Page 62 of Sticks & Serpents

I took a step back instinctively, needing distance from her predatory stare—the all-too-familiar feeling creeping up on me again.

I felt her hand brush against my arm, the familiar chill creeping up my spine. I wasn’t about to let her touch me again.

Before she could make contact, I caught her wrist, gripping it hard—too hard. A flash of surprise crossed her face, but it faded quickly, replaced by that infuriating smirk. She thrived on the chaos between us, always pushing buttons and testing limits.

“Damien,” she said, her voice low and taunting. The challenge in her eyes stirred something primal within me—a flicker of anger mixed with a twisted sense of satisfaction that I could still rattle her cage.

But I couldn’t afford to play this game anymore. I shoved her hand away like it was a live wire, my heart racing as I stormed past her. The urge to lash out was overwhelming; every part of me screamed to unleash the chaos bubbling just beneath the surface.

“Don't touch me,” I snapped, not looking back as I made my way down the hall. I could feel the weight of her gaze drilling into my back—her silent disbelief mixed with curiosity about what made me tick.

But it was too late for me to unravel now. If I didn’t get out of there, if I stayed even a moment longer in that suffocating atmosphere filled with memories and expectations, I’d end up doing something worse than just shoving her away.

I shoved open the front door and stepped outside into the cool evening air, drawing in deep breaths as if trying to clear the fog in my head. But no amount of fresh air could cleanse the heat swirling inside me—the rage mixed with a desperation that made me feel alive and utterly consumed at once.

The rain fell in sheets as I stepped out of the Sinclaire estate, the cold drops soaking through my clothes within seconds. Each drop felt like a cleansing of sorts, washing away the suffocating expectations my mother always draped over me.

Washing away her touch.

I climbed into my car, slamming the door shut against the storm. The engine roared to life, but my mind was a blur—no direction, no destination in mind. Just a need to escape. I hit the gas and let the tires grip the slick pavement as I tore away from that house, away from her voice still echoing in my ears.

The rain battered against my windshield like an army of fists, obscuring everything beyond the glass. I focused on nothing but the road ahead, letting my instincts guide me. The city blurred by in a haze of neon lights and wet asphalt until suddenly, through the chaos of falling water and darkness, there it was—the rink appeared like a ghost rising from the depths of my memory.

Pandora’s Box.

The familiar outline brought a rush of adrenaline through me; it called out like an old friend who understood every piece of me. I pulled into the lot and parked with a screeching halt, water splashing up around me as I stepped out again, this time heading straight for the entrance.

The chill from outside couldn’t compete with what awaited inside—cold air and ice that promised relief from everything pressing down on me. As soon as I crossed through those doors, everything shifted; all thoughts of Holly and my mother faded into white noise.

I needed to move. Needed to feel something else other than this simmering rage and confusion swirling within me. The world outside fell silent as I laced up my skates with hurried fingers. Each tug of the laces was a promise to myself—tonight would be different.

I pushed off hard from the edge of the rink and glided onto the ice, carving through it with ferocity. The cold air stung my lungs as I picked up speed, lost in the rhythm of skating until nothing else mattered but each turn and stride—until all that remained was me and this unforgiving surface beneath my feet.

But tonight? It wasn’t enough. It never was.

I skated harder, sweat mixing with rain on my skin as I fought against the urge to let frustration take over. Every movement felt like an attempt to outrun something lurking in the shadows, but it always caught up with me, no matter how fast I went. My mind flickered back to Holly—her eyes, her fire—and I swore under my breath.

Then, movement near the exit caught my eye.

Holly.

She stepped into view, pulling up the hood of her jacket against the rain drenching everything outside. My heart stumbled at the sight of her, as if it recognized a part of itself that had been missing. She looked so small against the backdrop of pouring rain and dim light, yet there was an undeniable strength in her stance.

Something inside me settled and cracked all at once.

She’s here.

The sight of her stirred a whirlwind of emotions—rage and desire tangled together in a way that left me breathless. I wanted to shout at her for putting herself in danger; for stepping back into my world after everything that had happened. But another part yearned for her to stay—needed her to understand what I would do to keep her safe.

My skates glided to a halt as she paused at the entrance, hesitating for just a moment before stepping further inside. She didn’t see me yet; she seemed lost in thought, shoulders hunched against the elements as she took in the rink’s emptiness.

I leaned on my stick, unable to tear my gaze away from her. Every instinct screamed at me to approach—to bridge this distance between us—but fear held me back. What if she turned away? What if she saw through my carefully constructed facade and uncovered all the jagged pieces beneath?

But standing there like a statue only intensified the tension coiling around us both.

Before I could think, before the swirling chaos in my head could ground me, I was already moving. My feet propelled me toward her, driven by something primal that demanded I close the distance.

I stepped off the ice, yanked off my skates, dropped my stick…

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