12
1859 Words
KATHERINE
The forest swallowed the night, thick and endless. My hand was still pressed to his wound, sticky with his blood, even though my arms were trembling from holding so still.
Christophe hadn’t moved in a while, just leaned back against the tree like he owned the darkness. Even half-bleeding, he carried himself like he wasn’t afraid of anything.
But I wasn’t him. I was afraid. Afraid of the men who had chased us. Afraid of how close I’d come to losing him. Afraid of the way my body seemed to burn whenever his storm-grey eyes pinned me down.
“You’re losing too much blood,” I whispered, breaking the silence because it was suffocating me.
He cracked one eye open, slow and deliberate. “I’ve lost worse.”
“That’s not comforting.”
“It wasn’t meant to be.” His voice was low, husky, dragging down my spine like claws.
I glared at him, even though my chest was tight. “You’re impossible.”
“Good,” he said softly, almost like it was meant for himself.
The air shifted. Heavy. Tense. His gaze lingered on me, sweeping my face, my lips, then the mess of his blood on my skin. My pulse stuttered.
“You should sleep,” he said at last.
I shook my head quickly. “I can’t. Not here. Not like this.”
His lips twitched, the barest hint of a smirk. “You’re safer beside me than anywhere else in the world, Katherine.”
The way he said my name. Full, sharp, deliberate. It made my stomach flip. I hated how much I liked it when it came from him.
I dropped my hand from his wound, wiping the blood on my dress. “You really believe that, don’t you? That being near you makes me safe?”
Christophe’s jaw flexed. He shifted, dragging his uninjured arm to rest lazily on his bent knee, but there was nothing casual in his stare. “No. I know being near me puts a target on your back.”
“Then why-” My voice cracked. “Why not let me go? Why keep dragging me into this nightmare?”
His eyes narrowed, steel-grey and dangerous. “Because you’re mine.”
The words hit me like a blow. My breath caught, heat flooding my cheeks.
“I’m not yours,” I shot back, but my voice came out weaker than I meant.
His lips curved, dark and knowing. “Say it all you want, little artist. Your mouth lies, but your body…” His gaze dipped, heavy, scorching. “Your body betrays you.”
My throat went dry. “You’re sick.”
“And you,” he murmured, voice dipping lower, “are addicted to my sickness.”
The air between us snapped tight, electric. My chest rose and fell too fast, every nerve in me screaming. I should’ve slapped him. Should’ve stood and walked into the woods and left him bleeding.
Instead, I found myself leaning closer, like gravity itself was bending me toward him.
His hand shot up, fast despite the blood loss, and caught the back of my neck. The rough pads of his fingers dug into my skin, holding me still.
“Careful, Katherine,” he rasped. “You don’t get to play with fire and act surprised when it burns you.”
“I’m not afraid of you,” I whispered, though the words trembled.
“Liar.” His thumb stroked once over my throat, feeling the wild beat of my pulse. “Your fear is the sweetest part of you.”
My heart slammed so loud it drowned out the forest. I should’ve pulled back. I didn’t.
His mouth was so close, the heat of his breath brushing my lips.
I hated how much I wanted him to close the space, to ruin me the way only he could.
But Christophe didn’t kiss me. He let the moment stretch, thick and unbearable, then leaned back against the tree again, dropping his hand.
The rejection burned worse than his touch.
I shot to my feet, anger rattling my bones. “You think you can just…just say things like that, touch me like that, and then-”
He cut me off with a dark laugh. “And then what? You’d rather I take you against this tree while you’re still shaking from fear? You’d rather I tear that dress off you with blood on my hands?”
His words painted the picture too vividly. My thighs pressed together before I could stop them.
He saw it. Of course he saw it.
“f**k you,” I spat, my voice breaking.
“You will,” he said calmly, his eyes like storm clouds about to break. “And when you do, it’ll be because you begged for it.”
My hands curled into fists. “I hate you.”
“No,” he murmured, his voice like velvet over a blade. “You hate how much you want me.”
I spun away from him, dragging my shaky breaths into the cold air. The forest loomed, dark and endless, but nowhere felt safe. Not from him. Not from me.
Behind me, I heard him shifting, dragging himself up the tree to stand again. “We need to move.”
I turned back, biting down the scream building in my chest. He was pale, blood soaking his sleeve, but his eyes burned with the same cruel fire as always.
“Can you even walk?” I asked sharply.
His smirk was tired but unyielding. “I can carry you if you prefer.”
My cheeks flushed hot, anger and something else tangled. “I’d rather die.”
Christophe stepped toward me, slow, deliberate. His shadow fell over mine, swallowing me whole.
“Careful, Katherine,” he whispered, leaning close enough that his lips brushed my ear. “Don’t tempt me to show you what dying feels like in my arms.”
My knees went weak. My breath hitched. And I hated myself for every second of it.
I didn’t sleep.
Even with exhaustion pressing down on my bones, my eyes stayed open, fixed on the shadows curling through the trees.
Christophe’s breathing had evened out beside me, but the sound didn’t comfort me. If anything, it made my chest ache more.
He looked too still. Too human. Like the weight of the world he carried had finally broken through his armor.
I shifted, careful not to wake him, though part of me wondered if Christophe ever really slept.
His lashes rested against sharp cheekbones, lips parted slightly. Even injured, he radiated something untouchable, dangerous.
And here I was, pressed close enough to feel the heat of him, his blood still drying against my palms.
I hated how the sight of him like this undone, vulnerable stirred something deep inside me. Something that felt less like fear and more like want.
Want for the very thing I should run from.
A twig snapped in the distance, sharp against the hum of night. My body jolted, pulse skyrocketing. Christophe’s eyes snapped open instantly, wild and alert, like he’d been waiting for the smallest excuse to wake.
In one smooth motion, he was on his feet, though the wound in his arm bled fresh at the movement. His hand went instinctively to his side, reaching for a weapon he didn’t even have anymore.
The tension in the air tightened until I could barely breathe.
“Stay behind me,” he murmured, voice low but commanding.
Something moved again in the underbrush, a rabbit, maybe, or the wind playing cruel tricks but Christophe didn’t relax.
His shoulders stayed rigid, his gaze locked on the trees like he could see every shadow breathing between them.
Minutes crawled by. The sound faded. The forest stilled.
Only then did he let out a slow breath, lowering back against the tree.
My voice trembled when I whispered, “How do you live like this?”
His eyes cut to me, sharp and unreadable. “Like what?”
“Always waiting for someone to come for you. For them to find you.”
His mouth twitched, something bitter in it. “I don’t live. I will survive.”
The words carved through me. Cold. Final.
And yet, when he looked at me, there was something else flickering behind his eyes, something that contradicted the weight of his voice.
I hugged my knees to my chest, unable to stop myself from asking, “And what about me? Am I just surviving too now?”
His jaw tightened. For a long moment, silence stretched so thin it felt like it might break. Then he moved toward me, slow, deliberate, until he was close enough that the warmth of him seeped into my skin.
“You,” he said quietly, “are the one thing I don’t want surviving. I want you . Breathing. Untouched by all of this.”
The way he said it like it was both a promise and a curse made my heart slam against my ribs. It made no sense to be honest.
That he would want me to be alive. Despite the fact that I had unknown gun men snatch him off the streets. It was what started all this. It was what got me into this mess.
So the fact that he could tell me that he wanted me alive? Untouched by the chaos that was currently surrounding us made me very disturbed. With him, it was hot and cold. I never knew what to expect.
He was unpredictable. What if he randomly decided that he didn't want me alive anymore and he killed me?
“Then why drag me into it?” I whispered, the question I’d been holding in since the night he stormed into my life.
He leaned closer, his face a breath away, his eyes dark and burning. “Because I couldn’t stay away.”
The confession sent a shiver down my spine. My lips parted, words caught somewhere between anger and something far more dangerous.
“Christophe…” I whispered, but the sound barely made it past my throat.
He lifted his uninjured hand, slow enough that I could’ve stopped him. Should’ve stopped him.
But I didn’t. His fingers brushed a strand of hair from my cheek, lingering against my skin like he had no intention of letting go.
“You should hate me,” he murmured.
“Maybe I do,” I breathed.
His lips curved faintly, though the look in his eyes was anything but amused. “Liar.”
Heat coiled low in my stomach, the weight of his stare pinning me to the earth more firmly than any chains.
I wanted to deny it. To shove him away and remind myself of the blood on his hands, the violence that followed him like a shadow.
But when his thumb traced along my jaw, when his breath brushed warm across my mouth, I didn’t move.
The night closed in around us. The silence stretched, taut with the unspoken, the forbidden and for one reckless moment, I wanted him to kiss me.
- Writer
