Page 69 of Cain

“Curáku!”He’s such a prick!

I take a step back, but I stumble on the carpet. Before I can hit the ground, he’s there, gripping me in mid-air effortlessly.

“T-Thank you,” I mumble, out of breath.

He smirks. “Every time you try to run, your bad luck just comes running right after you.”

I chuckle, my eyes wide and fixed on his. “I guess so.”

He doesn’t let go, and I don’t pull away. He doesn’t adjust his grip, just holds me there, his gaze fixed on my face, eyes scanning every inch of me.

Then, he lifts me into the air and sets me gently on the bed.

“Did you get hurt?” he asks softly, taking a seat right next to me.

I am shocked. After everything that happened, that’s all he has to ask. I don’t say a word, but the frustration is written all over my face. Unbothered, he takes my foot in his hands and massages it gently.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

He doesn’t turn his eyes to look at me. Instead, he looks at my foot over his legs. “Taking care of you.”

“Why?”

His fingers move with surprising gentleness, pressing into the arch of my foot, coaxing away a tension I didn’t even realize was there. But I don’t relax. I can’t. Not when my mind is still reeling from everything that led us here.

He finally looks up, his dark green eyes fixed on mine. “Because you’re mine to take care of.”

A cold shiver runs through me. I pull my foot back, but his grip tightens just enough to stop me.

I swallow hard. “I’m not yours.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

I should shove him away. I should fight. But I don’t. Because the worst part of all of this is that I don’t hate the way he touches me. It’s calm and gentle, and suddenly, I realize that no one has ever touched me like this before. No one has ever taken care of me this way. I’m not in pain. I don’t need his attention or affection, yet he gives it to me anyway.

I look at him, and he looks back at me. His face is bright and joyful. He’s such a weird man. After a few seconds of intense staring, we both smile at the same time.

“You didn’t have to do this,” I say.

“Yes, I did.” He scoffs, returning his eyes to my ankle, and keeps rubbing it. His touch is soft and tender. Caring and sweet.

“Why are you so cruel to people?” I cross my arms.

“I’m not cruel to everyone.”

“Yes, you are.”

Without moving anything else, his eyes shift back to me, and a slow, dangerous smirk tugs at the corner of his lips.

“No,” he murmurs, his voice a low rasp. “Not with you.”

My breath catches.

His fingers press into my skin, making me relax under his touch.

One more time that I should pull away. But I don’t.

“You don’t scare me,” I whisper, though my voice betrays me, sounding shaky.