Enigma

by RuNyx

Beauty is terror. Whatever we call beautiful, we quiver before it. —Donna Tartt, The Secret History

The masculine voice spoke from behind her, not too close but not too far behind. The sound, strong and husky, merged with the waves like the sea itself rumbled and spoke. Sea and smoke.

His voice was more unexplored sea than bloodied sand, like the fables of creatures in the oceanic dark, luring unsuspecting sailors, dragging them to the depths.

Him with the voice of the rumbling sea and the raspy smoke.

“I will happily use your blood as paint if you ever threaten me again,” he warned, his tone casual but sharp, and dear lord, she had never heard something more beautiful than a foreshadowing of death with that sound, the imagery of blood being used as paint morbid. “Make you a part of my masterpiece in ways you don’t want, do you understand?” Damn.

Why did she follow him? It was absurd and she didn’t do absurd things. “I got curious.” Damn curiosity.

She had looked like a goddess, a mystical creature hovering over the dead, come to life from the sea behind her. And in that one instant, she had become his muse.

a masterpiece so striking it would emblazon him to glory so he could leave behind the ashes of who he used to be and fly like he was meant to. He just had cages to break first.

Her eyes came right to Caz, striking him like a bolt of lightning, freezing him on the spot, and he saw the vision of her in his mind painted on a giant canvas, an icy goddess with eyes of molten gold, brought back to life, one who had serpents for hair and could turn men into floundering fools with a gaze.

she walked around the fire, straight to him, coming at him like a storm in the ocean, ready to drag him underneath with or without his want.

He had asked her to stay away and she had deliberately not. She’d thrown the gauntlet, and fuck him if he didn’t pick it up.

She hadn’t said a word to anyone about the things weighing her down, and yet, somehow, he had noticed it. For the first time in her life. Someone had seen her.

“Try it. Try walking off a cliff, I will block you. Try making yourself bait, I will catch you. And try being with another man, I will use his blood and make you the canvas.”

“We’re not done,” she mumbled.

The last words she heard, right before she drifted, were in his soft, low voice. “And we never will be.”

“I own your mind. I’m going to own your body. And then, I’ll take your soul. Because you’re coming for mine, aren’t you? Mind, body, and soul. Now tell me, has anyone owned this pussy before?”

“You could bring gods to their knees, you know that?” he murmured softly, his hands tightening on her hips, before drifting to the corners of her eyes, tracing them like he did. “Just one glance from these eyes would have driven men to murder in old times. Still might.” Salem tilted her head to the side. “Would it drive you to murder?” He pulled her closer. “Oh, little asp. It would drive me beyond.” “What is beyond murder?” “Damnation.”

Touching anchored him.

assured her, his voice strong, unshakeable. “Killing you isn’t in the cards.” “Then what is?” “Possessing you,” he murmured, kissing the corner of her mouth. “For now.”

He considered her, his eyes roving over her face. “Because I was a man on the path to damnation and I saw salvation instead. Because being near you makes me feel something beyond rage. Because the chaos inside me quietens when I’m near you.” His words were shaking by the end of his sentence, his hands holding her possessively. “You’ve become my muse, little asp.”

she held on tight, grounding him as he’d grounded her, showing him affection as he’d unknowingly showed her. He let her, not saying a word, not accepting or rejecting her touch, just being as she was being, their bodies fused together, their breathing falling in sync, in and out, together as one.

“Fucking hell, Salem,” he growled in her ear like he did, and the sound just made her flutter around him. “Such a good girl, taking me so good.”

“You want me to take from you?” She hesitated, then nodded. His eyes blazed. “You just gave me the keys to your castle. What if I plunder?” “I’ll plunder right back.” He smiled. “Fuck, you’re perfect.” The smile warmed something inside her, something she hadn’t even known had been frozen. It had cracked, and now it was melting, and she stared up at him, no clue what was happening, no clue where it was going, no clue where it would end, but for the first time in her life, not bothered by it. She let herself revel in the feeling—of being desired, of being wanted, of being accepted. She reveled in the feeling of being alive.

The world wasn’t black and white like she thought it to be. Instead, it was like Caz’s paintings, a spectrum of blacks and grays and whites, of darkest corners and light. And Salem didn’t know if she was right or wrong anymore, things inside her muddled and gray, much like the ambiance around her.