Page 43 of Obsession

I watch him closely.

“I must say, it isn’t the scheming that bothers me.” He pauses, picking up a strand of my newly dyed hair, and his lips twist. “It’s just, he should have known better than to interfere with you.”

The tips of his fingers are centimeters from my skin; the thought of contact makes my heart race. “Why?” I murmur.

“Because you are mine,” Aris says, as if that were childishly obvious.

Mine.

Ashamed by the flush that courses through me at the word, I turn back to my food. Aris loses his hold on my hair from the movement, and his hand drops back to his side. Only inches of distance gained, it’s still a welcome reprieve from the horrible, lashing urge to touch him.

It’s like a compulsion—more than that, an addiction. A biting, aching urge that I feel from my scalp to the tips of my toes.

My core is so warm, my body so stimulated and bothered, that I’m unable to focus enough to even swallow. I can’t keep myself together. I should be rejoicing—he’s been monitoring what I eat and brought me food. That’s proof that he cares, isn’t it? And his face is no longer pinched, his eyes lighter. Perhaps he’s no longer angry, either—indeed, he even said that he isn’t worried about my actions against him.

But I can’t feel happy about those things. I can’t consider strategy when all I’m thinking about is him—thinking about him in a way that I shouldn’t be.

I finally set my plate down. Aris’ brow raises at the clatter, but I’m so annoyed that I hardly notice.

“Are you making me want you?” I demand.

His smirk grows. “You want me?”

Hell. Didn’t think that one through, did I?

My face feels like it’s on fire. “You know what you’re doing!” I hiss, glaring at the wall. “It’s just another way to mess with me, and you need to stop. I don’t want you doing it.”

He is silent for longer than expected, long enough that my embarrassment ebbs and my skin cools, and I finally risk looking back at him. Of course, Aris is still staring at me, but his gaze is more curious than triumphant.

“You are using something to keep me out of your head. Magic—a rune or mark of some sort. Perhaps an object.”

“So?”

He perks a brow. “So, the magic blocks me. I cannot influence you the way that you are accusing me.”

“You’re lying.”

“Of course, I must be, because who would you have to blame, then?” Aris asks, teasing gone from his voice. He even sounds gentle. “How could you reconcile your affection for me?”

I scoff. “I feel no affection.”

“And now, who is lying?”

I’m struggling to think of a response when Aris stands and puts his hands in his pockets. “I am required elsewhere. I will fetch you tomorrow,” he tells me. “And we will travel again.”

Thoughts of his hands on me are quickly shoved aside. “You will kill people,” I say.

He nods, then smiles. "You are adorable when you're frightened."

My glower just makes his smirk grow. “You’re teasing me.”

"Would you like for me to say that I do not enjoy it?" Aris looks me up and down. “You’re in a mood now, aren’t you? I see that you don’t like to be reminded of your feelings towards me.”

“Hate and disgust?”

“No,” he murmurs, eyes dancing. “Not those.”

I work my jaw for a moment, deliberating what to say. How to come out on top. Finally, “No, I don’t like you killing off my species. Pretty sure it’s hate.”

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