Page 73 of The Order

Fallan turns on his heels, sporting the same get-up as his friend. The mask covers his face, only showing his deep blue eyes. A few strands of his hair poke out from beneath his hood, but not enough to recognize him in this lighting. He steps toward me, only motivating me to return to a standing position. He clutches the blade at his side, pulling it free from its hilt. I watch him take another step; my back fully pressed against the wall.

“I-I would understand-” I say, wincing at the pain in my throat. “If you wanted me dead,” I whisper, feeling the tears cloud my vision. He keeps moving toward me, staying silent. His eyes are my only way to see his feelings.

Fallan pauses in front of me, turning his blade to the dull side, letting his arm rest above my head as he leans over me. I feel the cool metal as he drags his weapon up my stomach, holding up my shirt with its point. All of that motion had caused my pants to slip down lower on my hip, giving him a perfect view of the mark that taints my skin. He lets his hand fall from above me, grazing his thumb over the rough skin of my mark, filling my body with unnerving warmth. The touch is invigorating, forcing my body to scream to life.

“I wasn't sure if you were like me. I've never been sure,” Fallan whispers, letting his light touches become a firm grasp as his hands explore my hip. “Now I know,” he says, narrowing his eyes once he notices me moving my hands to my neck again to try and stifle the throbbing pain that’s threatening to leave me incapable of moving from this spot.

“That fucking idiot,” Fallan curses, reaching into his back pocket to grab the spray we’ve both become all too familiar with lately. I don't try to stop him when he applies it, feeling relief in how it soothes the skin around my neck. “I had no idea you'd be out here,” Fallan continues, sheathing his weapon again. Keeping two hands on either side of my head, he keeps me backed against the wall.

“I would have let him kill me-” I begin, remembering the video and what had been done to him.

"No, you wouldn't have,” Fallan leans down closer to my face, cutting me off. “Because he would have been dead before that happened,” he continues, unable to mask the smell of alcohol on his breath each time he speaks.

“Seeing him hurting you like that,'' Fallan starts, looking me over again. “And hearing you yell for help,” Fallan continues, touching his head. “It did things to me, Forest,” he finishes, sounding unsure of himself.

So, the voice. It’s truly him.

The question is how?

I start to pull down the front of his mask with shaky hands. I let my fingertips linger on his temples, slowly moving them along the soft curves of his cheeks, feeling wetness along his skin where tears must have been. He doesn’t push my hand away as I gently continue exploring his taut features, instead his gaze fixes on my lips, silent words hanging from his own as I try not to unravel in front of him.

“What are you doing here, Fallan?” I question.

I can feel him now, connected to me by some unknown force. He invades my mind, prying open the door but waiting for an invitation to explore any further. My hand trails down from his face to his neck, where I can feel his pulse beneath my touch. There’s a rhythm to his heartbeat that keeps me in a trance.

“This was supposed to be easy,” Fallan whispers, letting his own hands dive under my shirt, holding on to my waist firmly.

A burst of energy surges through me, filling the pool of heat between my legs at the sensation of his skin on mine. “I told myself I wouldn't come near you,” he continues, moving his hands from my waist closer to my ass, giving me no warning before sliding them down my thigh. He grabs me tighter before dragging me flush to his front, propping me against the side of the house as my legs instinctively wrap around his waist.

My arms reach around his neck, pulling my chest closer to his. Suddenly my mind and body are in sync, totally focused on immersing my very being into the sensation of his touch. Every part of me is awake. Everything seems louder, every noise clearer. A dam crumbles, leaving long-dormant emotions and feelings cascading freely through me. I revel in the newness of it all. Or is it a reunion with parts of me I’d been cut off from? I can't stop the ache in my breasts as our bodies seem to mold together, and I feel his hands tighten on my legs.

“But then he touched you,” Fallan continues, bringing his lips close to my neck, hovering over the same sensitive spot Xavier had explored earlier.

“Like he knew you. Like he knewmyLittle Dove,” Fallan continues, not once letting his lips land on the skin. “The memory of him touching you drives me fucking insane,” Fallan whispers, biting his lip as he pulls away from my neck, clenching his jaw out of frustration. “He gets to touch you, to feel you. To be something to you. And all I can do is watch all of it while I have to pretend to hate you,” Fallan finishes, readying himself to pull away from me. I grab his face, stopping him from looking away. The alcohol strips away his quiet nature, leaving me with this raw version of a man whose very confessions sing to some part of me, tormenting my mind and heart with unbridled desires I don’t want to contain anymore.

“What am I to you?” I question, watching the torment that swirls in his eyes.

"If I tell you,” he says, inching his face closer to my own, letting our noses brush, “I lose you.” he finishes in a whisper. My stomach drops at the statement, my mind torn between letting me suffocate in the closeness of us and getting the answers from him.

“I'm right here, Fallan,” I push, something familiar calling for attention in the recess of my mind as the words leave my lips. There’s a fuzzy image of something vivid and heartbreaking, but I can’t piece it together yet. The necklace I saw around his neck in the video footage from my father’s office slips free from his shirt. The ring shines brightly, like it's infused with something important and meaningful. Like it’s an embodiment of something I should recognize. Like it belongs to me, too, even though it hangs around his neck and adorns his chest, not mine.

“How much of this is because of the alcohol?” I question, inching my mouth closer to his.

Something changes at that moment, and before I can say or do anything else, he lowers me gently to the ground, coercing my legs from around his waist to create a bit of space between us. I watch him process how close we were, his hand moving to adjust the front of his pants as his eyes stay locked with mine. I cross my legs to control the ache between them. He runs his hands through his hair as his features turn stern and decisive.

“I can't do that again,” he whispers, visibly growing more frustrated with each passing moment.

He opens and closes his hands, a way to control stress, no doubt.

“Fallan,” I start, moving toward him. “I don't want you to stay away from me.”

He grabs my chin, holding me close to him, cupping my face between his two large hands.

“I have no other choice,” he whispers. The pain of that admission is written on every part of his face, like he’s been struck by his own words, leaving real wounds open on his flesh.

“Why Fallan?'' I say, trying my best to pull him down by his neck. In the blink of an eye, he’s now several feet away from where he just stood. I stumble forward. His eyes are wide, looking around frantically before moving towards me again.

“H-How did you-”

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