They were positioned with unsettling precision, each figure carved in exquisite detail. Some appeared classical, draped in stone garments that seemed to ripple as though caught in a frozen breeze. Others were more modern in style, smoother, less adorned. All of them stood slightly taller than life, their faces composed in expressions that ranged from serene to contemplative.
My body reacted before my thoughts caught up.
A tightening began low in my stomach, subtle at first, the way unease sometimes creeps in without invitation. My breath shortened fractionally, and I knew why.
My biggest fear.
They were only stone. Only carved marble.I knew that.And yet my gaze lingered too long on the nearest one, tracing the fine detailing of its eyes, the curve of its lips, the realism in its posture. It stood with one hand slightly extended forward, as though caught mid-gesture, and for a split second, my mind betrayed me with the irrational thought that it might complete the motion if I looked away.
I swallowed hard and started shaking my head in small, erratic movements. Then simply refused to take the next step. My reaction wasn’t gradual. It certainly wasn’t logical. But my mind didn’t care and my lungs seized as though the air had thinned without warning. My fingers curled inward at my sides while a cold ripple skated down my spine. The room didn’t move. The statues didn’t move.
And yet, every instinct in my body screamed that they might!
I didn’t hear my own breathing at first, only the rush of blood in my ears as my vision narrowed, focusing far too sharply on the tilt of a marble chin. On the faint suggestion of veins carved into stone hands, the way one figure’s head was angled slightly as though listening.
I couldn’t fucking move!
Somewhere ahead of me, Oblivion took another step, unaware that I was no longer beside him. The sound of his shoes against marble echoed once, then again, before stopping entirely.
“Eliza?”
I shook my head before I even turned to face him. I didn’t trust my voice. I didn’t trust my legs. The air felt thick, uncooperative, pressing against my chest.
“I… I… I can’t,”I managed, though it came out thin and fractured.
“I can’t,” I said again, more forceful this time, before I turned abruptly, needing distance, needing space between themand me. Needing the corridor behind me more than the ornate hall in front of me. However, I had taken barely two unsteady steps when his arms closed around me from behind, strong and immediate, preventing me from retreating further.
“Stop,” he ordered gently, just firm enough to anchor me.
“I already told you that nothing here will harm you. That includes me,” he continued, tightening his hold when I twisted instinctively against him.
“You… you don’t understand,”I breathed, struggling despite the fact that he wasn’t hurting me.
But he was so much stronger than I was that I suddenly felt like a frightened animal trapped in a cage of muscle. The contrast alone disoriented me. Only moments ago, he’d held me pinned me against the wall baring his fangs at me. Now his grip was careful, controlled, as though he feared breaking something fragile.
“You’re shaking,”he said, his voice lower now, closer to my ear. His arms adjusted, one hand sliding up to steady my shoulder when my breathing turned uneven. I hadn’t realized I was until he said it.
“Don’t be afraid of me… come now, just breathe for me,” he said, trying to coax me to calm down, but I started shaking my head once more.
“Do you fear me that much?” he asked quietly, as if he loathed the idea that I did, and for some strange reason, I wanted to put his mind at ease above my own.
“It’s not you,”I forced out, my gaze flicking back toward the statues despite every instinct telling me not to look. They remained exactly as they were.
Silent. Unmoving. Watching.
“It’s not you,” I said again, and his hold shifted, less restraining now and more supportive, as though he were bracing me rather than containing me.
“Then what is it, do you fear being in my home?” he asked, and once more I shook my head before admitting,
“I can’t go in there,” The words scraped raw as they left me.
“Why?” he asked softly.
“Tell me, my little mortal.”
My throat tightened at the same time a shiver went through me at how tender his voice sounded. But as for the truth, well, that sounded foolish… irrational… childish even. Especially in the face of everything else I had endured since meeting him.
But the fear was not rational.
