Prologue
North’s hand cups my shoulder, forcing me onto my knees before him. I swore I would never allow any man—No! That no one would ever bend me to their will ever again, and yet, I don’t fight him. I submit to him, giving him my last piece of vulnerability.
His dark brown eyes have a hint of amusement behind them, but quickly return to their normal frigid state. Neither of us want to be here, doing what we are doing, especially with an audience. It’s what we have practiced for, though. This moment is one we both knew would come and yet, being here actually living it, doesn’t make it any easier.
The knowledge and pure hate do not stop my wrists from crossing over one another as the fingertips of my lover ties a thick rope around them. He is not gentle. The rage his heart holds for them is unmistakable by the fibers digging into my wrists. The feeling is mutual. Despite being deprived of the decency to be treated like a human I refuse to let them hear the pained whimpers burst out of my lips. I clamp them between my teeth in protest. I won’t give them the satisfaction that they crave—I will not let them break me. I refuse to let them see my vulnerability. They already think we should not be together. I won’t give them another reason to add to their list.
Every set of eyes in this long judgement room are on me and they all have the same emotion behind them. Hunger. Like a pack of blood thirsty wolves, they each circle, waiting for their turn to rip me to shreds and get their pound of flesh.
“Finally! A filthy Fox came out of hiding and fell into your trap. Attah boy!” A loud voice booms as he praises North, clapping him on the back with an open palm.
I had heard it countless time from North:
Angles and Outcasts do not mix.
But I never understood the seriousness behind his words until today. Everything has a place in the world and there are certain things that were never intended to mix, much less fall in love—Apparently, we fell into that category.
“You’re pathetic and scared!” I seethe through the silent room, when silence falls over the room and the curiously watch me like I’m a science project that went horribly wrong. “You all are! Every last one of you are. You’re one in the same! You claim you’re keeping balance and we are the ones in the wrong, but how can loving someone be so wrong? Huh? Tell me that. You won’t because you can’t. You want to hide behind your rules and preach about order and protection, and yet here you are ready to crucify two of your own. Who is going to protect them? Huh?” I pull against the ropes and the ropes burn against my skin with agony pain.
South takes the long blade into his shaky hands, pointing it directly at North. North won’t fight him, this much I know. North considers South as his brother, his family. North drops to his knees, his eyes never straying from mine when South takes a step in his direction. “I’ll find you in the stars, Deylani. I do not give a shit what they say they symbolize. I will burn every last one of their forsaken stars from the sky and create new ones for you. I love you.”
Tears fall from my eyes, and I jerk against the ropes again. “I love you, North. Do you hear that you pathetic wastes of space? Do our words sound dangerous? Because they’re not! You all are just scared of what might happen. The what ifs. But did you ever thing the what ifs may turn out to be beautiful? Did you ever take the time to consider that maybe you are wrong? Because I have, and guess what. You are!” By the end of my statement, I am screaming at the whole room.
“Shut her up!” Another one of the men orders, glaring at me as he pauses beside South, before approaching me.
Whack! The man backhands my face and blood spurts out of my mouth. I lick my lips and revel in the metallic taste. Good. I am getting to them. “You roam the earth like you have something to prove.” I laugh maniacally as my head lowers, and I stare straight into his eyes. “You want the world to see what you’re doing as a gift and say you don’t ask for anything in return, but what are you doing right now? You are demanding repentance where none should be given. You want respect that you have never earned. Respect that you will never get from me. You all are scared little boys, who have no idea who you’re messing with!”
They all think I’m addressing them, but he and I know the truth. The words might apply to mostly everyone in this room, but they were not meant for him. I wish we didn’t have to be here. I would have run to the end of the world with him, but that wouldn’t have been far enough. He told me in the beginning family always chooses family, and I believed him. I thought everything would be ok—I thought we would be okay. But as South lifts the blade a second time and swings, through the air, I don’t know that everything will be okay.
I helpless. I cannot save him. I scream until my body runs out of air and my body shakes from the force. No. No. No. I can’t lose him! I never thought South would be the one to do it.
CHAPTER 1
Leila
I watch his hand recoil from my chest, pausing in the air for a moment as if he is planning his next move. His fingers curl around my neck, the pressure heavy and yet not enough to cut off my air supply. His movements are swift and seem to flow with the precision like that of a viper as it strikes toward its prey. My chest heaves, pulling in quick shallow breaths as my body betrays me, showing him the anxiety that I try so hard to keep hidden within.
The corners of his eyes lift. He is smiling beneath the cloth. Maybe it’s more of a sadistic smirk. He doesn’t remove the black handkerchief that has a white paisley pattern on it ever, but tonight it lays tighter against his skin. I squint my eyes, studying the outline of his mouth. His lips are not over full, but they aren’t thin either. They have the perfect fullness to them and are definitely pressed together in a taunting smirk. He enjoys tormenting me in silence, and the sad part is, I let him. But I refuse to let the undeniable fear swimming in my veins to find its full volume. I do not want to feel it. It’s not welcome inside of my body but doesn’t ask for permission before it arrives.
I never cry or whimper. Not anymore. I will not add it to the list of things I’ll hate myself for later, even though that should be the last thing I worry about. My focus should be on self-preservation, which in a way, I guess it is exactly that. But it isn’t the immediate threat. He is. I should be kicking, screaming, pounding on his chest, or at the very least flailing beneath him as I struggle for my life. But the thing is, I know he doesn’t want to kill me. At least I don’t think he does. He’s never said the physical statement, but his actions—or lack of trying to kill me— fill the gaps that his voice does not. It is a dangerous game knowing at any moment his mind could change, tightening his grip as he loses control, and he could end me, but I play it without hesitation. I would never admit it to another living soul on this planet but knowing my life could end at any second excites me. The danger almost suffocates me, but as air passes freely through my lips, it reminds me that despite everything, I am alive. Knowing that, both grounds me and gives me strength.
When he first came into my life, he terrified me. I tried running, fighting the inevitable, and even thought I had won the battle once by stabbing him in the stomach. In that moment, the seconds ticked by so slowly it felt like hours while I questioned my actions. I wasn’t sure if I regretted what I had done or if I felt relief. My heart thrashed beneath my rib cage with such force I was certain I would die from a heart attack and meet death right alongside him. He didn’t fall to his knees and wail in agony as I expected, though. He grunted, tilting his head to the side and he arched an eyebrow in my direction. My body shook uncontrollably, while my eyes darted from his and to the handle buried in his flesh. I kept waiting for blood to spill out of him by the gallons, keeping my eyes glued to the area. His eyes followed mine, and a dark laugh came from him. He quietly shook his head and pointed to wear his heart lies. And then with a slight speechless nod, he cupped his hands over mine, using our hands to yank the blade free from his body.
I didn’t understand anymore that day than I do today. He should have died. He should have bled out. But I guess there are no rules when you are not sure if your opponent is really there or not. After that day, I accepted there was no escaping him and eventually, grew accustomed to him. I learned that I had the ability to get away from the world within his torture and once I figured that out, I craved his escape.
It’s always him. The same monster in the form of a man who haunts me. Always pushing me to the brink of insanity where pleasure and pain collide underneath rough fingers that should not be able to caress my cheek softly, but they do. I don’t have a logical explanation for any of it, and I stopped trying to find one, honestly. It’s weird, but through all the years that I have envisioned him, those eyes have brought me more comfort than anything else—a sense of peace washes through me when he stares at me, and I can’t describe the exact reason. Searching for them outside of where the two of us meet is also behind a lot of the trouble in my life. So, he is my double-edged sword that glistens with temptation but holds the strength to kill me.
Is he some kind of bizarre vision or a conscious dream that I can’t shake? Who knows? I do not. Truthfully, I have no clue why I see only him or what seeing him really means. The doctors say I am unwell, that what I so vividly remember is simply figments of my imagination, and somedays I believe them. Other days, like today, when what takes place is so unbelievably real that denying his authenticity seems like a more of a lie than accepting him as made up, I can’t do it. I’m not able to wrap my brain around him being imaginary when every fiber of my being is screaming otherwise. I don’t understand how someone whose played such a large role in my life couldn’t be there. I have watched his chest rise and fall as he breathes. I’ve broken beneath the strength of his strong yet delicate touch. How can I deny his veracity when his hot breath is against my skin and his familiar sweet metallic scent is intoxicating all of my senses? I can’t. It is impossible, so I don’t try. Not today. Today, I give into everything I’ve been taught to ignore. Today, I give into him, losing the battle and my grip on reality once more.
His attention shifts from my neck to my face, but I keep my eyes on his chest. He wants me to look back at him, I understand his unspoken request perfectly, but my eyes remain right where they are. I don’t give into him. Not right away. As soon as our gaze meets, I’m done for, and he will vanish again, leaving me to deal with the wreckage of my mind crumbling around me alone.
I hear the command, “Look at me little fox”, but he does not speak the words. I’m not a telepath, or at least I don’t think I am. I have never had this deep of a connection with anyone else, so maybe that’s the key factor. Maybe it’s the fact I’m the only one who sees and hears him, but I don’t worry about it. After the demand, I can’t fight the urge to glance at him, and my eyes lift to his on their own accord. My mind is quiet, the endless thoughts that are usually running rampant abruptly stop as if they were never there to begin with. It feels like I can finally breathe without the weight of the world shoving against me.
CHAPTER 2
Leila
“Open two,” a muffled voice sifts through my thoughts, and his dark eyes close briefly as he sighs. He doesn’t want to release me. He is not done. This isn’t over, but I can feel myself slipping further away from him and back to my nightmare. His voice is the loudest to me but to my knowledge is silent to the rest of the world, so no one else cares about what he wants. When people look at me, they only see a broken, mentally unstable criminal. A prisoner rightfully locked behind bars for crimes that were carried out by my hands. I am innocent, though. I think I am, at least. I have to believe that I am, because there is no way I’m capable of the vile things I am being punished for doing. That is all that people see. A criminal. I can’t make myself care enough to worry about what the everyone else thinks, because when I close my eyes, I only see him. A man so gorgeous that Adonis himself would weep with jealousy. He doesn’t recoil away from me or his distance like most others that I know. He holds me as if he believes if he lets me go, he will lose me.
