The Bane of Light

The Bane of Librarians

A/N- expect there to be typos bc I literally wrote this while wheezing and dying of COVID :) Love my life but I love you guys more, so enjoy -A <3
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"Angry and half in love with you, and tremendously sorry, I turned away"- F. Scott Fitzgerald

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Before I could turn around, a dull pain registered in my back as I was slammed to a shelf. Paris flipped me around, trapping me between himself and the bookshelf as he stared down at me. Pure rage was depicted in his eyes, carefully restrained by his temperament. The ticking jaw of his jaw was a teller that it was just barely restrained. The fact that I couldn't sense his magic at all, impressed me, providing me with a wicked confidence.

"Oh. What a surprise to see you here, Mr. Arobynn" I giggled at him evilly. He quickly silenced my laughter by forcing me back, and ducking down to be at eye level with me. He gripped my arm tightly, holding me in place.

"What the Hell was that?" He demanded, his tone low and enraged. To another, I could understand how the boom of this voice could be terrifying, but to me, it just made me smile wider. I simply beamed up at him, batting my eyelashes innocently.

"I can't say that I know what you mean, Paris" I told him, tapping my lips as if I were seriously contemplating it. His nostrils flared at the action. Faster than I could process, Paris slammed my hands down to my side, holding them down. It wasn't painful, but the force behind the pressure did not go unnoticed. My smile slid off my face, the corners of my mouth dropping slowly. I stared up at Paris with wide eyes, shocked beyond articulation.

The only thing that kept me from comparing his current rage, to that, that caused the choker of scars around my neck, was the fact that his eyes weren't black. They were dilated, but not as they were that day—absorbed into pure black by his anger. His current rage was carefully contained by him, leaving me bewildered, and partially in awe. My body tingled, electricity fizzling through my blood stream. I wanted to press down on my skin and smother the feeling.

Sparks shot up my arms from where Paris was holding me. I startled at the heat, thinking he was using his magic, but I quickly realized it was my own body responsible for the feeling. My shadows didn't rile as they did when his magic was present, meaning it was solely my body reacting to his touch. The thought startled me.

My body has never reacted this way. It was always cold. Always. It has never heated up at someones touch. But now it did, as if he was getting my frigid heart to finally work, beating frantically and pumping blood throughout my body. It was so inherently normal—human—that it unsettled me. I made a mental note to look into this. To figure out the anatomical reason behind why the body burned, when it was touched. I couldn't understand it.

Paris and I were close. Uncomfortably close, with his chest pressed against mine, his heat seeping into my skin. We were deep in the labyrinth of book shelves, and I strained to hear some sign of life beyond us, but heard nothing. It was as though the world had ceased to exist past Paris and I, locked in this moment. I couldn't breathe from the intensity of his gaze.

"I'll ask you again" he repeated himself lowly, "What. Was. That?" Paris demanded. I blinked at him, my eyes wide.

"You don't get to do that. You don't get to mess with me like that in public" He growled at me, inches away from my face. I could feel his hot breath against my skin, the hair on the back of my neck rising up. My shadows riled, but quickly sunk back, having realized that they did not sense his magic. He was angry enough to scold me, but not angry enough to summon his magic.