Chapter 6: He's The Only One Who Can Heal Me
1316 Words
IT STARTED WITH a dull ache behind my ribs.
A slow throb beneath my skin. I was in bed, beneath the sheets, but my body rejected the cold. Sweat bead at my temple. My nightgown was drenched, stuck to my skin. I was soaked to the brim. And then, without any warning, the pain coiled low in my stomach, cruel and patient, like a storm waiting to break. It was a warning on its own that something terrible was going to happen.
I whimpered.
No one answered.
I missed my mother.
She was dead — buried six feet under the ground.
The moonlight was thin tonight, and the silence around me felt heavy — as if the house was holding its breath. The emptiness was anticipated. Even the darkness waited.
Then it spread.
The ache flared behind my chest, sharp and urgent. I pressed my palms against my chest, but it did not help. Something pulled at me from the inside. Like my body was screaming for something it did not understand.
It had never been this bad this few says.
I could not stop trembling.
“Icarus,” I whispered hoarsely into the dark. “Please —”
But he was not here.
I rolled onto my side, breath hitching, legs curling toward my stomach. My legs were burning. My chest, too. I was leaking — I knew I was. I could feel the wetness seep through the thin cotton of my nightgown.
The need grew unbearable.
I dug my fingers into the sheets and sobbed.
Then I screamed.
“Icarus!”
~ ~ ~
The moment the cry tore from my throat, the house stirred.
I felt it.
A ripple of awareness down the halls. A thunderous presence descending like judgment. And then — footsteps. Fast. Heavy. Furious. Almost like they were charging at something.
The door slammed open.
He was there.
Wild-eyed. Bare-chested. Breathing like he ran through fire to get to me. Like the devil had taken place in this Keep.
His eyes landed on me, writhing, flushed, drenched in sweat, and the color drained from his face. It was ash and grey, the color of sickness. He was surprised to see me like that, like I was crumbling pieces by pieces.
“Soraya.”
His voice broke.
“I can’t —“ I gasped. “It hurts — my chest — Icarus. Please,” I pleaded with a strained voice. “Please, do something.”
He was already crossing the room. He knelt at the edge of the bed, his massive hands hovering just above me, unsure where to touch. His eyes dart to my chest, wide with disbelief. He knew what he was seeing. He could see it.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” I choked out. “It started earlier today. I thought it would go away, but — but it just got worse. This sickness is consuming me. It’s taking parts of my body.”
He hesitated. His eyes flickered down to where my gown was soaked at the front. The fabric clung to me, translucent now. His nostrils flared. “Soraya, I can’t help you,” he said, his voice frayed. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”
“I do,” I cried. “You’re the guardian — you take care of me. You said it yourself — my body is changing. Do something about it then.”
His jaw clenched. His hand trembled as he reached for me. Then stopped just short.
“You don’t know what I’m about to do to you, don’t you?”
“I don’t care what you do. Just make it stop. I’m begging you.”
He cursed, low and raw. Then he sat beside me, his large hand stroking my back in shaky circles. My skin jumped beneath his touch. “I shouldn’t be here.”
“But you are.”
“Tell me to stop.”
“No.”
He exhaled through his teeth, torn between instinct and guilt. “But you’re — you’re her daughter — hell,” he sounded in pain. “How can I do this knowing what we are?”
“I’m in pain — Icarus. I think I’m dying. You’re only trying to help — me.”
“You don’t understand what this will do —“
“Stop talking in circles!” I snapped. “Stop talking about me like I’m your prey and actually do nothing about it! Stop!”
“If I start, it might be hard to stop,” he hissed. “Do you hear me?”
I nodded.
He brushed my hair from my face. His fingers lingered at my jaw. His eyes dropped to my chest again—and his expression broke.
“I can smell it,” he whispered. “It’s driving me inside.”
“Heal it then.”
That was all it took.
Icarus swore beneath his breath and slid closer. His arm went around me, pulling my feverish body into his chest. I gasped at the contact. He was so warm. Solid. He reached for the hem of my nightgown. “I’m only going to help you relieve the pressure,” he muttered darkly. “Nothing more.”
But his voice was already thick with anger.
I nodded again, barely able to speak.
He lifted the fabric slowly. Reverently. The cool air brushed my overheated skin, and then —
He saw them.
My chest were flushed, swollen, the skin stretched tight and shiny. The scent must have hit him full force because his body shuddered beside me. “Oh, Moon,” he rasped. “You’re perfect.”
I moaned, helpless.
He did not ask again.
He lowered his head.
The moment his lips closed around me, I cried out. Pain turned to heat. Ache turned to pleasure. He groaned as he drank — deep, slow pulls like he was starved. My back arched. Everything about me responds to him.
“Icarus — oh, Gods —“
He growled in response, sucking harder, one massive hand splayed over my hip, the other cupping the underside of my chest to steady it. “It’s like you were made for this,” he muttered against me. “Sweet little body overflowing for me. My girl. My mate.”
I was in a daze. I could not hear him or his words. It was all a blur — “What?” I whispered.
He moved to the other one without pausing, his mouth feverish, his teeth grazing just enough to make me cry out again. The pain was gone. Replaced by something deeper. Darker. Hotter. His tongue swirled as he drank, like he was savoring every drop. His hand slid down, taking the curve of my thigh, gripping tight.
I was completely undone.
When he finally pulled away, his mouth was red. His eyes were glowing. I was panting, and so was he. For a long, wild moment, we just stared at each other. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “That shouldn’t have happened. That was — forbidden,” he whispered with horror.
We were what we were.
“But you did.”
“If you knew what I wanted to do to you right now —“
“Tell me.”
“No. This is more than enough.”
“Icarus —“
“The aching should be fine from now. Do not scream again. It scared me half to death —“ he murmured the last part.
Then he went from the bed toward the door.
With his cold back, he left, leaving me exposed to the air with my pushed melons up and sticky with milk.
Cruel.
He was cruel.
Just like this sickness.
Because now I was sure one hundred percent — the only one who could heal me was him.
- Writer
