His hands were colder than death itself, though he was death, and he was suffocating her.
Even as he carried her through the forest's eternal darkness, back to the cabin he had shattered beyond repair, she felt the weight of despair closing in.
The trees withered at his presence, their leaves curling into ash. The flowers shriveled. The moon hung high, unnaturally bright, as if on the brink of exploding.
He paused at the edge of a jagged cliff, her limp body cradled in his arms.
"You're burning up," he rasped, his voice cloaked in shadows.
She couldn't move, paralyzed by fear as his cold hand touched her forehead.
His skin was as pale as the moon, his eyes darker than space itself, a galaxy of stars scattered within the void. Cold. Infinite. Empty.
"You're covered in bruises," he muttered, his tone almost tender. "I must wash you."
Without warning, he dropped her.
The wind screamed against her skin as she plummeted, her gaze fixed on his haunting figure above.
The demon. The man. The entity possessed by death itself.
He didn't want her to live.
He didn't want her to die.
His obsession was her suffering, his pleasure the flicker of life leaving her eyes in the depths of the pitch-black night.
Shadows slithered off his form like ghosts trying to escape, their anguished cries of help echoing in the void. Their torment only seemed to fuel him, his lips curving into a wicked smile.
Tears streamed down her cheeks, and his gaze softened, darkened, burned.
Oh, his kink was tears.
What a fucking psycho, she thought bitterly, just as the icy river slammed into her back, stealing her breath.
She gasped, water engulfing her, dragging her under.
And then he was there, landing with a splash that parted the river like it feared him. He lifted her effortlessly, and the world shifted.
In the blink of an eye, they were back in her ruined home.
He laid her gently on the bed, his movements disturbingly tender. Opening a first aid kit he had retrieved from her wardrobe, he began tending to her wounds.
She hissed as the antiseptic stung, but his touch was careful, deliberate.
"Sorry, darling," he murmured, his voice low. "I'm just addicted to the lust of your life."
Her stomach twisted.
"Every time I look at you, all I can think about is owning your breath," he said, his words chilling despite the gentleness of his actions.
She could only watch, helpless, as the wreckage of her home began to float. Shattered objects reassembled themselves, hovering before snapping back into place as if time itself bent to his will.
Her fear grew.
With the last bandage secured, he brushed his fingers along her cheek. He stood to leave, but she grabbed his hand, her strength suddenly returned.
"Don't go," she whispered, hating herself for the plea.
"Why?" he asked, his voice soft, dangerously close.
She swallowed hard, her mind scrambling for an excuse. "Because..."
"Because despite everything I've done to you," he interrupted, "you still want me here. Because you fear the darkness more than you fear me. Because... you're just as obsessed with me as I am with you."
His breath was warm against her skin, his presence suffocating.
"Don't be delusional," she snapped, her voice trembling. "It's just dark, that's all."
He chuckled bitterly. "I hate your guts," she continued, gritting her teeth. "I'll find a way to be rid of you."
He flicked his wrist, and the room flooded with light.
"See?" he said, his smirk infuriating. "I turned off the power. You're welcome."
Her jaw clenched. "I knew it, you son of a—"
Before she could finish, she grabbed a pencil from her nightstand and stabbed him in the neck.
His dark blood trickled down his pale skin, defying gravity as it floated in the air. Calmly, he wiped it away with his thumb, smearing it across her lips.
"Feeling better?" he asked, his voice dripping with mockery.
She froze, her heart pounding. How much stronger had he become in the last ten years?
Before she could react, he seized her chin, forcing her lips apart. He smeared his blood into her mouth, his thumb pressing until she tasted it.
And then he kissed her.
It was deep, consuming, and her body betrayed her, trembling in need.
She hated it.
She hated him.
But as his taste lingered on her tongue, she realized with a pang of longing.
she had missed him.
Fuck! death didn't taste so bad...