12. Rourke
Rourke
Blue. Has there ever been such a brilliant hue?
I see it in my dreams, in moments of solitude when my urges take hold.
I imagine sky-blue eyes watching me, atop pillow-soft lips, whispering words of praise as my hand tugs at my length.
The pixie only scowls at me, but in my mind, she talks so sweetly, perhaps even as sweet as she tastes.
I crave her. Her blood is only part of it now that the red blur around my vision has cleared.
My Father tasked me to claim her, to produce a magic-born heir, but the pinch between her brows, the disgust filling her eyes when she looks at me, it hurts too much.
I don’t want her rejection. I don’t want her fear.
It’s early morning, and I settle into the large branches covered by wide leaves.
I could kiss the Hollowbrook gardeners for planting this tree in this exact location, parallel to her window, far enough away to not be too obvious, yet close enough to watch her with little effort.
I’m prepared for a full day of observing her, pondering her unusual behavior as it varies, controlled by one emotion to the next.
Today surprises me, though. Instead of her usual scowl—adorable even if I wish for her to wear a different emotion—the lines on her forehead are soft and her eyes hold a glimmer I haven’t seen before.
Perhaps after visiting the greenhouse yesterday, before she caught me stalking her and her face gleamed with a happiness set off by the sun itself, she’s decided she wouldn’t mind staying.
She wasn’t thrilled to catch me following her, yelled at me the way she usually does, ferocious and charming, but maybe despite her anger at my appearance, she still found beauty amongst the estate and decided she wouldn’t mind calling Hollowbrook her home.
A man—or whatever it is that I am—can dream.
Without Father near, it’s hard to focus on my mission.
All I can think about is the mysterious blue, the unexplainable tug to be near her, and, of course, to heal in a way I didn’t know I was capable of before.
I can’t bring myself to take from her. It would be easy to barge into her room and demand she make me whole and relieve the ache between my legs.
This strange sensation began with the first drop of her blood.
I don't remember feeling it before. It’s almost like a tiny voice in my head telling me something is wrong.
I hate it, wish I could destroy it, yet I can’t stop seeking the source that only makes it stronger. So now, I only watch and wait.
The pixie—no, that’s not right. She has a name.
A name that dances around my mind like a bug atop still waters.
Belle. Belle gathers the furry beast in her arms from the edge of her bed before she pokes her head outside her door, scanning the halls before exiting.
I’m disappointed. Glad she’s exploring more of the estate, bringing her warmth to the lifeless halls, yet saddened that my perfect view is interrupted.
I pout in my perch, contemplating whether I should hide in the shadows again and seek her out.
I almost make my move until the front doors creak open and Belle and her pest burst through the courtyard.
She’s talking to him, pointing to various plants as she walks closer to my hiding spot.
I don’t want her to find me lurking again.
She yelled at me last time, called me a creep, a word that didn’t sound synonymous with vigorous lover, so I would rather not be referred to as such by her ever again.
A green rose bush beckons my attention, just a few paces away from my tree.
I jump down to pick a stem before walking out into the opening.
She takes me in, her face morphing from glee to disgust. It stings, a new feeling I loathe, but welcome if it means I’m healing.
She clutches her animal closer to her chest, and I stick out my hand, presenting my offering.
Her brows scrunch, yet not in fury this time, but something like intrigue. “You're bleeding,” she says. It’s the first words she’s spoken to me that aren't riddled with rage. I’m struck motionless. Lost in the words that hold so much weight.
She steps closer. “Hello, idiot? There’s blood running down your arm.” She points, and I follow her signal, catching the stream of red trickling from where the thorns have punctured my skin. I don’t care, though. I push the rose out further, closer to her.
She studies me for what feels like an eternity, but may be only a few moments, places the flea bag on the ground and treads closer.
My heart nearly pounds out of my chest, and I attempt to still my trembling hand.
She reaches out, plucking the stem with two fingers, careful not to touch the thorns.
Her eyes don’t leave mine as she brings the flower to her nose. “Hmm.”
Perhaps she hates the plant. I’m tempted to grab it and smash it to the ground.
“It smells normal.”
“Normal?” My voice croaks around the word. It’s the first word I’ve said to her. Perhaps the first word I’ve said to anyone since Father left. I loathe my first impression—a question, as if I’m as much a brainless monster as everyone assumes—well, as I used to be, and perhaps, still am.
She crosses her arms over her green dress, the square neckline revealing the tops of her breasts, spilling out more with each of her breaths. By the stars, it’s hard not to linger on the sight.
“Where I come from, roses don’t grow from the ground this color.”
“Hm.” I shrug. Shite, I’m an idiot. I’ve never been a man of many words, but surely I can muster something besides a grumble in my throat.
She sighs and crosses her arms over her chest, the rose dangling from her tiny fingers. “So big guy, what’s going on?”
“Going on?” Fuck. Stupid.
“You’ve been following me around, staring at me from a tree outside my window.”
And I thought I was discreet.
“And now you’re giving me flowers.”
I shrug, unsure of her question.
“A few days ago, you grabbed me outside my room and ripped through my flesh. Your father tasked you to impregnate me against my will. You eat raw flesh for crying out loud! What’s with this sudden change in personality?”
Where do I even start? My mouth hinges as my brain works to catch up.
I could explain the magic in her blood, the origins of my scales and murky mind, my mother’s cruelty, the draw I feel to her besides the healing elixir in her veins, that I hope that she might coddle me in a way I’ve always yearned for, nestle me between her bosoms, stroke a hand down my back and whisper sweets nothings, but I don’t have a chance to speak.
“Fuck!” She drops the rose to the ground, shaking her hand. Blood dollops at her fingertip, and she brings the red to her eyesight. My mind blanks, and I remove the distance between us, bringing her injured hand to my mouth, sucking from the source.
She screams and pulls back. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” she yells once I’ve released her.
I’ve only tasted a drop. It’s not enough. I need more, but the morsel does me some good, bringing an ounce of clarity I’ve never before experienced. “I’m sorry. I…” Still, I don’t know how to begin.
The red from her cheeks fades, a color I hope to return, but under different circumstances. She eyes me curiously. Her attention weakens my knees and tents my trousers simultaneously. “It’s true then. My blood heals you?”
So she knows, at least part of it. Did Father reveal this to her? Perhaps during the meal we all shared. I can’t recall, doubt I was paying attention, just trying to focus on eating the plated meat instead of her.
I nod.
Her gaze sharpens. “You know, if you kill me, my blood will dry out. If you were smart, you’d want to keep me alive.”
I’m shocked by her words. “Of course.” But then I remember what I am. I kill. I drink up until there’s nothing left. She barely knows me, but of course, my reputation precedes me.
She crosses her arms again, and fuck if she’s not just doing it to tempt me. She could ask anything from me in this moment, with her breasts on full display, and I’d give it to her. I hope my expression doesn’t reveal too much. “I’m not having your baby.”
Right. My father’s game. I keep forgetting, but of course, that’s the reason she’s here.
Can I really bring myself to displease him?
The absence of his crippling presence, coupled with the urge to be near the pixie, makes it impossible to remember or care for what he tasked me to do.
I’ll likely come to regret these thoughts once he returns, but I already lose focus on my fears, instead, zoning in on the fly-away hairs, curling at her brow, blowing like dandelion seeds in the breeze.
“But,” she goes on. “I can offer you something else.” She steps closer, her sweet smell wafting in the subtle breeze. “I’ll give you more of my blood if you do something for me.”
“Anything.” I don’t mean for my voice to shake, but from the widening look on her face, she doesn’t miss it.
She contemplates, as if reworking her demands. “Set me free?” She yanks at her Darling.
Red clouds my vision, dotting out the blue. “No!” A growl deepens in my throat. “No one leaves Hollowbrook.” I bark. I may wish to please her, but her request is impossible. Even if it wasn’t, I couldn’t let that happen, couldn’t bear letting her go.
Her eyes grow, and her shoulders hunch. I register my furrowed brows, my raised hook, and the heaving of my chest as I loom over her. I straighten and shake away the frightening thoughts fighting to take hold of my brain.
“Okay, geeze. I didn’t mean to piss you off. Rosalia said you’d say no, but it was worth the shot.” She sighs. “Okay, instead, what about opening the library for me?”
“The library?”
“Yes. It’s locked, and I’m told only the Pans can open it. Can you do that for me?”
I nod. She smiles. I’m hooked.