one to have broken through now…the whole world could fall if we aren’t careful. For some reason, the picture I saw in the scroll comes to mind before I push it away.
I take Khalid to my locker, hesitating outside because this is my safe space, but we don’t have much choice. After unlocking it, I let him in, and he stills when inside, looking around with a whistle. His ginger hair is bright under the LED lights. “Holy shit, amore, you weren’t kidding.” He runs his eyes across all the weapons before watching me as I strip and strap on every leather harness I have. We’re going to need as much firepower as we can get. “Right now, I’m seriously turned by on imagining you using every single thing in here on me.”
“Like a torture or red room situation?” I smirk, touching my flame thrower, and he groans and steps closer. His gaze lowers to my body for a moment before he meets mine again.
“Don’t say shit like that unless you plan to follow through,” he growls.
“City overrun with zombies,” I remind him, and he smirks.
“They aren’t going anywhere.”
Laughing, I turn and throw him a spare harness. It’s big, so it might fit him. “Here, grab whatever you want.”
He comes around the table and grabs me instead, grinning. “Do you count?”
“Incorrigible,” I murmur as he lowers his head. I grab his chin to still him, applying pressure, my animals purring at the dominance in that touch. “Show me your true face, and I’ll play with you.”
He freezes, tilting his head to the side as his black eyes lock on mine. “You wouldn’t like my true face, amore,” he whispers sadly.
“Who says I won’t?” I snap.
“Me,” he replies and steps back. “It even disgusts me.” He turns away, leaving me gaping after him. Is that the true reason he wears others’ faces? Not just to blend in and be able to hunt, but because he can’t stand his own face?
Why?
Then it hits me, the torture… How much could a god heal? Did it scar him? Does the thought of his own face remind him of when he was a child?
“Is it because you think there will be pain if you are in your own skin? Like your parents did to you?” I ask, watching as his back hunches. I feel the room drop a few degrees as he turns and glares at me.
“What did you say?” he demands dangerously, his voice vibrating with menace.
“They hurt you, tortured you to get you to wear others’ skins. Are you afraid, deep down, that if you wear your own that it will lead to pain?” I angle my head as he watches me, the wild god now present. The teasing man has disappeared, and for some reason, feeling that sudden hate and anger aimed at me nearly makes me moan. “I saw it in the library, in a book. They tortured you to get your powers out. Are you still really afraid of that, so many years later?”
“Stop,” he growls, stepping closer. “Stop talking right fucking now.”
I smile, knowing I’m getting to him. This seems important. I wasn’t even going to push, but I hate that he hides from me. That I don’t even know the face of the man I fucked. The man I risked it all for without even knowing why. Yet he could blend into the crowd and leave me, and I would never know the real him. He saw me vulnerable in my animal state, but he won’t show me his. “You saw my shift, saw me defenceless. Turnabout is fair play. You hate your face, and you clearly hate the memories it brings. Well, so do I when I turn. Show me.”
His head lowers, the stance typical of a charging animal, his nostrils flare, his lips flatten, and his eyes narrow. “Is that so? Then what are you hiding, amore?” He mutters the term of endearment angrily, and it lashes through me. “The creature I saw in your eyes, the one you fucked out of your system with me. You accuse me of running from my past, of letting it shape me, but aren’t you doing the same?”
I grind my teeth, and it’s my turn to glare. “That has nothing to do with you.”
“And neither does this,” he roars, the force almost sending me stumbling backwards, but I stand my ground, staring him down. I won’t cower like the others do, I don’t fear his anger or hatred. There’s