Page 98 of Obsession

We are laying in dirt, on land he destroyed, in a world he wanted to decimate. And with him above me like this, it’s as though he’s vapor again. Inside me. Under my skin. I feel him in my blood, strongest where my life is at its thinnest: wrists and throat.

“Whatever I ask,” I repeat.

He strokes my cheek. “Within reason.”

“Now you’re adding conditions.”

“Well,” tuts Aris, “what if you wanted something ridiculous? What if you demanded I kill you? I couldn’t do that, so, yes, within reason, Mary.”

I say nothing, and he continues, “You see now, how strong you truly are, so set your ego aside and allow me to provide for you.”

“And if you get a taste for power?” I challenge.

“Then tell me to stop. And I will.”

We stare at each other, both stubborn. There is a bit of humor in his expression, hubris, as if he knows he’s already won. But… worry, too. He does care about me, and it is getting dark. I’m cold, and don’t I understand how difficult it is to watch me shiver when he could change that so easily?

“Maybe…” I say slowly, rolling my eyes at his slow-growing grin. “Maybe you could teleport us somewhere. And get that smile off your face.”

“At once, Mary,” he replies and attempts to school his expression, but the ends of his lips still curl.

His eagerness is enough to make me smile back, and Aris’ eyes dip to my mouth before remembering himself, quickly standing to extend a hand to me. After a moment, I accept it, allowing him to haul me up.

“Where to?” he asks.

“I get to choose?” I say, raising a brow.

“Naturally.”

“Well…” I brush the dirt off of myself while studying him—of course, his clothes are still impeccable. The only time they were destroyed was when he was peppered with bullets in Berlin. “If I pick somewhere, how do we know we’ll be in the right place? Maybe you’ll land us in the middle of a volcano.”

“My navigation skills are excellent,” scoffs Aris. “There was an atlas at the cabin!”

My smile grows at his playful indignation. I don’t really doubt him, but I need a moment to think. Truth is, the world’s a big place, and I have no idea where to go.

“Somewhere warm?” I say, trembling as the wind rushes past.

He nods in quick agreement and reaches a hand out for me.

I take it.

“Somewhere warm,” Aris tells me, and the world around us disappears and reforms.

The new ground sinks beneath my feet—sand, we’re on a beach—and I look out at a clear, turquoise ocean. The air is humid, but not enough to feel sticky, and at first I think we’re in the Caribbean—where else could the water be so clean?—until I notice the sun high in the sky. We must have gone west.

Aris and I look around, taking in the palm trees a few meters off and colorful foliage with leaves bigger than my head. By a line of planted palms is a beachfront villa, with a straw-like roof and a constructed path from the porch to the beach.

There are other villas, but the lights aren’t on in any of them. I look around for others, expecting at least one person in a line of twenty residences. But there are no footsteps in the stand, no voices calling out. It seems we’re the only ones.

Wordlessly, we explore the villa we appeared in front of, finding three bedrooms with fresh linens, a spacious jacuzzi, bare cupboards, and empty drawers. There are no photographs to betray a distinct owner, the walls littered with Polynesian art and carved tiki masks.

“Hawaii, maybe?” I say, Aris humming in agreement.

Though it’s decorated to inspire a rustic feel, modern luxuries morph the villa’s aesthetic into something clearly commercial: there are two bathrooms with large, walk-in showers with different settings and knobs, the living room has a flat-screen and leather couches, and there is a hidden thermostat with many buttons.

There is a welcome basket on the kitchen counter with champagne, chocolate, and toiletries. But beyond that and a fully stocked bar facing the beach, there’s nothing to eat.

“Do you like it?” Aris asks casually, but his pinched brows betray his eagerness to please.

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