Page 97 of Obsession

“I’m thinking.”

“About?”

“How hurt you are.”

I give him another look, which he returns with a keen stare. He halts in his tracks, and I stop walking, too, incredulous.

“What are you—?”

“Mary.” He closes the distance between us, hands going to my upper arms with a firm, solid flex of his fingers. “Let me take care of you. Let me be there for you. The way that none of them are.”

His eyes, so ebony they are soulless, bore into my own. In them, I see his emotion as plain as day—desperation so intent that it’s becoming despair.

“What is it, Mary? There’s more, beyond you believing I’ll revert. Why don’t you want me to use my abilities?”

I consider my words carefully, looking at the dead ground for inspiration. Finally, I return his gaze and say, “Maybe I want to take care of myself. Do you think I like having to rely on you—that, without you or Jaegen, I’m stuck sleeping in the dirt?”

Something passes across his face, and he nods slowly. “I see.”

I stare at him, jarred after having the humiliating truth pulled from me. “You see?”

“Yes. I see.”

He lets go of me so abruptly that the absence makes me gape, and I’m about to protest until he manages a clever maneuver—knocking my legs out from under me, making me spin and panic, hardly registering that I’m falling until he catches me safely in his arms, taking the brunt of the impact as we roll on the soil. When we come to a stop, he is on top of me, his legs wrapped around my own, arms propped beside my head.

“Aris!” I exclaim, breathless and uncertain and kind of turned on?

“Mary,” he replies.

His cheekbones and smile are accentuated by the setting of the sun, the pink and orange contrasting his harsh, black beauty. I look past how handsome and capable he is, annoyance burrowing. I just told him something vulnerable, a pain I haven’t acknowledged because I didn’t have the time, and he’s being playful.

“Aris,” I grit out.

“Mary,” he repeats with the same smile.

My face contorts with irritation and I go to fight him off—he’s let me go before, at least with his memory like this—but he shakes his head and I stall the movement.

He raises an arm from the ground, staying balanced with his knees and forearm in the dirt, bringing his hand to my face. Aris, I know, loves touching my face. There are many ways that he does it: casually, absently, to give me a sense of comfort. But now, it is ardent.

“You think you’re not powerful?” he says quietly.

The question triggers me. I shift in discomfort, my hips bucking against him, and he hisses, then laughs. “Behave, Mary.”

I flush, go still, and he settles, continuing to swipe his thumb over my cheek. Slowly, his hand lowers to my throat. His thumb continues stroking, this time on my windpipe, but he halts when he finds my pulse point.

I am not… afraid. Not exactly. But I am acutely aware of his strength. As I often do, I go back to his mindless shattering of stone.

Aris does not press down, but he keeps his hand there. At first, I think that he’s messing with me—mocking me, even, but then he says, “An actual god came to you. He did not ask for your help; his ego would not allow that, but Jaegen recruited you because he needed you.”

I stay still, listening.

“And me…” Aris sighs. He moves his hand back to my face.

“You?” I whisper.

He smiles. “Me. A god just the same, or close enough. Something that would end a world for you, save a world for you. Whatever you asked. Maybe that isn’t the kind of power you want, but it is power.”

The look in his eyes is disconcerting and hypnotic. The intensity makes me tight and loose.

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