Page 20 of Obsession

The man talks to someone beside him, and the pair starts toward me, talking to each other in a language I still can’t understand. But I get their meaning. What do I think I’m doing? They’re the police, and it’s their job to protect people from the scary monster destroying the city.

Unfortunately for us all, I have to get to that monster.

I start sprinting toward the epicenter of the conflict. Though initially confused, other officers get themselves together enough to try to grab at me. They get the back of my jacket, but I shimmy out of it and keep going while same two officers pursue me.

I look away from their angry and baffled faces to focus on my surroundings. With the ground cracked and upended, lampposts bent and destroyed, electrical wires flailing uselessly, I need to watch where I’m going. Being chased through this terrain is not easy on its own, and the closer I get to the booming noises, the more uncertain my footing becomes. I soon realize that the ground is shaking, and both I and my pursuers struggle to continue—one even leaves. Maybe to get reinforcements, maybe giving up.

But the first policeman, loyal and determined, keeps after me, right on my heels. He’s switched to English at this point and is screaming that I don’t know what I’m doing. That it’s dangerous. That I’m going to die.

I don’t bother responding; there’s no time to explain. And he isn’t wrong.

Just when he’s about to catch up with me, I come skidding to a stop on a street indistinguishable from all the rest. In the middle of the road is Ryan, shirtless with his ginormous weapon. Our arrival isn’t loud, but, as if his one-eared hearing was heightened alongwith his strength,Ryan faces us immediately.

At first, his body is stiff and aggressive, ready for a fight, but he is taken aback by the sight of me. Ryan’s expression has always been blank. Sometimes I’d seen anger there, but I’ve never seen surprise on him, or… concern?

He begins to walk toward me, massive strides covering what would be three or four steps for me. Though the sight of him has never been comforting, I can’t help my sigh of relief. It worked; he’s going to get Aris.

And then, I’m being strong-armed back the way I came.

“No!” I yell, fighting the hold.

“Miss, please!” screams the policeman. Apparently, he hasn’t recognized me and doesn’t understand the exchange between me and Ryan.

“No!” I say, and again struggle to get free, but his grip only tightens.

What is he doing?

“Miss!”

“Just get out of here!” I yell back. “You’ll die!”

Ryan is almost upon us, a fact the two of us react to differently; while I’m glad, the policeman’s efforts have now tripled and he’s about to knock me over with how hard he’s tugging me.

I make a final, feral effort to free myself before Ryan gets over and forces us apart, probably by ripping the man in half. Surprised by my fervor, the man’s hold drops for an instant, but then he grips my wrist, and I wince at the pressure.

“Stop!” I scream, kicking at him as he lifts me, and the man barks something back in German. I can only imagine the choice words.

And then, suddenly, he is there.

Where there was naught but black space, there is now a god, staring hard at the policeman.

“Remove your hand,” says Aris too casually, “or I will sever it and present it to her as a token of my affection.”

The man lets me go, so abruptly that I stumble to right myself. For an instant, I think he’s come to his senses and will retreat, until I see him pull out his gun and train it on Aris. Ryan goes to charge forward, but Aris holds up a hand; Ryan halts.

Aris’ eyes are on the man—he has yet to look at me—but that I know he is aware of my every breath. Just as I am of his.

It’s only been a few days, but it feels like months have passed since I saw him last. I’ve felt so much dread and anger toward our reunion that I didn’t realize how much I’d been anticipating it.

There it is, the most pathetic truth of them all: I missed him. As much as he hurt me, as much as he hurts others, my mind always, always goes back to him.

My eyes catch on his profile, going still as a breeze passes, wafting a delicious scent toward me—moonflower and vanilla. It’s only then that I recall where I’ve smelled it before: in my dreams.

When I saw him at the Institute—Aris, in person—there was too much blood and panic and pain to think about his scent, but it infects me now, mixing with the smoke in the air.

Aris takes a step toward the cop, and my attention shifts, returning to the emergency at hand. Suddenly, Aris is not just a fragrant and beautiful creature, but a lethal one, too. His body is all hard lines and sharp edges, like a knife suspended midair, able to pivot and soar and stab at the slightest provocation.

“Do you think you will kill me?” Aris asks, nodding at the man’s gun. “Are you going to save the world?”

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