CHAPTER 4

Astrid has lost count of how many times she has been pacing up and down. Dorian has been gone for quite long, and she doesn't know if he is safe or not. She has never worried about someone other than her cat before. This is the first time something like this is happening to her. Is he safe? Is he hurt?. These questions kept ringing on her head. She can't even go look for him because she has no idea about his whereabouts. This is driving her insane. No one has driven her insane before. Astrid is a sorcerer and has never had to worry about a person before. A realm? No, she quickly shakes that thought away. She can't go that far. Can she? No, again, she disagrees with herself. She sits down, sighing hands on her face. She feels the energy build up from her body. Surprised by this, she rushes to her room but froze when she hears the sound of a bike outside. He is back, and Dorian is back. She quickly runs to the door, opening it wide. Her eyes widened at the sight of Dorian covered in blood from his face to his clothes. He dropped the gun and sighed in relief. She is taken by surprise when he pulls her to his bloody chest, hugging her.

"Finally." He whispered. Astrid is still shocked by this action but lets out a tiny scream when his body drops down on the floor.

"Dorian, wake up. What happened to you?." She slaps him on his face. "Dorian Reed, wake up!." She screamed loudly. She huffs, moving back from his blood. She takes the gun, closing the door, locking everything. She calmly walks to her room and takes a small container that has blue powder walking downstairs. Dorian is still in the same position on the floor. She blows the powder on his face, and he jolts up, shocked eyes widened in something that could only be described as alarm. Heat exploded in her body.

Rarely did Astrid blush so deeply as to feel true warmth, but this humiliation was acute indeed—for she’d nearly forgotten what she looked like.

"What happened to you, Dorian? Why do you have blood all over yourself?." Her voice was shaking. He blinked and touched his face as if he wanted to see what she was asking him. He stood up, staring at his bloody hands.

"Ahh Gomez, you've done it again. No— please don't, " He said sharp. She froze. She'd never longed for her parents more than she did in that very moment, wishing for guidance, for someone to tell her that she was strong enough, that she was worthy. That she should rise, now, more than ever. That she would not fail if she did.

She forgot her own tired body and shot upright in fear, her head swimming only a little as she stumbled, steadying herself as she rushed

toward him.

"What's happening?" she said, stricken. "Why are you hurting? Let me—" She touched him, and he jerked away, forcing out a single word:

"Don't." He said.

"But—" This shocked her. Dorian's head shot back in a sudden, violent motion, his eyes going wide as he paled, his skin taking on an ashen, sickly color. His body trembled, his chest heaving as he breathed faster and faster, his face all the while frozen in a single, horrified expression. She knew then that he was seeing something.

That he was hearing something.

"No," he shouted. "No—" He broke then, broke with an agonized sound as he collapsed forward,

his shoulders shaking as he gasped for breath.

"I can't," he said desperately. "I can't, I'm sorry— Please—" Astrid bore witness to the torture in his eyes. She heard the low, keening sound he made as a single tear, then another, tracked slowly down his cheek. She thought her heart might fail. She stood there and watched, horrified, while he begged blindly for mercy as he flinched over and over like he'd been struck. Soon, a thin line of blood began dripping slowly from the crown of his head, then his nose. Dorian wept. He pleaded even as he suffered, blood dripping into his open mouth as

he spoke. "Not the other one," he gasped. "Please, I'm begging you, don't take the other one—" Dorian would've died before exposing himself like this. Astrid knew this, knew he would've willingly thrown himself off a cliff before betraying such emotion before her, and yet here he was, laid bare at her feet entirely

against his will. This was an evil doing. She bleed for him. She has never witnessed something like this before, but she knows it had to do with something powerful. An evil deed is what is happening here. She released a shaky breath.

She could've prevented this. If only she'd been more guarded, if only she hadn't cared. If only Dorian hadn't turned out to be so very, very human. Slowly, Astrid fell to her knees. She took Dorian's limp hand in hers, and, like a fool, she cried for him. She has never cried for someone other than her mother's death, but now she is crying for Dorian. She is sharing his pain. She would take the pain away, but she can't do that because the devil is working now she needs to do that when the devil is not tormenting this man. For what had seemed an eternity, she’d watched him suffer. Bruises had bloomed and diminished all along his face, and she had to

assume, his body, where the bluish stains occasionally spread just beyond his collar or cuffs; but the lesions never lasted longer than a minute. His ribs never seemed to break, though he'd clutched them many times in agony. His skin revealed no lacerations, though he’d bled for hours.

When Dorian had finally stopped seizing, the moon stood high and bright in the sky, and Astrid had held on to this miracle of light like a

lifeline, terrified she'd succumb to her own fears before he even awoke. Distraught, Astrid had drawn Dorian's heavy head into her lap, assessing up close the evidence of his suffering. His face was nearly unrecognizable in such a grisly state, but his clothes and coat, at least, had absorbed most of the evening's bloodshed. The moon occasionally threw into stark relief the

damp stains glimmering across his shirt, provoking in her each time a new wave of heartache. She'd mopped the remaining blood from his face with the skirt of her white dress, and used the wet of her own silent, unceasing tears to gently scrub the lingering stickiness from his eyes, his skin. Then, when none of this seemed to rouse him, she'd stroked his hair in

careful, tender motions. Even then, she marveled at the thick silk of his copper locks, the way they gleamed in the moonlight. She'd begged him to wake. He did not stir. She tried again, whispering to his ear to wake up, but nothing happened. Astrid watched his face that was on her lap. Her heart was beating fast seeing these amazing features of this man who hides a deep secret. These were feelings she did not wish to examine.

With a fumbling effort, she'd discovered a weak pulse at his throat, giving her reason to hope; but alone in the expansive darkness, her

imagination was unkind to her. Her memories replayed the last hours on a sickening loop, and the more she turned over the devil’s savagery in her mind, the more she felt a spiraling trepidation—a fear of what was yet to come. What is Dorian hiding from her? Something evil was done to him, and she wanted to know everything so that she could try to help him. But knowing the man Dorian is, she knows he won't tell her everything at the same time. She would never again deny that he was beautiful. She whispered to him over and over, beseeching him to return to his body, to this present moment, and was again stroking the curve of his cheek when he caught her hand—weakly—and she went suddenly, deathly still. Relief flooded through her even as her pulse sped up, for his fingers slowly closed around her own. He drew the back of her hand gently against his lips, and then, so softly she might've imagined it, he kissed her. Astrid's heart beat chaotically in her chest.

"Dorian," she said, hating the broken sound of her voice. "Are you awake?" He moved only a little, letting their clasped hands fall against his cheek. He did not let go. He did not open his eyes. He tore open his mouth with some difficulty, wetting his lips before he drew a deep breath. On an exhale, he said,

"No." Astrid didn't know what to do. She felt a bit mortified to have been discovered petting him, and she was more than a little unbalanced by the tenderness of his kiss. She sat very,

very still in the on the floor with his head on her lap, too aware of their held hands resting against his cheek, and waited for Dorian to shake off the last of his stupor. She hoped her pounding heart was not audible in the silence, though she feared that it was.

"Touch me," he whispered. Her heart beat only harder.

"What?" She almost shrieked. He released her hand, but only to press her open palm firmly against his face. For a moment, his eyelashes fluttered, and then, quite contentedly, he sighed. Astrid realized, with a shock, that he was dreaming. "Oh goddess, what is happening to this man?." She sighed. He soon made a soft, satisfied sound, so gentle and unaffected it made her chest ache; and then, like a child, he turned his head in her lap, sliding his hand up the inside of her naked thigh like it might’ve been a pillow. Astrid nearly screamed. Earlier, she'd tugged up the hem of her frock, for she’d used her skirt to mop up Dorian's blood, and had then knotted this heavily sullied hem in hopes of mitigating any further transfer of the red stain. And while, yes, she'd noticed that the dress had hitched above her knees—exposing several

inches of bare skin beyond the lace trim of her stockings—she'd paid this small impropriety no mind, for the possible exposure of her thighs in almost perfect darkness had been the least of her concerns thirty minutes prior, when she'd thought Dorian was dead. Now, she could hardly breathe. His hand was warm and heavy, his fingers splayed possessively across the innermost expanse of her upper leg, and worse, they were dangerously close to skimming the seam of her undergarments.

"Dorian,." she said, panicking. "Please wake up."

He said nothing. The floor was cold and she couldn't take it anymore. She was also sleepy, but she needed Dorian to wake up. "Dorian—."

"Yes." Her heart was beating too hard.

"Are you—Are you awake now? Please tell me you're awake." Carefully, she hitched her skirt up a bit higher and prized his wandering hand off her thigh, but she'd hardly breathed a sigh of relief before her fears came at once to fruition The abrupt motion startled him, and he immediately sat straight up with a gasp, looked around himself in an unsteady motion, and met her eyes. Even in the moonlight, she could tell he was disoriented.

"Dorian," she said, overcome with relief. "You're awake—"

"Astrid?" he whispered, exhaustion weakening his voice. "What are you doing here?."

"What do you mean?." She tensed. "We're in your house?."

"No," he said, and he seemed to lose steam all at once, his head beginning to droop. "How did you"—he blinked very slowly—"how'd you

get in my room? You're not supposed to be here." Astrid relief became alarm.

"We're not in your room," she said, fighting back her panic. "It's just that the sun has gone down, and it’s very dark now. And cold, actually, so if

you wouldn't mind getting up so that we could all go to sleep. Dorian, the floor is cold I—." He cut her off.

"I'm so tired, Astrid," he said, stumbling over the words. He sounded delirious. "Let's go back to bed, Astrid."

"Dorian—" He laughed a little, like he was drunk.

"I do say it a lot."

"What?" she said, going briefly still.

"Your name," he said and closed his eyes. He nearly fell over, catching himself at the last second. "I didn't know your name for so long, angel. I love the way it feels in my mouth."

Astrid's confusion was outweighed by the physical shock she felt at his casual affection, the endearment embedding in her chest, causing chaos.

"Dorian," she said, feeling suddenly close to tears. "What's happening to you? Are you sick?"

"Oh yes." He nodded. "It's terrible."

"Is it magic?" Her fears ratcheted only higher. " Are you under a spell right now?."

"Mmmm, yes, always happens," he murmured. "Part of the cycle."

"What always happens?" she asked urgently. "What cycle? What are you talking about?." He didn’t respond; instead, he clapped a heavy hand against his cheek and frowned.

"Did you wash my face, sweetheart?." A new tenderness; another blow to her chest.

"Yes,." she whispered.

"How?." His hand fell away, and he squinted into the darkness. Dorian turned his head, pressed his face to the exposed skin of her breasts, and made a sound deep in his throat, something like a groan. Astrid avoided answering that. How would you tell someone you cleaned his face with your tears. That was just something she would keep to herself.

"You're so soft," he said, slurring the words. "So sweet." Astrid worked desperately to compartmentalize the torrent of sensation

awakening in her body. Something was very, very wrong. "You feel so real," he whispered.

"Dorian," she said. "You're frightening me." He shook his head and took a deep, shuddering breath, unselfconsciously inhaling the scent of her. "Don’t be afraid of me, angel. I won't hurt you. I'll never hurt you." Astrid's chest constricted, her heart frantic. He was a ton of dead weight; so heavy she didn’t know how to get his head off her chest without shoving him to the ground.

"Listen, I know you're very tired," she said nervously. "But you need to wake Dorian fight whoever demon is inside you don't let it win." She took the powder again and blew it on his face he coughed, moving away from her. She sighed deeply. Why didn't she think of doing that in the first place. She moves up, watching him glance around as if he did not know his whereabouts.

"Astrid, how did I get here?". She gaped at him, not knowing what to say. "Don't answer that." He took his gun on the floor, walking to his room, shutting the door. She stood there astonished at what just happened. She blinked, then chuckled a little, walking to her room, locking the door. She went to take a shower still in disbelief of the events that took place in the living room. Would she be able to forget whathappened? She knows she won't, and there's nothing she can do about that because she's determined to find the truth about whatever is happening to Dorian. She wants to help him only if he lets her. Astrid lotion her body then wore her sleeping gown. She got inside the bed, and she still worried about Dorian. She fought the urge to go and knock on his door. She admits that she had to give him time.