Nathaniel's arms were strong and steady as he carried me to the car, his jacket draped over my trembling body. The fabric was heavy, warm, and smelled faintly of him—a mix of rain, smoke, and something sharper, something undeniably dangerous. I clutched it tightly around me, my fingers numb, my thoughts spinning in a storm of guilt and confusion.
He didn't say a word as we moved, his jaw clenched, his eyes fixed straight ahead. The rain continued to pour, plastering his dark hair to his forehead, but he didn't seem to notice. His focus was absolute, every step deliberate and careful as though I might shatter if he moved too quickly.
I knew he knew.
The weight of that knowledge pressed down on me like a leaden cloak. He must have seen it in my eyes, in the way my body had trembled when he'd pulled me from the mud. And though he hadn't said anything, the tension in his body spoke volumes. Nathaniel always knew more than he let on, and tonight was no exception.
We reached the car, and he opened the passenger door with one hand, his movements precise. Gently, he lowered me into the seat, his jacket slipping from my shoulders for a moment before he adjusted it back over me, careful to cover every inch of exposed skin. His fingers brushed against my collarbone, sending a faint, unintentional shiver through me. He paused, his black eyes briefly meeting mine, something unreadable flickering in their depths.
"You're freezing," he said, his voice low and steady, though there was a rough edge to it—anger, worry, or something darker, I couldn't tell.
"I'm fine," I whispered, though my voice was barely audible. I wasn't fine. I felt raw and hollow, a twisted cocktail of emotions swirling inside me: guilt, shame, confusion... and something I didn't want to name.
Nathaniel didn't argue. He reached into the backseat, grabbing a spare blanket and draping it over me before shutting the door with a soft but definitive click. He walked around to the driver's side, his movements almost mechanical, and slid into the seat beside me. The rain hammered against the windshield, the sound filling the tense silence between us.
For a long moment, neither of us spoke. The car's heater whirred to life, sending a weak stream of warm air toward me, but it did little to thaw the cold that had settled deep in my bones. I kept my gaze fixed on the dashboard, unable to meet his eyes, unable to face the questions I knew were coming.
Finally, Nathaniel broke the silence. "Do you want to tell me what happened?" His voice was calm, measured, but there was a sharp undercurrent to it, like a blade hidden beneath silk.
I swallowed hard, my hands tightening around the edges of the jacket. "I... I don't know," I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper. "It all happened so fast."
He exhaled slowly, his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. The leather groaned under his fingers, and I saw the faintest hint of his knuckles whitening. "Fast doesn't cover it, Calliope. It fucked you didn't it?"
Nathaniel's knuckles tightened further on the steering wheel, the leather creaking as though it might snap under his grip. His jaw clenched so hard it seemed he might break his teeth, but he didn't look at me. He just stared through the rain-slicked windshield, his chest rising and falling in steady, deliberate breaths.
The tension was suffocating, the air between us crackling with something raw and unspoken. He was angry. No—furious. But it wasn't just the cold, cutting fury. It was something deeper, something possessive and primal that made the small space of the car feel too hot, too overwhelming.
His next words came low, a growl vibrating through his chest. "Tell me what it did to you."
My breath hitched, my throat tightening as I clutched his jacket around me like a shield. The rain outside blurred the world into smudges of gray, but inside the car, Nathaniel's presence was sharp, inescapable. "I..." My voice faltered, a wave of shame crashing over me. I couldn't look at him. Not when I could feel the weight of his gaze burning into me even though he hadn't turned his head.
"I need to hear you say it," he continued, the calm veneer barely holding against the rage simmering beneath. "Don't make me drag it out of you."
I swallowed hard, my fingers trembling as I tightened the jacket around me. "It... it didn't hurt me," I admitted, my voice trembling. "It didn't force me."
That was worse. So much worse. The monster hadn't needed to force me, hadn't needed to hurt me to get what it wanted. It had whispered, coaxed, and I'd followed—powerless, hypnotized by the way it made me feel.
Nathaniel let out a sharp, bitter laugh, his hand slamming against the steering wheel. "Didn't force you?" he repeated, his voice incredulous. "So, what then, Calliope? You liked it? Is that what you're telling me?"
"No!" I cried, the word tumbling out of me in desperation. But the lie caught in my throat, choking me. "I mean... Maybe."
I hated myself in that moment. Hated the truth of what I'd felt, the electric thrill that had raced through me, the way its touch had set my body on fire. It wasn't just the monster's power that had enthralled me—it was the way it made me feel alive, untouchable, desired in a way that was dark and dangerous and utterly intoxicating.
Nathaniel finally turned to look at me, his dark eyes so intense it felt like they were cutting through me. "Maybe?" he repeated, his voice low and sharp, each word dripping with restrained anger. "That thing took you, marked you, and you don't know how you feel about it?"
I flinched at his words, tears stinging my eyes. "I didn't want it," I whispered, but even to my own ears, the words sounded hollow, uncertain. "I didn't want it to... to feel like that."
"Like what?" he pressed, his voice a dangerous whisper. He leaned closer, his presence suffocating, his hand gripping the edge of the seat between us. "Like you craved it? Like you wanted to give in to it? Like you wanted to let it claim you completely?"
A sob broke free from my chest, and I shook my head, tears streaming down my cheeks. "I hated it," I said, my voice trembling. "I hated how it made me feel"
Nathaniel closed his eyes, his jaw flexing as he took a slow, deliberate breath. When he opened them again, they were softer, but the fury still simmered beneath. "That's what it does, Calliope. It doesn't take. It makes you offer yourself up. It twists you until you can't tell where your fear ends and your desire begins."
His words hit too close to the truth, and I looked away, staring at the rain-streaked window as guilt clawed at my chest. "I didn't want to want it," I whispered, more to myself than to him.
"But you did," he said, his voice unrelenting, though not unkind. "And now it thinks it owns you."
I let out a shaky breath, the weight of his words settling over me like a suffocating blanket. He was right. The monster had planted its mark deep within me, not just on my skin, but in my very soul. And the worst part was that a small, traitorous part of me didn't want to fight it. That part of me reveled in the adrenaline, the danger, the raw, unbridled power that the monster embodied.
Nathaniel's hand came to rest on mine, his touch firm but grounding. "Look at me, kitten," he said softly, the nickname sending a shiver through me. When I finally turned to face him, his eyes were still dark, still dangerous, but there was something else there too—something protective, possessive. "I don't care what it made you feel. I don't care how deep its claws are in you. It doesn't own you. It doesn't get to own you."
I stared at him, my chest tightening at the conviction in his voice. "But what if—"
"No," he cut me off sharply, his fingers tightening over mine. "There's no 'what if.' It doesn't own you, Calliope. You're mine. Do you understand?"
