My first instinct is to go check on Gemma, so I hurry across the house and am both relieved and frustrated when I enter the room because she’s there, but she’s awake.
“Don’t look so disappointed to see me,” she says, wiggling her arms which are still tied to the bedposts. She’s trying to sit up; her head lifted so she can look at me, her hair’s tangled around her face and her shirt’s riding up so that her bare stomach is revealed. So sexy except for that stupid smirk on her face. “I’m not that bad to be around, am I?”
“It depends,” I reply, entering the room on guard. The arrival of Stasha has reminded me that at any moment anything could happen. Besides, if Gemma’s here like this, then whoever possessed her in the first place might show up here, too. “Who am I talking to?”
She laughs, rolling her eyes. “You’re talking to me. Gemma Lucas. The girl I’ve always been. The girl that both annoys you and enthralls you. The girl you love to fuck.”
“Yeah, the Gemma I know wouldn’t say that,” I say, walking up to the bed. “And if she did say it, her cheeks would turn pink with her embarrassment.” I sit down on the bed beside her and lightly stroke her cheek with my finger. “This isn’t the Gemma I know.”
Her amusement rapidly shifts to anger. Turning her head, she tries to bite my finger and manages to knick the skin. “That Gemma was weak,” she snaps. “This one is so much better.” She shuts her eyes and breathes in deeply, like she’s ravishing the taste of the air. “God, I feel so alive at the moment… like I could do anything.”
It kills me to see her like this, my chest aching in a way I didn’t think was possible. “Look, I don’t know who you are, but you need to bring her back.”
Her eyes shoot open and I’m startled by the amount of anger blazing in them, smoldering lavender. She looks as enraged as my father would get whenever Aislin or I would do something wrong. “I already told you who I am. Gemma Lucas. Nothing more. Nothing less.”
“Who did this to you, then?” I ask, reaching out to touch her, yet when she scowls at me, I draw my hand away. “Who put that mark on your arm?”
She tips her chin down to look at the mark branded on her skin. “Does it really matter?” she asks. “You and I both know that regardless of how it got on there, it’s on there, which means I have evil in my blood.”
“No, there has to be a different reason,” I insist. “Like maybe the star allowed it on you.”
She shakes her head, laughing. “Don’t be stupid. It’s on me because I have evil blood inside me. Because I’ve been evil all along and this,” she jerks her marked arm upward, “just allowed me to let it out.”
I ball my hands into fists, fighting the urge to yell, but she’s pissing me off. “I’ve known you since we were kids and trust me, there’s not a single damn drop of evil inside you, whether you think so or not.”
“That’s not what your father told me,” she says, watching my reaction with hunger as the desire to break me lurks within her eyes.
My fists clench tighter while my jaw goes taut; my anger begins simmering, ready to boil over the surface. “Is that who did this to you?” I ask, and although she doesn’t respond, I can see it in her eyes.
I’ve been angry before, but this… I’m not sure I can handle the heat of emotions flaring inside me. I want to punch my father. Throttle him. Maybe even kill him. I want to hurt him so badly at the moment that it’s tearing me up inside.
Getting to my feet, I storm over to the wall and hammer my fist repeatedly through it, trying to let out the anger the safest way I can think of. While the wall doesn’t make it out so great, a large hole in it, no one gets hurt and the pressure inside me is alleviated just a bit.
“Feeling better?” Gemma asks as I make my way back to the bed, stretching out my fingers.
Shaking my head, I climb on the bed and align my body over her. I don’t know why. It’s not like I usually get this close to my enemies; yet, she’s not my enemy. She’s my... soul mate? Other half? I have no clue. All I know is that I need to be close to her. “Tell me what my father wants,” I demand, leaning over her, trying to picture her as someone else to make this easier.
She elevates her head, getting as close to me as she can. “He wants you dead, which I will do,” she hisses. “So just untie me and lets get this over with.
“You really think you can do that?” I ask, leaning closer as my fingers find her wrists. “You really think you can hurt me?”
She nods her head up and down, an arrogant look in her eyes, and I f**king hate how much I love it; love that she just might be able to hurt me. “It’d be the easiest thing I’ve ever done,” she says haughtily.
I assess her closely, debating how much I should push her. How far should I go with this just to see how deeply she’s possessed? I know the mark on her arm is powerful and it might be stupid to test it’s strength against Gemma’s feelings for me, but it might be the only way to get her back.
I just hope this plan doesn’t backfire and I wind up dead.
Chapter 4
(Alex)
This world has always been confusing to me; life has always been confusing. It’s always full of surprises and full of risks. There never seems to be a right or wrong way to solve problems, and a lot of the time problems aren’t solved intentionally but by accident. I know nothing about Gemma’s condition—how my father got the mark on her—so I have no idea how to get it off of her. The only thing I can do is try and hope that whatever I do works. It f**king sucks. But I have to try.
I lock eyes with her and force her to look at me. Stare at her until she becomes completely uncomfortable, which is right where I want her—confused. “So you really think you can hurt me?” I ask, stretching my arm toward one of the ties around her wrist, the one secured around the hand that has the scar on it from when we made our blood promise; the promise we made to be together forever. “Cause me pain? Agony? Hurt me until I take my last breath and die?” I unhitch one of the knots and loosen the fabric, moving slowly, carefully. She watches my face instead of my hands, trying to act tough; but still, she looks so lost, just like when I first met her. “Do you think you could do it?”
She nods her head while her eyes remain fastened on mine, yet there’s hesitancy in them. “I can do anything I want to, and the thing is, you can’t stop me.”
I don’t know why I do it, other then the need to devour her as I make her mine again. Force the possession out of her and bring her back. Do something other than feel so helpless. I hate feeling helpless. So, in a desperate panic, I lean down and kiss her passionately, half expecting her to bite me. She doesn’t, though.
She just lies there beneath me, her hand twitching restlessly in the bind I have untied. Her chest is crashing against mine as she inhales and exhales ravenously, her body heat intoxicating as she rolls her hips, rubbing ever so slightly against mine. It’s mind blowing, the way she makes me feel; the heat flowing between us, the sparks, near explosion. I’m one step away from ripping her clothes off and f**king her. I’m nearly being driven mad by the feel of her, almost completely forgetting the situation as her intoxicating taste overpowers me. Then I feel her shift and her hand slips out of the bind.
I have seconds to respond as her hand finds my neck and wraps around it. She pulls me toward her, looking me in the eye as she digs her fingers inward. “You think I’m weak?” she questions in a low voice that doesn’t even sound like it belongs to her. “That a f**king kiss is going to stop me from doing what’s burning in my blood? Stop the painful desire to spill your blood out? Stop the throbbing need to end your life?”
When she tugs me even closer, our foreheads slamming together, I don’t bother fighting it as my body falls on top of hers. My weight lands on her as she leans up and nips my lip, sucking it into her mouth and grazing her teeth across it. Blood pools out and the taste of salt and rust floods my mouth. “You like me better this way, anyway; if you’d just admit it to yourself,” she whispers against my lips.
My veins are pulsating under her rough touch as I gasp for air quietly, not wanting to give her the satisfaction of seeing me weak and powerless. “You have no idea what I like,” I choke, gripping handfuls of the blanket beside her head, trying to hold my weight up off of her in a lame attempt to get away.
She tries to wiggle her hand out of the other bind as she continues to strangle me, her eyes filled with both desire and terror. She wants to do this, yet she doesn’t want to, which means my Gemma still lies inside there somewhere, and I have to get her out somehow. The only way I can think of is to push her to her limits. Let her get close to killing me. Let her think I’m about to die. Then maybe her true feelings will come out and override what my father has done to her.
I’ve seen this done once when a Keeper became possessed by a Lost Soul, which is basically a mummy that possesses and steals souls. A Witch brought the Keeper back by testing them; pushing them to the point where they were either going to have to completely give into the Lost Soul’s possession or fight their way back. I know Gemma is a fighter, but the problem is that I don’t know her true feelings for me, or if she even has any at all. I guess I’m about to find out.
I let her keep choking me; suffocating me, strangling me. I see life in her eyes flicker then diminish. Her emotions turn on and off. She’s conflicted. This is good. It means she cares about me; has feelings for me; wants me enough that she’s not sure she really desires my death. The idea both enthralls me and scares the shit out of me. All my life, I’ve felt nothing for anyone, and that’s how I’ve liked it because feelings equal hurt. Pain. Loneliness. Shut everyone out and no one can hurt you. Turn it off and you’ll be stronger. That’s what I’ve been taught.
That was the great thing about dating Stasha. I never had any feelings for her. She didn’t make me happy. Piss me off. Get under my skin. Floor me to the point where I felt like I was going to explode.
Gemma on the other hand… She does all of that and more. My emotions are so tangled up inside because I want her so f**king much, yet I’m afraid to want her so badly.
“You can’t do it,” I choke as my breath dwindles, my lungs constricting. It’s becoming harder to breathe. The room is spinning and the lights above our heads are dimming. “You care for me too much.”
“Stop saying that,” she growls, her face reddening with anger.
“No,” I say, however it sounds more like a groan. “I won’t.”
“Shut up!”
“You care for me. Admit it.”
She leans even closer and speaks slowly. “Think whatever you want, but the truth is, I feel nothing for you.” Her grip tightens. Suddenly the lights in her eyes turn off and there’s nothing there anymore. No life inside. No emotion. No Gemma. Maybe I’ve jumped to conclusions. Perhaps I’ve been wrong. Maybe she doesn’t care about me like I’ve thought she does. And if so, I’m not sure what to do about it now that I’ve realized how much I care about her. There’s no reversing that. She owns me now.
It feels like I should fight back, but I don’t. I have no idea whether it’s because I’m confused or if I’m simply so dizzy that my strength is gone. I start to fall. Sink into darkness. I think I’m dying and Gemma is the one doing it—killing me. I can’t breathe and the buzzing of the sparks is fizzling. I need to fight, yet I feel nothing…
“I think I might love you,” Gemma whispers in my ear as she holds onto me. “But I’m confused.”
“About what?” I ask, trying not to smile as I kiss her neck, my eyes shut, the cool air brushing across my skin as I breathe in her scent; lavender and vanilla. “About love?”
“Yes,” she says softly. “I’m not sure if what I’m feeling is that. Love or something else… can you tell me?”
I tense, my eyes remaining shut. “Tell you what?”
“What love is?” she whispers with a desperate plea in her voice, begging me to explain it to her, begging me to understand it.
I open my mouth to say something, but no noise comes out. I want to tell her everything—exactly what I feel—but I hesitate. Confused. Terrified. If I say it aloud, then everything changes. I’ll no longer be what I am. I’ll be weak. Vulnerable. She’ll have the power to break me, just like everyone else in my life has. My father. My mother.
“Gemma, I…” I trail off, pulling back to look at her, but I can’t see anything except darkness. It’s everywhere, yet I know she’s still there because I can feel the faint heat of the sparks and the touch of her breath.
“You don’t love me, do you?” she sounds on the verge of tears. “Oh, my God, I’m so stupid.”
No, you’re not, I want to say, but my lips are fastened, my voice dead. I want to shout that I do love her, however for some reason I can’t go to that place where I surrender.
And with each second that slips by, I feel her drifting away…
Chapter 5
(Alex)
I’ve only blacked out once that I can remember.
My father thought that the best way to teach me how to swim was to row me out into the middle of the lake and make me get into the water. After that, he left me there, saying the fear would force my swimming instincts to kick in because up until that point I had seemed to lack them. I was around ten years old, and although I had a good grasp on my emotions by then, I was still scared shitless as I struggled to stay afloat in the cold water while my father rowed away toward the shore. I gave a good fight, though; fought until the very end. I kept my eyes on the castle in the distance, hoping that if I stared at it, that somehow it’d come closer to me or I to it. Eventually it began to disappear; to slip out of my sight. I couldn’t hold myself up above the water anymore, so I started to sink. Water filled my lungs. My heart struggled to keep beating. I ended up blacking out. I thought I would die— thought that I’d never see the sky, the land, the castle again—and the scariest part of that was that there was very little fear in that thought.