Page 7 of Crimson Possession
It happened again later. The faint shuffle of footsteps, the scent of something sweet, fruit maybe, set down on the table near the bed. But my limbs were heavy, my head thick. The darkness pulled me back under before I could even try to reach for it.
The next time the door opened, it wasn’t quiet.
The sharp sound of bootsteps, heavier, purposeful, cut across the room. The temperature seemed to drop, though it wasn’t cold but just… charged.
I forced my eyes open. Lucien stood there, still in black, his expression carved in stone, but there was a burn in his eyes that made my stomach tighten. He looked at me, then at the untouched trays of food, and I saw his jaw lock tight.
He turned his head toward the door and his voice lashed out like a whip. “Get in here.”
Two men stepped into the doorway. “She hasn’t eaten,” Lucien growled, his voice low but vibrating with fury. “All day.”
One of them tried to speak, but Lucien cut him off. “Out of my sight. Now. I’ll deal with you later.”
They left fast, like the room itself was dangerous. The air was thick with the kind of stillness that came before a storm.
Lucien’s gaze stayed on the door until it clicked shut, then shifted to me with a weight that pinned me to the bed without him even touching me. He moved toward me in slow, deliberate strides, the quiet of it somehow louder than if he’d slammed his boots against the floor.
When he reached the side of the bed, he didn’t immediately speak. He just looked at me, taking in the fact that I was still curled in the same position I’d been in for hours, the untouched trays like silent accusations on the table.
He sat on the edge of the mattress, the dip of his weight pulling me a fraction closer. His eyes, sharp and dark, locked onto mine, and for a second, I thought he was going to unleash the same fury I’d just seen tear through his guards.
Instead, his voice came out low, almost quiet, but with a steel edge threaded through it.
“You didn’t eat,” he said. The softness in his tone didn’t blunt the command underneath. It wasn’t a question; it was a verdict.
Even without him raising his voice, I could feel the danger under those three words, coiled and ready to strike, not at me, but at the fact I’d gone without food. And somehow, that was worse.
“I…” My throat was dry. “I couldn’t stay awake.”
“Not good enough.” He grunted as he stood and went to the door, barked an order I didn’t catch, and came back with a silver tray minutes later. Steam rose from the plate, my mouth watered as I looked at the grilled chicken, seasoned vegetables and the bread still warm from the oven.
He set it down and picked up a fork.
I blinked at him in surprise. “You’re not…”
“I am,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. It wasn’t loud, but it carried the kind of weight that pressed against your chest and made you obey before your mind could even think of resisting.
“Sit up.” The words weren’t just an instruction; they were an order. He slid an arm behind my shoulders before I could argue, the heat of his body bleeding through the thin fabric of my shirt. His touch wasn’t gentle, as such, but it wasn’t rough either. It was steady, controlled… like he was holding back far more strength than he was using.
I tried to push myself upright on my own, pride sparking stubbornness, but the moment my arms trembled, he was already taking over. His other hand cupped my elbow, guiding me until I was sitting against the pillows.
The movement brought him close, too close. The scent of him hit me, warm and dark, something like smoke laced with spice. It curled into my head, making my pulse trip over itself.
“There,” he said, adjusting the pillow behind me with a precision that told me he’d decided exactly how I was going to sit and for how long. “Better.”
But the way his eyes scanned my face, searching for any sign of weakness, made it clear he wouldn’t be satisfied until I did exactly what he wanted next.
“I can feed myself,” I muttered.
His eyes met mine, dark and unyielding. “You didn’t.”
Heat crept into my cheeks. I tried to turn away, but he was faster, sliding an arm behind my back, his other hand steady with the fork.
I pressed my lips together. “I’m not hungry.”
“You will eat,” he said, and when I shook my head, he simply brought the fork to my mouth and waited. That waiting wasn’t patient it was a challenge. And he didn’t break eye contact.
I sighed, opened my mouth, and let him feed me the first bite. The flavour hit my tongue and my body betrayed me, my stomach growling. His lips twitched, just slightly. We stayed like that, me trying to glare at him between bites, him not giving me a single inch until the plate was empty.
