Page 62

A tremulous whimper slips unbidden from my lips as the antiseptic solution stings across the fresh laceration scoring my hip. Every raw nerve ending flares with renewed agony, muscles instinctively tensing until my toes curl against the rumpled bedsheets. Fuck, I’m so goddamn exhausted—a bone-deep weariness that permeates every fibre after being hunted like an animal through those woods.

Gritting my teeth, I manage to peel heavy lids apart enough to blearily regard Hayes’ solemn features looming above me. His brow furrows in concentration, full lips pressed into a grim line as calloused fingertips ghost over each weeping wound with clinical detachment. Every oozing cut and abrasion receives a meticulous coating before he finally sets the tube aside to snag a bundle of thick gauze.

The muffled cadence of raised voices drifts through the bedroom door, Arius’ unmistakable timbre resonating in a string of profanity-laced tirades. Even from here, I can visualise the vein pulsing at his temple, quicksilver eyes blazing with barely restrained fury as he systematically eviscerates Jace and Rhys over perceived transgressions.

They weren’t too rough during that barbaric crucible, could have been a hell of a lot worse—but try convincing Arius when he’s in one of these rages. He needs a target to vent his ire and frustrations upon, lashing out with the same ruthless intensity as any cornered predator.

The sudden impact of something solid slamming against a wall punctuates the diatribe, the dull thump reverberating straight down to my marrow. I can’t contain the full-body flinch at the disturbance, every overtaxed nerve ending screaming in protest until the room stops pitching dizzily around me.

Next to me, Hayes pauses mid-motion to glance towards the bedroom door with an imperceptible grimace, broad shoulders rising on a fortifying inhale. “He’ll burn through it eventually,” Hayes rumbles by way of reassurance, deft fingers resuming their earlier ministrations of adhering the large bandages across my hip. “Just needs to get it all out of his system before he’ll settle down again.”

I allow my gaze to trace the familiar contours of his profile while Hayes works, cataloguing the subtle nuances creasing the corners of his whisky irises. He seems… resigned, almost. Like this outburst—while perhaps not commonplace—isn’t wholly unprecedented, either.

Swallowing hard, I find my voice at long last. “Does… has Arius ever been like this before?” The words emerge as a hoarse rasp, throat raw from all the shrieks torn during that endless gauntlet.

Those capable digits pause fractionally, Hayes’ Adam’s apple bobbing as he weighs his response. Finally, he expels the breath held in his lungs on a weary grunt. “No, not exactly like this, love.” Each word is carefully measured, laced with the faintest undercurrent of strain despite his outward stoicism. “Arius has been known to lose his shite from time to time when things spiral out of his control. But never to this… extreme, if I’m being honest…”

Hayes trails off with a shake of his head, the motion dislodging a few errant strands to fall across his brow. I resist the urge to reach up and brush them away, muscles like liquid lead after the night’s exertions. Christ, just a few hours ago we were playing some twisted cat-and-mouse game through those woods, Arius and the others stalking me like feral hunting hounds while cameras broadcasted every scream and stumble.

Now, I lie battered and naked as the day I was born—save for the fresh dressings Hayes meticulously applies—while he tends to my wounds in Arius’ private sanctuary. It should feel weird, inappropriate even, having a man I barely know intimately catalogue each mark and abrasion marring my flesh in such an exposed state. But after the evening’s rites, this somehow seems like the most normal aspect of the entire demented circus.

With an inward sigh, I find myself sinking further into the plush mattress, chasing the elusive sanctuary of blissful oblivion calling so enticingly. My eyelids droop once more, lashes fluttering against flushed cheeks as the tension gradually ebbs from my protesting frame.

For all their swagger and posturing about being hardened killers bred from the womb, it’s become abundantly clear Arius, Hayes, Jace and Rhys are just as lost amidst this archaic labyrinth of Trials as me. Perhaps even more so, given the expectation of unwavering compliance drilled into them since birth to uphold these sadistic Edicts.

A tremulous sigh escapes my lips as Arius’ shouting abruptly ceases, the strained silence stretching taut as a rubberband pulled too tight before heavy footfalls approach the bedroom. I crane my neck over one bare shoulder, wincing against the abrasions scoring my skin while Arius stalks through the doorway. His stormy gaze sweeps over me with an inscrutable expression before locking onto Hayes.

“Get the fuck out,” he snarls at Hayes, every syllable clipped and laced with barely leashed violence. His nostrils flare, chest heaving with each ragged inhale like a bull snorting before charging.

An impossibly taut frown etches Hayes’ brow before he can mask the reaction. “I’m not done tending—” he attempts to reason, but Arius simply barrels over the words with a bone-rattling scoff.

“Did I fuckin’ stutter?! Get. The fuck. Out.” The icy delivery brokers no room for further debate, Arius’ jaw ticking dangerously with escalating impatience.

Wordlessly, Hayes nods after a fractional hesitation, sliding off the edge of the mattress to gather the supplies before brushing past Arius through the doorway without further acknowledgement. The bedroom door rattles violently in its frame as Arius shoves it closed again, a sharp exhale hissing between clenched molars. Trembling fingertips pinch the bridge of his nose as if warding off an encroaching migraine, eyelids squeezing shut to block everything else out.

An uneasy silence stretches taut between us, broken only by the occasional hitch of Arius’ ragged breathing as he wrestles back the reins on that white-hot temper. My gaze instinctively flits across the room, catching sight of the discarded throw blanket puddled atop the duvet. Despite the residual heat licking across my bare skin, I can’t resist the urge to reach for its comforting embrace and shield my exposed body from Arius’ scrutiny.

“Don’t,” he rasps before my fingers can so much as graze the soft knit, effectively freezing me mid-motion. “Just… don’t cover up. Please.”

With a resigned sigh, I reluctantly comply, allowing my upraised arm to sink back onto the mattress while my free hand starts worrying at the already ragged edge of one manicured thumbnail.

The scratch of Arius’ boot soles against the hardwood floor sends a shiver down my spine. The sound is uncharacteristically heavy, each step seeming to bear the weight of a thousand burdens crashing down on his shoulders. It’s a stark contrast to his usual graceful gait, full of unwavering poise and confidence.

Not tonight, though.

Tonight, Arius seems… haunted, almost. Like a man bearing the cross of sins too numerous to fully atone for with a mere mortal existence.

He settles gingerly onto the edge of the mattress, leaving a wide berth between us that yawns like an unbridgeable chasm. Every rigid line of his body radiates an unmistakable tension, muscles coiled while he stares unseeingly at some arbitrary point across the room.

The strained quiet hangs oppressive between us, charged with a maelstrom of unspoken anguish and regret so palpable I can practically taste the bitterness on my tongue. It clings to the back of my throat like black tar, choking off any attempts at conversational pleasantries.

When Arius finally breaks the suffocating silence, it’s with a ragged exhalation that carries the weight of the world on its current.

“I’m sorry,” he rasps, the barest thread of haunted timbre rasping out on a choked whisper. The dam seems to splinter then, shoulders hunching inward like a man shouldering some unseen burden until his forehead furrows against an upturned palm, masking those haunted eyes from view. “Christ, I… I’m so fucking sorry, .”

A sigh parts my lips before I’ve consciously willed it, gaze lingering on Arius’ hunched profile a protracted beat. There’s no use denying how tonight’s depraved games have left their stain on both of us—an indelible brand seared into sinew and psyche alike. But I can’t let that simmering cocktail of fury and self-loathing consume him, either.

Decision made, I suck in a grounding inhale before shifting to put more space between us on the rumpled bedding. Close enough to minimise any perceived distance yet still allowing for a modicum of personal boundary lines. I reach out to smooth my palm over the plush navy coverlet, an unspoken invitation ghosting across that expanse separating us.

“Come here,” I murmur, the gentle cadence barely carrying across that weighted quiet. A subtle plea more so than any overt demand.

Out of my peripheral, I watch the muscles in Arius’ shoulders seize fractionally, bunching with unnatural rigidity. It’s only a split-second tell, a hairline fracture in that stolid facade, and yet undeniably there all the same.

He doesn’t move, though—doesn’t so much as acknowledge the soft beckon with anything beyond a wince flitting across those chiselled features. Simply hunches forward further until that proud silhouette crumples inward like a dying star collapsing in on itself.

A protracted beat passes, the silence growing heavier until it threatens to crush the very oxygen from my lungs. Then Arius finally gives an infinitesimal shake of his head, the motion so faint it’s nearly imperceptible.

I roll my eyes at Arius’ stubborn refusal, exhaling a huff through my nostrils. The man can be as bullheaded as they come when he chooses, that’s for damn sure.

Right, so we’re digging our heels in, then. Fine by me.

Mustering what dregs of energy remain, I propel myself up onto my knees with a grunt. My abused body protests the sudden movement, but I stubbornly ignore the shriek of protesting nerves and scorched muscles to shuffle across the mattress. Arius startles at the rustle of bedding, darting a wide-eyed glance my way as I draw nearer until our sides brush together.

He jerks away like I’ve scorched him, frame rigid as he abruptly shoots upright from his perch on the edge of the bed. Scrubbing both palms over his face, Arius rakes his fingers back through tousled obsidian locks and whirls to face me—putting as much distance as this confined space allows between us.

“Fuckin’ hell, , you shouldn’t even be near me right now,” he growls, the words ragged and laced with a bitter self-loathing. Those mercurial eyes blaze with a warring tempest of roiling emotions, pupils blown wide enough to drown in their fathomless depths. “Not after everything I just… You shouldn’t… Fuck…”

His words trail off on a trembling exhale, jaw clenching until the hinges creak in protest. I watch as Arius’ throat works convulsively, fighting some internal demon long enough for me to find my voice.

“You’re punishing yourself, aren’t you?” I tilt my chin up to meet that tortured gaze head-on, refusing to flinch from the maelstrom of anguish swirling there. “That’s what this is about, isn’t it? You’re in here, forcing yourself to look at what you’ve done so you can hate yourself for it.”

It’s not a question, not really. The naked truth simply hangs suspended between us, a bald acknowledgment of the guilt and regret eating Arius alive from the inside out.

Another trembling breath escapes him at my quiet observation, shoulders slumping inward like a puppet with its strings severed. Those calloused hands clench and unclench in mute anguish, rubbing compulsively along the rigid lines of his powerful thighs. I can’t tear my eyes away from the display, watching each minute ripple and twitch of corded musculature beneath his pant legs while Arius wrestles with whatever demon plagues his thoughts.

Regret. Self-loathing. Anguish. All swirling in that hurricane threatening to tear him asunder until nothing remains but a hollowed-out husk left to fester amidst the ashes of his own personal Armageddon.

It’s a sobering peek beneath the swagger and bravado, behind the hardened mask Arius so meticulously maintains. A glimpse of the man—no, the child he never got to be—lurking under the surface. Fractured, vulnerable, desperately seeking some semblance of redemption through perpetual self-flagellation.

The realisation leaves me hollow and raw, stripped bare in a manner that has nothing to do with being physically naked. Because in that singular, crystalline moment, Arius doesn’t seem like some unattainable force of nature or godlike alpha exuding dominance from every pore. He simply seems… human.

Painfully, tragically human. So woefully off balance that his entire world seems to teeter dangerously between slipping away entirely and becoming something so foul and dark that he’ll never be able to claw his way back to the light.