Oh to be loved

9

Amara's legs felt like they were made of lead, every step through the dense forest heavier than the last. She could barely make out Malik in the dim moonlight as they pushed forward, his pace determined despite the weariness etched into every muscle. She clutched her side, fighting the sharp pain that stabbed her ribs with each breath. They had been running for what felt like hours, with only brief moments of rest.

She had no idea how far they were from the safe house. Malik hadn't given her any clear indication, just that they needed to keep moving. But there was a weight in the air now-a sense of inevitability pressing down on her. She could feel it in her bones: Cillian's men were closing in. The forest, once a sanctuary, now felt like a cage tightening around them.

"We need to stop," she gasped, nearly tripping over a fallen branch. "I can't-"

Before she could finish, Malik grabbed her arm, pulling her behind a cluster of trees. His eyes were wild, his chest heaving as he glanced around, his hand still gripping her tightly. "Shh," he whispered, barely audible. "They're close. I heard them."

Amara's heart dropped into her stomach. She strained her ears, but all she could hear was the rustling of leaves and the wind whispering through the trees. But Malik had always been more attuned to their surroundings than she was. If he said they were close, they were close.

Malik's hand tightened around hers, and he pulled her further into the shadows of the trees. He glanced at her, his expression filled with a mix of fear and desperation. "We're going to get out of this," he whispered, though even as he said it, his voice lacked conviction.

Amara wanted to believe him, but the dread that had been building in her chest since they fled the mansion now surged, threatening to overwhelm her. She didn't respond, only nodded, trying to ignore the gnawing terror inside her.

They continued moving, more cautiously now, trying to stay low and avoid making noise. The forest was deathly quiet, the usual sounds of wildlife absent, as if even the creatures of the night sensed the danger closing in.

Then, suddenly, a shout rang out through the trees. Amara froze, her blood turning to ice. Footsteps-several of them-pounded through the underbrush, getting closer and closer.

"Go!" Malik hissed, pushing her forward.

She didn't think, didn't process. She just ran. Her legs were burning, her lungs screaming for air, but all she could focus on was the need to get away. To survive. Malik was right behind her, his footsteps pounding in sync with hers.

But they weren't fast enough.

A figure appeared out of the shadows, blocking their path. Amara skidded to a halt, her heart hammering in her chest. The man before them was one of Cillian's-she recognized him from the estate, his face twisted into a sneer as he raised his gun.

Malik lunged toward him without hesitation, tackling the man to the ground before he could pull the trigger. They struggled, rolling through the dirt and leaves, fists flying. For a brief, terrifying moment, Amara was frozen, unsure of what to do. But then instinct took over.

She grabbed a heavy branch from the ground and swung it at the man's head with all her strength. The crack of wood against his skull echoed through the trees, and he crumpled, unconscious.

Malik staggered to his feet, blood dripping from a cut on his cheek. "We have to go, now!" he said, grabbing her arm and pulling her forward.

But it was too late.

A deafening crack split the air-a gunshot. Amara stumbled, her eyes widening in shock. She glanced down, expecting to feel pain, expecting to see blood, but it wasn't her. It was Malik. He staggered, a sharp intake of breath escaping his lips as his hand flew to his side.

"No," Amara whispered, her voice trembling. "No, no, no..."

Malik's legs buckled, and he fell to his knees, his hand stained red as blood seeped through his fingers.

"Malik!" Amara screamed, rushing to him, but before she could reach him, rough hands grabbed her from behind, yanking her backward. She kicked and struggled, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she thrashed in their grip.

"No! Let me go!" she shouted, her voice raw with panic. "Malik!"

But her captors were relentless. Two of Cillian's men held her tightly, dragging her back as she fought against them, her desperation giving her strength.

Malik looked up at her, his face pale, his eyes filled with pain. "Run," he gasped, his voice barely audible. "Run..."

She shook her head, tears streaming down her face. "I can't leave you. Malik, please-"

Another figure stepped out of the shadows then, and Amara's blood turned to ice.

Cillian.

He stood tall and calm, his icy blue eyes fixed on her. His presence, so terrifyingly composed, seemed to drain the forest of its light. He wasn't even winded, as if hunting them down had been nothing more than a leisurely game to him.

"Enough," he said coldly, his voice cutting through the chaos like a blade.

Amara stopped struggling, her breath hitching in her throat as her eyes locked on his. There was no warmth in his gaze, no trace of the affection or obsession she had seen before. Now, there was only possession.

"I told you," Cillian said, taking a step closer to her, "that you belong to me."

Amara's body trembled with fear and rage, but she couldn't tear her eyes away from him. She wanted to scream, to fight, but her voice felt trapped in her throat. Her body was paralyzed, not from the hands holding her, but from the realization that they were caught. There was no escape now.

Cillian's gaze flickered briefly to Malik, who was still on the ground, clutching his side. His lips twisted into a cold smile. "I'll deal with him later. Right now, it's time for you to come home."

Amara's chest heaved as she fought back sobs. "You... you can't do this," she whispered, her voice shaking. "I'm not your prisoner."

Cillian's eyes darkened, his jaw tightening. "You've misunderstood, Amara. You're not my prisoner. You're my possession. And I take very good care of what's mine."

Her stomach churned with revulsion, her heart pounding in her chest. She wanted to scream at him, to tell him that she would never be his, that she would rather die than live under his control. But the words wouldn't come.

Behind her, Malik groaned in pain, his voice a rasping whisper. "Amara..."

Cillian's expression shifted, his eyes narrowing. "Bring him," he ordered the men, his voice as cold as death. "But don't bother with the pleasantries. If he tries to resist, you know what to do."

One of the men moved toward Malik, grabbing him roughly by the arm and pulling him to his feet. Malik winced in pain, but he didn't fight. His eyes found Amara's, filled with a quiet determination, even through the agony.

Amara's heart ached as she looked at him. She had dragged him into this. She had made him vulnerable to Cillian's cruelty. And now, they were both trapped.

As Cillian's men began to lead them away, back toward the mansion, Amara's mind raced. She couldn't give up. She wouldn't let Cillian win. There had to be a way out of this. There had to be a way to fight back.

But for now, she had no choice but to follow.

As they walked in silence, the cold grip of fear tightening around her heart, Amara made a promise to herself.

This wasn't the end. She would find a way to break free from Cillian's grasp. For herself. For Malik.

And when she did, Cillian would regret ever thinking he could own her.