Chapter fifteen
Aris eventually decides on a castle in Denmark. It had a name, once, owned by a family for hundreds of years, but whatever it was doesn’t matter anymore. Formerly, it was a historical sight, with tours and everything, but no longer. Aris’ followers have been sent to prepare the place for the two of us: burning hedge mazes, replacing paintings with surviving works from the former estate, destroying display cabinets to free artifacts.
We watch this for an hour or so before Aris gets bored and takes us to conquer Copenhagen. We take a high vantage to watch his creatures wreak havoc. There are some people, not many, that I spot between smoking, colorful buildings, carrying children and other belongings.
But they die, falling limp like roadkill.
“You have seen much disaster and destruction,” Aris says at one point. “Do you see now that it is the same? None of it matters.”
I pause, hating that I do understand. After a hundred deaths, what is a thousand? Another thousand? As we watch the people from high above, scrambling, they almost look like insects.
Ants, Jaegen said.
It snowed a lot where I was from. It wasn’t uncommon for a blizzard to create feet of ice and snow. After such a storm, shoveling the driveway with the temperature in the negatives, it was impossible to remember that every snowflake was unique, to differentiate between them.
That’s the only way to explain how it feels, watching them.
I know that they are people. I know that they are unique. Some prefer their eggs scrambled and others like them poached. They take their time selecting shampoo. They dutifully schedule their doctor’s appointments. The fear that they feel in their last moments is very real.
They are people. They are like me, I remind myself. And yet, there’s just too much snow.
“What does matter?” I ask .
Aris’ eyes dart to my cheeks, where several of my scratches have begun scabbing over. “Not much,” he replies, after a moment.
We turn back to the carnage, though Aris is soon satisfied. We travel to another city.
After a long day of watching people die, we return to Aris’ new castle. Things have turned around in just a few hours; there is new furniture and decor, and electric lights have been replaced with thin candles, wax already dripping down their sides.
Aris is pleased; I am tired. It’s been a full day, and my body is incredibly sore from yesterday. I haven’t seen a doctor, but I think I might’ve broken a few ribs and I’m badly scraped and bruised. I’m inclined to find whatever room Aris picked for me and fall into a deep sleep.
Then, I think of the bodies from today, and the rage in Jaegen’s eyes and his invisible grip on my neck.
I have a task. I made a bargain.
“Will you show me to my room?” I ask Aris.
The followers around us tense as Aris tenses. After a pause, Aris waves an impatient hand at them, and they scramble.
Now under his sole scrutiny, my heart races as I recall Aris idly cracking the marble countertop. I try to weigh that unhinged strength with the pain of being choked by Jaegen, and have trouble deciding which would be worse. Jaegen was aware of himself and left me alive, at least. If Aris goes into another trance when I’m too close…
Aris raises a brow. “‘Show you?’”
“Yes.”
His face does something complicated. “Very well,” he murmurs, and I try to hide my surprise and apprehension.
The two of us begin walking, Aris in the lead.
The castle is admittedly smaller and less confusing than our old home, but an aura of foreboding grows with each step Aris takes, his presence contaminating. When we first arrived, the halls were lighter and more open; now, they feel oppressive .
Finally, Aris stops outside of a door, twisting the knob to reveal a spacious interior. It’s not as big as my room at the manor and not nearly as customized, but it’s gorgeous. The color palette is light; the bed’s canopy and sheets are white, as well as the curtains and window drapes. As I take a step inside, I note how old the air smells.
I look back at Aris, who drinks in my reaction. “Do you like it?”
I wonder if he picked it out for me. “Yes,” I admit, then clear my throat. My heart thumps loudly in my ears. “Will you… stay?” I ask.
His eyes narrow. “Why?”
He is watching too carefully; I can give him nothing but the truth. “I didn’t have any nightmares last night,” I say. “When I was… with you.”
“Nightmares?” he says slowly, like biting a coin to see if it’s real. “What are they about?”
Needles and death and suffocation. And, interestingly, not about him and the havoc he wreaks.
“Will you stay with me until I fall asleep?” I say, refusing to elaborate. Part of me superstitiously believes that speaking about my dreams emboldens my psyche, like acknowledging the taunts of a bully. Best leave them alone and hope they’ll grow bored.
He notices my lack of answer but says nothing, offering a short, unsatisfied nod as he follows me in.
Unlike last night, I’m not so exhausted that I don’t know what I’m doing. That makes this harder. I’m acutely aware of Aris’ presence as he walks around, picking up trinkets that his followers didn’t replace.
I jump slightly when trilling music plays, glancing over my shoulder to see Aris playing with an antique music box. I didn’t even hear him wind it. He sets the box back on a table and looks at me.
An unfamiliar, haunting melody fills the space between the two of us as we regard one another almost warily. He knows I’ve told him the truth; he kept my nightmares at bay last night. But, certainly, that isn’t all that this is about. Why am I behaving differently so suddenly? Do I have another angle? And, if so, what is it?
I sigh, kicking off my shoes and shrugging my jacket onto a stiff chair by the window. My personal belongings aren’t here yet—personal, as in the things that Aris had made for me—but I’m fine sleeping in just my shirt. Despite the horrors of today, we were so high up that we missed all of the gore; the shirt is spotless.
But I am wearing jeans, and they would be uncomfortable to sleep in.
I glance at Aris, who watches me keenly.
Blushing, I turn away and work as quickly as possible to remove my pants and climb into bed. But my stiffness makes me clumsy, and the tight jeans stick to every inch of me. When they’re finally off, the task has taken twice as long as it should and my face feels like it’s on fire.
Aris’ eyes are on me all the while.
The music from the box stops as I settle into bed, heart hammering in my chest. I spot the outline of Aris from behind the bed’s white curtains, dim and hard to follow as he prowls closer. The room is lit; it was lit when we entered, but each candle extinguishes as he passes by, until he is by the edge of the bed and only two candles remain, each on one of the side tables.
Still, there is enough light to see the curve of his lips. Though he doesn’t know what I’m up to, he’s decided to have some fun with it.
Part of me expects him to pounce and pin me to the mattress, but Aris surprises me with some civility, sitting and laying down on the bed as a human might.
Now, we are quiet.
Ten minutes ago, my feet were dragging and I would’ve been fine sleeping on the carpet so long as it meant that I could close my eyes. Now, I’m wide awake, conscious of his presence. If I moved slightly, our shoulders would touch.
There is a sense of… anticipation.
“You are disgusted by me,” he finally says, breaking the silence. “Why would you want me here?”
His words surprise me. “You don’t disgust me.”
“Oh?”
“I’m… ”
Is there a single word to explain how I feel toward Aris? Outraged, horrified, beguiled, humiliated. Is there something that encompasses all of those? Even so, I don’t think it would be enough.
“What?” he presses; I’ve taken too long to answer.
Giving up on simplifying, I turn on my side to face him, wincing slightly from the press on my ribs.
Aris turns to face me as well, and, as it was this morning, our faces are only inches apart. Though there are only two candles still lit, it’s easy to see him; his paleness is luminescent. He’s so beautiful that it hurts to look at him like this, soft in the confines of his own home, at rest with his pet beside him. The beauty is distracting, and I don’t notice that I’ve reached for him until I’ve completed one full stroke of his cheek.
I half-heartedly tell myself that I am playing a part. Tomorrow, I will look at this with shame. For now, it’s just us.
Aris leans into the touch, though his eyes don’t leave my own. Cautious.
“You don’t disgust me, but you hurt me. Broke me,” I say, eyes misting from the truth. I hate talking about this. Acknowledging it . I’ve been with him for a little over a month now, and we’ve discussed it only once, my first night here. “I fear that you had a good time doing it, too. And… I would have expected it from anyone but you. Don’t you know how stupid I felt?”
He watches quietly, sensing that there is more. His eyes are so dark that I can see my own reflection in them.
“I thought I had a new life. I was convinced that I was happy, that I’d been saved by Henry.”
“I saved you,” Aris interrupts fiercely. “ Me , not him."
With a sigh, I tuck some of his black hair behind his ear. It’s too short to stay there, so it falls out again, and I go to tuck it back again and again, until I’m essentially just stroking his head.
“Saved me how?” I whisper. “By leaving me? Lying to me?”
I brace for another outburst, though Aris has settled again, listening. It was just the mention of Henry that set him off.
“What would you have been without it?” he asks—not maliciously, just truly curious. Things are different between us when we lay together in the dark. Secrets and truths pass more freely.
“What do you mean?”
“You’ve seen the people in those cities. Without me, you would be one of them.”
I don’t say anything for a moment, and then, “This is better, living in a prison?”
He scoffs. “I let you roam.”
“A prison with field trips is still a prison.”
“You came to me willingly,” he insists, and I am unable to contest that.
It is then that I realize a storm is raging outside, rain pounding against the ground like it’s been personally affronted. The night was completely clear earlier. Maybe it's a byproduct of Aris’ reactions, or maybe the storm spawned from air movements. Who knows what’s natural and unnatural anymore?
“I don’t like that I hurt you,” he says after a moment. “I told you before that I could have handled it better, but I thought…”
“What?” It’s strange to see him uncertain like this. Almost apologetic. Not quite, but almost.
“I thought that you would always be there.”
Had I not thought the same?
Silence falls between the two of us, weighed down by his words. Such a humble, vulnerable truth.
The moment is very fragile. I have so many things to say. So many things to know.
Tell me about Sem, I want to ask. Tell me about Jaegen and Babylon and Egypt. Tell me why it matters that I blame Jaegen instead of you. Tell me what happens once the world ends.
Who are you? What do you want from me?
Finally, Aris says, “Will you continue touching me, the way that you were before?”
A lazy, half-smile slides onto my face as I resume stroking his hair. He watches me for a moment, something unfamiliar on his face, before his eyes shut. I hadn’t noticed how tense he was, how tense he always is, until his shoulders lower.
A slow breath escapes his lips, washing over my face, and, as his scent washes over me, I’m hit with the sudden urge to close the distance between us and kiss him. With the thought, is a strike of melancholy and rage. I’m supposed to want to kiss him so I can ruin him, not because I want to kiss him.
He will not change, I remind myself. He will not stop, I tell myself.
He is evil.
Remember those people that he killed today. Remember that they are people .
Wordlessly, I reach toward him, and his eyes shoot open. There is a brief moment of doubt, where I consider that he might push me away, that he might embarrass me by not wanting me, but I refuse to let fear stop me.
When we kiss, it’s every good kiss I had with Henry. Electric and pulsing, and I know now how to differentiate when it was Aris who was touching me. When it felt good, when it felt right , that was Aris. The plain, awkward movements were Henry’s own.
I don’t think about it enough to feel sad. All I think now is that I want more of him. Of Aris.
I curl my hands in his thick hair and pull myself onto him as my lips part and the kiss deepens. His arms encircle my waist, fingers sprawling and pressing tight on my skin; there will be bruises tomorrow. I feel pain, but it’s all pleasure. I never noticed before how closely the two coincide.
He rolls on top to pin me below, breaking our long kiss. While I gulp for air, clutching handfuls of sheets, his mouth goes to my neck, where he trails nips along the side, smiling as I arch into the bites. Then, he returns to my lips, deciding I’ve had enough time to breathe.
Kissing him is fierce, a dance that he leads. When I try to introduce new steps, he takes me back to the beginning, forceful and insistent, and I learn quickly that I will get only what he offers.
Aris relents only when he feels my chest tense as I’m brought to the edge of suffocation, and he allows me enough air to keep me an active participant before descending again. My ribs burn and my head is buzzing, able only to meet his movements, utterly beyond trying to anticipate .
He’s ravenous. His hand on my waist shakes, or it could be me shaking; we are both so eager. Like this, there is no hierarchy.
With a jerk of his wrist, he rips my shirt off of me, throwing the fabric to the ground. I don’t know what that means, what we’re going to do next.
Aris pulls back to watch me pant. There is fierce, unrestrained lust in his eyes—the cold hunger of an animal that knows what it wants and exactly how to get it.
He raises his hands from my stomach; one pins my wrists above my head effortlessly, and the other starts to remove more of my shirt, the tips of his fingers teasing my collarbone.
I should feel trapped, terrified, but it’s like someone else has taken hold of me. All of my anxiety and anger is gone, and there is only this moment. His strength is comforting, not deadly; it is a protective hold.
“He doesn't deserve you,” he says, growling the moment he finishes speaking. The combination of desire and fury in his voice is striking, the duality doing something to my insides, and it takes a moment to realize what he just said.
Who doesn’t deserve me, Henry?
I can hardly remember his name; at this moment, he matters so little. And maybe he never mattered.
Like he hears my thoughts, Aris’ lips rise, and his grip tightens on my wrists. His other hand peels more fabric aside, lifting my shoulder to explore my back, and I’m too distracted to think of the marks burned into my skin.
That is, until Aris touches one.
We both feel it: the surge of energy rushing to meet his fingers. As one, we go still, and he looks at me, desire amputated.
Tonight is a night of firsts, of many new emotions from Aris. I have never seen this expression on him before. There is pain etched into his features, like I slapped him and it actually hurt , his lips twisted in a gape.
I look back with equal parts trepidation and terror. He didn’t touch the mark that shields my thoughts; he touched the one meant to steal his memory. He felt the magic. He knows now. He must know .
Very, very slowly, he releases my wrists and leans back, setting his weight on his knees. Straddling me. I cannot escape. I could move slightly—yet, I don’t dare.
He does not look away from me with that terrible look on his face.
I know he knows. And I know he will never forgive me. Whatever we had, whatever we were to each other, whatever could have been , it’s done. You can see it on a person’s face, when they’re really, truly done with you, and I see it now.
The shock leaves him in a rush, and Aris acts.
As his movements were playful caresses before, they are the opposite now; he grabs my shoulders with the speed of a viper and slams me against the mattress so hard that my teeth clack together from the impact. I open my mouth to scream on instinct, but he clamps a hand over it, and his other hand bands beneath my breasts so tightly that I can’t inflate my lungs to breathe.
I immediately gasp at the pressure against my ribs and the searing pain that shoots through me in protest. His cold hand presses even tighter, fingernails digging into my cheeks.
It was attractive moments ago, how powerful his body is, like reinforced steel. Now, it is a weapon angled in my direction.
As scared as I am, I feel alive, almost electrified. The rune has been dull the past few weeks, but it’s suddenly active, shooting energy through me like a livewire. I don’t know if he can feel it, but it pulses toward his hold on me. Going into him.
“Mary,” he grits out.
I stare back, unable to speak, unable to move. If he kills me, will the magic stop working?
“Was it real?” he asks. “Any…” He is so furious—with himself, with me and my trick—that he struggles to get the words out.
Finally, he manages, through trembling rage and clenched teeth, “Was any of it real?”
I know what he means: Did I kiss him just to betray him?
I meaningfully look at the hand he has over my mouth, and he inches it back with a scowl. Then, I resist his hold on my stomach slightly, to indicate that I wish to sit up. I know that I’m not getting out of this, and I am not fighting my fate. But there’s something I’d like to do first .
For whatever reason, he allows me this, relenting as he stares hard and hatefully at me. I move closer, bringing my face inches from his own. God, but he is beautiful.
“Good game,” I say and press my lips to his for the last time.
He goes stiff and doesn’t react when I pull back. By now, the buzzing under my skin has faded. I’ve no idea if it was from the mark or just adrenaline, but it’s leaving, exhaustion catching up with me.
Aris looks away and down at the comforter, eyes narrowing while I wait for what comes next. I am scared—only an idiot wouldn’t be. But I’m still smiling. He can do what he wants to me. Make me a slug, zap me into dust. Eviscerate my soul, if I even have one left. Destroy me utterly.
But none of that changes anything. It doesn’t change that I bested him.
A good minute of silence passes, while I remain still and braced. I cannot fight my fate and won’t amuse him by trying, but he will not catch me by surprise. I won’t give him that.
Eventually, his head tilts to the side, and he looks at me. “Who are you?” Aris asks.