She pleaded, “Then tell me something. Make the damn gesture, Eric.”
Surprised, he stepped back and blinked at her, but said nothing. Her blue eyes were narrowing and growing colder by the minute. “Fine,” she said after too much time passed. “Get out.” A tapered finger pointed toward the door, telling him to leave.
Eric glanced away from her. He didn’t know what to do with her. She was hurt. Angry. Her fury seemed to bubble to the surface again. She cocked her hip to the side, threw all of her weight on one leg, and arms folded over her chest. She was throwing him out. “Fine. If that’s the way you want it, I’ll leave. I just need to grab something I left here first.”
“Fine.” She turned her back on him, and walked away. Eric watched the sway of her hips, the long hair moving as she walked. Thoughts of her laughing, smiling at him with the sun shining in her hair flooded his mind. His eyes slid down her frame slowly, almost admiring her. Something within his chest tightened when she spoke. The coldness that he had forced on her so often was returned to him tenfold.
Natalia felt trapped. As she turned away from him, she tried to hide the bad ankle, but Eric was watching her. He would notice that she broke her promise and didn’t stay inside. Barely avoiding Carina’s guards this morning, she managed to get home before Eric walked through the door. She’d followed Eric for a while, and saw at him the gates of a white mansion speaking to a lady covered in grime. Eric would be pissed when he found out she was out, and dually pissed when he realized she was trailing him. As she stepped, her ankle felt like it was going to explode. The altercation with Carina’s men was short, but she thought the bone broke. There was no medical help, no one to ask, except the boy standing in front of her. And he would turn into a seething lunatic when he noticed. She didn’t know what she wanted from him anymore. He was her friend one moment and more than that the next. She couldn’t do this anymore. If he’d said anything, she would have thrown her arms around his neck. The memory of his scent lingered in her mind. She chased the thoughts away. Things like that did her no good.
“I’ll just grab it and go,” he said, with a strange tone to his voice, still standing by the door.
Was he asking her? That did it. She couldn’t take it anymore. Maybe it was a mad rush of PMS, maybe it was that Eric was always crazy—saying the wrong things, doing things the wrong way—she didn’t care anymore. Rage rushed through her like a flowing fire.
Natalia turned toward him, “Go to Hell, Eric! Take what you wanted and leave. I’m not playing your mind games anymore.” She turned away from him, angry. Hurt. That quick movement, the rapid turn of her body shot stabbing pain up through her leg. Natalia winced, her face pinching together as she tried not to make a sound, continuing to walk like nothing was wrong.
Eric watched her, feeling it, sensing the agony that coursed through her body with each step. He smiled at her back, softly shaking his head. Every time her foot hit the floor, he felt released—free. Without a word, he crossed the room in two long strides and swept her up into his arms. She gasped as his arms slid under her hips and around her waist. Eric brought her up to his face, cradling her in his arms, growling, “I told you before—I’m not playing games. And you, you liar! You snuck out. What did I tell you?” Eric wasn’t angry, he was actually being sweet, but it just infuriated Natalia even more.
“You’re not the boss of me! Put me down. Now.” She growled, trying to get out of his arms.
Eric erupted into laughter, “You’re not the boss of me?” he mimicked. “What are you, five? And for the moment, yes, I am the boss of you. You broke your damn foot. Did Carina’s guys find you and do this? Or did you go looking for them?” She blanched. Eric hit closer to home than he realized, but he was distracted, feeling the weight of her body in his arms, the curve of her hip against his stomach. The smile remained on Eric’s lips, but he didn’t release her. He walked through the shambles of the home.
“Where’s a couch or a bed?” he asked, ducking in and out of a few rooms. The girl had moved things around. He needed some place to lay her down to mend her ankle. Natalia spewed more nasty words at him, threatening to do some things that Eric found appealing.
“Ah, here,” he said after kicking open a door with his boot. “This is your room, then?” He stopped when he entered, surprised.
Not much made Eric pause, but this—this made him shiver.
The room was breathtaking, draped in darkness with linens so thick that they choked out all light. The walls were painted with images of the night he found her. All the pictures were dark, tumultuous. He walked her to the bed and stopped, turning slowly to see the walls. Every spare scrap of space had another image, demon scales, the Omen’s wings, inky talons. It was as if every piece of darkness from that night was right in front of him. And he could feel it, sense it, all the things Natalia felt—raw fear mixed with something else. Something that made his pulse quicken.
When he looked down at the girl in his arms, she didn’t meet his gaze. Instead her lashes were lowered, concealing her eyes. “You weren’t supposed to come here.” Her heart beat harder in her chest. He placed her gently on the bed, and looked up to see half of his face, portrayed as night—amber eyes filled with blood staring back at him. Instinctively, he moved toward it. The image of him was half covered with a dark piece of velvet that hung from floor to ceiling.
“Eric, don’t. Leave it.”
But he didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop. When his fingers took the piece of soft fabric, and lifted it, he was shocked. There was nothing that could have prepared him for what he saw. Eric stared blankly at the wall, at his portrait.
“It’s not what you think,” she said quietly. Oh God. Her stomach twisted inside of her. No one had ever seen this part of her. She hid it, concealing it in the one place she knew it would never be seen, but Eric was seeing it.
Eric dropped the drape and turned back to her. His eyes met hers, his lips parted. He couldn’t hide the shock on his face. No one ever made him feel like this. No one saw what this girl saw. “When did you paint this?” he asked, his voice light.
Natalia turned away. She felt compelled to answer, her anger melted away. “I don’t know. Years ago. When we first met.” Eric looked at the painting, the half that was uncovered next to her bed. The girl had surrounded herself with nightmares, only the darkest images from the night she was attacked. They stared at her as she slept in her bed.
Eric stood in front of her, mouth open, uncertain of what to say. Looking away from her, staring at the wall, he finally asked, “Is that how you see me? Is that really what you think I am?” When he turned to face her, Natalia was watching him.
She breathed deeply, her chest swelling as she tucked her hair behind her ear. Her eyes rested on his face. For a moment he remembered nothing of what he was, there was only what he was turning into. And all this time, he thought she didn’t see him, but this… She saw him all right. She saw every bit, ever fiber. It was as if he was on display and it unnerved him. Not only that, but he felt her pain, her anguish—every bit of her soul was displayed in front of him in paint.
She spoke softly, “Yes.”
Natalia painted everything as if it were a nightmare, coursing with emotion. The pain and terror in the brush strokes made him close his eyes. The demons were painted perfectly, their sharp teeth gleaming with eyes thirsty for blood. She captured their savage desperation, their struggle to survive, as well as the carnage they left in their wake. Rivers of blackened blood flowed across her walls, mingling with red—human blood—that lead to his portrait.
He swallowed hard, pulling back the fabric again. The side that wasn’t covered depicted him as he looked, and how he felt. Like he was trapped. Night covered his face, concealing his emotions, making him mysterious and dangerous in her eyes. But it was what was behind the curtain that made him choke. This half of him was darker than the first, covered in crimson—blood—flowing from a black and silver blade. His eyes were demon eyes, greedy, desperate and glowing like an unquenchable fire. That’s how she saw him, her savior—he was night, and darkness, and blood. There was no speck of light in his eyes, no indication that she thought he was anything other than a monster.
Suddenly, Natalia’s hand was on his shoulder, startling him. Eric turned quickly, grabbing her wrists and slamming her into the wall. He trapped her body beneath his, breathing hard in her face. He could feel her heart beating rapidly against her ribs, like it would explode inside her chest. “Why?” he hissed. “Why have you been following me if you think I’m worse than the demons? Why demand friendship from me, if you see what I really am?”
For once Natalia was afraid. It coursed through her body without her consent. “You weren’t supposed to be here! This wasn’t for you to see...”
Eric slammed his body against hers, forcing the air out of her lungs in a puff. She choked, gasping. His eyes were hot, rimming. She had no idea what she did to him—her body, her scent, and then this. The fear coursing through her made him want her even more.
“Why is this here? Why is this where you sleep? Answer me!” Eric was angry that he was shaking. Thinking that you are a monster is one thing. Seeing it painted so carefully is quite another. He was afraid, and angry. A torrent of emotions ran through his core, drowning out his reasoning.
Natalia’s ankle was throbbing. She wanted to scream, and beat Eric within an inch of his life, but she forced herself to stop struggling. He had her pinned. “I don’t know! I just started painting, and that’s what came out. Why are you upset? You’ve been telling me that you’d kill me, given the chance—and this? This bothers you? Some paint slapped on a wall?” She tried to sound light, like she wasn’t afraid of the feelings she evoked.
Eric gazed at her, barely aware of what he was thinking. Her scent filled his head with every breath. Fear filled the air, and was strewn across the walls. She saw him. She saw what he was, but still followed him. She still wanted him around. That only meant one of two things, both of which would result in her demise. She was already dead. Whatever her feelings were for him, he was certain they weren’t neutral. “This can’t be. It has to stop.” He lowered her. Natalia slid down the wall, landing softly on her ankle, before Eric lifted her back onto the bed. Determination shot through him. He had to get away from her, but if he left her with her ankle like that, she couldn’t fight. Fuck, she could barely stand.
“Eric,” Natalia asked softly, her pulse still racing.
Eric didn’t answer her. Instead, he slid his fingers over her foot, slowly feeling. “It’s not a sprain, Natalia. It’s broken. We need to fix it. And since you seem to already know what I am, let’s not pretend anymore.” He looked up into her face. Natalia’s pink lips were parted as if she didn’t understand. Fine. He didn’t care what she admitted. The painting said she knew. The brushstrokes betrayed her. He suspected what she was, and why she was following him. This would prove it.