Page 30 of Obsession

I’ve been found out. I’m under his paw now, attention caught, and he will not let me go until he’s gotten what he wants.

The chatter in the room dies as his followers notice Aris’ inattention. In chorus, they follow his gaze, and I shift at the feeling of being noticed. Seen.

Reluctantly, I take a deep breath and step out of the shadows, into the lion’s den.

The area is larger than it looked from the doorway. It’s open, too, a space designed for gathering, though there are only about twenty people here. Then again, I spot Ryan, and he counts for at least five.

He’s in the corner with Elizabeth, his ax resting against the wall. He has one hand on the hilt, the other around Elizabeth’s torso, his hand so large that it spans from the dip of her breasts to her groin. The grip is exceptionally familiar, and it’s with a start that I realize that the two of them are together.

How is that even possible, given his size? I mean, the size of his…?

I shove that thought aside.

My focus goes to the other guests, feeling hot and sticky in a house as cool as a tomb as they look back at me. I don’t recognize any of them. Some wear dark cloaks that obstruct their underclothes, while others are in old-timey, formal dinner attire.

Aris stands from his throne, and he is immediately the focal point of the room. I feel like I can breathe easier with fewer eyes on me, though I know I should be feeling more uncomfortable, not less, in his presence.

Self-hatred bites at me. What ties me to him? What are we to one another?

“How good of you to join us,” says Aris, descending the steps of the dais one by one. Each footfall echoes, his followers’ backs arching in anticipation the closer he draws to them.

He stops when he’s just a foot away, close enough that I can feel his cold breath, can smell the vanilla—and yet, far enough that I yearn to step closer. No, not yearn. It’s a compulsion, like magnets. In proximity to one another, it requires true force to stay apart: conscious, active awareness of what I am doing.

I try to compose myself, head already swimming. I don’t have many defenses against him, but remembering that we have an audience is sobering. It helps, my desire curbed by embarrassment.

I look around, eyes catching on the drapes, the mosaic, and the many busts. “This is a bit much,” I comment, returning my eyes to him “Even for you.”

He pauses, then says, “Out.”

Immediately, the cultists go for the doors. Though they love his presence, they would never dream of disobeying; the lot of them are gone in an instant.

Once the double doors shut behind, Aris walks back to his throne. He sits unceremoniously, hair messed as he lays a hand through his dark strands. The throne is so large and gaudy that anyone else would look ridiculous on it, but Aris emanates something that demands respect. He’s only in his early twenties—chooses to appear that way, at least—but he looks as mighty as any king, with arrogance and dominance so striking that the air around him pulses.

His body language is casual, with crossed legs and shoulders that arch forward, but he somehow makes relaxation look imperious. If I didn’t hate him so much, I might be pissing myself to have those black eyes fixed on me alone.

“You’re angry about what happened at the Institute,” he remarks.

I almost laugh. I don’t know what I thought he’d start with in addressing his massive betrayal, how he might attempt to mediate or explain, but certainly not that.

“Angry. That’s putting it mildly.”

“Upset, then,” he amends, folding his hands in front of him. My eyes flit to his pale, nimble fingers, the shift in focus entirely against my will.

Magnets.

My jaw sets. I’ve had a bad enough day as it is, what with Jaegen burning me, watching Aris kill someone, and the stupid, tricky conversation with Silva. Now this? Now I’m drawn to him again, the person I despise more than anything.

An enraging thought occurs to me: Is he using his powers to make me want him?

“More than that,” I grit out.

He raises a shoulder. “It’s all the same, and very well. I can be patient.”

“Patient! You really think I’ll just fall in line?”

Aris pauses, studying me. Something shifts in his expression. “I see. You are truly bothered by what happened. Why don’t we talk about it?”

Talk about it.

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