Page 23 of Wicked Vows (Cursed Darkness (DarkHallow Academy) #1)

Lysithea

I skip lunch. I’m not in the mood for the guys hovering around me, and I’m not in the headspace to talk to Reena.

Making my way to the Nightmare Gardens, I find a bench to sit on and just exist for a while, eyes closed, picturing the black rose that I made with a combination of mine and Verik’s power.

It doesn’t sit right with me. It’s stealing his power.

He didn’t consent to me using it, even if this is his fault, because he gave me this brand. Fucker.

The memory of it, the seamless way his power answered mine, sends another unwanted shiver through me. It’s an addiction I didn’t ask for, a craving that leaves a bitter taste on my tongue. I hate it. I hate him. I hate the part of me that wants to do it again.

A shadow detaches from a weeping willow, its crimson, tear-shaped leaves dripping blood onto the mossy ground. Dathan.

“Enjoying the scenery? The Gloom Petals are particularly angsty today. They must sense a kindred spirit.”

He saunters over, hands stuffed in the pockets of his black jeans.

“I came here to be alone. What do you want?

He remains silent for a moment, searching my gaze. “This is my alone place.”

“So what? Are we going to fight over it now?”

“No one is fighting you, Lysithea. You are the one fighting us.”

“Because of what you did,” I hiss. “I wish I could make you understand.”

“Try me.” He sits next to me, and I shuffle further away from him. He doesn’t react, simply stares ahead, waiting for me to speak, or not. But what do I say? Do I tell him my sordid history? Maybe he will finally get it through his thick head that he violated me. They all did.

“I don’t like being held down,” I say, the words tasting like ash. “I don’t like people in my space. I don’t like being touched.”

He turns his head, his silver eyes unreadable. “I know.”

“No, you don’t. You think it’s me playing hard to get, the ice bitch.

It’s not that.” I stare at the Gloom Petals, their sorrowful droop a mirror of my own.

“Where I was before here… there were a lot of hands touching me, holding me down, cutting off my magic.” The words are a bitter pill I force myself to swallow.

“You took away my choice. You held me down and took my fucking choice.”

A muscle jumps in his jaw. The air around him shifts. “And now you have a choice you didn’t have before. The choice to be a god instead of a victim.”

I stare at him, stunned. That wasn’t the reaction I expected. No apology. No pity. Just a reframing of the violation into an opportunity. “That wasn’t your choice to make for me,” I whisper.

A ghost of a smile touches his lips. “No, it wasn’t. But we did it anyway. Where were you before here?”

“None of your fucking business.”

“You told me this much, might as well give me all the details, princess.”

I grimace at him and turn away.

He doesn’t move. He just sits there, a solid, infuriating presence on my bench. The silence stretches, thick with unspoken things. I expect him to push, to mock, to use the sliver of vulnerability I gave him as a weapon.

He does something worse.

“They broke you,” he says, his voice quiet, devoid of its usual arrogance. “We’re just putting you back together. In a better shape.”

My head snaps around. “You call this better?” I gesture vaguely at myself.

“I call it armed,” he says, his silver eyes intense. “You think we don’t know what it’s like? To have a power that makes people want to put you in a cage?”

The words hit a nerve I didn’t know was exposed. I stare at him, my anger faltering, replaced by a raw, startled confusion.

“You are not a monster,” I mutter. “Not like me.”

“Aren’t I? Why do you think I prefer to spend my lunch time out here?”

I stare at him, the question hanging in the air between us like a suspended blade. I try to find the lie in his eyes, the manipulative glint I’m so used to seeing. There’s nothing. Just a flat, weary truth.

“You’re not caged,” I say, my voice low. “You’re the one who builds the cages.”

“Am I?” He lets out a short, humourless laugh.

“My power is a hunger, Lysithea. I don’t just like the taste of fear; I need it to survive.

I can’t get close to anyone without wanting to feed on their terror.

I can’t have a normal conversation without sensing every little anxiety, every secret dread.

It’s a constant, screaming noise. Do you know what happens when I feed too much?

I kill creatures. Shrivel them up into dried-up husks.

” He turns to me, his silver eyes raw. “So yes. I build cages. Mostly for myself.”

The confession hits me in the heart. A monster who hates his own nature. A predator who isolates himself, not out of arrogance, but out of necessity.

“That doesn’t make me feel any better.”

“Why not? Am I not monster enough to join your pity party?”

“It makes me feel bad about myself. Because you are here, close, trying to get closer, feeding on my fear. It makes me feel like you don’t give a fuck about me.

” The words tumble out, and I loathe myself for admitting this.

“I need to go.” I stand up, but he reaches out and grabs the sleeve of my dress.

It’s an action that makes me gulp back the relief he didn’t touch me.

“I can see why you think that. But I can’t stay away from you, Thea. You are in my blood now. My magic, my head, my soul.”

His words are a brand, as real as the one on my back.

Possessive. Absolute. I snatch my sleeve from his grasp, the fabric tearing with a soft rip.

Then I do something that shocks us both.

I grab his hand and squeeze it. He accepts it.

He doesn’t try to control it. He lets me do it my way.

I release it seconds later, unable to hold that level of intimacy with him.

It’s different with Evren. His touch is a craving that I’m trying not to think about.

He soothes the burning, but it’s more than that.

“Can I check the brand?” he asks quietly. “Make sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not. You are in pain.”

“Well, whose fault is that?”

“Ours.”

“Finally, he gets it.” My sarcasm is heavy, but I sit anyway and turn my back to him. I reach up to slide the side zip down my dress.

“May I?” he murmurs from too close.

“Look but don’t touch,” I mutter back.

He pulls the fabric at the opening to reveal part of my back until the material strains. He can probably only see half of the marking. I’m suddenly conscious that I didn’t put a bra on this morning. Couldn’t put a bra on.

Dathan’s breathing grows deeper. “Let me see the whole thing.”

Whatever possesses me to agree has me nodding my head, and I fumble around to get my arms out of the dress so he can pull it down to examine their handiwork. “It’s healed,” he murmurs, and I freeze when his fingertips brush lightly over my skin. “I’m sorry, I can’t help myself.”

“Stop,” I say and try to move away.

He grips my hips, pulling me back towards him. “Don’t go, Thea,” he murmurs into my hair.

I’m like a statue in his grasp. My mind is screaming at me to move away, but my body is betraying me in every possible way.

I want his hands on me. Before I can overthink it, I turn in his arms, exposing my breasts to his gaze.

He doesn’t move, except for his eyes. They drop their line of sight to ravage me hungrily.

His silver gaze traces the curve of my breast, the peak of my nipple, all without laying a hand on me.

My skin tingles, my nipple hardens. It’s a violation.

It’s an invitation. My breath catches in my throat.

“Beautiful,” he breathes, the word a reverent curse.

He lifts a hand, his fingers hovering inches from my skin.

A question. A warning. I don’t flinch. I don’t breathe.

I grab his hand and place it over my breast. His thumb brushes my nipple.

A jolt of pure, white-hot lightning shoots through me, straight from the Scar on my back to my clit. I gasp at the sensation.

He leans in, his breath hot against my ear. “This is what happens when you don’t fight me, Thea. We burn.”

His other hand slides from my hip, tracing the curve of my waist before his fingers dip lower, brushing against the top of my thigh.

His thumb circles my nipple again, and this time, I arch into it.

The academy bell shrieks across the gardens, a brutal, ugly sound that shatters the moment.

I flinch back as if burned, shoving him away with a strength born of pure panic.

My hands scramble to pull up my dress, to cover myself, my skin flushed with a hot, shameful fire. My body betrayed me.

Dathan lets me go, his hands falling away.

A slow, knowing smirk spreads across his face.

He doesn’t look triumphant. He looks like he’s just confirmed a universal truth.

“Don’t look so horrified, princess. You just discovered you’re not as broken as you thought.

” He stands, stretching like a lazy predator before offering me his hand.

I ignore it, getting to my feet on my own.

He clenches it into a fist and walks away.

He’s wrong. I’m not less broken. I’m just breaking in a completely new way.