Page 52 of The Dark Rising
For just a moment, I can breathe.
Then the door opens.
I jolt, sitting up and wrapping my arms around my knees as I look over my shoulder. Darius strolls through the door, a plate in his hand and a wicker basket in the other.
“Get out!” I bark, making sure my breasts are covered, even though my back is to him. He ignores me, because of course he does, and puts his items on the counter. “Darius, get. The. Fuck. Out.”
He turns toward me sharply, his mouth opening but he pauses, his eyes fused on my back. I pale and look forward, trying to sink under the water, but it’s only so high. The air is tense, stifling, as I clench my fingers on my knees, my nails digging into my skin.
Leave, leave, leave.
I can feel his eyes tracing me once again, all over my back, like he can see the scars that are hidden there, the ones he put there. My back burns and aches and itches, and how fuckingdarehe barge in here. How dare he look at me like he canseeme.
Again!
I don’t want him here, he needs to get out.
My heart beats wildly in my chest as my power flows to the surface, humming just below my skin at my call. I raise a hand, about to do anything to get him out of here, when a touch on my back makes me flinch, then freeze, my power retreating under his gentleness. Runa purrs within me as my breaths come out loud, wheezy even to my own ears, but he doesn’t let up, doesn’t stop as goosebumps appear under his touch.
He moves a single finger down my back tentatively, a barely there sensation as he moves it around on my skin. Up, down, a little diagonal, a little lower. I can’t move while he repeats the same pattern that only he knows. The water is still as I’m unable to move, frozen at his ministrations and tears sting the back of my eyes as I lower my forehead to my knees.
Why is he touching a place that he hurt so bad?
How did I get here? We should have never met, we should have kept apart until our deaths. I would rather that than feel this pull toward my enemy. Toward the one that should have kept me safe.
Lie.
What my mom said was a lie.
My fingers dig harder into my skin, so hard I’m sure I have marks, but I need to feel that to not feel what he’s making me feel right now.
I tense when he reaches the back of my neck, his finger turning into a hand and he starts to massage there softly. Holding back a groan at how good it feels, I squeeze my eyes shut. He moves my hair out of the way, bringing his other hand up to knead into my shoulders now, and my body loses its tension on its own accord.
Something soft comes to my body then, and the smell of wildflowers tickles my nose. He’s washing my back, moving the cloth in swirls with so much care that it threatens to push me under. I lift my head suddenly, looking over my shoulder at him beneath my lashes. He doesn’t acknowledge me, just continues to stare at my back and wash it, like it’s a task he has to do.
He dips the cloth into the water, and his eyes eventually move to mine. I suck in a breath at the emotion there, the hatred. I turn back around, not wanting my enemy to see my own hatred building, my own anger and pain.
How can he wash me and look at me like that? His actions and words confuse me. Cares, but demands. Hates, but is gentle. I don’t know how to navigate this.
“It’s not for you,” he says gruffly after a moment, startling me out of my thoughts. I say nothing in response. “Here.” I look to the side and see he’s moved closer now, right next to me. A berry is in his hand, a small ball of blue. I look to it and then to him in question, and he brings it toward my mouth. “Eat.” His gaze roams over my body. I’m still huddled, but it’s like he can see everything. Especially the weight I’ve lost.
Feeling self conscious, I slump down further in the water, trying to hide my body when he shoves the berry in my mouth forcefully. “Hewh,” I say around a mouthful, sitting up straighter. “You—“ His eyes have dropped to the water, and I look down, realizing that I let go of my knees and now my legs are straight. He can see all of me clearly through the water. His eyes blaze as they take me in, his breathing deeper than before. His eyes flick up to mine and I squeeze my thighs together as the air fills with lust, desire with an undertone of anger.
Darius growls beneath his breath and tears his eyes away, and I feel like I can breathe again. Another berry appears in my vision, and I scowl. He shakes his head, his jaw tight and I swallow the one I already have in my mouth, opening for another. Bossy asshole.
He watches me take the berry this time, his eyes pinned to my mouth as I chew, and I remember him doing it when I was on his lap which does not help the ache I’m feeling between my thighs. As soon as I’m done, he grabs another berry, and another until I can’t take any more. I don’t even know how many I’ve had. I blink out of whatever trance he had me in, wondering why I just let him feed me again, but deep down, I know why.
I hate it.
Lock it down, Rhea.
Darius brings the cloth back into the water and takes hold of my wrist. I snatch it away and he scowls, grabbing it again. Trying to no avail to get him to release it, I huff and shake my head, bringing my knees back up to my chest. He studies the red line wrapping around it, scowling as his grip tightens on me. I try to pull back, but he holds tight and brings the cloth to it, gently wiping over it.
“Did you really not heal?” he asks, and it sounds so loud after being in silence for so long. I nod. He nods.
“I supposed it doesn’t matter to you, whether I healed or not,” I say, and his jaw ticks. Dunking the cloth back into the water with more force than necessary, he rings it out harshly and picks up my other wrist doing the same. “What are you doing, Darius?” I finally ask.
This isn’t him, he doesn’t…do this.
