Marry or Kill

16

M I N A

"You just slapped me," Elias states, his words thick and strained as he flicks his eyes at me for a moment. It wasn't even a question, just a statement. I don't even bother to answer, not sparing him a glance.

But then he winces, rolling over on his side to test whether it's less painful, and lets out a pained wheeze as his hand clutches his wounded side, blood seeping through his fingers, staining the fabric of his shirt. The metallic tang of blood clings onto the ceiling.

A single bulb, flickering and feeble, casts harsh, white light over the rough-hewn stone walls.

Despite the frigid temperature of the room, sweat beads on Elias's forehead, glistening along his hairline. His breath comes in ragged gasps, the sound echoing off the damp walls like a haunting lament.

The chill of the underground seeps into my bones, sending shivers coursing through me as I wrap my arms around myself. Still, I keep to myself, not bothering to give him any attention.

Elias looks at me, a wry amusement flickering in his brown eyes despite the pain etched on his features. "It appears even in my most painful state, you're incapable of being friendly."

I shuffle away, the cold stone floor biting into my bare feet as I inch backward, seeking distance from the intensity of his eyes. Yet eyes stare into mine, dark and probing, as if searching for something hidden within the depths of my soul.

"You weren't waking up," I say, my voice echoing off the cavernous walls. "But I might have entertained the notion that you might have met your death."

It was a cruel remark. But I didn't care.

With a groan, Elias hauls himself up against the wall, his crimson fingers leaving a trail of stains behind, painting the rough-hewn stone with splashes of dark red. The aroma of blood, thick and metallic, mingles with the lingering scents of must and sandalwood.

Part of it is from my own arms, now smeared with his blood.

Despite his pain, Elias manages a dark chuckle that echoes through the room. His laughter seems out of place in the cold, sterile air of our surroundings. "You certainly sound like you're beginning to tolerate me," he says, his voice laced with a hint of sarcasm that catches me off guard.

Elias and sarcasm—it's a combination I hadn't anticipated.

My breath forms wisps of mist in the frigid air and I roll my head against the rough surface of the wall, feeling a bead of cold sweat trickle down from my temple to my nose. "I simply preferred not to be stranded here with your lifeless company."

Elias's dimple flashes in the dim light like a distant star in the night sky. "Surprisingly, inflicting more physical harm upon me doesn't actually contribute to helping me," he quips, his tone light despite the pain etched across his features.

I glower at him, my eyes narrowing in irritation. "Well, it woke you up, didn't it?" I shoot back.

My eyes then drift to his face, where the sharp angles of his jaw and the chiselled contours of his cheekbones are now contorted in a grimace of agony. The stoic mask he usually wears is replaced by raw pain, etched across his features like a haunting portrait.

I can't help but notice the loose fabric of his shirt, revealing a network of white scars that mar his collarbone. Some are faint and barely visible, while others are jagged and prominent.

"I've never seen those before," I remark, my voice soft with curiosity and concern.

For a moment, confusion clouds Elias's dark expression, his brows knitting together as he processes my words. Slowly, his gaze follows the path my eyes have taken, tracing the invisible lines of his scars with a haunted look.