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She was quiet a long moment before she said, “Cyrus, will you never tell me the truth?” He startled, lifting his head to reveal an unguarded fear. “The truth about what?” “About who you really are. There’s so much you’re not telling me – so much that doesn’t make sense. Every time I speak with you I’m left with more questions.” “Do you think I’ve been lying to you?”
“Yes,” she said, and paused. “Except that I have the strangest feeling you might be lying about how horrible you are.” Cyrus almost smiled, though the action was weighed down by an unspoken grief.
She came to a halt in front of him, their bodies only a hand apart – and she studied his chest, then his throat, his jaw, the curve of his lips. Her voice was a little breathless when she said, “You can’t just ignore the things I say and hope they go away.” “I’ll meet you in the library downstairs,” he said. It was unconscious, what she did next; she didn’t mean to touch him, not exactly. In fact, she couldn’t even remember lifting her hand to his body. She only remembered the softness of his sweater, the heat and hardness of his torso beneath – and then relief, intoxicating relief when he
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She felt shaken. Unwell. She wasn’t quite ready to speak, and she didn’t know what to do with her heart, which was battering her ribs so hard she thought they might bruise.
She felt frustrated and confused; she wanted the world around her to make sense, and it didn’t. Cyrus was supposed to be evil. She wanted him to act evil. He wasn’t supposed to be kind and deferential and considerate. He was the character she was meant to kill without a crisis of conscience. She wasn’t supposed to lose her head. She wasn’t supposed to feel like this, like there was an open wound inside her, like she wanted to sit down and cry. The feeling came dangerously close to grief.
She didn’t want him to die. She didn’t want to perform a blood oath. She didn’t want to kill him.
WHEN THEY PUSHED OPEN THE heavy door to the library, Alizeh knew at once that he was inside. She could feel him somehow, as if she were magnetized to his presence.
Alizeh had to force herself to stand back, to give Cyrus a wide berth. It was better for her when there was distance between them, when her mind could think beyond the space he took up inside her. Even now she fought for self-possession. Heat had gathered low inside her cold body as it never had in her life, a frantic need building within her, quickening across her skin. She struggled not to stare at his mouth,
“You think this is a simple matter? You will be giving up a piece of your soul, of your free will –” “I am well aware –”
“I know the facts,” Cyrus said darkly. “I simply have no choice. My debt to her is my death. When it is done, I will be, too.” “Cyrus,” she whispered. “Are you certain –”
I only know that if I don’t marry Cyrus, the devil will kill him anyway.” Her heart wrenched in her chest, her voice dropping to a whisper. “He is doomed to die one way or another.”
“Perhaps you’d like to explain to everyone why I once found you collapsed on the grounds in the dead of night, every inch of you so covered in blood you could hardly open your eyes?” Cyrus tensed, and Alizeh inhaled sharply.
You’re so depraved you have no protection from the violence of thugs even as king –” “That’s enough,” said Alizeh, experiencing a rare flash of anger. She, who knew exactly why such a thing had happened to Cyrus, could listen to no more of this slander. “You cast aspersions upon his character without possession of the facts –”
“You would truly defend him?” Kamran said, ignoring this as he turned to her. “It’s a great credit to your compassion that you would pity someone as corrupted as he, but I would implore you not to spare another thought for his foul soul. I don’t care if Iblees roasts him over a spit every night. He put himself in this situation – he capitulated to the devil, he sold himself to darkness.”
I refuse to be sorry for capitalizing upon another man’s stupidity.” “Well,” said Cyrus, taking a sharp breath. “As much as I enjoy listening to your plans to feast upon my corpse, I’ve grown tired of this conversation.” Alizeh was shaking her head. “Cyrus, please – I don’t share his sentiments –” “And I don’t care to discuss it,”
“Excellent,” Cyrus said, the word charged with heat. “Are we finally done? Or are there more debates to be had?
“No,” said Alizeh gently. “We’re done.” He looked at her then, finally looked at her for more than a fraction of a second, and she was surprised to find in his gaze something that looked a great deal like fear. Her heart broke at the sight, and she moved instinctively toward him when he suddenly pivoted, then walked away.
More than that, he wanted to fall to his knees. This tremble inside him, this madness in his heart – it was all for her. All for her. He could hardly look at Alizeh without losing his mind; nearly four weeks he’d seen her only in his dreams, and he’d all but forgotten how finely wrought she was in real life,
She’d smelled like roses. His roses. And she would marry him, would become his wife in front of the world, and he would never have her. Never touch her. He would watch in silence as another man put his hands on her, the two of them counting the days until they could kill him. He exhaled, shakily, the crisp air biting his skin. It caused him physical pain to remember how little it had taken to unravel his restraint. She’d all but pressed a hand to his torso and, like a man unmoored, he’d wanted to rip her dress down the middle, sink to his knees and taste her.
He wanted to make her laugh. He wanted to hold her hand. He wanted to bring her tea and walk with her through the seasons. He wanted to watch her conquer the earth. He wanted to glide his hand down her naked back, wanted to taste the salt of her, wanted to bite her bottom lip and lose himself inside her. God, the things he wanted. The longer he looked at her, the worse he felt, and the more unsteady she appeared. Her breaths had grown shallow, her eyes deeper; darker. “Cyrus,” she whispered. He shook his head, inhaling sharply as he finally tore himself away. “I won’t survive it,” he said.
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they’d be bound to a morbid ending that could never be undone. What was the point of continuing on in this vein, torturing herself for glimpses into his heart, for pieces of him he’d never be free to give?
In order to trust him she’d need answers he could never provide – for the devil had forbade him from speaking the truth. It didn’t matter that she wanted to trust him anyway. It didn’t matter that he’d given her the coat off his back, that she was warmed even then by the heat of him, her head dizzy with the lingering scent of his skin. It didn’t matter that she watched him now with a longing that was as painful to her as it was confusing.
“What?” Alizeh looked at Cyrus. “In mourning for what?” “Good God.” Cyrus pushed both hands through his hair.
But Alizeh could not be calm. How was she meant to live like this, always at the edge of a precipice? She needed more information, needed to understand – yet Cyrus would not reveal his secrets, and she certainly couldn’t force him to speak. She only felt, with greater conviction every minute, a burning suspicion that he was not as villainous as he wanted the world to think he was, and this was enough to drive her mad.
“Cyrus,” she said desperately, “I’m so sorry.” He looked at her, then looked away, his voice rough as he said, “Why are you sorry?”
“I don’t know.” For some unfathomable reason, she felt close to tears. “I just know that I am.” He lifted his head, meeting her eyes for a moment with unguarded anguish, and she glimpsed inside him then what she’d seen once before: a staggering, breathtaking grief. A moment of tr...
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She felt almost as if she shouldn’t look at Cyrus, exposed as he was, though neither could she look away; he was breathtaking even in agony, his broad chest straining against his binds as he suffered. And it was clear that he suffered. Pain was printed upon his face, though he bore it well,
She drew a deep, steadying breath, then turned her eyes to the man she would soon marry. “Cyrus,” she whispered. He gasped, his body seizing
It was surprisingly intimate, the feel of his blood in her veins,
She wondered whether this warmth would linger always,
It was as if something had been hooked inside her soul, tethering her to a heart whose beat she could almost feel. She knew without lifting her head exactly where Cyrus hung in the air above her. She knew that, no m...
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His instincts insisted something was amiss, even as the violence of his torture abated at her approach. This was literal delusion, he knew it was – knew it had to be, even as he felt very much awake, his heart beating in his chest with concrete force.
This was impossible. “No – no –” “Cyrus,” she said again, crouching now to look him in the eye, worry creasing her brow. “I only want to help you.” I only want to help you.
“No – no – NO,” he shouted, falling back, scrambling out of reach. More of the same words she’d spoken in his dreams – except he’d never had a nightmare like this one;
It was perhaps the slight inconsistencies that unbalanced him now, for he’d been confident he was awake before she’d entered the room – but now he couldn’t be certain.
He felt frantic, for he knew not whether this was some new game the devil was trying to play. “This isn’t real,” he said desperately. “This isn’t real –” She drew close and touched him – a single stroke of her hand along his arm – and the feel of her bare skin against his tortured body was so exquisite he fought back a groan, his chest heaving as he ached. “Please,” he said, begging himself now. “Please wake up –”
She dropped to her knees before him, took his face in her hands, and he cried out as he caught fire. Always she healed him when she touched him, but this time the press of her skin felt so real it was terrifying,
He made a tortured sound deep in his throat, his eyes closing as relief flooded his veins. He felt as if he might die from this simple pleasure, which awakened within him a bliss that drowned out any last vestiges of pain. He wanted to live here. Dig his grave and die here. “Angel,” he breathed. “My angel.”
Never in his dreams had she done something so ordinary as hold his hand, and the press of her small, soft fingers was so gentle – so intimate – he was almost convinced she was truly here. With excruciating tenderness she helped him rise to his feet,
He watched, transfixed, as she tended to him with a benevolence he did not deserve,
It occurred to him then, with a vague panic, that he’d follow her off a cliff if she were the one to lead him there.
He was surprised to feel the slight tremble of her fingers when she pushed a lock of hair out of his eyes, for she’d never been nervous with him. “What is it?” he said. She only shook her head and said, softly, “You’re so beautiful.”
She stood up to leave and he panicked. “No,” he said quickly. “Please stay.” “I am staying,” she said, fully smiling now. She pointed to the chair. “I’ll be right there –” “No,” he said, shaking his head. “I want you next to me.” She froze, her smile slipping as she frowned – as if she were unearthing a memory. Carefully, she sat beside him. “Cyrus,” she said, drawing the back of her hand down his cheek, this contact calming him at once. “Do you think you’re dreaming?” He felt out of his mind. “I don’t know.” “Sleepy boy,” she said. “This is not a dream. I’m really here. And I promise I’m not
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Cyrus sat with this, trying to absorb her words, but he was unconvinced – for a person in a dream always thought they were real.
God, he wanted her.
He gasped when she withdrew her hand, catching her fingers without thinking, then closed his eyes as he pressed them to his lips, kissing them, softly. She made a sound and he opened his eyes to find her staring at him, looking faint and unsteady. “What’s wrong?” he whispered. “Nothing,” she said quickly, then hesitated. “Everything.”
With some difficulty he pushed up on his elbows, then pulled himself into a seated position. His head was swimming, a dull pain branching through his body, but he needed to look at her properly. He took her face in his hands and she gasped, her body trembling
even as she leaned into him, her eyes closing on a breathless sound. “Tell me what’s wrong,” he said. “Tell me what you need.” “I n-need you to know,” she said, her voice catching, “that this is not a dream.” His...
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He didn’t know what was real anymore. Her skin was so soft under his hands, so soft it amazed him. He’d touched her like this a thousand times but those memories paled in comparison to this, to this – Had it ever fel...
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He leaned in, grazing her cheek w...
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