“Why not?” I demanded, stepping toward him. “Why do you always get to play god with my life? Why am I the only one left blind?”
His eyes flickered toward me, glinting steel and unreadable tempests.
“You’re asking the wrong questions, Dolcezza.”
I wanted to scream.
“What the fuck does that even mean?!”
He only smiled. That infuriating half-curve of a smile that always arrived before some cryptic truth, or kiss I didn’t ask for.
So I threw something. A paperweight from the table. It shattered near his feet with a beautiful, delicate crash. But it didn’t affect him one bit.
“Tell me what she meant,” I growled. “What did Isadora mean about my mother? About me?”
“She was the shadow of your mother’s sun. What do shadows know but the secrets the light hides?”
“You speak in riddles again. Tell me, please, Zagreus. I can’t… I can’t live like this… It’s too much for me… It’s messing with my head and I…”
“I speak in riddles because the truth would tear you limb from limb.”
“I’d rather be torn than fed lies!”
Another object flew, this time a glass tumbler. He dodged it with an ease that made my rage burn hotter. My chest heaved faster and heavier.
In two swift strides, he was in front of me. Grabbing me by the wrists and pulling me to his hard chest.
“Enough,” he growled. And I struggled. Writhed against his grip, chest heaving and breath shallow with fury and despair and need. The pressure on my chest grew unbearable, like my body didn’t know how to contain the grief spiralling through it.
“Let go of me!” I spat, venom curling on my tongue. “You smug, sick, manipulative bastard, let go or I swear I’ll…”
“You’ll what?” he hissed, stepping closer, eyes dark with something perilous. “Curse me again? Bite the only hands keeping you from falling into the abyss? Go ahead, Celestine. Prove to me you still have fire.”
“I hate you.”
He slammed me against the table. Books toppled, and my back met the cold wood. His hands braced beside my head, caging me in. The space between us disappeared.
“You don’t get to hate me,” he growled. “Not when you’re still wearing my name on your finger. Not when you crave me more than you claim.”
I opened my mouth to curse him, to tell him he didn’t mean anything to me, but was quickly silenced by his mouth. Fierce, brutal, and desperate. Teeth clashed, lips bled. I bit him hard enough to taste the copper on my tongue, and he groaned into my mouth like I gave him pleasure. His hands gripped my waist, then my throat, then slid down to my hips.
I kissed him back because I didn’t know how else to scream.
I let him kiss me because everything else had already been taken.
But when he pulled back to look at me, his breath ragged, eyes blown wide with want, I whispered the only thing I still knew to beg for. Vision blurry with tears, and chest heavy.
“Don’t just fuck me,” I choked. “Please… make love to me.”
His jaw tensed. Something shifted in his eyes. “Dolcezza…”
“I need to forget,” I whispered, trembling now. My hands gripped his shirt, anchoring myself to him like the edge of a cliff. “Please… make me forget everything… I can’t take it… I can’t…”
A sob broke loose. I hadn’t meant for it. I hadn’t meant to fall apart like that, not beneath him. But my body betrayed me, and so did my heart. Tears slid silently down my cheeks as I stared up at him.
“Make me forget,” I repeated. “Even if it’s just for tonight… please…”
His mouth met mine again, but slower this time. Less rage, more ruin. More reverence.
