~Dessa~

"I'm so sorry, little doll."

Those words broke through her daze like the twist of a knife in her back. Dessa scrambled out of his arms, pressing herself against the opposite side of the tub.

Little doll. Little doll. Little doll.

God, nothing made sense in this world, but as she gaped at the Fae man in front of her, the one who had nearly killed her, she was overwhelmed by the familiarity of that pet name. He couldn't be . . . Was she twisting her reality? Was this lucid dreaming after all? Did she wish that this monster was Zaire!?

She wrapped her arms around herself, as if to hide her nakedness, but for what? This man had seen it all, had touched every part of her, had taken her virginity without so much as a fight from her. They were in the bath together, and he had been holding her just a moment ago, as if she were his lover, rather than his plaything. She had tasted his blood, and fucking enjoyed it. What the hell?  She was a monster, too!

"You . . . " Dessa's words came out on a broken sob. "You're sorry?"

What was he sorry for? The real question that she wanted to ask was if he could be the very same man who drove her home that one night? But she knew that was impossible. There was hardly a resemblance, and even then, her own mind could be bending to create a likeness where there wasn't one. She was aching for anything familiar to hold onto in this world, even an encounter with a man who also terrified her, who she knew nothing about other than his name. Of course she would try to make him into someone he wasn't. Someone human, someone less ethereal, more tangible.

A small wisp of blood-red faded from his eye, returning it to its former white. Whatever had taken him over had dissipated.

"I never meant to . . . " The Fae man shifted slightly, his hands moving to cradle his head as he winced, like he had a headache. Could godlike creatures even get headaches? Already, the slash on his wrist was stitching itself back together, but Dessa couldn't be surprised by it, it only made sense that magical beings could heal faster than humans. When he let his hands fall, he actually looked stricken with guilt. "I never meant to take so much from you. I lost control, but I swear to you that I will never be so reckless again."

His words poured over her, and she sank lower into the water, needing the comfort of the warmth to settle her nerves. She saw the moment that he had lost control, in that frenzied look in his eyes as he drank from her. She trusted that he was telling the truth about that, but why? How could she trust any words coming from his dangerous mouth? She was his prey, and he was a predator. Surely, he thought that he owned her, and if he did, why would he have any qualms about taking everything from her? She had been stupid enough to give it all to him, anyway. She was the one who should be guilty, for not lifting a finger to help herself. She might as well have offered herself up on a silver platter and screamed, "Dinner is served, master!"

"I want you to be able to trust me, at least that much."

Dessa couldn't stop herself from scoffing, but immediately wished that she could take it back, when his hurt was evident on his too-beautiful face. Trust him!? Seriously? But against her better judgment, she did in some way. He was apologizing for almost killing her, he was promising that he would not repeat that mistake. He did want her alive. Did that mean that he cared about her, at least a little bit? Or was he just worried that he would do away with his latest captive, before he had his fill of her?

"But," Dessa struggled to choke out, " . . . do I even have a choice? I'm your prisoner."

The Fae almost looked green, as if he were about to be sick. His wings shuddered in the air behind him, and he sank lower into the water as well, his legs brushing against hers on either side of her. Just that small amount of skin contact brought a heat to her cheeks, and an ache between her thighs.

"I could let you go."

Dessa's heart seized in her chest, and her mouth fell open. Why did that feel like a rejection? Why did it feel like she didn't want to be freed, when all that she thought she wanted was to escape?

"I can help you cross the Veil, take you back to the mortal world."

There has to be some sort of catch, right?  Why would he rescue her from that prison cell, claim her as his mate, and then set her free?

"Y-you're lying," Dessa shook her head, her arms falling to her sides, not caring in the moment that she was exposing herself once more, and her hands grasped his calves without thinking about it. Like if she held onto some part of him, he wouldn't disappear. Shouldn't she want  him to disappear? Shouldn't she want him to be telling the truth? If that was the case, why did her statement sound like a desperate plea? Her touch seemed to bring a more healthy color to his skin as he stared down at her fingers under the water.

"I'm not."

That small admission seemed to anguish him greatly.

"If it would please you to leave me, I would . . . " His words cut off like they were being strangled away from him. "I would allow it," He finally forced out through gritted teeth.

He wouldn't meet her gaze, and she hated that she wanted him to look her in the eyes, and pin her with those inhuman irises. He would let her leave? Go back to her world? Why was she suddenly angry with him for it?

"You got what you wanted from me, is that it?!" Dessa yanked her hands off of him, and rose from the water, intending to climb out of the bath. But despite her fury, she still felt woozy and slipped as her foot slid against the porcelain. In a flash, his hands were on her waist, steadying her.

https://youtu.be/fFjUyhd0zz4

She felt so stupid as she clung to his body, pressing her face into the hard planes of his chest.

"I will never  get enough of you," The beast growled, and the rumble of the sound vibrated against her cheeks. "You are my mate, and I will be sick without you, but I would endure it, if it meant that you would be . . . happier."

The word happier  had never sounded so woeful. Her anger withered at his confession, only temporarily. He wanted her to stay, but he wouldn't force her to. She was so fucking insane that she wished that he was  forcing her! It would make it so much easier for her to resent him! Why the hell would the monster have a conscience?! How dare he? She pulled back enough to trail her eyes over his muscular chest, but before she could lift them to meet his, her gaze snagged on a thick scar on his neck. She gasped, and her fingertips immediately went to trace it, but the second that one skimmed the marred flesh, shadows streaked in front of her, and he was across the room in a split-second.

Zaire had one just like that! Her horror intensified when his clawed hand clamped over the scar, and his shadowy wings wrapped around his naked body so thoroughly that all she could see was his piercing, two different colored eyes.

"Zaire!?" Dessa cried out, tears burning - threatening to spill down her cheeks.

Fighting through the dizziness, she stepped out of the bath, but as soon as she was out, he was gone, and a folded towel was in the place where he had just been standing. In all her life, she had never felt more confused and alone than she had in that moment, as she bent down to grab the towel. She felt weak and nauseous as she used it to dry off, that tugging sensation that was becoming far too familiar returning with ferocity.

"Please, come back," Dessa whispered to the empty bathroom, as she wrapped the towel around herself. The strange blue swirls in the white tile floor only made her feel more faint, so instead she tried to focus on the other details of the room. It looked like a bathroom that belonged in a castle. The counters, the sinks, the clawfoot tub, all appeared to be plucked right out of a different era. There were silver sconces on the walls, and there was a breathtaking chandelier suspended in the center of the ceiling. It was so unlike the rustic interior of the bedroom, that she wondered if he had taken her to a different place altogether. Would she dare to explore this place? Shouldn't her first thought be to escape? To leave before he changed his mind? But she needed him to do that. She would never be able to find a way out of the Dark Realm without his help.

As she stood on shaky legs, she tried to steady her breathing. She could follow that magnetic pull, seek him out. She had to be mistaken - there was no way that he was Zaire. Yet, before the Fae man had taken her away, those other creatures seemed to have had the ability to alter their appearance, to look human. Wouldn't the most powerful of them be able to do the same? Could he have disguised himself as the man in the leather gloves? Everything that had happened lately was far-fetched, and it didn't seem unreasonable to assume that he had done exactly that. Could that have been the reason that Zaire was so unfazed by her confession about having nightmares about faeries?  Was he a nightmarish being all along, a wolf in sheep's clothing?

When she walked past the sinks, she was torn from her ridiculous train of thought, and she froze at the sight of herself, reflecting from the large, ornate mirror. Why did she look almost . . . ? A callous, indignant laugh escaped her. Beautiful?  Please! She was still the same unremarkable girl who no one would bother to look at twice. She really had gone insane if she thought otherwise, even for a moment. Nothing had changed, her features were no different. Her anger coiled in her stomach again as she glared at herself.

"You are nothing," Dessa scowled, flicking her wet hair out of her face. "As always, you are seeing things that aren't there, you psycho."

With a huff, she stomped away from the mirror, and found herself in that front room that she had been too distracted to pay attention to. This room looked much more reminiscent of the bedroom, with the organic, wooden walls and their charming, wine-stained appearance. There were windows on either side of the front door with royal blue drapes, like the window in the bedroom. There was also an odd-looking vintage sofa as the centerpiece, and the only other furniture in the otherwise empty room was an antique writing desk with legs that were carved in a twisted design. All she should focus on was that fucking front door, but instead, she moved toward the desk and scrutinized the ancient parchment papers that were haphazardly spread across it. Most of the pages had been torn or crumpled beyond recognition, and the one piece of parchment that wasn't, was written so illegibly that she couldn't hope to read what he had written on it.

Her anger flitted back to that feeling of rejection she had felt earlier. Her fear of abandonment was such a central part of who she was, and she couldn't stand that she wanted him to need her presence in the same way. Was this ill feeling inside of her when he was away, what he had referred to earlier, when he said that he would be sick without her? Was it just dark magic that caused the sensation? She loathed that she wanted him to lock her away, so it wouldn't be on her  conscience to stay. Looking at this mess of a writing desk, she felt for him. He was a troubled man, it seemed. Did he hate himself like she hated herself? Did he want someone to cherish him? Was he anything more than lust and bloodthirst, underneath it all?

Dessa sighed sullenly as she sat the paper back down. There she was, trying to spin herself a faerytale. Wishful thinking would not turn a monster into a brooding man that she could learn to love. Could it, though? If this was a lucid dream, she could make it a fantasy. She could will him to be someone that needed more from her than just blood and sex. Someone that would hold her, lie to her, and tell her that she was beautiful. Even thinking it, she knew that it was dangerously unrealistic. She didn't have that kind of power, and she still didn't know if any of this was a nightmare, or something frighteningly real. The longer that she spent in this world, the less that she was able to convince herself that she was dreaming. What did it matter anymore? She was always fighting to survive, one day at a time, before any of this happened. She would continue that way, regardless of the world she found herself in. It was all she knew.

. . .

Dessa cursed herself for being disappointed that the Fae man wasn't in the bedroom, either. She knew from that gut feeling that he wasn't before she padded to the other side of the partition, but she still hoped to see those wings of darkness and those mismatched eyes, anyway. Instead of rifling through the trunk for a dress, she slipped into that loose, holey shirt and climbed into the bed. Fuck, she was such an idiot. Whether he was Zaire or not, he wasn't a safe man. She shouldn't want to be owned by him, she shouldn't crave him beside her. She was a desperate, miserable, little fool!  This time, when the tears sprang in her eyes, she didn't fight them. She sobbed herself to sleep, because she was fucking pathetic, and she didn't know what else to do.