Page 126 of Obsession

“That was a mistake! He fired as a mistake!” says Riggs desperately, looking between the behemoth and the god. His men twitch behind him, their fingers flexing, yearning for weapons.

Aris raises a hand to halt Ryan. “He is mine,” Aris speaks.

Ryan stops abruptly. He stays back, but he is itching for a fight; his entire body is tense and pulsing, humongous arms itching to rip something apart.

“Unfortunately, you’ve worn out your welcome,” says Aris, returning his attention to Riggs.

“But we came to discuss—”

“Terms? Conditions?” Aris looks at me. “What do you think, Mary? They come speaking of peace, and yet they try to kill you. Unprovoked.”

My frown is enough of an answer, and, when Aris turns back around, Riggs has good enough instincts to predict what’s coming. He pulls a knife from his belt in a lightning-quick move and lunges at me, only to freeze midair.

Darkness descends in a flash, shadows darting from the corners of the room to Aris’ side, where they tremble, begging to be used. The skylight goes black, the sun covered, and I taste Aris in the air. His power is indescribable, a paralytic.

It isn’t until now that I understand how much he mutes himself around me. Maybe even for me.

When the shadows retreat back to their corners, the sun shining into the room once more, Riggs is the only one standing. His team litters the ground by virtue of white bones, as if decades of decomposition have passed. Aris walks closer to Riggs, crushing a skull beneath his heel. Riggs is still frozen with his hand raised, knife aimed in my direction, fear flashing in his eyes.

Aris’ hands drop to Riggs’ chin, and he promptly tear his jaw off.

With a spurt of blood and crunch of bone, the bottom half of the man’s face shoots across the room, splatting against the wall. But he isn’t yet dead. He falls to the ground, eyes wide, tongue flicking in his open mouth as he tries to plead, to speak.

Aris raises his foot again, this time higher, and brings it down, caving in what remains of Riggs’ head. Now, the man is still.

“Talks too much,” Aris murmurs unhappily, shaking gore off of his shoe.

The air still tastes of him—and there it is again, that word: Fierce.

I approach Aris hesitantly, mindful of the blood and bones on the ground. Undoubtedly, he senses my every move, but it’s only when I’m a foot away that he shoots me a cursory glance.

“It is not wise to be in my company right now,” says Aris.

“You’re angry with me.”

His eyes narrow. “Yes. You are mine and that was not your decision to make. I am cross with you.”

“Walking toward them?”

“Endangering yourself. Healing is one of my only shortcomings.”

“I’m sorry.” I raise my hand out, wanting to touch him, but he wounds me by turning away.

“Leave now,” Aris commands.

For a terrible moment, I think he’s speaking to me, but I let out a sigh of relief when I hear Ryan lumber past, exiting. Soon, he shuts the door behind him, and the two of us are alone.

I look at Aris as he turns his back to me to return to his throne. “Are you still angry?” The thought brings tears to my eyes. I can’t stand his anger. I want him to touch me again; I want to be touching him again.

Aris sighs, low and long, then opens his arms for my embrace.

Instantly, I grin, run up the steps, and jump toward him. He catches me cleverly, so none of the force from my rush stuns or impacts me. It is Aris whose head smacks against the back of his throne, but he doesn’t feel the pain and is just looking at me.

“Do you forgive me?” I ask.

His hand rises to cup my face, thumb stroking my cheek. “Yes,” he murmurs.

I smile, and he gives me a soft look in return. “I could have lost you,” says Aris. “My most precious.”

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