6. Irresistible
Chapter six
Irresistible
Oberon appears without warning, as he always does, his shadow falling across the room before his form solidifies before me. His eyes, dark and inscrutable, lock onto mine with an intensity that makes my pulse quicken.
It catches me off guard, unable to look away.
The weight of his focus presses down on me, and I feel something stir deep inside, a mix of dread and heat, something far less controllable.
My heart hammers in my chest as I realize I have been staring at him, truly staring at him, without the veil of fear or fury that usually clouds my vision.
When I become aware of it, warmth spreads across my face, and I’m ashamed of how exposed I feel.
The way he looks at me, calm and calculating, makes my skin crawl.
Beneath that cold exterior, I can’t shake the feeling that there is something else. Something buried deep, hidden beneath the layers he wears so carefully.
I want to look away, to escape from the weight of his attention, but I can’t.
He raises an eyebrow at me, the corner of his mouth curling ever so slightly. My heart thuds in my chest at the realization of how intently I have been staring at him. And yet, he doesn’t seem phased.
He doesn’t react. He just watches me, waiting as if to let me take it all in, all of him in.
“Careful, Lyra,” he murmurs finally, his voice dropping to a low, seductive tone.
“If you keep staring at me like that, I might start to think you’re enjoying this.
” He pauses for a beat, letting the words hang in the air, then leans in just slightly, his smirk widening. “I can be rather . . . irresistible.”
My breath catches, but I force myself to look away, my chest tightening with the weight of everything I can't say. I swallow hard, the edges of my anger sharpening. “I'm not here for your amusement, Oberon.”
Oberon’s sneer deepens, his eyes flickering as he takes a slow, deliberate step closer.
“Oh, I beg to differ, Lyra,” he teases, his voice deepens the sound like velvet against my ears.
“Your body tells a different story.” His gaze sweeps over me, lingering for a moment too long, before locking with mine again.
“You can deny it if you want, but your pulse is giving you away.” His lips curl in amusement.
“You’re more affected than you’d like to admit.
” He leans in just a fraction, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off him, his presence impossible to ignore.
“Although,” he adds, his voice dropping even lower, “I’m not complaining.
” The teasing is still there, but also something darker, more dangerous, hidden in the way he says it, like he is enjoying every second of this.
I take a step back, putting some distance between us, trying to keep my composure as the heat in my cheeks betrays me. “You’re extra full of yourself today.”
Oberon’s eyes gleam with a knowing, almost predatory pleasure, his voice remaining smooth, laced with mock concern. “Such fire, Lyra,” raising one hand to his chest as he takes another step closer, his presence overwhelming,
My pulse ticks as he lingers for another moment before letting out a sigh. His gaze sweeps the room, taking note of the disarray and failed attempts.
“But it seems your magic is just as stubborn as you are.”
His eyes find mine again, with that dangerous, confident glow. “Still holding it back, or are you finally starting to embrace it?” He tsks, as if he can sense the hesitation that lingers beneath the surface. “I can feel it, Lyra. The magic’s there, just waiting for you to let go.”
A glimmer of something tantalizing dances in his expression. A pulse of heat surges through me, which mirrors the intensity of his focus. His voice drops to a near purr, soft and enticing. “I think that’s the most fascinating part of you.” The words sound almost too sweet, too dangerous.
“That fear, that resistance.” His head shakes in frustration. “You’re so close, yet still so far from embracing what you truly are.”
I swallow hard, my breath catching in my throat at the proximity of his voice, the tone of his words sending a shiver down my spine. I try to steady myself, but his intensity, the weight of his words, makes it hard to concentrate.
I square my shoulders, doing my best to ignore the way my pulse quickens with each breath I take. “I'm not afraid of my magic . . . or of you.” I meet his glance with a challenge in my eyes, even as something deep inside me flutters.
Oberon’s lips twist into a sly grin, a light chuckle escaping them.
“You should be afraid of me, Lyra,” he snarls, flashing his canines.
I tense despite myself. The space between us feels like it is thinning.
“But you should be more afraid of what happens if you don’t start taking your training seriously,” he continues, his tone replaced by something softer.
His focus never wavers as I struggle for the right words.
There is no way to say what I need to say without showing just how weak I feel.
Instead, the words I have kept buried for so long, those raw, seething thoughts, burst forth like an uncontrolled wave.
I clenched my fists at my sides, my frustration boiling over.
“You still haven’t told me why you even care?” I snap, my voice sharp, trembling with the mixture of fury and desperation.
“What's the point of all this? You want me strong, but for what? To be another pawn in your game? To fight for you?” I take a step forward, my eyes burning with intensity. “You’ve taken everything from me, Oberon, and now you want me to play along? To what end?” I shake my head in disbelief.
Oberon’s eyes darken, his expression softening just slightly as he regards me with a mixture of amusement and something else, something unreadable.
“I’m not here to fight with you, little Lyra,” he shrugs like my struggle is beneath him, the edge to his tone makes my heart race, a quiet menace lurking beneath the surface.
“You’ve got questions, understandably. But you're not asking the right ones,” he challenges.
His words linger, heavy in the air between us.
“Answers . . .” he drawls the word out, “well, you’ll only get those when you start asking the right questions.” His voice drops lower, his smile deepening, but the warning is clear, as if he can see right through me, as though every flicker of doubt, every hesitation, is laid bare before him.
He observes me as though he can see past the rage and the fear straight to the broken pieces beneath. And I fucking hate it.
“Why?” My voice barely comes out above a whisper, the weight of my frustration shifting into something heavier, something raw. “Why any of this? Why not just kill me or leave me the hell alone?” My eyes meet his, searching and pleading for something to make sense of what he wants from me.
For a moment, his eyes soften, the usual hardness of them giving way to something .
. . quieter. “Because I do want you to fight,” The earlier playfulness and mockery gone, replaced by something I didn’t expect.
There is a seriousness in his tone, a quiet ache that settles between us, and for the first time, I feel the raw sincerity in his words. “But I don’t want you to fight for me.”
Confusion and even more questions swirl through my mind like a tornado.
What does that even mean? If not for him, why am I here? That doesn’t answer anything.
Before I can speak, he tilts his head with that devilish smirk of his, his voice dropping into something playful again, even with the threat it seems to always carry. “I brought you something.” The words roll off his tongue like a challenge. “Homework.”
He sets the book down in front of me, his fingers brushing the edges just slightly. “I've got business to attend to,” he continues, boredom now etching the sharp lines of his face. “But don’t worry. I won’t leave you waiting too long for my return.” His eyes narrow. I wouldn’t want you missing me.”
He lingers a heartbeat longer, an intensity in his stare, before he steps back slowly. “Read the book. Practice your magic,” he murmurs. “I’ll be back soon enough, and I’m curious to see what progress you’ve made.”
“Oh, and Lyra,” he turns back to look at me once more. “Do try not to think about me too much.”
With a wink and a soft smirk, he is gone once again, and the loneliness creeps back in.