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harryandmeghansussex · 4 years

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Day 18 of @defendingtheduchesses 's Meghan memories challenge.

Meghan's writing has always been one of my favourite strengths of hers. And I thought I would share one for day 18, so I picked this important one.

'What are you?' A question I get asked every week of my life, often every day. 'Well,' I say, as I begin the verbal dance I know all too well. 'I'm an actress, a writer, the Editor-in-Chief of my lifestyle brand The Tig, a pretty good cook and a firm believer in handwritten notes.' A mouthful, yes, but one that I feel paints a pretty solid picture of who I am. But here's what happens: they smile and nod politely, maybe even chuckle, before getting to their point, 'Right, but what are you? Where are your parents from?' I knew it was coming, I always do. While I could say Pennsylvania and Ohio, and continue this proverbial two-step, I instead give them what they're after: 'My dad is Caucasian and my mom is African American. I'm half black and half white.

To describe something as being black and white means it is clearly defined. Yet when your ethnicity is black and white, the dichotomy is not that clear. In fact, it creates a grey area. Being biracial paints a blurred line that is equal parts staggering and illuminating. When I was asked by ELLE to share my story, I'll be honest, I was scared. It's easy to talk about which make-up I prefer, my favourite scene I've filmed, the rigmarole of 'a day in the life' and how much green juice I consume before a requisite Pilates class. And while I have dipped my toes into this on thetig.com, sharing small vignettes of my experiences as a biracial woman, today I am choosing to be braver, to go a bit deeper, and to share a much larger picture of that with you.

It was the late Seventies when my parents met, my dad was a lighting director for a soap opera and my mom was a temp at the studio. I like to think he was drawn to her sweet eyes and her Afro, plus their shared love of antiques. Whatever it was, they married and had me. They moved into a house in The Valley in LA, to a neighbourhood that was leafy and affordable. What it was not, however, was diverse. And there was my mom, caramel in complexion with her light-skinned baby in tow, being asked where my mother was since they assumed she was the nanny.

I was too young at the time to know what it was like for my parents, but I can tell you what it was like for me – how they crafted the world around me to make me feel like I wasn't different but special. When I was about seven, I had been fawning over a boxed set of Barbie dolls. It was called The Heart Family and included a mom doll, a dad doll, and two children. This perfect nuclear family was only sold in sets of white dolls or black dolls. I don't remember coveting one over the other, I just wanted one. On Christmas morning, swathed in glitter-flecked wrapping paper, there I found my Heart Family: a black mom doll, a white dad doll, and a child in each colour. My dad had taken the sets apart and customised my family.

Fast-forward to the seventh grade and my parents couldn't protect me as much as they could when I was younger. There was a mandatory census I had to complete in my English class – you had to check one of the boxes to indicate your ethnicity: white, black, Hispanic or Asian. There I was (my curly hair, my freckled face, my pale skin, my mixed race) looking down at these boxes, not wanting to mess up, but not knowing what to do. You could only choose one, but that would be to choose one parent over the other – and one half of myself over the other. My teacher told me to check the box for Caucasian. 'Because that's how you look, Meghan,' she said. I put down my pen. Not as an act of defiance, but rather a symptom of my confusion. I couldn't bring myself to do that, to picture the pit-in-her-belly sadness my mother would feel if she were to find out. So, I didn't tick a box. I left my identity blank – a question mark, an absolute incomplete – much like how I felt.

When I went home that night, I told my dad what had happened. He said the words that have always stayed with me: 'If that happens again, you draw your own box.'

I never saw my father angry, but in that moment I could see the blotchiness of his skin crawling from pink to red. It made the green of his eyes pop and his brow was weighted at the thought of his daughter being prey to ignorance. Growing up in a homogeneous community in Pennsylvania, the concept of marrying an African-American woman was not on the cards for my dad. But he saw beyond what was put in front of him in that small-sized (and, perhaps, small-minded) town, and he wanted me to see beyond that census placed in front of me. He wanted me to find my own truth.

And I tried. Navigating closed-mindedness to the tune of a dorm mate I met my first week at university who asked if my parents were still together. 'You said your mom is black and your dad is white, right?' she said. I smiled meekly, waiting for what could possibly come out of her pursed lips next. 'And they're divorced?' I nodded. 'Oh, well that makes sense.' To this day, I still don't fully understand what she meant by that, but I understood the implication. And I drew back: I was scared to open this Pandora's box of discrimination, so I sat stifled, swallowing my voice.

I was home in LA on a college break when my mom was called the 'N' word. We were leaving a concert and she wasn't pulling out of a parking space quickly enough for another driver. My skin rushed with heat as I looked to my mom. Her eyes welling with hateful tears, I could only breathe out a whisper of words, so hushed they were barely audible: 'It's OK, Mommy.' I was trying to temper the rage-filled air permeating our small silver Volvo. Los Angeles had been plagued with the racially charged Rodney King and Reginald Denny cases just years before, when riots had flooded our streets, filling the sky with ash that flaked down like apocalyptic snow; I shared my mom's heartache, but I wanted us to be safe. We drove home in deafening silence, her chocolate knuckles pale from gripping the wheel so tightly.

It's either ironic or apropos that in this world of not fitting in, and of harbouring my emotions so tightly under my ethnically nondescript (and not so thick) skin, that I would decide to become an actress. There couldn't possibly be a more label-driven industry than acting, seeing as every audition comes with a character breakdown: 'Beautiful, sassy, Latina, 20s'; 'African American, urban, pretty, early 30s'; 'Caucasian, blonde, modern girl next door'. Every role has a label; every casting is for something specific. But perhaps it is through this craft that I found my voice.

Being 'ethnically ambiguous', as I was pegged in the industry, meant I could audition for virtually any role. Morphing from Latina when I was dressed in red, to African American when in mustard yellow; my closet filled with fashionable frocks to make me look as racially varied as an Eighties Benetton poster. Sadly, it didn't matter: I wasn't black enough for the black roles and I wasn't white enough for the white ones, leaving me somewhere in the middle as the ethnic chameleon who couldn't book a job.

This is precisely why Suits stole my heart. It's the Goldilocks of my acting career – where finally I was just right. The series was initially conceived as a dramedy about a NY law firm flanked by two partners, one of whom navigates this glitzy world with his fraudulent degree. Enter Rachel Zane, one of the female leads and the dream girl – beautiful and confident with an encyclopedic knowledge of the law. 'Dream girl' in Hollywood terms had always been that quintessential blonde-haired, blue-eyed beauty – that was the face that launched a thousand ships, not the mixed one. But the show's producers weren't looking for someone mixed, nor someone white or black for that matter. They were simply looking for Rachel. In making a choice like that, the Suits producers helped shift the way pop culture defines beauty. The choices made in these rooms trickle into how viewers see the world, whether they're aware of it or not. Some households may never have had a black person in their house as a guest, or someone biracial. Well, now there are a lot of us on your TV and in your home with you. And with Suits, specifically, you have Rachel Zane. I couldn't be prouder of that.

At the end of season two, the producers went a step further and cast the role of Rachel's father as a dark-skinned African-American man, played by the brilliant Wendell Pierce. I remember the tweets when that first episode of the Zane family aired, they ran the gamut from: 'Why would they make her dad black? She's not black' to 'Ew, she's black? I used to think she was hot.' The latter was blocked and reported. The reaction was unexpected, but speaks of the undercurrent of racism that is so prevalent, especially within America. On the heels of the racial unrest in Ferguson and Baltimore, the tensions that have long been percolating under the surface in the US have boiled over in the most deeply saddening way. And as a biracial woman, I watch in horror as both sides of a culture I define as my own become victims of spin in the media, perpetuating stereotypes and reminding us that the States has perhaps only placed bandages over the problems that have never healed at the root.

I, on the other hand, have healed from the base. While my mixed heritage may have created a grey area surrounding my self-identification, keeping me with a foot on both sides of the fence, I have come to embrace that. To say who I am, to share where I'm from, to voice my pride in being a strong, confident mixed-race woman. That when asked to choose my ethnicity in a questionnaire as in my seventh grade class, or these days to check 'Other', I simply say: 'Sorry, world, this is not Lost and I am not one of The Others. I am enough exactly as I am.'

Just as black and white, when mixed, make grey, in many ways that's what it did to my self-identity: it created a murky area of who I was, a haze around howpeople connected with me. I was grey. And who wants to be this indifferent colour, devoid of depth and stuck in the middle? I certainly didn't. So you make a choice: continue living your life feeling muddled in this abyss of self-misunderstanding, or you find your identity independent of it. You push for colour-blind casting, you draw your own box. You introduce yourself as who you are, not what colour your parents happen to be. You cultivate your life with people who don't lead with ethnic descriptions such as, 'that black guy Tom', but rather friends who say: 'You know? Tom, who works at [blah blah] and dates [fill in the blank] girl.' You create the identity you want for yourself, just as my ancestors did when they were given their freedom. Because in 1865 (which is so shatteringly recent), when slavery was abolished in the United States, former slaves had to choose a name. A surname, to be exact.

Perhaps the closest thing to connecting me to my ever-complex family tree, my longing to know where I come from, and the commonality that links me to my bloodline, is the choice that my great-great-great grandfather made to start anew. He chose the last name Wisdom. He drew his own box.

#meg39 #meghan markle #duchess of sussex #meghan's writing

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averykedavra · 4 years

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Leave No Trace (Chap. 22)

[Masterlist] [Ao3]

Patton was getting tired of waking up in strange places.

This one was also pretty low on his list, because of the comfort level. He was sitting on a rock, tied to another rock, and his head was bumped up against a third rock. So many rocks. Didn't they have any chairs?

And wasn't he supposed to be, like, outside? He had a feeling he'd started off outside. Maybe falling. How'd he get in here?

"I caught you."

Oh, he'd asked it out loud. Or mysterious voice was a mind-reader. They'd caught him! That was good. Maybe. He wasn't sure, really. It all depended on who it was.

Patton hesitantly opened his eyes.

"You're awake," said a woman with greying hair and piercing black eyes.

"I don't really feel awake," Patton mumbled, trying to shake the clouds from his head. He knew her. Didn't he? "Gimme a sec. Sorry, I've been knocked out a lot recently."

The woman smiled a bit. "Of course."

Patton shook his head a few more times and counted backwards from a hundred. The world around him came into focus. He was in a huge chamber he recognized as the heart of the Mountain. Around him were a few bits of gold and some velvet-lined books. And in the center of it was the dragon, hands folded in her lap, sitting on a wooden straightbacked chair and eyeing Patton like he was a fly she wanted to swat.

"Wait." Patton's awareness crashed back into him. It felt like being doused in cold water. "You're Mara."

Mara smiled again. He didn't like her smile much. It was out of practice, like she'd learned the muscles but not the feeling. "My reputation precedes me."

"You're—" Patton stumbled over his questions. He tugged at the ropes around him. "Where am I? What'd you do to my friends?"

"Calm down, I don't want to deal with you throwing a fit." Mara's lip curled. "Despite my best efforts, your 'friends' are perfectly fine."

"They're—" Relief swept through Patton. "They're safe."

"In a manner of speaking," Mara said. "Of course, I've sent most of the dragons after them, so that may not be the case for very much longer."

Patton swallowed. If Janus got to the Iron Woods, they'd be fine. They'd be fine. He had to believe that.

It took two tries to get his throat unstuck. "And—and me?"

Mara's face was impassive. "You."

"You could have killed me." Patton shook his head. "You could have let me die—I was falling! You should have—why did you catch me?"

"Take a wild guess."

"Um." Patton would have guessed kindness and mercy, but from the glare Mara was giving him, he doubted it. "I'm drawing a blank, honestly."

"Hmm." Mara looked vaguely annoyed. "I suppose I'll have to explain, then." She spread her hands. "Put simply: you are a Faerie."

"What?" Patton paused. "Oh. I mean, I guess? Partially. Yeah."

"You are. And that intrigues me, I have to admit." Mara toyed with the edge of her sleeve. "We don't have many Fae around here."

Patton tried to smile. "I'm sure if you asked, they'd stop by!"

"We haven't asked and we don't wish to." Mara's voice was clipped. "The Fae are our mortal enemy."

"What—all of them?" Patton shifted sheepishly and tried to tug at his ropes without Mara seeing. "'Cause, um, I don't have anything against you guys! Except for the friend-kidnapped part. But I'm friends with one of you, so—"

"Janus. I'm aware." Mara's face twisted. "Ridiculous."

Patton glared at her defensively. "What's ridiculous?"

"You." Mara waved a hand at him. "All of you. You're a Faerie, yet you wander into our domain and are easily captured. You're a Faerie, yet you speak to me like a child would."

During her speech, Patton placed a hand on his ropes and tried to summon a small amount of fire. It felt like forcing an exhausted, atrophied muscle back to use. A flicker of sparks and the rope began to blacken. He pulled his hand out of Mara's sight and started to burn through the ropes around his hands.

"You're a Faerie," Mara continued, spitting the word every time she said it, "yet you somehow manage to manipulate one of our own into befriending you."

"I didn't manipulate him! He's my friend!" Patton paused. "I don't manipulate. Janus does sometimes, so if anyone did any manipulation it'd be him, and he didn't. Well, not very much."

He was rambling. He knew that. But he needed to buy enough time to burn through his ropes. After that—well, who knew? Maybe he could set the Mountain on fire again, but he had a feeling if he tried that again, he actually would die.

"Forgive me for not believing you." Mara's glare was hard and icy. Patton remembered the woman they'd met on the outskirts of the Wood days ago. "I shouldn't be listening to you at all—silver tongued, each and every one. Tricksters."

"Again. Um. I'm not really any of those things." Patton took a deep breath. "And…I don't mean to keep bringing this up, but if you don't trust me, why am I here?"

Mara was silent for a long moment. Patton stopped trying to burn away his bindings, because she was looking at him carefully and he figured she'd be able to tell.

"I'm curious," Mara finally said. "Curious how you managed to survive the Woods. Curious whether you or any of your allies pose any threat to us in the future. And curious whether any Fae would strike a deal to get you back."

"Um," Patton said, starting to work on the ropes around his shoulders. "For the first one, luck, mostly? And my friends. Second one, probably not? We'll leave you alone if you do the same! And the third…um, no. I don't—I'm just a little bit Fae. I've only met one other and she wasn't very nice."

"Hmm. Disappointing." Mara narrowed her eyes. "What's the extent of your magic?"

A direct question. Crap.

"Fire manipulation, compulsive honesty, and a bit of magical luck!"

"Compulsive honesty," Mara repeated.

"I mean." Patton paused. "No? No honesty? So little honesty. Definitely no honesty."

"You definitely don't seem very powerful," Mara mused. "And although you know my name, you've done nothing with it. Besides, Janus managed to not be killed by you and he's hardly a powerhouse, so I can only assume you're not a threat."

"Don't talk about Janus like that."

Mara raised an eyebrow, and Patton felt that for the first time, he'd gotten her full attention.

"Fiery words. Fiery words for a fiery Faerie, I suppose." Her voice took on a dangerous edge, a knife suspended by a string, one move away from falling. "You should know better than to talk back in this kind of situation."

Patton shrugged. A rope fell apart behind him and he pulled the ends together, reaching one hand to start on another. "I don't have much to lose, do I?"

"Touché." Mara shrugged. "But if you cooperate, I could make this a bit more painless."

"What's 'this?'" Patton asked warily, pretty sure he didn't want to know the answer.

"I haven't decided yet." Mara leaned in conspiratorially. "I am a fan of acid, though."

"What'd I do to you?" Patton burst out. "Why are you—you're going to kill me. For what? I really want to know what I did."

He didn't, actually, but buying time was the only weapon he had left. That and the meager fire that seared through the ropes around his ankles as he spoke.

Mara actually looked taken aback. "Well—you stole two servants and one of our own after trespassing in our Mountain—"

Patton frowned. "That's not it, though. You're lying."

Mara growled at him. "I am not lying!"

"You're scared," Patton realized. "You're scared of me!"

That should have made him feel bad. And it did, a little bit. But mostly, it made him feel warm with confidence. He had a bargaining tool here. He wasn't completely powerless.

He'd scared someone.

And it wasn't himself for a change.

"You are," Patton said to her, trying out the words. "You're all angry like Virgil and Jan get when they're scared! You think I'm a threat!"

"I do not!" Mara snarled at him. "You could not possibly defeat me, you puny, insignificant—"

"No, I can't," Patton agreed. "But you're worried everyone else will think that I could."

Mara's face contorted. "I would stop talking, if I were you."

Patton didn't. "Janus was always scared to open up to us. He thought we'd hurt him if we knew he could be hurt. Are you like that? Are you scared everyone will think you're weak if you don't prove otherwise?"

"That's enough!" Mara yelled. She took a breath and composed herself. "I've had about enough of this. You're coming with me and I'm going to make you regret being born."

"Wait!" Patton blurted out. He still had two ropes to work through. "Um…how old are you?"

"I have no idea how that's relevant."

"I'm curious." Patton looked at her carefully. "You seem on the older side. Do you…do you remember how things were? Before the Woods?"

For a second, he was sure Mara would grab him and pull him along without answering. But then her eyebrows pulled together. "Dimly."

"You were alive!" Patton exclaimed as fire snapped another rope behind him. "Can you tell me? About the Woods, about you guys, about…about who created them?"

"They were made by a Faerie," Mara said, as if it was something she'd repeated many times before. "That's all we've bothered to remember."

Patton bit his lip. "I bet you remember more than that."

"They were made by a Faerie." Mara's hand curled around her wrist. "They keep us trapped here. And we trap them in return, with our stolen iron, because magic always strains to be free." She paused, as if thinking through what to say. "Magic is like fire, I think you'd understand that—it yearns to be out of control and to spread as much as possible. Sometimes this leads to destruction, sometimes creation, sometimes good and sometimes evil. Magic isn't inherently monstrous, nor is anything. It's simply a tool. It wants to exist and it wants to grow."

"Yeah." Patton nodded. "I—I know."

"Yet it does destroy," Mara added, "if it's let too loose. Let magic run wild, and this whole world would be consumed by it."

Patton paused. "Would that really be so bad?"

"Spoken like a true Faerie." Mara's lip curled in disgust. "As you tried to ignite our home, I don't think you'd understand."

"Um, sorry about that," Patton said. "And…but…it was like that for a while, right? There was magic everywhere once, and things were fine, weren't they?"

"Once," Mara agreed, "and for a while. The world has changed."

"It could change back." Patton didn't know where the words were coming from, but he knew they were true, just as much as he knew he was running out of time. "I think the magic would like a little more space. Just a bit."

"And what do you propose? It destroys us all and wipes out our kind? The Fae—" Mara waved a hand at Patton. "—take our place like they've always clamored to do?"

"It's not you versus them," Patton said.

"It's always us versus them." Mara scoffed. "It's been us versus the world ever since—"

"—ever since the magic was sealed off," Patton finished. "And…and that's done. And it can't be undone. The past is the past. But we can still change it, we can still—we can still learn from it. We don't have to keep acting out our parts just because the story's already been written. We can cross out some bits and make things a little better."

The ropes fell away. He held them in place and tried to look trapped. It wasn't hard. Mara wasn't staring at his hands—she was listening. She was actually listening.

"I met someone in the Woods," Patton continued, his voice a little shaky, but still strong. "And she told me that—that the Woods are a prison. There's not enough space. And the Woods are a threat to you, something you have to contain—you're risking your lives for this iron. And the Woods, for us, are something we don't understand." He leaned forward. "Maybe there's not a way to fix everything for everyone. But if we sit down and do nothing, nothing'll ever get better. Nothing'll ever change."

Mara was silent for a long time. "I don't understand what you're asking."

Patton threw everything on the table. "I'm asking you to let me go. I'm asking you to give me a chance. Please."

Mara watched him for a second longer.

Then a wall slammed over her face. "I can't afford to do that."

"But if you—"

"I have killed for this position." Mara spread her hands. They were jointed and wide like dragon wings. "I have burned towns to keep my family alive, my position alive—I have clawed my way to the top and I will not be brought back down with lies and cheap magic tricks." She leaned forward and traced a finger down Patton's chin. "You are nothing to me. You are a little mockery of the magic that chained us here with nothing but our own scales and wings to survive with. I will not be denied, I will not be destroyed, and I will not be lectured by a Faerie."

"I—" Patton jerked his head away from her. "I am a Faerie. But…I'm not your enemy. Janus—"

"—is a complete and utter disappointment if he keeps the likes of you as company." Mara rolled her eyes. "Frankly, I'm glad you took him—he's not the type I want sticking around here."

Anger flared in Patton's chest and the secret fire in his hands flared with it. "Don't talk about him like that!"

"What?" Mara asked. "It's the truth. From what I've seen of him, he's never been strong enough to make a name for himself."

Patton pulled up his chin. "Well, I think he's way stronger than you."

Mara stared at him and clapped her hands. "Congratulations. Just for that, your death is going to be painful. I hope you—"

She cut herself off. Patton stared at her. Her face was slack.

She lifted one arm and touched her shoulder. It was dripping blood.

A crossbow bolt had sunk into it.

Mara staggered to her knees, grabbing at the bolt and yanking it out with a horrifying squelch. Patton quickly burned the rest of his ropes and tore them off, tossing them on top of Mara for good measure. He rubbed his wrists as he clambered to his feet and looked around, barely daring to hope.

"Come on!" Virgil yelled from a nearby tunnel.

Patton's face split into a grin. He ran over and Virgil grabbed his hand, pulling him into the darkness. And they ran.

Running with Virgil was different than Janus, because Virgil always slowed down when Patton did. It was up to Patton to keep the pace, which was hard when it was so dark. He snapped his fingers. After three tries, Sparky tore itself into existence, bobbing in front of them and leading the way.

Behind them, Patton heard the roar of a dragon.

Virgil looked back, swore, and ran faster.

"You came back," Patton blurted out. He shouldn't be wasting his breath, he knew that, but having Virgil holding his hand and tearing down the hallways with him made a million emotions jostle for position in his chest. "How did you—"

"Janus," Virgil huffed. He reached for his bolts. "Dammit, that was my last one!"

"Janus?" Patton started to ask. A burst of fire curled in the air above him. He shrieked and shoved Virgil forward, and they both somehow managed to run even faster.

It wouldn't be enough. And even when they got out, they wouldn't be safe. This wasn't safe. How were they even here?

Patton opened his mouth to ask. Or maybe thank Virgil. No words came—he was entirely out of breath. He tried to blast some fire behind them. Nothing.

Light up ahead.

Virgil somehow found a reserve of superhuman speed and tugged Patton ahead. Right onto the ledge, and before Patton could appreciate the view of circling dragons and distant Woods, they were falling.

Patton's scream was whipped away from him.

A flash of scales. Familiar, yellow and black scales.

Patton landed with a jolt on the back of a dragon.

Virgil was ahead of him, groaning. "Come on," he complained as the dragon wheeled away from the Mountain. "That hurt. Couldn't you get any farther up?"

Janus snorted and shook his head just enough to make Virgil slip a bit.

"Okay, fine!" Virgil screeched. "I'm sorry! Don't let me fall!"

Janus snorted again and flew faster. Dragons were already clustered on the edges. Patton, for his part, was very sore and still a little groggy and had next-to-no idea what was happening. He shot a bit of fire in the general direction of their pursuers, hoping it would scare them off.

"Bank left!" Virgil yelled as a dark maroon dragon came in, claws extended. Janus narrowed his wings and plunged to the left, dropping almost fifty feet. Virgil shrieked. Patton grabbed the scales for dear life. He was situated in the middle, with Virgil next to him, feet digging into the scales on either side. He hoped this wasn't hurting Janus too much.

"I told you to bank!" Virgil thwacked Janus on the shoulder. "That was a dive! Don't dive! That scares me!"

Janus spat a bit of fire at an approaching dragon and let it curl back around to Virgil. Virgil hissed and flipped Janus off, which was strange, since Virgil was also clinging onto him for dear life.

Patton looked around at everything. Blue sky, fluffy clouds, steep gray sides of the Mountain growing more and more distant, dragons flanking them like a parade, shining bright as beads in the midday sun.

And Virgil and Janus. Virgil sitting on Janus' back like he'd done it all his life, wind whipping his hair and hoodie, empty crossbow strapped to his back and eyes narrowed.

"You…" Patton tapped Virgil's shoulder to get his attention—it was loud up here, what with all the wind and yelling and roars behind them. Virgil turned around. "You're riding a dragon."

"Don't remind me," Virgil said, his hands tightening on Janus' sides. "It…hey, it was a two-person rescue mission. Just don't ask me to do this again."

"I didn't ask you to do it in the first place," Patton said, but he was smiling. Of course he was. He couldn't imagine not smiling right now—they'd come back for him. They'd saved him. They'd done it. "In fact, I remember saying the opposite."

"Well, sorry, Pat, my days of listening to you are over." Virgil paused and squeezed Pat's arm. "I love you too, Pat. Good to have you back."

Patton smiled wider.

Then he screamed as they dipped suddenly and wove around two dragons. Fire singed Patton's hair and he ducked. Virgil's knuckles were white. He lunged out and thwacked a nearby tail with his crossbow, which did nothing but make his crossbow slip from his fingers and fall against Janus' side.

Virgil looked at the crossbow, took a deep breath, and dropped it. It felt to the thorns below and disappeared.

Patton gasped and leaned forward. He expected to see Virgil upset. He didn't expect to see Virgil smiling.

"I was out of bolts," Virgil said. "And—I'm alright without it. I don't think I need it anymore."

Patton would have hugged Virgil right then if they weren't both on a dragon, and if Janus hadn't swooped wildly to the left in an attempt to avoid a deep purple dragon with black horns. Instead, he just held on for dear life and hoped Janus knew what he was doing.

He glanced back at the Mountain. Tall and buzzing with dragons like a hive of bees. Their colors stood out against the sky. They really were beautiful. They could be a lot more than this if they let themselves—and if everyone else let them, too.

Then he saw something.

A huge black dragon, taking off from the top of the Mountain, wings wide.

Mara.

"Janus!" Patton yelled. "Mara's here!"

Janus didn't say anything—he couldn't, he was a dragon, but Patton was having trouble thinking clearly when they were being attacked from all sides. His muscles tensed under Patton's hand. They flew even faster, dipping low over the thorns, so close that Patton kicked one of the tallest branches and snapped it in two.

Most of the dragons were turning back now. One tried to attack from behind, and Janus' tail swung out and caught it in the ribs. Patton raised a hand and fire flickered from his fingers.

Then he remembered the burning Mountain, and Janus collapsed in that courtyard, and Mara's fear.

He let the fire diminish again.

The thorns were thinning. Up ahead Patton could see the fuzzy line of the Woods, green and safe and so close and way too far away.

Janus twisted around midair and blasted fire at a nearby dragon. Patton slipped sideways and Virgil grabbed him without looking. Patton dug his heels into the scales and held on even tighter. He knew Janus would catch him if he fell, or do his best, but they needed to get to the Woods and he wasn't really excited about being away from Janus during a fight.

"Where—" Patton tapped on Virgil's shoulder again. "Where are Logan and Remus?"

"They're on—" Janus executed a roll and Virgil shrieked. "—the other side of the Woods! Janus dropped me off by the chasm and—Jan, guy on your left!—and flew L and Re over the Woods. I think they're—watch it!—sitting on that road right now."

"You did?" Patton asked.

"Yeah, you said to take them back and we wanted to go rescue you." Virgil shrugged. "So we compromised. Didn't seem fair to drag them back here, and Jan and I—turns out we make a good team."

Janus made a snorting noise that could have meant "Yes, the best team" and could have meant "you're full of it, idiot." Patton decided to give him the benefit of the doubt and smiled at him, patting his scales. Janus huffed and kept flying.

They were approaching the Woods. Patton could make out the individual trees and a few remains of the bridge on each side of the chasm. Thank goodness they didn't have to cross it again—flying was way easier, except for the winds and the other dragons and the ever-present fear of falling off into the thorns and dying.

Almost all the dragons had turned back by now. Except for Mara. She was gaining on them, a dozen feet above them, and when her wings raised they blocked out the sun.

"She's not stopping!" Patton yelled into Virgil's ear.

Virgil gave Mara a panicked look. "She'll stop. She has to."

Janus just kept flying.

The thorns beneath them unfurled in an endless carpet of twisted branches. Janus ducked even lower. One of the branches scraped along his side and he made a noise of pain. The branches came away bloody. They must have hit his injury.

"Come on," Virgil muttered over the wind. Patton wasn't sure who he was talking to. "Come on, just a little further, we're almost there—"

Thorns, thorns, Mara swooping behind them like a bat, black with silvery edges and staring a hole in Patton's chest—

The thorns stopped neatly as if chopped by a knife.

And they were over the chasm.

And they were over the Woods.

And Janus dipped back and forth, circling a few times. Patton noticed the little sphinx dive for safety, disappearing in a puff of feathers and leaving only an empty chasm and a bit of rope behind.

Mara had paused fifty feet away, flying back and forth, pacing up and down the edge of the thorns and watching them. She didn't seem to be tired at all. She was so huge—Patton watched the muscles in her wings and the way the skin stretched over the bones, and he shivered.

Janus landed.

It was a rough landing. Patton slipped halfway off his back, jostled, and Virgil yelped and grabbed at Janus' scales. Janus pushed Patton the rest of the way off with his tail, and Virgil jumped to the ground too. Patton hit the stone. He sat there for a second, enjoying the feeling of sunny stone under his hands, and rose achingly to his feet.

Virgil was watching Mara, eyes narrowed, hands jammed in his pockets.

Janus huffed once more and then he was human, wings narrowing into nothing and hair falling over his face. He looked at Patton, and just like always, Patton couldn't tell what he was thinking.

"You—you saved me," Patton blurted out. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Something in Janus' face tightened. He stepped forward. "Pat—"

"Sorry." Patton immediately felt bad for interrupting, but he kept talking. "I'm…sorry. I don't regret what I did, and I really wanted to get Virgil out of there, but you risked your life to come back and it must have been tough to carry three people and I'm sorry—"

Janus stepped forward again.

And hugged Patton fiercely. One arm came up to circle Patton's shoulders, the other cupped the back of his head. Janus tucked his chin over Patton's shoulder and turned his face into Patton's neck.

Patton stood there frozen for a longer time than he wanted to admit. Janus was cool and strong and so, so close, and he could feel Janus' chin slotting over Patton's shoulder and Janus' hand rubbing Patton's arm and Janus was still cradling the back of Patton's head like he wanted to protect Patton from the world. Like he wanted to keep Patton safe and never let go.

Virgil was watching them with a smirk. He gave Patton a little 'move' gesture, which Patton took to mean "Hug him back."

Patton gladly hugged Janus back. He brought up his arms and pulled himself to Janus' chest and took a deep breath. Janus smelled like blood and Patton probably smelled like something burning. Janus was shaking slightly and Patton was three seconds away from crying. Janus was wounded and Patton was tired and they were only one chasm away from a still-circling dragon who would gladly rip them to shreds.

It was the best hug Patton had ever had.

And now he was crying.

Patton pressed his face into Janus' shoulder and let a few tears slip out. They'd ruin Janus' shirt, but he had to admit Janus' shirt was far past ruined already. And Janus didn't seem to mind at all. He ran his hand through Patton's hair and squeezed him tighter, and Patton was clutching at Janus' shirt because he didn't want Janus to leave and Janus wasn't leaving.

"You're an idiot," Janus whispered. "You thought I wouldn't come back for you, you're an idiot."

"I didn't want you to get hurt." Patton raised his head. "But—thank you."

"Anytime." Janus pulled his hand up and wiped at Patton's face with his thumb. "We're okay now. It's over."

"We're okay," Patton repeated, giddiness bubbling up inside of him. "We did it?"

"We did it," Janus agreed, a little smile on his face.

"We did it!" Patton squealed and gave Janus one more squeeze. "Virgil, we did it!"

"Um." Virgil's voice was hesitant. "I hate to be the bearer of bad news. But. No, we didn't. Not yet."

Patton let go of Janus and looked over the chasm.

Mara was headed straight for them.

"What." Janus looked completely stunned. "She's not—we never go into the Woods, what is she thinking—"

"She has to be turning around." Virgil backed towards the Woods. "She has to be, let's go—"

Janus nodded and slipped his hand into Patton's. Patton squeezed it and followed him as they ran down the side of the chasm. The rocks were smooth and dry beneath them and Patton took a moment to revel in the sunlight, the fresh air, the wind at his back and the rustling of leaves and the smell of the Woods, thick and deep and magical.

"Where is it?" Virgil complained. He'd run out in front of them and was scanning the tree line. "That stupid path has to be somewhere!"

"There," Janus said, his voice clipped. His hand had come up to his side again, and fresh blood leaked between his fingers.

Patton sprinted toward the narrow path, Virgil and Janus right behind him. He felt the shadows splash onto his skin like water and he was running down the dappled path, dirt under his feet and trees all around and iron glowing in the shadows.

And wow. He'd missed this.

"We're in the Woods, thank the stars." Virgil stumbled to a stop. "And I can't believe I just said that."

Patton looked back down the path. The Mountain was still visible, dark and gray, but most of the dragons were gone. As Patton watched, a few more slipped into the caves and disappeared. They'd given up, gotten bored, and probably didn't want to risk their lives by following. Patton couldn't blame them.

Janus was struggling to catch his breath, a good portion of his shirt wet with dark blood. Patton stepped forward to help, but there was nothing they could do right now.

"So," Virgil said after another few seconds of silence and leaves, "what do we do?"

"Fly?" Patton suggested.

"I'd have to find a place to take off." Janus looked at the branches criss-crossing above them. A net or a web, hemming them in, and Patton was reminded of why he didn't actually like the Woods very much.

"There's that cliff," Virgil said.

Patton bit his lip. "That's days away."

"We could go back to the chasm and take off from there," Janus said, not sounding convinced.

"We'd be right out in the open!" Virgil said. "Even if Mara's gone, she could come back."

"Mara's gone?" Patton asked, squinting down the path. Sure enough, there was no black figure idly hovering in the distance. "Huh. That's…good, I guess."

Janus and Virgil were silent. They'd probably picked up on what Patton had—that even if Mara might die from following them, it still felt weird that she hadn't even tried, that she'd left without fanfare. Seeing her in the sky, like a ripped edge showing off the night beneath, was terrifying. Not seeing her at all was somehow even more so.

"She must have left," Virgil said, sounding like he was trying to convince himself. "She's not that stupid. Right?"

Shadows pooled over Patton, thick and dark, and now he was really remembering why he hated the Woods. It was that itchy feeling of being watched again, the crawling sensation of being listened to, the creeping fear of being trapped. Like something was hovering over them, waiting for the moment to strike. He shook himself and stepped away from the edges of the path. It'd be fine. They were only feet from the edge of the Woods and they'd be fine.

Then Patton looked up.

One of the shadows above them wasn't a tree.

"Guys?" Patton asked, his voice squeaking in a question he didn't intend to ask. "Is this—"

Janus looked up, paled, and swore.

"She's an idiot," Virgil said shakily. "An actual idiot."

Mara was hovering over the trees, her wings barely distinguishable from the branches, drifting in a low, lazy circle over their heads.

"She can't be serious," Patton said. "She—these are the Woods."

"I suppose she hopes to catch us by waiting us out," Janus said.

"What do we do," Virgil asked desperately. "What do we do, Jan, what do we do—"

"There's no immediate danger," Patton said. "She can't get us down here. So…maybe we should just walk through the Woods on our own? Go back the way we came?"

Neither Janus or Virgil looked excited about that. Patton had to admit it wasn't the best plan.

"Sure," Janus agreed, "and climb up a cliff instead of down it. I foresee no possible consequences of that."

"L and Re are waiting," Virgil added. "They don't have any food and I told them to stay put—we can't just leave them there for days."

Okay, fine. It was really a terrible plan.

But what else were they supposed to do? The moment they took off, they'd have Mara on their tail, and Janus was smaller and injured and carrying two people. She'd catch up in an instant.

"Maybe we wait her out," Virgil suggested. "She can't hover all day."

Janus sighed and half-collapsed to the ground. "As a short-term plan, I'm all for it."

Virgil sat down as well. Patton rushed over to Janus. "How's your side?"

"Not great," Janus admitted, pulling away his hand. Blood had crusted in the lines of his palm. Patton's stomach turned when he saw the cut. "I don't see what I can do about it at the moment, though."

"Put pressure on it," Patton suggested.

"Here." Virgil wrestled off his hoodie, revealing his snug purple t-shirt and thin arms. He tossed it over. "Tear this into strips or whatever. I don't know medicine. But I think it could make an alright bandage."

Patton took Virgil's hoodie gingerly. "You sure? This is your favorite hoodie—"

"I'm not the one bleeding out, am I?" Virgil jerked a head at Janus. "He's our ride. Best not to have him collapsing of blood loss mid-flight."

Still, Patton saw the flicker of concern in Virgil's eyes, and from the way Janus thanked him almost-entirely sincerely, he knew Janus could tell, too.

Patton tore the hoodie into strips, wincing every time, even though the hoodie was practically strips already. He handed Janus bundles of cloth, and Janus obligingly pressed them to his wound, hissing as he did so.

"She's not leaving," Virgil noted, watching Mara. He raised his wrist, probably to chew on his sleeve, then seemed to realize he had no sleeve to chew on. He settled for shifting back and forth and drumming on his leg.

"Be patient," Patton said, wiping at Janus' wound. Logan and Remus had taken the knapsacks, so they had no water. Hopefully they'd be able to get to them soon.

"He has a point," Janus said. "If she's willing to wait us out, I doubt she'll leave right away."

"We can't leave Remus and Logan alone!" Virgil jumped to his feet and started to pace. "We can't just stay here indefinitely!"

"Hello!" Patton called up at Mara. "Can you leave, please? We want to leave and you're not letting us leave!"

Janus stared at Patton. "Please tell me you're being sarcastic."

Mara didn't respond. Probably because she couldn't hear him. And even if she did, what would she say? Maybe nothing. Maybe she'd just light Patton up with the kind of fire he couldn't control.

It was hard to keep track of her in the trees. She dipped and weaved among the branches, no more than another shadow cast by leaves. Sometimes her shadow dripped over Patton or slipped over Virgil or hovered over Janus, thick and smug, digging its claws into them. They couldn't move. She was keeping them in place.

"We should try and walk," Janus suggested. "Perhaps she'll lose us in the trees."

A weak suggestion, but all they had. Patton helped Janus to his feet and they began to walk down the path. Patton resisted the urge to bolt down the path—it wouldn't do them any good and he was too tired to keep it up—and the urge to bolt off the path—nope, not today, sorry mysterious feeling.

Mara followed, even darting ahead of them sometimes as if to tease them. They couldn't hide from her. She knew where they were going, and if it weren't for the Woods between them, she'd dive and catch them instantly.

The Woods were their only protection.

That was a funny thing to think. Then again, it felt right in Patton's head. The Woods would protect them. He knew that.

Why'd he know that? They certainly hadn't done anything to help them before.

Patton shook himself and kept walking. It didn't matter one way or another. They'd be out of here soon and he'd be back home and never have to think about the Iron Woods again. No more adventures, no more Fae, no more dragons.

Well, except for one specific dragon.

Patton glanced at Janus to make sure he was doing okay. He was limping a bit but looked alright. That was good. Patton didn't think he could stand it if Janus got hurt again. Janus got hurt too much and that really wasn't fair at all.

Mara flew above them like their shadow, following in their footsteps, and Patton felt her prickly eyes on his back.

"Why is she following?" Virgil threw up his hands. "What did we do to her?"

Janus stared at him. "You shot her with a crossbow."

"I do that to a lot of people! Including you! She's not special!"

"Well, I disobeyed her authority," Janus pointed out. "And Pat…I don't know if Patton did anything, although he did briefly set the Mountain on fire—"

"I, um, deconstructed her psychologically," Patton said, rubbing at the back of his neck, "and encouraged her to reexamine her biases towards the Fae?"

Janus sighed. "Yeah, that'd do it."

"Damn," Virgil added, sounding impressed.

Mara circled them. She was staying away from the trees themselves, which made sense. Patton caught a flash of fire as she huffed in annoyance.

"Come on, hurry up," Virgil said. "I want to get as far away from Ms. Evil here as possible. Maybe she'll turn around if she's too far away from backup."

"She doesn't need backup," Janus said, sounding oddly resigned. "If she wants us, she'll get us eventually."

"That's no way to think about it," Patton said, growing warm with determination. "We're safe in here and we'll figure out a new plan if we need one—"

Janus didn't respond. Neither did Virgil. They were both staring up at Mara.

Patton looked up.

Oh. He wasn't warm because of determination.

He was warm because the tops of the trees were on fire.

Flames leaped from branch to branch, crumbling the leaves like tinder, skidding down the bark and falling with broken twigs to the ground. Yellow-orange light flickered over everything. Smoke was already rising, obscuring the sun, casting the whole scene in unnatural darkness. Iron was melting, dripping down from its perches in streams of molten heat.

"She's burning it," Patton whispered, more horrified than he'd ever been. "She's burning the Woods."

"She's setting the damn Iron Woods on fire!" Janus yelled, sounding equally horrified. "She's trying to smoke us out! Does she have a death wish—every creature in the Woods will be after her—"

"If they survive," Virgil said quietly. He was standing stock-still in the middle of the path, smoke drifting in ribbons around his face, eyes wide.

"We've got this," Patton said for Virgil's benefit, and also because it was the only thing stopping him from crying and curling into a ball. "We'll run! Now! And I'll put out the fire!"

"Great idea, fight fire with fire, that's a highly recommended tactic." Despite Janus' biting words, he looked about to bolt as well. "Running out of here is what she wants."

"At least we can fight her!"

"Personally," Virgil said raspily, "I think the scary dragon and the flames are equally terrifying and I'm probably going to shut down in a few seconds because we're going to die oh my stars we are going to die—"

The fire was spiraling closer to them. Mara flew above them, a dark shape in the smoke, blocking out the sun and sending smoke into Patton's lungs. He didn't blame Virgil for panicking. This was terribly familiar. Patton knew how it went. The fire burned through the easiest tinder then jumped to the larger pieces of wood, and then the trees collapsed, and the smoke filled the air until breathing meant coughing on gray and exhaling ashes.

He knew how this went.

Except now there was magic involved. A magic forest was burning. And Patton had a feeling that would be good for no one.

Mara circled and suddenly dived, a streak of black lightning in the sky, landing in a plume of smoke. Fire flickered by her feet. She'd burned a little space for herself to land.

Haze crossed her and suddenly she was human-shaped, hair down and clumped around her head, fire skating from her legs like she was a Fae like Patton, who could summon the fire to her will.

Except she wasn't. She didn't have control. She couldn't stop this—no one could—it was going to burn out of control and destroy the Woods and everything inside. And Patton felt that, deeply and terribly, that was wrong.

"What are you doing?" Virgil screamed at her as a branch fell, streaming with fire, to the ground. "You're going to kill us all."

"Correction." Mara swept a hand around at the smoke. She didn't look bothered. It was like she breathed smoke every day and lit fires every evening. Maybe she did. "I'm going to kill you."

"This'll kill you too!" Patton pleaded. His eyes were already tearing up, maybe from the smoke, maybe from the wrenching pain he felt as a tree collapsed nearby. The fire was spreading, he could feel it, like it was burning him up along with the Woods. "It'll kill everyone, you have to stop—"

"I'm not going to listen to a Faerie." Mara waved her hands. "Now, are you going to sit there and be good little prey, or am I going to have to come over there?"

Janus answered that question by tossing a burning log at Mara's head. She dodged neatly.

"Disappointing," she noted like he'd lost a poker game. "You're such a waste of space, honestly, I don't know why I haven't killed you yet."

Virgil called her several names that insulted her parentage, her purity, and every other aspect of her life. Janus just stood there, watching the flames burn around them.

"At least you're not running," Mara added. "You have the sense to admit that's futile."

Patton jumped away as an ember fell at his feet. If they ran to the chasm, maybe they'd be able to cross it and be safe? It'd leave them open to dragon attacks, but anything was better than burning trees and thickening smoke and Mara's knife-edge smile.

They could run. They needed to run. They had no options left.

Still, he ached at the thought of leaving the Woods behind to burn.

Virgil must have had the same thought, because a hand grabbed Patton's arm and Janus' shoulder, and now they were running in a scrambled dash down the path. The trees burned above them, a sick kind of arch, a tunnel leading who-knew-where and away from someone was destroying a forest filled with magic. Patton thought of the unicorn he'd saved, the snake they'd fought, the gryphons they'd been chased by, even his ancestor, the Faerie. She'd sacrificed so much to create this place. It wasn't right that it was going to be destroyed like this, an afterthought, a way for a proud dragon to prove her strength.

But what could Patton do? Janus was right. Fire couldn't beat fire.

"Oh, you are going to run," Mara said. "Come on, I don't have time for this."

And footsteps behind them, surprisingly nimble, skidding around burning patches of the path.

The iron around them was pooling on the ground, sickening puddles of heat, making Patton's head swim.

Mara was behind them, gaining.

Janus was running like his life depended on it. Blood dripped from his side. He might have been crying, but it was hard to tell in the smoke.

Virgil was breathing so heavily Patton could see his chest go up and down. He was wild-eyed and his fingers dug into Patton's arm and Patton caught him muttering "no, no, no" over and over again. Patton clenched his fist and realized he was still holding some of the strips of Virgil's hoodie. The cloth fluttered in the breeze as he ran.

Mara jumped and her bones shifted in midair, huge wings bursting out, and she was diving at them, and Patton ducked and rolled, and Virgil screamed and dodged, and Janus whirled but stumbled and he hit the ground hard. Mara landed inches from him, lowering her face to look him in the eye.

Patton's resolve hardened.

He grabbed an ember from the path, wrapped it in the cloth, and chucked it at Mara's back.

Fae luck. The kind of luck that helped him make it through the Woods alive. The kind of luck that gave him amazing best friends and a great brother. The kind of luck that made him fall and have someone to catch him.

And how much did he really need anyway? He was aiming for the biggest dragon he knew, silhouetted against the smoke and finally still as she prepared to hurt Patton's best friend. It was like hitting the broad side of a barn.

He didn't need luck.

The embers hit square in the middle of Mara's back.

Patton didn't pause to watch them burn her. He pulled Virgil along. Janus, for his part, didn't hesitate. He kicked Mara in the face, rolled out of her grasp, and came up running. Virgil chucked another burning stick at Mara as she struggled to follow, screeching in pain.

Patton smiled. At least he had friends to back him up.

They ran deeper into the Woods.

Around them, the fire spread.

Patton was really starting to hate fire.

"Where do we go?" Virgil yelled over the sound of trees cracking. "What do we do?"

"I can't—" Janus paused to cough, pulling his shirt up over his mouth. Patton did the same. "I can't fly through fire."

"Well, we have to do something!" Virgil's voice was bordering on hysterical. He waved his hands wildly as if he could put out the fire through sheer force of will. "I'm not dying here, Jan! I'm not!"

"Take a breath," Janus said.

"I can't," Virgil yelled, "because there's smoke everywhere!"

Patton was watching Mara behind them. She was shifting back into her human form, leaping over fallen trees with the grace of an gazelle, gaining on them fast.

"She's following us," Patton reported.

"No kidding," Janus said. "I think at this point, she'd follow us off a cliff."

"No cliffs!" Virgil almost screamed. "I'm terrified enough, thank you!"

Patton glanced back at Mara. She certainly seemed determined to follow them even if it meant her own death.

Then again, she could fly out of here. They couldn't.

Except she couldn't. Not if Janus couldn't. And she didn't want to. She only had eyes for them. Patton wondered if she even noticed the fires around her.

This whole place was burning down. And Patton was stumbling forward, trying to stay upright, trying to breathe, trying to stay on the path—

Patton froze.

"Pat?" Virgil turned to him in panic. "You gotta run—everything's on fire—I can't—"

"Guys," Patton said, "do you trust me?"

"Absolutely," Janus said without hesitation. Virgil just nodded.

"Great." Patton grabbed their hands. "Then follow me."

He ran.

Straight off the path and into the fire.

And Janus and Virgil followed, albeit with a lot of screaming and swearing.

Patton glanced back at Mara. She paused but stepped over the iron barrier and slipped into the trees.

Running through the Woods was different than being on a path. Trees loomed in the smoke and had a tendency to appear right where Patton was headed so he had to dodge last-minute. Embers and ash and burning branches fell like a hailstorm and smoke clogged every inch of the air. His feet hurt with every step. His lungs burned hotter than the fire around them. But nothing came out to grab them. Nothing attacked them. Patton's hunch had been right—the Woods were too busy fending off the attack to do anything about their intrusion.

Well, hopefully, only most of it was.

"Hi!" Patton yelled as they traveled through the Woods. "I have a feeling you're listening. So, um—little help?"

"What—" Virgil didn't even finish his sentence because of the smoke, but Patton got the gist of it. Janus, on his other side, was staring at him like he'd lost his mind. Maybe he had. But this was their best shot.

"Please!" Patton yelled as Mara followed, slipping between burning trunks, eyes narrowed. "You don't want her in here, I know it, and you don't want this place to burn! Neither do I—so help us!"

A clearing opened up in front of them, miraculously clear of smoke. They stumbled into it, eyes watering. Virgil bent over to cough and Janus staggered over to a tree, leaned on it, and struggled to catch his breath.

Mara stopped feet from them, looking triumphant. She didn't even seem winded. Patton stepped backward, but not out of fear—he just wanted to leave some room.

"Please, don't do this," Patton begged. "You're going to get hurt."

"No, I'm not." Surrounded by fire, Mara looked more inhuman than any Fae Patton had ever met. "I'm going to win. And I'm going to make you regret ever stepping near my Mountain."

"Listen to me." Patton didn't know why he was giving her so many chances. "Don't come over here. Leave. Leave us be and it'll be okay, I promise, you just have to leave."

Mara smiled thinly. "I'm not one to waste opportunities."

She took a step forward.

Patton spotted a small branch near her ankle. It shifted just a little. A small wiggle.

"Sorry," Patton said.

"Sorry for what?" Mara asked.

"You made a mistake." Patton turned to Janus. "Jan? Wanna tell her what it is?"

Janus drew up his chin and looked her in the eyes. "You stepped off the path."

The branch looped around Mara's ankle and yanked her in the air.

She spun around a few times before settling into place. Her hair scraped the forest floor. She was screaming something Patton couldn't hear—because behind him was the sound of crashing and trembling and growing. He gave Mara one more apologetic look. Fire was already trickling down the branch towards her.

Then he turned away.

Some people just didn't want to be helped.

The rustling and creaking settled. The trees at the edge of the clearing had twisted into a tunnel, fire licking at the edges and blackening the bark but stopped by a few lines of silver that had eight legs and skittered up and down.

Patton grinned.

In the end, they had a bit of common ground—these Woods—and for this, that was enough.

"Thanks," he said.

"It won't let me in!" Virgil complained from where he was attempting to enter. The branches whipped out and clocked him in the shoulders. He stumbled back, rubbing his shoulder and glaring at it.

Patton ran over and waved at the branches. They immediately settled back into place. He took a step into the tunnel. It was almost completely dark except for the cracks, which showed fire glowing outside. They cast shattered shadows on the forest floor and little pieces of light at the edges.

"Ow!"

Patton turned to see Janus slapped by one of the branches. Patton glared at it and it settled back into place, but another poked at Janus' wound curiously and made Janus wince in pain.

"Leave them alone," Patton said, folding his arms. The branches waved noncommittally, and Patton took that to mean 'Nah.'

Patton sighed and grabbed Virgil and Janus' hands. "Hold onto me. If you stick close, they won't get you."

"You know," Virgil said in a brittle voice, "entering weird Fae tunnels is on my top ten list of ways I would rather not die."

"It won't hurt us!" Patton paused. "At least, it won't hurt me. Hopefully. Maybe?"

"It's fine, fire is number one on the list." Virgil glanced back at the clearing. It was all on fire now, grass losing its color and sparks drifting through the air. "Let's go."

Patton pulled Janus and Virgil into the tunnel. Immediately, the end closed up with a sickening squelch, giving Patton the sensation of being eaten. He shook off that image and pulled them along. The fire danced outside.

The ground stretched under their feet.

[Masterlist] [Ao3]

#leave no trace

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freezingwintah · 6 years

Text

Don't worry about me, I'll probably be fine

It all began when he met him. Over time it became clear they were on the same wavelength and pretty much in sync on everything. The dynamic duo – PBG and Jeff.

Or so he thought, until he coughed up white petals nine months ago. At first, Jeff couldn’t believe it, when he saw a few of those in his palm.

The question was – his unrequited love – who was it? He didn’t even realize he was in love.

Time Skip 9 months

A new girl who transferred into Asagao Academy got a lot of attention. It wasn’t just because of her pink hair, she was cheerful and outgoing. Jeff wasn’t the only one who liked those traits in people, as was seen later when the girl, Hana befriended the Normal Boots.

Hana grew close to one of his best friends, which was... mildly concerning. Jeff vividly remembered when Peebs told him Hana is his childhood friend and he loved her since they were little kids. Something painful knotted up inside him; he felt light headed, but tried to appear happy for PBG’s sake.

“That’s great! You can resume your friendship where you left it off.”

PBG scratched his chin and his face was flushed as if he ran a marathon. “Well, you see I’m going to Flower Festival with her. As a r- romantic interest. It’s a date.”

Oh. A date.

Romantic date?

That’s when his condition showed its thorns and he excused himself, running to the nearest toilet to throw up those petals. He retched violently into the sink and the sight was somewhat out of horror. The white petals were mixed with red, which he recognized as blood upon feeling the iron taste in his mouth.

His condition got a lot worse. Jeff now fully understood who was the cause of this. He loved PBG, but his love won’t be reciprocated now that Hana’s in the picture.

So this is what having a broken heart felt like.

Jeff cleaned up the mess he made, leaving for his dorm room. Hopefully Ian won’t be around, he couldn’t handle these emotions. He felt like crying until he ran out of tears and became dull to the world. Maybe that would make this disease go away.

He didn’t look at faces, it all became a blur to him; a swirl of faces as he dejectedly dragged his feet to his room. He went in and sunk on his bed, where he let loose of his bottled up feelings.

This helplessness was devastating; there was nothing he could do. Upon learning whom he loved, that person was whisked away by another person.

It’s not fair. Now I can’t even confess, since I know he loves Hana.

Jeff let those silent tears fall, sobbing quietly into his pillow, which was getting soaked. But he didn’t care for anything at the moment.

He smacked into the pillow and sheets a few times in frustration, his despair getting deeper and deeper.

Why did it have to be Peebs of all people. The one who was like my brother.

The hushed sobbing went on until he truly ran out of tears, emptying out his heart, only feelings left were dullness and tiredness.

He stirred on the bed, taking a look around his room. The room was encased in semi – darkness. He must have missed dinner. A bright light shone directly at him. Jeff tried to cover his tear – stained face and puffy eyes, but Ian’s stoic face stared him down with a frown.

Ian held up his phone, using the flashlight on it. He shook head. “Jeff, you look horrible. What happened?” He cut to the chase, expecting answer from the heartbroken boy.

“What happened? I got my heart broken and I’m coughing up bloody petals.”

Ian stood up, crossed the room in three long steps and hugged him on the bed, trying to comfort. “Oh Jeff...”

Drained of energy, he bitterly laughed. “I missed my chance. I missed my chance and now I’m afraid to face him.”

His friend raised a brow at that. It was another guy? But who could it be? “Who is it?” He asked, knowing he won’t probably get an answer.

“It doesn’t matter, he’s happy and that’s what matters.”

Ian scoffed. “Now you’re spouting bullshit. Show a bit of your selfish side for once! Confess and maybe it’ll turn out good.”

“It won’t turn out good.” Jeff spoke softly, when that feeling came up again. He abruptly pushed Ian off and he coughed up the evidence of his illness.

His friend came up to him and patted his back, unsure what to do or say; he never met a person with this rare disease before. But if it was truly as hopeless as Jeff made it out, he should get rid of it.

“Jeff, since when did you show symptoms?”

He threw the petals into the bin and wiped his palms into his pants. Jeff didn’t want to answer, since he felt like a big fool now, for keeping it secret from his friends, especially Ian. But, at least one person ought to know. He glanced at Ian’s feet, unable to handle the mother – hen gaze. “Nine months. I learned only today who it was I loved. And today was the first time I threw up blood.”

“Nine months!? NINE MONTHS!?? ARE YOU CRAZY? YOU CAN DIE FROM THAT!!” Ian’s usual composure was gone and he became vocal with his worrying. He realized he raised his voice and apologized.

“I know I’m an idiot. Hopelessly stuck on a love that will never work out. We’ll never be together.”

“Jeff, it’s getting too dangerous. You have to go to surgery. As soon as possible.”

He stood there, like a lost child left in the rain. “I can’t do that. I’ll lose more than the love, I’ll lose all the memories I made with that person. It was like he and I never met. If I go and have that surgery done; after that we’ll meet and I won’t recognize him. At all. It’s... horrible.”

Ian tried to reason with him. “It’s better than dying! Jeff, listen to me! You can’t do this, this pain is consuming your from inside out. The sooner you get rid of it, the better!”

“I’ll think about it.” Jeff’s tone was definitive, ending the discussion. Ian sighed, knowing there was no persuading him. At least not now. “Fine. I guess you want to keep it between us?”

Jeff nodded.

“You’re impossible. If I find who the guy is, I’m making him take a look at the picture of misery standing beside me and telling him it’s his fault for causing you so much pain.”

“No, it’s not his fault. If someone’s at fault here, it’s me. He deserves better.”

“Really? Is that your disease speaking or your severely impaired rationality?”

Jeff plopped down on his bed, laying on stomach. “Both probably. I’m sorry, but would you mind bunking up with someone else tonight? I want to be alone.”

Ian crossed his arms defiantly, but his thoughts of protesting ceased when he saw Jeff’s face. “Alright, I’ll do what you want, but only tonight.” He grabbed his phone and at the door, he threw one last glance at his friend who just blankly stared at the wall.

He left, shutting the door with a thud. Jeff switched to lay on his side, the numbness consumed him. There were only two options. Suffer a horrible death... or get surgery done. He didn’t want to die, there was so much more he wanted to achieve in life, to see with his own eyes.

How much more until the disease claims him...?

Jeff’s phone buzzed, indicating he received a text message. Apathetically, he clicked into his feed.

PBG – Jeff, I hope you’re okay now. Is your stomach upset? Must be from the stress you’re under. Remember to take it easy and relax sometimes. Gotta go, I’m live on PB&J! :D

He turned off his phone and stood up to lock the door. He laid back on bed with a lot on mind.

Ian was right, it had to be done. No regrets. He has one last talk with PBG tomorrow and then....

I won’t remember him. I will hurt him indirectly when he meets ‘me’ after the operation.

Another wave of sadness rushed him.

I’ll say my final goodbye.

When he gazed at his mirror reflection the next day, he looked as bad as he felt, if not worse. Over night, he packed most of his essentials and the suitcase now stood in the left corner of dorm room like a grim reminder that he has to leave for a while.

There was no point postponing the inevitable. Jeff only changed clothes, shedding off his Hidden Block yellow & black jacket, leaving it slung over his chair.

Jeff had no appetite, but he headed towards cafeteria anyway. PBG would be there.

He entered and spotted him sitting at Normal Boots table, only ones there with him were Satch and Shane. And of course, his club was there, too at the usual table. With a weary smile he approached the table, and all conversations ceased.

“Why do you have casual clothes on? Where’s your uniform?”

“I’m leaving today. Ian will tell you more. I’ll be back in a couple of weeks. I’m sorry...” He bowed and his friends gaped at him, shocked and at loss at words. Ian, however knew a bit more and he had that look of deep understanding.

Now, there was only one matter, he turned on heel and strut to Normal Boots table. Jeff patted him on shoulder to get his attention. PBG looked up from his plate. “Jeff?”

“Can we talk somewhere private?”

PBG’s expression turned from worried to serious, as he nodded and abandoned the table, walking behind Jeff who had to remind himself to put one foot in front of another to keep walking.

Jeff led him to the theater. PBG would lie if he wasn’t intrigued why he wanted to talk in private and in such a desolate location, but he followed after his friend.

PBG shut the door and Jeff halted, standing near the stage. Peebs closed the distance, troubled by Jeff’s odd behavior. “I can feel something’s wrong. Also why aren’t you wearing your school uniform?” He asked.

“I’m not wearing the uniform because I’m leaving. I’ve had the Hanahaki Disease for a while now, but yesterday it got ten times worse. I need to get the surgery done.”

I won’t remember you at all.

PBG heard of that before, but he never thought a close friend would be afflicted. “So that’s why you run yesterday, to... uh... throw up petals...?”

His throat tightened, so he simply nodded. PBG raised a hand, reaching for him, but retreated in the last second. Somehow, he felt the last thing Jeff wanted now from his was empathy.

“But, why are you telling me this?”

Because I love you so damn much it’s killing me.

“You’re my best friend, I thought you should know.” Jeff lied, avoiding PBG’s gaze intentionally.

To his surprise, Peebs wrapped his arms around him and Jeff barely contained his tears.

Don’t cry. Don’t cry...

He wished he could stay in his arms forever, but he had to face the reality; which was he’ll always be a friend. Nothing more. But, just for this moment, just this one last time...

Let me enjoy this moment.

Jeff rested his head on PBG’s shoulder, while the other boy patted his back rather awkwardly. “Is it really that bad? Do you have to leave? Flower Festival is tomorrow...”

“The more I wait, the more I risk it getting worse. I need to book an appointment.” Jeff muttered into his shoulder. “I... I understand. But who is the girl you like? She must be blind not to love you back.”

He chuckled at the irony. “Let’s just say it wasn’t gonna work out between us.” Jeff pried himself off from his chest, turning his back on him.

His knew very well this was the last goodbye. Jeff strut to the theater entrance, he balled up his fists, nails digging into his palms.

“Jeff!” Peebs yelled out when his hands were on the door handle. In that split second, he almost believed it would have a different ending. The desperation in PBG’s voice did a number with his heart.

Cocking head to the side, he got to see him with tears dripping down his cheeks. “Will you be alright after that?”

You dummy, don’t cry or else I’ll cry, too.

Jeff pulled up one his best goofy grins. “Don’t worry about me, I’ll probably be fine.” He sighed, looking outside the door he just opened wide.

It was so sunny and bright.

Goodbye Peebs. I know Hana will make you happy.

He walked out and felt this bittersweet feeling envelop around him as he walked back to Bluebell, tears he didn’t even bother hiding flowed out on their own.

On the train, he wiped his face clean and called his parents, informing them of the situation.

After all that was done, he was exhausted and let the train lull him along.

#asagao academy #hanahaki disease #but with a twist #surgery causes not only feelings to be removed but also memories of knowing the person #pb&jeff #ian is a good friend

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365dniprivate · 4 years

Text

Chapter 4

Giardini Naxos - the town where Martin and I had arrived a few days ago, lay several kilometers from Taormina and was visible from virtually everywhere in the city. It dawned on me that this city had previously been one of our sightseeing destinations, which is why it'd felt so familiar. What if we came across Martin, Michał or Karolina? Would any of them try to step in and rescue me? I fidgeted restlessly in my seat while considering this thought.

"They left the island yesterday," he said, as if reading my mind. How did he know what I was thinking about? I stared at him with a puzzled look, but he didn't seem to notice.9

When we arrived, the sun was slowly setting on the streets of Taormina. The city was teeming with life; hundreds of tourists and residents, tempted by numerous cafes and restaurants, filled the narrow, picturesque roads. I smiled when I began to notice signs pointing to all kinds of luxury boutiques. These stores were a common sight in Warsaw, but in a place that was practically at the end of the world, they were completely unexpected.

The car stopped, and the driver got out to open the door for us. Massimo offered me his hand to help me exit the large SUV. Another car pulled up next to us, from which stepped out two men dressed in black suits - Massimo's protection. He led me down one of the main roads, his men following behind at a close distance so as not to draw attention to themselves. If their goal was to blend in, a better outfit would've been shorts and flip-flops, though I supposed it would've been difficult to hide a weapon in beach clothes.

The first store we visited was the Roberto Cavalli boutique. We'd no sooner stepped through the door when a saleswoman rushed to us, warmly welcoming my companion, then me. An older man, dressed quite fashionably, came out of the back room and greeted Massimo in Italian with two kisses on the cheeks, then turned toward me.

"Bella," he said, holding my hands; it was one of the few words in Italian that I understood. I smiled warmly at him, in thanks for his compliment.

"My name is Antonio, and I'll be helping you select the perfect wardrobe," he began in fluent English. He studied me for a bit, then stated matter-of-factly, "Size 36, yes? Maybe even 34, depending on bra size."

"As you can see, nature hasn't endowed me well," I said, pointing with laughter to my breasts.

"Oh, my love!" Antonio exclaimed. "Roberto Cavalli loves such shapes! Let us go and give Don Massimo a chance to rest."

Massimo sat down on a couch made of luxurious silver material. A cold bottle of Dom Pérignon was waiting beside him, and one of the grateful saleswomen filled a glass for him. Massimo gave me a lustful look, then opened a newspaper and started to read.

Antonio, whistling contentedly, brought dozens of dresses to the fitting room, flying past me while carrying garments of incredible value. You could easily purchase an apartment in Warsaw with how much these all cost, I thought. After trying on clothes for a little over an hour, I settled on a few different outfits that were packed away for us in decorative boxes.

The situation was similar in the other stores we stopped at - an excited, over the top welcome and endless shopping. Prada, Louis Vuitton, Chanel, Louboutin; each time, Massimo would sit down and flip through his newspaper, talk on his phone or check something on his iPad. He didn't seem to be interested in what I was doing at all, which on the one hand felt like a nice reprieve, but on the other hand annoyed me greatly.

I couldn't figure him out; this morning it'd been nearly impossible for him to tear himself away from me, and now that he had the opportunity to see me in all of these beautiful clothes, he wanted nothing to do with me. Is this how Julia Roberts felt in Pretty Woman?

Victoria's Secret, which was our final destination, greeted us with a barrage of pink. The color was everywhere - on the walls, on the couches, on the saleswomen; it made me feel like I'd fallen into a cotton candy machine.2

Massimo looked at me while pulling the phone away from his ear. "This will be our last stop for today; we're almost out of time. Keep that in mind while shopping," he said casually, then turned away, sat down in a nearby chair and resumed his conversation. I stood there and looked at him disapprovingly - not because the shopping spree was over, as I'd had enough, but because of the way he'd treated me.

"Signora," the saleswoman called to me. She invited me into the fitting room with a friendly gesture. The first thing I noticed as I walked in was the sheer number of bathing suits, lingerie sets, and pairs of underwear that'd already been set aside for me, with the mountain of colorful fabrics - mainly lace - fully covering one of the chairs.

"You don't need to try on everything, just one or two sets so I can be sure that the size I've chosen for you is correct," she said and disappeared, sliding the heavy pink curtain behind her. What are all these panties for? I haven't owned this many pairs in my entire life, I thought.

I leaned out from behind the curtain and asked the saleswoman, "Who chose all these?"

She jumped to her feet and stepped closer. "Don Massimo asked that we prepare these items from our catalogue specifically for you."

"I understand," I said, hiding back behind the curtain. I began to notice a distinct pattern while rummaging through the pile: lace, lace, and more lace, with one or two cotton pieces thrown in. How incredibly comfortable, I grunted ironically.1

I chose to try on the combined silk and red lace set, and slowly took off my dress. The delicate bra fit perfectly on my small breasts, and I was thrilled to find out that, although it wasn't a push-up bra, it made my bust look very tempting. I bent down and dragged the lace thong over my legs. When I straightened up to look in the mirror, I saw Massimo standing behind me. He was leaning against the fitting room wall with his hands in his pockets, eyeing me up and down.

I turned and glared at him. "What are you..." was all I managed to say before he grabbed my neck and pressed my back to the mirror. He clung to me with his whole body, gently running his thumb over my lips. I tensed up, his body blocking my every move. He stopped playing with my mouth and stretched his arm around my neck. The embrace wasn't strong, and it didn't have to be; he just needed to assert his dominance.

"Don't move," he said, piercing right through me with his wild eyes. He looked down and groaned softly. "You look nice," he hissed through his teeth, "But you can't wear this - not yet."

The words "you can't" were spoken by him with encouragement, almost as if it was an order for me to do the exact opposite. I moved my bottom away from the cold mirror and slowly took a step forward. Massimo didn't object, moving backward with the same rhythm and speed as I was moving forward, keeping his hand clamped on my neck the entire time.

When I was far enough from the mirror that he could see me completely, I noticed that his gaze was fixed on my reflection, as if watching his prey. He was breathing loudly, his chest rising more rapidly, his pants growing too tight.

"Massimo," I said softly. He turned his gaze away from my ass and looked into my eyes. "Leave the fitting room, or I guarantee this will be the first and last time you see me like this."

He smiled, treating what I'd said as a challenge. His hand tightened around my neck, and his eyes burned with a combination of rage and desire. He took a step forward, then another, and stuck my body against the cold mirror again, releasing my neck.

"I chose all of this for you, and I'll decide when I see it," he said calmly, then turned and left. I stood there for a moment, feeling enraged and overjoyed at the same time; I was starting to understand the rules of his game, and starting to learn my opponent's weak spots.

As I was putting my dress back on, I felt my anger consuming me. I grabbed the pile that was sitting on the chair and barged out of the fitting room. The saleswoman jumped up, but I stormed past her to find Massimo sitting on the couch again. I went and threw everything I was carrying in my hands at him.

"Here - you chose all this, so have it!" I screamed, and ran out of the store. The security detail that'd been waiting outside the boutique cared little as I passed them; they simply looked back to check on Massimo, then relaxed.

I ran through the crowded streets, wondering what I'd just done and what would happen to me. I saw a staircase between two buildings and quickly climbed it. There was another staircase, further down from where I stood, so I ran to it and continued climbing higher and higher until I was about two blocks away from where I'd escaped. I leaned against the wall, exhausted; though my shoes were beautiful, they were definitely not made for running. I looked toward the sky, at the castle overlooking Taormina. Fuck no, I can't endure a whole year of this, I thought.

"It used to be a fortress," I heard a voice say from behind me. "Do you want to keep running there, or will you save my men the effort, and remember - they don't have the same heart condition as you."

I turned to see Massimo standing on the steps. I could tell he'd been running after me, as his hair was now messy from the wind, but he wasn't gasping for air like I was. He leaned against the wall and casually put his hands in his pockets.

"We must head back now; if you need a work out, there's a gym at my residence, along with a swimming pool. If you were just interested in running up some stairs, I've got a number of them waiting for you."

I knew I had no choice but to go back with him, but at least for a brief moment it'd felt like I was doing what I wanted to do. He reached his hand out to me, but I ignored it and started back down the stairs, where two men now stood in black suits. I glared at them both, walked to the SUV parked next to them, climbed inside and slammed the door.

* * * * * * *

It was a while before Massimo joined me in the car. He sat next to me, phone to his ear, until we arrived back at his villa and parked in the driveway. I had no idea what his conversation was about, as I only understood a few words of Italian, but his tone was very flat and calm. He listened for most of the call, speaking only a few brief sentences here and there, his body language giving nothing away.

I tried grabbing the door handle to exit the vehicle, but it was locked. Massimo finished his conversation, put the phone inside his jacket pocket and looked at me. "Dinner will be ready in an hour; I'll send Domenico to get you."

The car door opened and the young man extended a hand to help me out. I got out without his help and passed him, smiling brightly. I walked inside, with Domenico following close behind, and kept my focus away from the area that'd been the scene of last night's nightmare.

"To the right," he said quietly as I headed through the wrong door. I looked back and nodded, thanking him for his direction, and moments later arrived back to my room. Domenico stood in the doorway, as if waiting for permission to enter.

"I'll have the items you've purchased today brought here for you. Is there anything else I can do for you?" He asked.

"Yes, I'd like to have a drink before dinner - unless I'm not allowed to, of course."

He smiled and nodded knowingly, then disappeared into the darkness of the corridor. I went into the bathroom, closed the door and threw off my dress. I stood in the shower and turned on the cold water; after today, I needed to cool down. The freezing water made it difficult to breathe but became pleasant after a while, and once my emotions had been cooled, I increased the temperature. I washed my hair, applied conditioner and sat back against the wall. The water was comfortably warm and flowing gently down the glass panels surrounding the shower, soothing me.1

I took a moment to stop and think about the day's events. I was so confused; Massimo was such a complicated man, and very unpredictable. I realized that if I didn't start to accept the situation I found myself in and try my best to live a normal life, I'd quickly become defeated.

Another thought occurred to me - What was I fighting for? There was nothing waiting for me back in Warsaw, and everything I'd once had was now gone; all that was left was the adventure that fate had thrust upon me. It's time to get a grip and come to terms with this situation, Laura, I thought to myself, then stood up from the floor.

I rinsed my hair and wrapped it in a towel, then put on a bathrobe and left the bathroom to see dozens of boxes filling the bedroom. I was overwhelmed at the sight of them, but I had a plan in mind for my purchases.

I found some bags with the Victoria's Secret logo and started to dig through the dozens of options Massimo had picked out for me, eventually coming across the red lace set I'd tried on earlier in the store. I searched some more boxes to find a short, see-through black dress, then pulled out a matching pair of Louboutin heels. Now that's an outfit that Massimo definitely won't be able to handle.1

I headed back to the bathroom, toward the vanity, taking the bottle of champagne that was by the fireplace with me. I poured myself a glass and emptied it in one breath; I needed some liquid courage. I poured another, sat down in front of the mirror and got to work with my cosmetics. When I'd finished, my eyes were well defined, my complexion was perfect and my lips glistened with flesh-colored Chanel lipstick. I dried my hair, curling it slightly and pinned it up in a tall bun.

Domenico's voice came through the door. "Laura, dinner is waiting."

"Two more minutes, and I'll be ready," I shouted through the door while putting on my underwear. I quickly threw on the dress, slipped the high heels over my feet and generously applied some of my beloved perfume. I stood in front of the mirror and nodded with satisfaction. I looked simply divine; the see-through dress was stunning, and the red lace that showed through perfectly matched the red soles of my shoes. It was very elegant, and very provocative.

I quickly finished my third glass of champagne and, though slightly inebriated, was ready for dinner.

Domenico opened his eyes wide as he saw me leave the bathroom. "You look..." He paused, searching for the right word.1

"I know, and thank you," I replied, smiling flirtatiously.

"Those heels are to die for," he said, almost whispering, and gave me his arm. I took it and allowed him to lead me through the corridor. We went out onto the terrace where I'd had breakfast this morning, the canvas roof now reflecting the light of hundreds of candles placed neatly around the patio. Massimo stood with his back to us, staring off into the distance.

"I'll go on alone," I said, letting go of the young man's arm.

With that, Domenico disappeared, and I took a step toward Massimo. He looked back at the sound of my heels hitting the stone floor. He was dressed in gray linen pants and a light sweater of the same color, with the sleeves rolled up. He approached the table and set the glass he'd been holding in his hand down, watching every step I took as I came to him.

He leaned back on the table as I stopped in front of him, parting his legs slightly. I stood between them, keeping my eyes on him. The sexual tension between us was electric, and I would've been able to feel his desire for me even if I was blind.

"Do you like what you see?" I asked quietly, biting my lower lip. Massimo straightened himself to show me that, even in high heels, I was shorter than him.

"You are aware," he whispered, "that if you tempt me now, I won't be able to control myself?"

I rested my hand on his hard chest and gave him a gentle push, signalling that I wanted him to sit down. He didn't resist me, and slowly sat down in the chair. His eyes were curious and burning with passion - he examined my face, my dress, my shoes, and above all, the red lace that dominated my outfit. I stood close enough to him that the only scent he was able to focus on was my perfume. I tucked my right hand in his hair to gently pull his head down, and he gave in to me completely.

I brought my lips closer to his, and quietly asked, "Are you satisfied now?"

After a moment of silence, I let go of his hair, went to the cooler and poured myself a drink. Massimo was still sitting there, inspecting me with his eyes, his lips forming a smile. I sat down away from him, playing with the edge of my glass.

"Let's eat," I told him, giving him a bored look.

He stood up and came toward me, putting his hands on my shoulders. He bent down, took a deep breath and whispered, "You look wonderful." He brushed the edge of my ear with his tongue. "Never has a woman affected me the way that you do."

His teeth ran gently over my neck. A shiver coursed through my body, the beginning of which radiated from between my legs. "I want to throw you on this table, pull that short dress up and toss away those panties." I took a deep breath, feeling the excitement growing within me.

"I could smell your perfume from the doorway; I want to lick it off your entire body," he continued, then began to clench and move his hands rhythmically and firmly around my arms.1

"There's one place on my body that you can't touch yet," I said.

"And that's exactly where I want to be," he replied, ending his sensual argument with me. He started to gently kiss and bite my neck. I didn't object, turning my head to the side for better access. His hands slid slowly down my neckline and eventually came to my breasts, which he squeezed firmly. I let out a low moan.

"I know that you want me, Laura." I felt his hands and lips move away. "But remember, this is my game, and I set the rules."

He gave me one final kiss on the cheek, then sat in the chair next to me. He'd won and we both knew it, but that didn't change the fact that his pants were once again too tight for his body. I pretended to be unmoved by the situation, but that only seemed to amuse my companion. He sat there playing with his glass of champagne, a sly smile clearly visible on his face.

Domenico appeared in the doorway, looked at us then disappeared back into the house. A moment later, two men came out to serve us a starter of carpaccio and octopus, which were both delicious, and the next few courses only got better.

We ate in silence, giving each other quick, playful glances from time to time. As we finished, I moved my chair away from the table, poured another glass of pink wine and said, "Cosa nostra."

Massimo shot me a warning look.

"As far as I know, it doesn't exist - is that true?"

He sneered and asked in a low voice, "What else do you think you know, baby?"

I started to nervously turn the glass between my fingers. "Well, I'm sure everyone has seen The Godfather; I'm just wondering how much of that movie is true about you."

"About me?" He asked, surprised. "There's nothing in that movie about me, as far as I know."

I could tell he was making fun of me. He wouldn't answer my roundabout questions, so I asked him directly, "What exactly do you do?"

"I'm a businessman."

I didn't give up, pressing him again.

"Seriously? You expect a year-long declaration of obedience from me, but you don't think I should know what I'm signing up for?"

His expression turned serious, his eyes glaring at me. "You have every right to expect some answers, and I'll give them to you as much as I can; you deserve that much, at least." He took a sip of his wine. "After my father's death, I became the chosen head of the family, which is why people address me as 'don'. I own several companies - clubs, restaurants, hotels; think of our family like a corporation, and I'm the CEO. Our family is part of a larger overall group, though, but I won't get into that now. If you'd like the full history I can give it to you, but I think having such intimate knowledge would be unnecessary, and even dangerous."

He seemed to be growing increasingly more annoyed as he spoke. "To be honest, I'm not sure what it is, exactly, that you want to know. Are you asking if I have a consigliere? Well I do, and I'm sure you'll meet him soon enough. Are you asking if I'm a dangerous man, or if I solve my problems through violence? I'm sure those questions were answered for you last night. Now, is there anything else?"

There were a million thoughts running through my head, but nothing more that I needed to know then. The situation had been clear for some time, though I hadn't realized it. I guess my questions really were answered last night, like he said.

"When will you give me my phone and computer back?"

Massimo adjusted in his chair, throwing his leg onto his knee. "Whenever you want, baby. We'll just need to discuss what you'll say to the people you want to contact."

I drew a breath to say something, but he raised his hand to cut me off. "Before you even start, let me tell you how this will go. You'll call your parents, and if necessary, you'll fly back to Poland." My eyes lit up at those words, and the expression on my face turned to joy.

"You'll tell them that you received a very lucrative job offer at one of the hotels here in Sicily, and that you intend to take the offer. I'll make sure the contract includes a one-year probationary period, so you won't have to lie to your loved ones when you want to contact them.

"Your belongings were removed from Martin's apartment before he returned to Warsaw, and should be here on the island tomorrow. Consider the subject of this man now closed; I don't want you having anything to do with him anymore."

I looked at him questioningly.

"In case I wasn't clear the first time, let me say it again: I forbid you from contacting him," he said firmly. "Now, is there anything else?"

I was silent for a moment. He'd thought of every possibility; the story was well planned and made sense.

"And what if I need to visit my family?" I continued. "What then?"

Massimo frowned. "Well, then I guess I'll get to know your beautiful country."

I laughed and sipped my wine. I can already see the newspaper headlines - Head of Sicilian Mafia Appears in Warsaw, I thought to myself.

"Do I have a say in any of this?" I asked inquisitively.

"Unfortunately, this isn't up for discussion; this is how it's going to happen." He leaned toward me. "Laura, you're a smart girl. I would've thought by now that you would've realized one simple truth - I always get what I want."

"Not always, Don Massimo," I responded, dropping my eyes to look at the lace underwear that peeked out from under my dress. I bit my lip and slowly rose from the chair, with Massimo watching intently. I took off my wonderful red-soled heels and headed for the garden.

The grass was moist and the air tasted of sea salt. I knew that he wouldn't be able to resist the temptation to follow me for long, and after a few moments he gave in to that temptation. It was peaceful in the garden, with only the lights from the boats swaying in the distant sea to guide me. I stopped when I reached the square couch with canopy that I'd taken a nap on earlier in the day.

"You feel comfortable here, don't you?" Massimo asked, standing next to me, and he was right - I did feel comfortable here. This place didn't feel strange or new to me, and I felt like I'd lived here my entire life. Besides, what girl wouldn't like to stay in a beautiful Italian villa, with all of these comforts and services?

"I'm getting used to it because I have no other choice," I replied, taking another sip of wine. Massimo took the glass from my hand and threw it onto the grass. He took me in his arms and placed me gently on the white pillows. My breath sped up, knowing what was about to happen. He flipped one leg above me and lay on top of me, like this morning. I'd been afraid then, but now all I felt was curiosity and excitement; maybe the alcohol had finally caught up to me, or maybe I'd just accepted the situation I'd found myself in.

Massimo, with his hands on both sides of my head, leaned forward into me. "I'd like to kiss you," he whispered, nudging my lips.

I froze. A man so dangerous and powerful, asking for permission to show me tenderness and love? My hands went to his face and stopped on his cheeks. I held him for a moment, looking deeply into his calm, black eyes, then pulled him to me gently. When our lips met, Massimo attacked me with all of his strength, forcefully and greedily opening my mouth wider and wider, our tongues moving in one rhythm. His body fell over me, arms entangled around my shoulders. We both wanted each other, our lips and tongues massaging each other deeply and passionately.

Once the adrenaline had flowed away and I'd calmed down slightly, I realized what I was doing. "Wait, stop it," I said, pushing him away.

Massimo didn't intend on stopping, though. He grabbed my wrists firmly and pressed them against the white sofa, raising my hands above my head. He removed one hand and started caressing my thigh, following the curve of my body until he came across the lace panties. He grabbed them and took his mouth away from mine.

The pale light from the distant lighthouse illuminated my terrified face. I didn't fight him; there was no chance of winning. I lay there quietly, tears streaming down my cheeks. Upon seeing this, he let go of my hands, threw himself off me and sat down, resting his feet on wet grass.1

"You little..." he whispered heavily. "You know, when your whole life revolves around violence and you've had to fight for everything, it's difficult to react kindly when someone takes away something you desire."

He stood up and ran a hand through his hair while pacing, leaving me lying on my back. I was furious with Massimo, but at the same time, I felt sorry for him. He didn't strike me as one of those men who violently took women and tortured them; this kind of behavior was just natural to him, with a strong touch being as casual as a handshake. He'd also never cared about anyone before, and never needed to consider anyone else's emotions. Now that he wanted someone to reciprocate his feelings, the only way he knew to accomplish that was by force.

A vibration from his pants pulled us from the terrifying silence. Massimo took out his phone, looked at the screen, then answered. While he was talking, I wiped my tears away and stood up from the couch, slowly walking toward the house. I was tired, drunk and completely confused. It took me a minute, but eventually I arrived back at my room and passed out on the bed, completely exhausted.

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