13
A low roar of too many languages at once hits first. The ceiling climbs in pale timber and steel ribs, daylight bleaching everything beyond the glass.
I’m in a foreign country, whose language I don’t speak, with the devil walking by my side.
I start mapping ways to escape him. I only need a moment – enough to get out of the airport and into town.
Elias’ hand closes around my elbow, steering me into the current of bodies. His mouth is at my ear, voice almost lost in the chorus of rolling wheels and announcements.
‘Left,’ he murmurs, and my body shudders at the sensation. I roll my shoulder to rid myself of it, the cabin bag rattling against the floor in protest. ‘Keep pace. Eyes down. Mouth shut. Don’t draw attention.’
He angles us between a family in padded snowsuits while the mother is zipping up one of the toddlers.
A spark flares in my mind. ‘It’s cold. I’d like to change into something warmer,’ I say, slowing down – just half a beat, testing whether the crowd might swallow me if I slid sideways.
‘If anyone asks, you’re tired,’ he continues, dismissing what I’d said. ‘You’re shy, you’re mine. No scenes. No running,’ he breathes, steering me past the glare of duty-free perfume bottles and the smell of coffee.
‘I need to visit the lavatory before we leave the airport,’ I insist, keeping my tone even.
‘You’ve already been. We’re not going off course.’
My stride falters.
His doesn’t.
Both hands settle on my shoulders, thumbs bracketing the base of my neck as he guides me onwards.
‘We’re boarding another plane,’ he adds, like it’s nothing.
A cold shiver webs up my spine. My feet keep moving, but they don’t feel like mine. Every nerve snaps to attention, measuring distance, risk, chance.
‘Where are we going?’
Silence.
We near the lavatory sign hanging between a kiosk selling overpriced chocolates and a row of chairs crowded with weary parents and children.
My heart pounds in warning as I take in the details around me. No side exits. No bloody service doors, not even a single window. But there’s a crowd. If I can get into a stall and change fast enough, maybe I can squeeze out beneath the partition, vanish into the mass of people before he notices?
‘I need to pee,’ I reiterate, pushing just enough urgency into the words to make them more believable.
He angles me sideways, but says nothing.
A dozen bodies huddle by the entrance to the men’s room. A group from our flight merges into the mass, adding density, anonymity, hope.
And then—
He walks past the threshold of the women’s area.
‘What are you doing?’ I hiss.
An older lady near the basin turns fully towards us, mouth dropping open as her gaze climbs up the mountain of a man herding me inside. Another stops drying her hands. I catch the exchange of looks between them before Elias plants a hand low on my back to urge me onwards.
My steps falter. Panic snaps me upright, but the voice in my head reasons that someone might report this transgression and it would all be over.
When the women scurry out, he whispers into my ear, ‘You didn’t really think I was going to let you out of my sight, did you?’ His voice is smooth, pitched low enough not to carry.
The door of a stall swings open. We’re inside. The lock clicks.
Too fast.
Air drains out of my lungs.
‘Someone will tell security there’s a man here,’ I say breathily, trying to delay the horror.
He bends closer. ‘Then you’d better be quick, Leah.’
My back flattens against the side partition. Cold spiderwebs up my back.
He looms, the warmth of him bleeding into the narrow strip of air between us. Metal behind my back, Elias everywhere else.
I clutch my coat tighter around myself, as if fabric might ward off the heat and the chill warring inside me.
The movement only traps more of his scent between us – pine and spicier notes that belong entirely to his skin.
‘You’d better have something to do in here, Leah,’ he growls. ‘Or I’ll find a reason myself.’
He leans over me, dips his head close to my mouth.
My lips part, but the words fall apart before they reach the surface. All that escapes is a fractured exhale that tangles with his.
His hand reaches up as his gaze moves across my face. I recoil, but then my backpack slides off my shoulder before I can react.
My arms go stiff. Instinct surges: run, scream, fight.
But I can’t bloody move.
He carefully hangs the small pack on the hook against the door.
The lack of hurry makes my panic climb faster.
Then he reaches again.
I grab his forearms without thinking, breath sticking to my teeth, fingernails digging in hard enough to bunch the protective film over the fresh tattoo. I don’t even know what I’m trying to do here – just that I must try and stop him.
Hard muscle jumps beneath my palms and his breath falters, but he doesn’t pull away. Heat and strength burn beneath my fingertips. I hate that terror doesn’t stop me from noticing.
His knuckles skim the side of my neck as the camera strap slides free, barely enough contact to count, yet my skin reacts as if he dragged his whole hand over it.
When his fingers aim for the collar of my coat, the word ‘No’ falls out on a breath – not enough to save me, only loud enough to make him enjoy it. His hand ghosts down to the buttons anyway.
Pause. Tug. The sleeves slide halfway down my arms. Each brief brush of his knuckles leaves something behind; little tracks my nerves insist on following even as every thought in my head has turned into a scream.
He hangs the coat over the bag.
‘Elias, stop this!’ The words come out too quiet. I’m still holding his wrists, but my hands won’t put any strength into it. They just move along with his motions as if they weren’t there at all.
His eyes abandon mine, tracing the hollows beneath my collarbones, my shoulders…
My chest.
He moves as if he has all the time in the world. As if my fight is nothing at all.
When he finally touches the buckle of my belt, a cry lodges behind my tongue, more pressure than sound.
I snap.
My hand slices through the narrow space between us and cracks against his cheek with all the force that had been trapped beneath the fear.
The sound echoes in the stall as his head snaps to the side, both hands smacking the panel just above my shoulders to steady himself. His arms lock me between them, close enough that the warmth of his chest rolls into mine. I feel every wave of violence he swallows in the inches separating us.
For a heartbeat, neither of us breathes.
His chin dips. Just a fraction. Then begins to turn towards me with a prowling patience that feels almost bestial.
His chest undulates faster, each intake of air carving deeper than the last, as if his lungs are fighting for space.
A flush has spread over his cheek.
My lungs seize halfway through the next breath, fingers curling against the metal partition behind me.
I meet his eyes, their pupils dilated so much they almost drown the azure around them.
His mouth parts, and something about the sight sends an entirely wrong pulse through my stomach.
My heart drops. Sound, air, thought – gone. I don’t know whether a second passes or an eternity, only that the world might explode if I make a single move.
I watch something strain against him, pulling at the leash.
And then it happens—
A single tear slips free from me, tracking down my cheek.
His gaze catches on it.
Whatever was stretching his composure falters. His next breath tears out so sharply it nearly whistles, and he steps back until his back hits the opposite partition wall.
The impact rattles the metal.
Cold air rushes into the space between us.
I can’t feel my knees. My tongue feels numb. My entire body is shuddering without control.
He drags a hand through his hair, strands springing free, rebounding against his forehead as he bends slightly forward and pulls in a long, agonising breath.
For a moment, I think he might bolt.
But then his head lifts.
‘Knickers down. Sit.’ The words come out feral and mangled, as if forced past his teeth.
‘I’m not doing this in front of you.’ My voice barely holds together.
His chest seizes. He realigns his spine, pinning me with a stare so cold it bloody burns.
I count my heartbeats.
When he speaks again, his voice comes low and raw, every word landing with the finality of a sentence already passed.
‘From now on, you will.’ His gaze doesn’t waver.
Outrage punches up beneath my sternum but fear washes over me right after.
‘You can’t do that.’
‘I’ll count to ten.’
‘Elias—’ The name cuts clean out of me in thin, broken gasps.
‘When I’m done—’ He doesn’t finish, but he doesn’t need to. His face does it for him.
The space between us cracks open.
‘What are you going to do to me?’ I plead. And no – I don’t want to know. With a look like that, nothing good could come from him.
He grits his teeth. ‘Depends on the ghosts. If you’re a good girl, good ones will come out. You might even like them.’
God.
‘One.’
My hands snap into motion before my courage can fracture. My fingers burn as I flip the belt buckle, the metal clicking too loudly in the stall. I hear his breath break – just once.
‘Two.’
A button gives way. The zipper slides down with a sound that feels nauseating in the tight space.
A muscle jumps in his jaw.
‘Three…’
His fingers flex once against his thighs, gaze still fixed above my waist as if looking any lower would cost him everything.
As I push the waistband down, his lids fall shut. Tipping his head back, he lets his skull tap the metal wall with a dull thud.
The count barely leaves him, but I follow it anyway if only to cling to some semblance of structure.
He keeps his eyes closed, drags air in through his nose. Holds it. Lets it out slowly. Does it again.
Wait—
I know that rhythm. He’s doing that breathing exercise, only this time he’s not calming me but containing himself.
Shit. That recognition is somehow worse – that he’s on the brink of something devastating.
I sway, disoriented, but the clock in my head screams that I have seconds left.
Faster, clumsier, I do what I must while my pulse thunders in my ears.