Marry or Kill

33

M I N A

In the last couple of weeks, Elias's whereabouts have been uncertain, his distant demeanour a consequence of his tireless quest to bring Sol back. Every time he visits me, his face is potent with frustration and anger, and he repeatedly asks about the state of my throat.

I say the same thing every time.

The bruises are nearly gone, but here I am again, waking up and gasping for breath as if the nightmare refuses to release its grip.

Atticus is above me, hands closed around my throat.

Elias strokes my hair until I fall back asleep, enveloping me in his cocoon of warmth, as if that can erase the unsettling images.

Surprisingly, it does provide me with some comfort.

At times, I discover myself waking up in Elias's bed, the details of how I ended up there disappearing from my memory. In most cases, he vanishes by morning, leaving me with nothing but a note on the side.

We've never discussed anything further, not when everything is going on.

This morning, I jolt awake with a gasp, my breath catching in my throat, the remnants of a nightmare still lingering. Beads of sweat cling to my forehead, and I frantically scan the room, finding Elias watching me intently from the other side.

"Well, you're finally awake, and I need you to vacate this room; it's beginning to reek of despair," Elias comments, rising from his sat position.

This is the first time in the last few weeks where he's been measurably sane, a glimmer of the Elias I used to know peeking through the darkness that has consumed him.

The room is cloaked in a muted haze as I slowly sit up from the bed, my nightgown clinging to the sweat adorning on my back.

The air is heavy with the remnants of restless sleep, and as I drag a hand across my sore head, the room comes into sharper focus. "So, you're finally here when I wake up, and not scurrying away to hide your own despair," I muse, throwing a pillow in his direction. "How convenient."

The pillow lands beside his foot and he arches an eyebrow.

I slide my bare legs out of the bed, feeling the coldness of the room prickling against my skin like needles. The air is brisk, and I shiver slightly. For a moment, Elias's eyes shift to my legs before drawing back to my face.

"We're going to meet some people, so put on something suitable," he says, ignoring my words.

"You heartless bastard, where on earth have you been every morning?" I demand, and his response is agile and quick as he slams his newspaper down.

Elias nears me with a deep intensity, his arms settling on each side of me and caging me in his dark warmth.

Elias intently searches my eyes, his gaze probing for something within me, and the back of his cold hand drags down my bare arm, leaving a chilling trail in its wake. "There are matters that demand attention. I can't afford to spend this time in mourning."

Before I can glower at him, he lifts me out of the bed, his grip firm yet strangely gentle, and guides me onto my feet.

I grab my fighting suit, yanking it off the dresser. Stripping off my nightgown, I do it with deliberate anger, each movement charged with irritation, hoping it seeps into every action.

Elias's eyes don't stray from mine, his face a mask of composure.

Yet, I catch a subtle twitch in his features and a telltale bulge in his throat, a single betrayal of desire.