“This house is creepy as Hell,” I say, not liking the feeling that we’re being watched.
“Shush. It’s just because it’s night time. Stop being a baby.”
I bristle at her words. I’m not a baby, I’m a fucking man and tonight I intend on showing her just that. She pulls me towards a door along the corridor.
“Rumour has it a woman died here, and her ghost still haunts the rooms. Some say they can hear her calling for her lost love, lamenting at the loss.”
“And we’re here now because?” I ask, not in the least bit excited to fuck where ghosts linger.
Emmie’s laughter tinkles, breaking up the darkness with shards of light-heartedness.
“To come, come, come… Remember?” she teases, her plump lips pink and inviting.
How could I forget? My cock doesn’t seem the least bit bothered by the ghosts lingering in this abandoned cottage.
“Come on,” she says, tugging me in a room at the back of the house.
Beyond the closed door is a room filled with half burnt candles and a mattress. It looks well used.
“Do you come here often?” I ask, half in jest, half wanting to know the answer.
“This is my first time. I heard about this place from a friend,” she replies with a shrug as she bends over and lights each candle. The room illuminates with flickering light. It doesn’t seem so haunted now we’re here. Emmie gives me a sexy smile, biting her lip, then saunters over to the door and presses is shut with her firm arse.
“So, Erik, what happens now?” she asks, giggling.
Now we fall in love, I think.
But I don’t say that out loud. Instead, I saunter towards her, stripping off my jumper and t-shirt, then grab her wrists and slam them against the door above her head. Her responding gasp is enough to make me hard once more.
“This is when you lose yourself, Emmie. Are you ready to fall?”
She smiles, her half-lidded eyes full of the desire I feel.
“Shut-up and kiss me,” she replies.
So, I kiss her, make love to her, then lose my heart.
But she doesn’t lose hers, and she doesn’t fall.
A few weeks later my stupid heart is broken.
Chapter 18
Erik – Present Day
“You trust me?” I ask, pulling on the rope. Thoughts of Emmie dissolve as I concentrate on the woman before me.
She’s different. She has to be.
“Not nearly as much as I should in this situation,” Rose responds, wincing as the rope cuts into her skin. She stumbles, her knee giving way.
Reaching for her, I grasp hold of her arm, cupping her elbow and hauling her upright.
“It hurts?”
“Yes, but I’ve dealt with worse.”
“And survived, it would seem?”
“That’s what I do.”
“Hmm,” I mutter, distracted by the sudden blush of pink across her chest as my hand slides up the back of her arm to support her. The fact that my touch thrills her is a fucking turn on. I can already feel the person I was before slowly come back to life. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not. I was still a monster then, after all, albeit one hidden away.
Rose is wearing a short V-neck t-shirt and leggings, her sweater and coat discarded beyond the glass room. Reaching out with my other hand, I press against the exposed flesh above her collar, surprising myself with my sudden need to touch her. The skin on my palm prickles, her cheeks flush a deep pink. I close my eyes, concentrating on the feel of her skin beneath my palm, on her gentle breaths that’s she’s trying to control even though the beat of her heart is as frantic as my own.
My hand remains against her skin whilst we both take our measure of each other. I do so behind closed eyelids, but Rose absorbs every facet of me without restraint. I can feel her gaze like hot prickles penetrating far deeper than the surface of my skin. I’m so exposed, and yet I don’t feel judged, not in any way. Not at all.
Minutes pass as we stand like this, not moving, not speaking. Just being.
She waits for me to lead this strange new dynamic between us. I appreciate her patience. God only knows I need to take this thing one step at a time.
Slowly I peel my eyes open, relief flooding through me because I don’t see the woman who tortured me. I don’t see the girl who broke my heart.
All I see is Rose.
All I feel is the warmth of her skin beneath my palm and her soft breath against my skin. I hadn’t even realised I stepped closer. So close that it wouldn’t take much for me to lean down and take her beautiful mouth with mine.
It’s been a long time since I’ve touched a woman, kissed a woman. Years since I’ve been in the same room as a woman that hasn’t been my mother, or occasionally Fran, and more lately Rose on those few occasions. The sheer fact I can be in the same space as Rose for as long as this without reacting, let alone touching without wanting to kill her, is a fucking miracle, frankly.
A goddamn miracle.
Between us, she wiggles her fingers, groaning a little at the tightness. The man who was once able to control the monster within would have released her hands, or at the very least loosened the rope. This person I am today can’t take that risk. Bound she can’t hurt me, and though I know it’s irrational to believe she would even try, the fact of the matter is, it’s still a fear I can’t shake despite feeling more comfortable with her than I ever dreamed possible.
No, having her tied up like this is what I need. It’s security for me, and ultimately her.
“You know I can’t untie you, right?” I breathe out, stepping back slightly so she can lower her arms and wiggle her fingers some more.
Rose nods. “I understand, Erik. It was my idea, remember,” she adds, something close to desire burning in her eyes. I see it then, her need to relinquish power, to be at my mercy. Then just as quickly, pain flashes across her face reminding me she’s hurt, that she’s human and not some goddess unaffected by such mortal feelings.
I frown, swallowing hard. “I want you to take the bed, rest. Nothing’s going to happen whilst your knee is in bad shape. Ivan told me about your condition.”
“I’m fine,” she mumbles, her cheeks turning a darker shade of pink with embarrassment this time, not lust.
“You’re not fine. You’re in pain.”
“I told you, I can take it,” she snaps, instantly regretting her harsh words.
Interesting. Her medical condition appears to be her Achilles heel, amongst her adversity to that pesky emotion love. I get it, accepting kindness and empathy isn’t easy. When I first came home from Afghanistan every single fucker, including my best friends, were so kind. They treated me with kid gloves. They made sure I was taken care of. They made sure I was never alone, but they treated me like I was breakable and though they were probably right, it didn’t make it any easier to digest.
“Look, I appreciate your concern. But I can deal with the pain. I’ve been doing it my whole damn life. This is nothing.” She glares at me, then realising that’s probably a mistake, quickly schools her emotions behind a calmer, more neutral countenance.
Definitely a sore point then.
I get the impression from all I’ve heard about Rose, and from the brief moments we’ve spent together before now, that she’s only had herself to rely on. Leaning on anyone is a weakness in her view. Kindness and affection aren’t something she accepts easily, either. Which is ironic given the kindness she’s shown my brothers and me, by stepping into this room.
Of course, she will deny that every time. She’s only here for the darkness after all, just like that bitch had been. I flinch, hating that a few sharp words from Rose are enough to drag my thoughts to a dark place. Controlling
my breathing, I take a moment to steady myself. I can’t afford to break now.
“Nevertheless, I won’t put you through what I must without at least giving you something for the pain.”
I don’t doubt that physically she can take it, but I need her at her strongest mentally in order to survive what I’m going to dish out, and that kind of pain has a way of weakening a soul so much more than any physical pain that she might welcome.
“Fine. Do what you think is best,” she sighs, feigning nonchalance even though I see the relief in her eyes.
Deep down, I understand that Rose doesn’t like feeling weak, out of control, and yet here she is offering herself up to me to be exactly those things even if she doesn’t realise it yet.
Ivan has told me how domineering she is with him. Fuck, he loves it, needs it and I certainly don’t judge him for submitting to it. Even Anton said that she has a way about her that demands attention, adoration, submission. And whilst he’s not like Ivan in that respect, at least not that he’s told me, she’s managed to get under his skin enough to force him to see his darkness as a gift and not a burden. She has a certain kind of power over them. I get it.
I feel it too.
But I don’t want her power.
I want, no, need all of her. Every single part.
I mean, did she honestly think she could walk in here, let me tie her up, let me mark her body, let me fuck her, and suddenly I’m cured because she’s allowed me to dominate her?
And, yes, whilst I do want to claw back some power by doing just that, it’s not the only reason I’ve allowed her to stay. This is just as much about her submitting to her own feelings, her own deepest darkest desires than it is me dominating her. Truth be known, the emotions she tries so damn hard to avoid are the exact things I crave. I’ve always craved.
I’m a psychologist’s wet dream.
A child abandoned by the one person who should’ve loved him no matter what. I’ve craved love my whole fucking life. Searched for it. I fell quickly in love that summer here on the island with Emmie and paid for it. I spent my childhood trying to impress Mother and Viktor to gain the warm kind of love that nurtures a child rather than the demanding, oppressive love that stunts them. I fell for a woman with a pretty mask because I’d believed she could give me the love I so craved and was hurt in the worst possible way.