Chapter 15

FIFTEEN

Phoenix

F ootsteps crunching in the gravel, followed by cursing, announced Laura's arrival at the cottage.

Her mad dash into the trees was neither unexpected nor an issue. There was nowhere for her to go, and I had the keys to the boat's engine in my pocket. After being cooped up in the cabin for days, I couldn't blame her seeking her freedom.

There was no freedom to be found on my tiny piece of paradise. The cottage was the one place in the world where I could usually ditch my mask and live as if I wasn't some scarred freak. No-one to gawk at me. No-one to whisper and point. No-one to talk to or expect a reply. The sheep didn't care for me to talk to them anyway.

Night was quickly drawing in, bitter wind sneaking in through the old wooden window frames and creeping around the main room. Dried wood filled the basket near the fire, and I piled some kindling into the grate before adding the aged logs. The strike of the match and the smokey scent of the burning sulphur was like a tonic that soothed me. Fire had destroyed so much, yet it had also brought me my fortune. What other job would someone like me get that didn't require me to wallow in other's pity every fucking day?

The door opened with a scraping sound, and there my pet stood, shivering on the porch.

Laura hesitated on the threshold, glaring at me. Clearly, her afternoon of freedom hadn't tempered her hatred much. Undeniable heat rolled between us on the boat. Her desire had hung heavy in the air and knowing she would have let me touch her had I wanted to was like a drug. The high had hit me without even having slid a hand under her top.

Grabbing a thick woollen blanket, I strode towards her. She didn't flinch when I wrapped the warm cloth around her shoulders and ushered her to the chair by the fire. Landing heavily in the chair, she stared into the quickening fire, the yellow reflected in those big, pretty eyes. Eyes that were rimmed red. Clean tracks marked her cheeks where tears had travelled through dirt.

My ember had had a tough afternoon indeed.

Cuts intersected on her feet, leaving them a bloodied mess. Anger filled me at the sight of them, leaving me wanting to go out and burn every stick and stone that had caused them.

Laura didn't move when I sidled to the kitchen and made a shake, grabbing a first aid kit and a basin of warm, soapy water. The drink sat limp in her hand, condensation pooling against her thigh as I gently pulled her feet into the basin. Kneeling before her, I gently cleaned her feet, washing away blood and grime. There was no fight left in her.

I hoped she hadn't given up. The fire in her was what roused me.

Heat from the hearth seared at my skin while my fingers slid over her broken flesh. I needed to move back and relieve the intense warmth, but I didn't. Holding her in my hands felt like home for the first time since I'd lost them all. Taking her wasn't right, but having her was everything.

After a few minutes of silence, I took her feet from the basin and set them in the centre of a warm towel. She took a sip of the shake and sighed. Sweeping antiseptic over the cleaned cuts didn't even break her from her stupor, nor did wrapping her feet in bandages.

It'll be okay.

I wanted to reassure her, but my words were caged behind my melted lips.

Pink filled her cheeks as she thawed in the cosy room. I cleaned away the basin and medical supplies before grabbing the bags of goodies and handing them to her.

Her eyebrows knitted at the set of navy blue shopping bags.

Opening them up, she peeked inside, before pulling out the items. Toiletries, perfume, underwear, socks and a few sets of clothing piled up on the arm of the seat.

She held up a box of tampons before handing them back over.

‘You can keep those for your next victim.'

I took them, arching a brow. I may not have spent a lot of time around women since hitting adulthood, but I knew damn well what periods were.

With a roll of her eyes, she pulled up her sleeve, showing me a tiny lump on her inner arm. ‘I have the implant. One sliver of a blessing about this whole mess is that you won't be able to knock me up.'

I blinked at her. I hadn't had any intention of getting her pregnant. Neither had I considered the possibility. Glancing down at her soft stomach, a bolt of need hit me. Imagining her swollen and full with my child gave me a delicious rush. She'd need me.

Laura tucked her arm back into the sleeve as I stood there, salivating over the idea of giving her a part of me she couldn't remove. Growing something together. Her and I, connected, forever.

My dick grew hard and the sensation of possession drew over me like a quilt. I could rip the implant out and fill her with my cum again and again until it seeped out of her.

Her eyes slid to the fire when she saw the expression on my face, her body closing off.

‘Thank you for the things,' she said, turning away from me.

Blood coursed through my veins, demanding I rip off the blanket and sink inside her right there on the floor. Nails dug into my palm as I fought off the urge.

Not yet.

A little longer.

Tearing myself away from her, I forced myself into the tiny kitchen. Inhaling deeply through my nostrils, I pushed the overwhelming need back down. It was getting harder and harder to avoid giving in.

S lipping my mask from my mouth, I sloshed cold tap water over my face. Why did Laura affect me so thoroughly? It was like being near her sent my veins into a bubbling fizz, my heart feeling ready to explode. Everything feeling ready to explode .

It had to be down to loneliness. Years of only being needed to clean up other people's mess, but never wanted. Not that Laura wanted me. Not yet. But she needed me. For food, shelter and to stave off the isolation.

Like it or not, she'd come back to me. Okay, perhaps it was because she'd had nowhere else to go, but she'd still limped back into my arms all on her own.

It was enough for now.

The water dripped from my chin, washing away the heat coursing through me.

What's your endgame?

The thought prickled at me. I'd never been one to live rashly. Taking Laura was the most unmeasured thing I'd done since my early teens. That and the hatchet in my Uncle's skull. That was a moment of madness built on a lifetime of pain.

Closing my eyes, I let my mind wander. Laura's cheeks pink as she laughed by the sea, holding my hand and pulling me close to her. The laughter of children behind us as gentle waves tickled at their feet. Sweet words whispered in my ear and eyes that filled with joy rather than pain when they met mine.

Days spent in laughter and nights spent in a chorus of desperate moans as she pleads with the gods while I toil between her thighs.

The visceral images in my mind made my stomach knot. I'd belong. I'd have a family again. Her heart would be my home.

I groaned, abandoning the idea. It would take everything just to get her to tolerate me. The utopia in my mind was nothing but a piece of fiction. Pulling my mask back into place, I left the kitchen.

The fire crackled in the grate, but Laura was no longer where I left her. Her glass sat half-empty on the mantelpiece, but the woollen blanket was gone.

Had she taken the blanket and left? Did she seek shelter on the boat? I tapped my pocket, the engine keys still safely jingling back at me.

A litany of creaks sounded beneath my feet on the ancient staircase. Soft light filtered under the bedroom door, casting its glow over the worn wooden floorboards in the tiny hallway.

Pushing the door open, I saw Laura sat on the edge of the bed cradling a book in her hands. Not just a book, but one of my diaries. Instantly a fiery rage filled my chest. The therapist I'd briefly seen after the accident had suggested I write my feelings down as an outlet since I'd lost my voice. I'd never stopped. Not until the night of my Uncle's death. That was the one thing I hadn't been able to commit to paper.

Laura startled when I walked into the room, slamming the diary closed and shoving it away from her.

‘I'm sorry. I shouldn't ha?—'

I held up a hand and took a slow breath. She shifted back as I approached the bed, her eyes nothing like the joy filled ones from my imaginings. Maybe her understanding wouldn't be a terrible thing. One person in the world who knew my story would mean I wasn't the apparition I often felt like. When she eventually left me, as everyone did, she'd always know who I was. Who I had been.

Picking up the diary, I slid it back onto the shelf while she stuttered apologies. The oldest, tattiest diary was on the far left, and I slid it out, running my fingers over the dogged cover. Its pages were filled with desperate emotion, stained with tears and blood. Vivid flashbacks of that desperate boy attacked me like wild animals, scratching open wounds I'd long since buried.

Beads of nervous sweat gathered at the back of my neck as I faced Laura.

Her brow crinkled when she spied the tattered book in my hands. I pressed it into her hands before reaching down and tipping her face upwards.

THE BEGINNING, I spelled out on her cheek, her soft skin soothing the anxiety of seeing the book between her fingers.

‘You want me to read them?' The way she licked her lips and looked up at me through her thick lashes had me captivated. I nodded.

‘And you're not mad at me?'

I shook my head before walking around to the other side of the bed and removing my boots. Her fingers whitened against the diary as she watched me. Laying back against the pillow, I reached for her, pulling her back against my chest.

Laura's body stiffened at the touch, but she remained there.

ONLY READ THEM IN MY ARMS

Her fingers grazed over a bent corner of the cover, the paper rasping beneath her touch. After a few seconds, she nodded, her head bobbing against my chest .

‘Okay,' she whispered. ‘But only if we have a truce in here. You don't force yourself on me, and I won't push you away while I read. Somewhere where we can just be?'

Already, the warmth of her soft, curved body against mine was divine torture, could I promise that knowing how badly I wanted her?

Then she wriggled against me, making herself more comfortable, her cheek resting sweetly on my chest and the diary balanced against my stomach. The idea of being able to appreciate her, to smell her, watch her, to just indulge in her softness, it was heavenly. For a little while each day I could pretend we were living my day dream. Someone touching me without disgust or fear? And that someone being the angelic faced Laura? Yes. I could do that.

Sliding her hair over one shoulder, I ran my finger over the delicate skin below her ear.

YES

My pulse picked up as she opened the diary and my teenaged scrawl stared back at me.