Page 69 of Obsession

“And that’s your house,” I continue. “I don’t live there anymore.”

“Why not? If it’s my home, I say that you’re allowed to stay there.”

“I don’t want to stay there anymore.”

“Why not?”

I look skyward for strength.

“Look,” I say more firmly, finally losing my patience. “You’re sick. Something happened to you, and you’ve lost your memory for a bit. You should go back there to recover.”

He blinks, something unidentifiable passing over his face. For a moment, I think I’ve got him, until he insists, “And you come with me.”

I uncross my arms, changing my stance, and again he follows my movements. I let out a frustrated noise. “Aris, you have to go back,” I hiss.

“‘Aris’… Is that my name?”

I freeze, unsure if I’ve made some kind of grave error by telling him that. Will it make him remember faster? How much time do I have left before Aris returns, completely homicidal?

“Yes,” I admit, and begin walking again. Maybe if I’m rude enough, he’ll go back on his own?

But Aris is undeterred, keeping pace easily. “Why are you leaving in the middle of the night? You’re cold.”

“I’m not cold.”

“You are shivering.”

I glance at him, unamused. “Go back to your home and your servants, and they’ll answer your questions.”

“Why won’t you answer my questions?”

“You have too many.”

He splutters for a moment, then remarks, “You are not nice.”

I don’t miss a beat. “Normally, you’re not very nice either.”

Aris purses his lips and considers that as we walk deeper into the forest and further into the embrace of the cold night.

And it is a cold night. I was hoping that getting my heart pumping from exercise would alleviate the chill, but the further we go, the colder I get. The goosebumps on my arms refuse to go down, and it takes a conscious effort not to rub at them.

I’ll need some shelter soon. Food, too.

What the hell am I going to do? I have no idea where I am. Somewhere in Denmark.

“We know each other, then,” he surmises.

“Something like that,” I murmur, studying our surroundings as I try to come up with a plan.

“What does that mean?”

I sigh, ribs protesting as my breath materializes before me. “I don’t know if anyone could ever really know you, Aris.”

I probably shouldn’t have said that—maybe I’m giving too much away—but it’s too hard to hold my tongue in these conditions.

He doesn’t reply, but I can tell that he has something to say. Like this, he is easy to read.

The two of us don’t speak for a few minutes, every second making me more anxious than the last as I wait for him to remember himself in a sudden burst, or for cultists to come crashing through the brush. And then, out of nowhere, a shimmering light nearly blasts me off my feet.

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