Trigger warning: Smut in this chapter, sex, some minor self-harm, consensual choking.
Title: Hold me, thrill me, kiss me, kill me
Pearly tendrils of light shine through the creases of his lids, waking him from a dreamless sleep. A mixture of iron and dream-like mellowness tugs at his nose, like death and fresh roses. It's so close he can nearly taste it on his parched tongue. Swallowing the scorching dryness in his throat, the fallen man attempts to move but a leaden warmth defies him, hugging softly onto his upper torso and embracing him in the foreign fog of solace.
A delicate heartbeat murmurs against his, so frail it virtually feels as if it melted into his own ribs.
As if she dissolved into him.
Cold sweat layers his forehead. Snapping frantically he shoves the girl off of him, curling against the headboard with a crazed neurotic look on his face as if he was touched by a blaze of blistering fire.
"What the fuck do you want!?" August yells, his voice hoarse and cracked. His glare shoots through her across the small bedroom, his mind rapidly trying to grasp any recollection of the messy chamber. This location is strange to him; the walls feel like they're closing in, withdrawing the air from his lungs in a place that seems like a warzone. The light-carpeted floor is soiled by a long path of the darkest red, the trail leading back to them.
The porcelain valkyrie is pushed to the edge of the bed, seemingly like a rare mythological creature. Her long hair drapes her face like a dark veil, pierced by two shiny diamonds that glimpse through, imbued with naivety. Still drowsy, she tries to collect her own senses, rubbing her heavy forehead and releasing a soft groan.
"Relax, stop shouting." she pleads with lids half shut. Her slender arms spread in the air, suggesting a peace treaty.
August scowls, his airflow becoming short and quickened. He lets a hand rave over his chest with panic, finding it bare and sticky with dry blood and sweat. A clean bandage is wrapped around his left pectoral and crossed tightly around one shoulder. While the aching sting still bites into the wounded muscle, his energy has slightly renewed, as well as his sanity.
Or so he believes.
Making another hasty survey of the room, he finds his belt and armed holster scattered on the floor. He makes a dash for it, immediately aiming the gun in Ingvild's direction, refusing to fall to whatever game this may be.
She stares at him motionless, remaining seated with her knees folded and her feet nestled below her behind. "Feels nice doesn't it?" she provokes, her lips breaking into a faint grin as if the muscles of her face are still learning the concept of smiling. "To wake up with your tits out."
Looking back at her unamused, his hand waves the gun. A glower shadows his face, painting deep lines in his forehead. The attempt to greet her with an onslaught of insults results in nothing but a painful wheeze as his throat sears.
"Don't move," Ingvild commands lightly and climbs off the bed, completely ignoring the click of the gun and August's arm that follows her every movement. Her legs nearly float through as she moves gracefully, rushing to the bathroom nearby. She grabs a glass and fills it from the tap before quickly returning to sit on the bed, offering the tall glass to August.
Wary of her peace offering, he hesitates, scanning her for any signs of wickedness and finding none. Something else glints through her big irises instead. The deep lines that dot those beautiful greys seem so brittle, immersed in emotion he can't define or recognize at all.
It makes him feel attacked.
Snatching the glass violently, he swallows its content in one gulp, feeling a thirst he never sensed in his entire existence. He places the glass on the nightstand, slamming it so harshly it shatters.
Ingvild peers at the light sparkling onto the broken shards and averts her eyes back to August's profoundly ragged face. He glares with blazes of fury, evidently less than inclined to trust her despite her efforts to make amends, and the fact that she nursed him through a stormy night.
It pricks her heart, more than it ever did when she tried to gain Liam's affection.
"I could have killed you at least three times in your sleep," she murmurs and then pauses, attempting to smirk again. "You should really lay off the snacks, I nearly fainted trying to get you to the bed."
Unphased, he carefully gauges her appearance. Soft, pale light shines through the window, showering her skin with a mellow haze as she sits holding a hand over her forearm, squeezing it nervously. Her glance is filled with rain clouds, the cynicism and the hatred he grew so accustomed to is untraceable.
A piece inside her shifted, deeming her fragile all of the sudden. In his heart of tar and stone, he knows she speaks the truth, yet the spirit of vengeance won't let go. Bile rises in his throat, fingers twitching as the constant hunger to touch her prickles his skin. The woman is a natural prey to him, making his mouth salivate. It's enough to see her defenceless to make him want to gnaw fresh cavities in her flesh.
But something else boils in his veins. More than just a primal need.
"Why can't you just let me be?" he asks sharply, teeth gritted and jaw strained tightly. A slight tremor runs through his bones, his body dominated by anger and despair.
"You came here," she answers, staring fearlessly between the barrel and his furious gaze. A small frown form between her eyebrows, the grey clouds inside her lustrous eyes beginning to take wind. "You wanted to retaliate."
Fragments of the other night begin to slice into the black matter of his brain: her tears, her lips moving slowly, whispering his own words of a vendetta in her angelic voice.
Like a dream, nebulous and virginal, how beautiful she was surrendering her will to his.
'Fight it! She betrayed you.'
"Oh trust me, princess, I still very much want to see you die." he retorts, the gun beginning to feel heavy in his hand. He reaches to hold his own wrist, giving a fierce glare. "You should have ended it, darling."
"Yes, I should've killed you," she agrees, her lower lip slightly quivering as she looks at him with desperation. Her chest begins to heave through the cleavage of her top, the same tarnished one she wore that night. It still smells like his sweat. His musk is so stubborn it lingers.
"I should be a good girl, for Liam, for Icarus. But I have so many thoughts going through my head over and over again, splitting my mind in half. I don't want to do this anymore, I don't want to kill for them, I don't want to kill you. It hurts."
Shuffling in a swift movement, she crawls toward him, her muscles flexing inward. Her slick manoeuvres remind him of a majestic feline. August's pupils dilate as the lines of her face sharpen in his sight and the warmth of her body returns to caress him like a pleasant autumn breeze.
Ingvild reaches her slender arm for his wrist fearlessly before he can even muster any protest. Ignoring the gun aimed at her throat, she forces his palm flat onto her chest and inhales sharply. Her heart thunders against his touch, making his own beat accelerate.
"Right here," she says, gazing deeply into his eyes as if trying to enchant him. "I have killed close to 470 people since I was 14. I don't remember their faces, but I do know I never felt this before, not for any of them."
The azure ocean in August's eyes gushes with alarming gusts. The scarce physical contact ignited a spark inside him, driving him to withdraw his hand aggressively, putting down the flame before it begins to spread again.
"What do you want? What do you think this is?" he asks furiously, boring a frenzied look into her eyes. He feels a certain heat rising in his chest. He reasons with himself that it's just the gunshot wound festering, burning his lungs to cinders.
"I want you," she answers, her gaze dropping to his lips, admiring the fine shape. A sharp cupid's bow hidden beneath the coarse hair of his thick moustache. Her hands dream of stroking his sculptured jaw and feel the bristle of his untamed stubble.
"I want to follow you on your mission."
'She is lying. Don't trust her, remember what happened the last time you've placed your faith in a woman?'
August's nostrils flare, his mind scouring frantically, bargaining for a reason why she would be different. Twice he spared her, his murderous will weakened by her manipulative spells, clawed by whatever it was she had on him. The voice in his head warns him gravely, yet the fact that here he is, still alive by her merciful hand spikes his doubts, meddling with his thoughts the way only she could do.
Ever since she stepped into his life he's been spiralling into a cataclysm. Something that he always gripped with zeal was no longer in his control.
Leaning closer, he narrows his eyes with spite. The muscle of his jaw contracts, clenching tightly. He grazes the cold barrel of the gun against the supple skin of her cheek. "Why should I trust you?" he spits out, tracing her face further with the hard, crude metal. "You think that because I broke you in, I actually care about you?"
Ingvild studies his face, not showing any sign of fear as she nods to herself. "You need proof."
The young woman looks around her, searching for something in the room thoughtfully. Her eyes rest on the nightstand beside August and she leans to it, brushing her entire figure against his broad body for a split second as she reaches for the broken glass.
"What do you think you're doing, princess?" he asks cautiously, his eyes following her every move. He crooks his eyebrow as she sits in front of him with her legs bunched beneath her bottom. Displaying her left arm with her elbow resting on one knee and her palm facing upward, she presses the shard against her wrist.
August frowns in a mixture of confusion and agitation, alarm bells ringing at the back of his head. Yet no rational thought makes it to his mind as he watches the glass tear through her skin.
Silence befalls the room. Abruptly so quiet he can hear the buzz of the electric cords running through the walls. Even her breath pauses as her right hand drops the shard on the bed, her eyes remaining poised, darting onto his. Overcome with disbelief he wonders if she actually did it, scrutinizing her flesh which seems intact.
Suddenly, a spout of blood emerges through her open wrist.
Dark red liquor licks down her arm, sensually dripping onto her worn jeans and pooling onto the blanket. August's heart stirs with shock, yet he attempts to force his emotions away.
"What the hell do you think you are doing?!"
Keeping her sight on his, Ingvild remains still, not flinching a muscle as the blood pumps out of her severed artery. The pain is excruciating yet the chants in her mind continue to tell her to hold her groans inside.
'Show no weakness, prove your strength.'
"You want loyalty."
"Won't mean a thing if you're dead," he answers coldly, waiting for her to stop the blood, to show any fear or regret. The thick liquid continues to flow down her arm, tarnishing her porcelain skin that begins to turn paler as the blood drains from her body. He gathers the torture must be unbearable yet she won't even make a whimper.
'What is she waiting for?'
"I'm not going to save you," August warns.
Ingvild shrugs lightly, trying not to move her arm too much. "It doesn't matter. I'll die one way or another, by your hand or Icarus'. At least this gives me a choice."
The drops staining the bed sound like rain tapping against a window ledge, heavy and dull.
August's brows knit together, his eyes running back and forth between her arm and her face, watching her lips turning light blue, triggering disturbing memories in his mind. "What on earth does that mean?" Heavy frown lines paint his forehead as he recalls her words before she shot him.
"I have to kill you."
"You're a slave?" he reckons, looking at the colour vanishing from her face as she nods. "How very disappointing, Ingvild."
"A tool, controlled by men whom I've never seen to manipulate the world and sustain the old order, as you wrote in your manifesto." she shuts her eyes for a mere second, trying to push back the throbbing twinge in her vein as her body screams with panic.
"They stole my freedom..." she pauses, finding it suddenly hard to speak. "They stole me... what did they take from you?"
"It's none of your business," he snaps, aware of how her voice slows down along with her breath. He swears he can hear her heartbeat getting louder as if begging to be rescued.
"But I am bleeding for you." she provokes, offering a small weak chuckle. Feeling the euphoria creeping to her mind. "You should tell me your plans like villains do in the movies. I'm dying anyway."
August snarls. Shaking his head, his eyes hold a rageful ocean, washed with concern. The image of her dying corpse lying beneath him flashes into his memory. A dead angel in the snow, lips frozen in time. He should have left her there in the frozen lake. But for a split second, she was Lacey and then she wasn't.
As she slowly dives into her own death, he still wonders why he couldn't let her drown.
'For fuck's sake.'
Ingvild closes her eyes accepting the shadows that seduce her to join them, the pain dwindling as her body gives in. But she's quickly pulled back by August who holds her hand, covering the bleeding slit with his tattered shirt and pressing into it. His voice comes as distant thunder, vibrating gently in her ears before words begin to make sense again.
"Hold it up, like this," he commands her, folding her arm and fisting her wrist tightly. "Where are the bandages?"
Ingvild tilts her chin, her sleepy eyes gesturing onto her bag on the floor where a pristine white pack of badges lies.
"Keep the pressure on," he orders her again. His voice is calm as if once again he follows protocols. Yet something stirred, hiding within the silent sea of his eyes which snap at her for a split second.
They're tainted by fear.
Ingvild watches with hushed admiration as he hurries to grab the bandage and returns to her. A small wrinkle rests between his brow, focusing intently on wrapping her open wound. He makes such beautiful, neat work dressing her injury, she almost feels sorry for making a mess out of his.
"Have I proved myself?" she taunts, peeking at him through her lashes while he makes work of tying the dressing tightly at her wrist. His elegant hands wrap a piece of medical duct tape around the bandages, twirling the long thick bands ceremonially as if they were silk ribbons.
His stern gaze rests upon her face, noting every flake of her long lashes, watching the different colours shift like thick liquid as daylight breaks onto her glassy irises. Awe plays with the strings in his chest, mesmerized by the innocence in her that refuses to die even after he desecrated her.
The craving in him seethes. Like a thirsty man in the desert who stumbles onto an oasis.
'You can't let her go, can't let her slip between your fingers.'
With her wrist still in his grasp, he allows himself to stroke a thumb over the white cotton of the bandage, brushing the suppleness of her skin.
"This is not the devotion I need from you, princess."
Ingvild flinches like a scared animal, shivering at the foreign tenderness of his touch. No one ever touched her with kindness. Soft, feather-like caresses embark further up her milky skin, making her moan at the pleasant new sensation. Light and careful, his fingers ascend to her neck and press around her chin.
"Angel," August murmurs, low and sonorous. His bulky body looms closer, whilst the grip around her jaw becomes tense, drawing her closer until his lips are a mere inch away from hers. "Do you want to be devoted to me?"
"Yes," she answers, voice still lingering either by blood loss or the passion that begins to cloud her mind.
Consoled by her answer, a small growl builds in the pit of August's diaphragm, accompanied by a lustful grin that edges his chiselled face.
"Then show me your devotion."
"No..." she protests lightly, finally breaking into a true little smile that glints brightly in her eyes. The radiance almost makes him want to take it from her by force. "I'm not a toy."
August smirk widens at her response, exposing his sharp fangs that beam at the faint hint of rosy hues that circles her cheeks.
"Did I stutter?" Authority paints his voice, his grip putting pressure on her nape and pressing her chin up with the pad of his thumb. The patience in him wears thin, greed weaving in his gut yet he vows to hold back as much as possible, unwilling to tear down her wings.
She must submit freely.
Fallen by his power, she watches the darkness pour into his eyes, his lips pulling apart slightly, anticipating the moment when he can steal the air from her lungs and nibble into the plumpness of her lips. Whatever strength in her wanes, bending to his will. She meekly takes his lips into hers, suckling him above and below, feeling the rough graze of his moustache.
It's nothing like the violent kiss they shared in the pit, yet something in her quickly awakens: a hunger like no other, turning the kiss more demanding. Like fire spreading, their tongues quickly engulf each other, dancing feverishly. August's growl vibrates all the way down her sternum, his hands roaming down to grope every patch of skin.
A mewl of protest breaks from her as he leaves her lips, followed by a deep sigh as he begins to kiss down her throat. The scruff of his coarse facial hair makes her blood rush and her heart pumps with exhilaration, nearly halting from the bliss of his touch.
"I want everything." August blurts out, tugging her shirt over her head and then biting her breasts over her bra. The canvas of her skin is tainted by deep grey and purple shades. Flicking the clasp of her bra, he wonders briefly which were from their fight and which formed as he fucked her so aggressively. He feels nothing but pride in knowing he will make new ones right now. Brand her as he claims her his own.
Sharp teeth sink into her tender breasts, coaxing yips of pain, marking her with wet little cavities while his fingers fiddle with her jeans, urgently huddling it down her legs along with her underwear. Impassioned, she shifts from her position, kicking away the last remnants of her clothes. The chill air tickles her wet flesh, making her exhale with ghastly need. More wolf than a man, August leans back, his torso layered with sweat that glistens of the dark fur of his torso. The fabric of his trousers is stretched painfully over the massive bulge and mindlessly she reaches out to feel him, kneading the outlines of his erection through his pants.
'Fuck, her touch...'
Fervent groans tremor through his sinew as she squeezes him harder. She frees him from his trousers, running a hand up and down his shaft, astounded by his vastness and the correlation of smooth velvet skin over rock-hard muscle.
Still sore, the pounding heat of need rocks at the centre of her cunt, possessing her into swaying her perky breasts against his cock. Pearly beads of precum exude from the tip, coating the erected peaks of her nipples.
"Fuck!" August pants and swallows hard, as the battle over his self-control drains him. Patience has always been his virtue in bed, his power over women. Release in control by sodomy that inflicted true pleasure.
But not with her. She strings different tunes, singing seductive hymns to the animal in him.
He wants her. He needs her. He must have all of her.
'I deserve her.'
Drawing back against the headboard, his hands snap at her hip, lifting her with ease to stand on her knees right above his cock. Ingvild nibbles at her bottom lip, her eyes falling onto his hardened shaft which lies heavily against his abs.
If not for all the injuries she caused him, the large man's Adonis-like form would have looked like a renaissance statue cut out of marble.
"Come here," he commands, removing one hand from her to seize the base of his huge cock which towers with glory amidst the dark bundles of curls. "Take me in"
A stream of arousal rushes inside her, making her quiver as she lowers her soaked crease onto his erection ever so gingerly. Cries of overwhelm break from her lips. His girth splits her apart, whilst his wolf-like glares bore into hers with the triumph of conquest.
Every push stretches her wider, forcing her body to succumb and accept him despite the painful effort. August is too big, his vastness tears whatever innocence is left to her, and he is not even fully within.
Shivering, she halts, hearing August's snarl of protest when realizing she has her nails cleaving crescent-marks on his pumped shoulders.
"All the way in, angel," he commands, and then bucks his hips into her and snaps her down onto his pulsating shaft, giving no notice to the scream she lets out as he sears her.
He drives himself in until her ass slams onto his thick thighs. She can feel his hot flinching cock buried within the dark pit of her gut while his sack strains against her clenched cavern.
"Good girl." August praises, pressing her against his chest as they both pant and groan in harmony. Calls of pleasure and cries of pain mingle into a sinful symphony.
But suddenly he stills, and his hand snaps at her neck. Thumb pressing at her artery, he makes a small thrust, causing her to whine as little sparks kindle in her cunt.
"August, please." she whimpers, trying to ride him to ease the aching despair that boils in her cunt. He fills her to the hilt yet gives no friction but the thundering throb of his thick veins.
"Devotion," he replies, his free arm fishing for the leather belt perched on the floor. With one determined wring of his wrist, he wraps it around her neck, giving her a nice little collar with a leash made of the thick strap.
His finger brushes up and down the leather erotically, staring at the girl's hazy grey orbs to see if he can find a drop of protest.
Instead, she presses her hands on his furry torso and desperately begins to mount him with teetering gasps. The noose tightens with the sway of her body yet the tension and the grind within is far too agonizing to stay still; the need to have him sunken in the depth of her soul defies any will to breathe.
August gapes his mouth with awe, groaning loudly as he feels her drenched cunt gripping around. She's impossibly tight, his fresh little flower, crying out so hopelessly as if it hurts as if being fucked by his large cock is so pleasurably unbearable yet her life depends on it.
"Poor little tight cunt," he taunts, urging her to fall faster back on his thighs while bucking his hips into her with deep slams. "you missed this?" he asks with a groan, tying the strap around his fist and pulling her closer to meet his hooded gaze, "You missed me fucking you, angel?"
Unable to make more than strangled sobs, she nods with glassy eyes, feeling the squeeze around her arteries while her cunt convulses and blazes with ecstasy. Flames bloom in the pit of her womb, every assault of his cock inside her pushes the heat further through her nerves. Desperate, she is reduced to nothing but her pursuit of forgotten euphoria.
The fervent flames lick up her spine, darkness whispering in her mind. Yet she leans back, letting the noose devoid the oxygen to her heart and brain as her body falls lost into a delirium.
August feels her pussy tensing around his cock as the belt halts her airflow; through the heated waves of pleasure, an alarm blares. "Careful," he rasps, reaching his fist to her throat to replace the belt and pulling her until her chest grinds into his own. "Don't damage what's mine!"
Her reply is a cracked wheeze, her body jolting as he fucks her into a punishing rhythm. Hot and burning, stoking inside her, balls thudding and battering her hole, the chant of their wet skin colliding in a violent dance accompanies the chaotic symphony of their moans. His angel latches onto him, wrapping tighter and tighter as her body accepts his offering of rage, sucking and milking him dry.
August pulls her face against his, fingers flexing around her jugular, lips grazing her own and then hovering to rob her of her feeble exhales.
"You want to breathe?" he snarls.
Ingvild nods, feeling the storm of fire about to erupt inside her. Her canal gripping him so tightly she can feel every tendon and ridge of him grazing her walls. Tears well in her raincloud eyes, her heart shrinking as she feels him, all of him, consuming her with his existence.
"Then come for me, angel."
With his words, she arches back, letting the fire implode in her loins and sweep her into a rapture so intense her entire body shakes around him. All she can feel is August, filing her soul, seeping in deeper than her thoughts.
Tears spring down her cheeks, emotions and pleasure whirl at her heart at once.
"August!"
Hearing his name on her lips spikes the savage spirits within. Reduced to a beast, he takes hold of her hips, flipping her over and riding between her thighs. His hands pin her down by the neck and he ravages her through her climax. He can feel the flinch of his cock, swelling larger inside her narrow space. The innocence of her essence devours him. All the hate and pain diminishes and for a brief moment, he is allowed into heaven, feeling nothing but bliss in his chest. His shouts of pleasure echo into the room, his body jerking into her as the hot, white ribbons of his thick seed sprout into her womb.
Falling down to earth is always the hardest part.
Taking a hard swallow, he leans his sweaty forehead against hers, rolling it slowly and listening to the silent hisses from her mouth. Still basking in the afterglow of his orgasm, he pulls himself to his elbows fighting the spasm in his muscles and their will to collapse. His brow suddenly crumples at her sight: her eyes shine with a wide spectrum of emotions that glisten sadly down her temples. Shivering sobs escape from quivering lips, trying to find words that never make it to her tongue.
August observes her carefully, removing his grip from her neck gingerly and reaching out a thumb to dry her tears. The crystals in her eyes were broken into dozens of many pieces that reflected the light back in various shades. A look of a lost child carries an oddly familiar sensation, something that makes him cold and warm, as if Ingvild is inside his blood and he is inside hers.
They had killed each other after all and then brought one another's hearts to beat again. In his twisted mind, it made for a more profound intimacy than sex.
"Easy, babygirl." he speaks unusually compassionate, dipping a finger in the wetness beneath her eyes and then slips it into his mouth, tasting the salt onto his tongue. "That was intense for you, wasn't it?"
She nods silently, the emotional release tingling through her aortae, making her skin prickle with goosebumps. She never felt like this: whole, vulnerable, and belonging. She never felt anything at all, all her life. Her body tries to control the jitters in her muscles yet her body seems suddenly inexplicably cold.
"Sh... it's okay," August whispers, capturing her lips into a chaste comforting kiss. "I've got you." he murmurs and allows his lips to trail lower, pressing soft butterfly kisses over every patch of skin and bone, descending through the plains of her naked flesh, tasting the mixture of their sweat. His fingers find the large crescent scar in her lower abdomen, tracing the withering stitches in a sick memory of their first night together.
He feels no remorse. Had he changed his action, she wouldn't have been his right now.
Ingvild finally manages to release a sound, moaning with exhaustion as she eases into his care, her lungs and heart catching up when her body begins to float. With whatever strength left in him, August holds her the way a groom holds his bride, and carries her in his firm arms.
~*~
The bath is filled hot near to the brim. Mountains of foam edge onto the water, looking like fluffy little clouds. This bathroom is not as nearly as luxurious as the one he had in Bergen. It's painfully plain, like something out of an 80's film, yet right now it looks like the most outrageous, spoiling delight.
Sitting on the stone, his hand whirls the water, testing the heat before stepping in.
"Come here," he beckons, reaching toward Ingvild to join him as he sits down, releasing a deep sigh of relief as the hot water soothes the pain. The bath is hardly big enough for a man of his size, his knees buck up, peeking above the water.
Ingvild takes his hand, stepping to sit at the spot between his thighs, making sure not to wet the bandages on her wrists. August's arms guide her to melt back against his broad chest carefully, avoiding friction with the gunshot wound that begins to ache more and more as the last of the endorphins dwindle. He breaks into a small groan and lands his chin atop her head while glaring into the water with rising concern.
"They will come for us." Ingvild finally manages to find words, her voice still husky as her jugular strains. "Once they know you're not dead, they'll hunt us. We need to move, fast."
August weighs her words. He muses over the sacrifice she made, and for whom? The man who stabbed her and nearly left her to float in a frozen lake? 'She chose, you didn't force her.'
Indeed, it was her free will that brought her to him.
"We should," he answers, rinsing some water onto her torso and rubbing her forearms clean. "Just relax now, you won't do me good all broken."
"You care about me," she teases, a small smile creeping on her lips.
"We will make for my safe house from here, and then we can take the train to Manchester," he answers, ignoring her comment.
Ingvild catches some foam in her palm, squeezing the dissolving material between her fingers lightly and then blows it with the weak airflow that comes from her lungs. Little specks of bubbles fly into the bath. August watches them with her silently.
"For the plutonium," she utters.
"Yes."
Tilting his head slightly, he looks down to see if there is any disgust or fear shadowing her face, yet finds none. The girl continues forming little abstract shapes in the dwindling white hills, twirling her fingernails on the tiny bubbles. The edge of her spine peeks between the thick strands of her hair, while hues of purple, nearly black, hug her nape. The girl is forbearing, enduring as she was taught; he wonders if it's to please him, or if it pleases her as well.
Cupping water in his hands, he begins to wash her skin, pouring onto the back of her neck and her shoulders. He brushes his fingers through the brown waves of her hair while she leans her head back and closes her eyes.
It's as if years of tension peel off from her, uncovering truths she fought to hide. August was right, and so was Liam; no one ever loved her. But now in the arms of a monster, she suddenly senses what she imagines would be care and affection. His touch is no longer clinical and it feels as if vines are growing onto her limbs, twirling around her and pulling her to become one with him.
In her mind, she can't help but start picking into the not-so-distant past, recalling being his hostage and the conversations they had when they still hated one another. The anguish that resonates in his eyes didn't speak of hatred individually toward the world, the specks of brown held a fair amount toward himself as well.
"What did Sloane do?" she asks curiously. "In Bergen, you mentioned she did something to you."
She feels August's sudden halt, his long digits entangled in her hair, pulling slightly while his chest sinks inward. His inhale takes into a heavy suction and his nostrils flare. He didn't think of Lacey since he woke in Ingvild's arms.
"She tricked me." his eyes focus on nothing and his fingers resume their course through Ingvild's wet strands. He becomes slightly agitated, unlacing the small knots that formed at the edge with force. "She suspected me and never liked me- for a reason, of course. She knew someone was distributing secrets and weapons beneath her nose, so she sent a spy. In my case, it was my partner."
"A woman," Ingvild continues, the realization hitting her softly. "Lacey."
Her name on Ingvild's tongue sends a shiver creeping from the base of his spine.
"Yes," he answers dryly and clenches his jaw. "We were partners for months. She got close. She... was loyal, she understood me or so I thought, but then I found out, she wasn't."
Ingvild hears the shift in his tone again, in their reflection on the water she sees him staring forward with grim shades painting his eyes. The corners of his lips tugged down as he broods.
"It sounds like you loved her."
August remains silent, giving no answer. It resonates in her right away - betrayal burnt hotter than the wound itself. In their carnal twist, August burned her, but it wasn't her carnal devotion he sought for.
"Where is she now?"
"Dead," he answers, releasing a deep sigh of silent rage, not even bothering to shy from the truth this time. Ingvild was bred into a world of monsters; she breathed them, she killed them and he was just another beast for her to slay. Yet she chose to stroke her hand on his snout regardless of what she knew.
"I killed her."
In his mind Lacey walks away, her blue heels tapping on the floor, echoing before she gives him one last glance. She turns away, her golden curls dulled by the lack of light as she vanishes into a mist of smoke and shadow.
Ingvild feels a slight relief at the thought of Lacey being dead, for some reason she can't explain to herself. August returns his gaze to her again, removing his hands from her hair. His hand wraps around her jaw, pressing her head to look into his piercing glare. He looks for fear but finds none.
"Try to rest," he commands and then wraps his arms around her possessively. "Long days are ahead."
"Will you read me your manifesto?"
August looks down on her face once more, wondering for a moment if this is another hallucination. A terrible thought crosses his mind and his heart flinches; what if in these moments he's actually bleeding to his death in the pit, his mind playing tricks as he breathes his last breath?
But the softness and warmth of her body feel more vivid than ever. Stronger than the doubt that creeps into his mind.
"There has never been peace without first a great suffering. The greater the suffering, the greater the peace. As mankind is drawn to his self-destruction like a moth to the candle..." he chants, accompanied by Ingvild who also recites his words in her gentle voice.