4. Ostara
Ostara
S ick.
That one word bleeds uneasiness inside of me like lava spilling down the side of an erupting volcano. But Caelus didn’t say it like it was a bad thing. He said it with a dagger-sharp possessiveness like he liked it, the feeling.
‘Sick in the head, sick in the heart, sick in the soul.’
That’s what I focus on now, as my skin itches, feeling too tight to really feel like my own, heart too heavy to beat its usual even, steady drumming like I’ve learnt to control so well, standing before my family’s home.
Stone Hill Manor.
I think of all of the things Caelus has said to me since then.
The secret meetings where sometimes we just talk, somewhere deep inside, what is known as, Carnell Wood.
Other times he pins me in a darkened corner and ravishes me right there, where anyone passing by could see, and makes me see stars that definitely don’t come from the sky.
I feel safe and protected and what I imagine love to feel like when I’m in the secure circle of his lean, muscular arms. He keeps me safe and makes sure I eat and get enough sleep.
Caelus Carnell makes my heart flutter and my insides knot, and I’m supposed to hate him.
He’s supposed to hate me. But neither one of us does.
Guards let me through the gate without need for interaction, my white high tops soundless as I track my way up the thirty-plus stone steps to reach the front door which already hangs wide open.
I didn’t want to have to come back here ever, especially not like this, feeling the way I do right now.
Knowing what I’ve done and having no way of undoing it.
I suck a shaky breath in through my teeth, the cold air of the overly-air conditioned house making pain flare in my front two incisors as I cross the entrance hall, beelining straight towards the grand dining room.
Breakfast in this house, with these people, is never much more than a business meeting. Father assigns tasks, I nod in silent agreement, and then escape his vicinity as quickly as possible.
Colin Stone is not a nice man.
Zoe, the youngest at just sixteen, is the first of my sisters I see, short, white-blonde hair tucked behind her slightly pokey-out ears.
Dark brown eyes lifting from beneath the heavy flutter of her lashes.
She stares at me from her seated position at the far end of the table, on the opposite side to where I usually sit.
When I take my seat, the room in silence with only her and I currently present, I see her left cheekbone is a bright burst of blue.
“Don’t,” she says immediately, rasping the single word across the surface of the shiny, black glass table top. “I deserved it.”
I bite down on the inside of my cheek, holding her gaze, but if she says she did, I’m not going to argue.
Zoe’s the sister I’m the closest with, but none of us are closer than acquaintances, something else designed by our father.
Besides, worse things have happened inside this house than a backhand to the face.
Our eldest sister, Amelia, is next through the door, our father close on her heels, and with no sign of our second eldest sister, Naomi, Colin begins to speak.
It’s the usual stuff, the lists of small tasks he wants us to perform. His meaty hands plant on the table as he stands, pudgy fingers spread wide, he focuses his gaze on me, and it takes everything I have in me not to look away.
“A little birdy told me,” he exhales, the small lump of his belly resting atop the table too now as he presses further forward, “you’ve recently become close with the Carnell cunt ,” he spits with disgust, and my entire skeleton twitches inwardly.
My heart clatters like tin lids crashing together, rattling my teeth, but I don’t react, I don’t even blink. I hold his gaze, the deep brown of his irises too much like my youngest sister’s to hate them, but I can still hate how his gaze makes me feel, boring into me like a drill bit to the temple.
There’s no one alive who has seen us together, realistically he shouldn’t know that, but he’s obviously found a way. I show nothing on my face, no outward reaction, but panic is like a piano wire around my heart, squeezing, squeezing, squeezing.
“Which makes your next job easier, Ostara,” he says merrily, a little glint in his gaze, behind the lenses of his glasses, something stares back at me like joy, only this fleeting moment is filled with sinister and bloody intent. “You’re to kill Caelus Carnell.”
The rest of breakfast went by in a blur, the two tiny bites of bagel feel like rocks in my stomach, but Colin Stone’s very real threats ignite sickness in my gut, the taste of acid sits heavily on the back of my tongue.
‘You’re sick, Ostara. Make sure you don’t forget what we do to girls in this family that are sick like you.’
It doesn’t matter that his order goes against the agreement between our families, because despite my grandfather and Cal’s arguing like toddlers over some meaningless land deeds, they signed an agreement that neither bloodline is to cause harm to or kill the other.
It’s why I don’t think. Panic this very real, living, breathing thing inside of me, poisoning me from the inside out.
My leaden feet carry me through the old stone halls, my white high tops splattering with red where it drips from my closed fist. I thought it would help, slicing my skin, letting it out, this overwhelming feeling tightening at my temples, squeezing my lungs.
It always usually helps.
The flats of my bloody palms collide with huge, wooden, double doors, fingers flexing and pushing them open with a rushing thud as the left one collides with the wood panelled wall behind it.
‘You belong to me now.’
Caelus’ hazel eyes narrow as his head snaps toward the interruption of his class. And there’s a moment, suspended, where there’s nobody else inside this studio as he stares at me.
Mirrors line the two adjoining walls where Cal stands in the furthest corner.
Tall, muscular body angled towards me; his left hand curled around the long pine coloured barre bolted into the long mirrored wall.
Upper half drenched in a thick sheen of sweat, his light skin exposed in the gaping neck and arm holes of the loose, black, stringer vest he wears, glistens under the harsh white lights.
Black tights sculpted to his legs, silky black pointe shoes on his feet, extending the already long length of his legs into something powerful and elegant.
He’s magnificent, every single inch of him.
That’s one of the reasons he’s so deadly.
His hazel eyes scorch me, burning me up from the inside out, and every instinct inside of me tells me to go to him.
To tear my way across the wooden floors, ignore every student in this room, all of their gazes focussed in on the intruder interrupting their scheduled training session, and go to him.
But even as I will it, my brain sending urgent signals to my feet to get them to move.
I’m frozen in place, every muscle, bone and inch of sinew locked in position.
And the only thing I can get out when I look at him, like really, really look at him, with damp brown hair sticking to his forehead, his lips slightly parted as he stares at me, is his name.
“Caelus.” It’s shaky and low and uncertain and it’s met with hushed murmurs and whispers at hearing me finally speak, break my own personal vow of silence whilst at this academy, but there’s not enough time to process that either, because Cal’s only concern right now, in the middle of his afternoon class, seems to be me.
“Class is over, everyone out,” he booms the order, the sound of his thunderous voice bouncing around the huge hall.
Immediately, sweeping his way across the floor, students rushing past me to exit.
It’s an almost theatrical display, the way he moves, gliding over the wood, but there’s concern in his eyes, warm honey-hazel freckled with dark, forest green, beautiful really, especially when his attention is solely fixed on me.
I’m sick, coming here, to him, seeking… I don’t even really know.
But I know we have something, even if I’m not fully certain what.
The doors shut with an echoing slam at my back making me flinch as Cal’s hands find both sides of my face, “Ozzie,” he breathes, his eyes searching mine, his hold on my face tilting my chin up. “What’s wrong?”
His fingers flex against my cheekbones, my lips parting to speak, but nothing escapes me bar a heavy sigh, an exhale of relief.
Caelus sweeps his warm thumbs up the length of my cheekbones, pushing the tips of his long fingers into my hair, holding onto my skull, like my head being cradled in his hands is where it belongs.
“You,” is what I breathe out, a tiny sound, but one that feels heavy, like it holds all of the world’s chaos and violence and death. “You- he- I’m supposed to-”
“You’re crying,” Caelus whispers, almost in awe, staring at my lower lashes as they clump with drops of despair. His palms are hot and clammy on my cheeks, thumbs smoothing over my skin, smearing the salty tears beneath my eyes. “Tell me what happened.”
“I don’t want to kill you,” is my answer, all of my father’s threats tumbling around inside my brain and making me physically ache.
He blinks, heavy black lashes shuttering over his warm eyes as he surveys me, and then his dark brown brows lift high on his head, “I’m your next kill,” he says quietly, coming to the right conclusion with no help at all from me.
“I’m not doing it,” I tell him, even as sickness washes around inside my belly, and bile climbs its way up my oesophagus like it’s a creature made of sludge using hooked talons to ascend.
“I don’t care what happens to me.” It’s a breathless confession, one I don’t have to think about, it’s just true.
I think of the room, of the box, of the leather straps and the neck needles. The darkness and the light, the blasts of heat, of ice.
I’m stiff, my eyes wide as Caelus drags me into his chest, folding his arms over my back, hands cupping my head and shoulder like I mean something. My arms hang by my sides because I don’t know how to do this, to feel , to hug, to cuddle. I’ve never been held before.
“Ozzie,” he whispers into my ear, ruffling my hair with his breath, his sweat-slicked skin sticks to my clothed body, and his mouth is hot and wet when it presses to the side of my neck.
“Put your arms around me, Little Ghost. Hold onto me while I hold onto you.” Summoned, my arms slowly raise, my fingers curling into the loose fabric of his top, fisting in the damp cotton.
“That’s it,” he hushes, soothing me enough to let my eyes fall closed.
“Just hold onto me and I’ll keep you safe. ”