016: IN HIS ARMS

016: IN HIS ARMS
Sitting on the large bed with his knees held to his chest, Cassian glares at the wall of his bedroom as if it’s responsible for his problems. Maybe it is; maybe the damn wall is the reason Alastor knows his damn secrets. Cassian hates that the wall has ears.

Slowly, he brings up his hand and stares at his bruised fingers from accidentally spilling hot tea on them. Cassian scoffs.

“Stupid,” he mutters, not sure if he’s talking to the wall, the tea, or himself. “Stupid vampires,” he continues to murmur to himself, his jaw pulling taut, his chest closing up with anger, and the room is getting too small; it’s as if the walls are closing in on him, mocking him even. Cassian hates the walls, but he hates Alastor more.

And as if the devil heard him, the door of the room suddenly open. Cassian is welcomed with the sight of the man who aroused his anger and warrants his hate: Alastor, dressed in a pair of loose pants and a long-sleeved shirt folded to his elbows, looks dashing, as if he doesn't threaten Cassian's existence every time he opens his mouth.

If looks could kill, the vampire lord would have been struck dead from Cassian’s piercing gaze and stone-cold eyes.

Alastor closes the door behind him with a soft click, his gaze fixed on Cassian’s face while the blue-eyed human doesn’t move. He doesn’t bow or straighten or try to pretend. He just keeps glaring, his arms wrapped tight around his knees like that’s the only thing holding him together.

“You talk to yourself a lot,” Alastor finally speaks with a charming tone, walking towards Cassian on the bed.

Cassian’s jaw tightens. “I thought you liked listening.”

Alastor sneers in amusement, and once he’s close enough, he pulls out a bottle from his pocket; it’s an ointment. The next moment, he’s reaching for Cassian’s hands, but the human pulls back as if the mere touch burns and tries to crawl away, but Alastor is faster as he grabs his arm and pulls him back in place.

“I have no idea how you managed to hide your scent, but walk away with bruised, bloody fingers, and you will be begging for death sooner,” Alastor states, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“It’s none of your business what happens to me.” Cassian tries harder to pull his hand from the vampire’s grip, but every pull makes him realize it’s a lost cause. He gives up while Alastor smiles and rubs the ointment on his bruised fingers.

Alastor hums. “You make a lot of things my business.”

Cassian sucks in a sharp breath as the cool ointment touches his skin. It stings at first, then slowly dulls the pain. He hates how it immediately helps. He hates that Alastor knew exactly what to bring.

“There,” Alastor murmurs, as if soothing a skittish animal. “You humans never learn to tend wounds properly.”

Cassian jerks his hand back the moment the grip loosens, cradling it against his chest. “Don’t touch me like that.”

Alastor straightens unhurriedly, eyes darkening dangerously under the room light. “You don’t get to decide how I touch what belongs to me.”

Cassian’s laugh is sharp and bitter. “I don’t belong to you,” he mutters under his breath.

Cassian expects him to leave, but he doesn’t. Instead, Cassian watches with a confused gaze as he starts to unbutton his shirt.

“What are you doing?” Cassian hides the panic in his voice too well.

Alastor smirks as he slips off his shirt, displaying his toned chest, strong arms, and broad chest. “We are mates; we are meant to share a bed.”

Cassian runs his eyes over the well-sculpted body, but he catches himself and immediately looks away, ignoring the loud and heavy beating of his heart. “I’ve been here for weeks, and you have never wanted to share a bed.” Luckily, he doesn't stutter.

“I chose you as a mate, not as furniture, petal. Human or not, you will perform your duties as a mate.” The look in Alastor’s eyes doesn’t waver for a moment as he begins to climb the bed.

In an instant, every alarm in Cassian’s head goes off and beeps red. His eyes widen and his chest drums, his mind screaming only one thing: sex.

Alastor wants sex.

Cassian won’t allow it. He needs to get out of here.

His mind screams flight, and that’s what Cassian does as he tries to get off the bed but once again, Alastor grabs his arm and pulls him in place but this time, Cassian thrashes.

“Let go of me, you monster! I won’t have sex with you!” Cassian’s loud voice fills every corner of the room while Alastor tries to hold him until he’s pinned to the bed with his hands held over his head while the vampire hovers over him with eyes glinting with amusement.

Cassian pants hard, eyes wide with horror and panic in every exhale of breath, knowing he’s completely powerless, knowing Alastor could have his body and Cassian won’t be able to fight back. Cassian could be raped.

“Please…don’t,” comes his desperate plea but Alastor smirks instead and then he leans in for Cassian’s face, heading for his lips but Cassian immediately screws his eyes shut and moves his face away.

He waits for the horror to happen but instead, all he hears is an amused laugh over him before the blanket is pulled over his body and Alastor’s cold weight leaves his body.

“You’re cute when you’re afraid of me, petal,” Alastor mutters with a smile. He brushes his finger over the bridge of Cassian’s nose and then lies beside him on the bed.

Cassian opens his eyes but his body is shaking; then he freezes, his body stiff under the blanket, heart pounding so hard it feels like it might break through his ribs while every breath comes short and shaky.

Alastor lies beside him like it’s the most normal thing in the world. Too close. Cassian can feel his cold through the blanket and the weight of his presence pressed against his side, even without touch.

“I-I-I’ll let you have the b-ed,” Cassian stammers, and then he’s ready to bolt again, and for the third time, Alastor doesn't let him escape.

“Where are you going, petal?” Alastor inquires, and this time, he grabs Cassian by the waist and pulls him to his body.

Cassian thinks he’s going to die as Alastor’s arm locks around him, firm and inescapable, his breath leaving him in a sharp gasp as he’s dragged back, his back pressing against Alastor’s strong chest.

“Let—let me go,” Cassian whispers, his voice breaking despite his effort to keep it steady, his brain failing to comprehend what’s happening.

“Try to sleep, petal. I’m not going anywhere tonight,” Alastor whispers, and Cassian’s entire body vibrates at the deepness of his voice so close.

Sleep. Cassian doesn’t think he’s ever going to fall asleep, not like this, not when he’s being held in the arms of his enemy.

How can Cassian sleep?