Page 7 of Blood that Burns
Springing to my feet in panic, I rush toward the door, sprinting down the halls. I promised I’d be in my room, locked away well before midnight, and I didn’t keep that promise. Instead, I got sucked into my book, flushing away the truth that I’m not safe here no matter how much Marcellus tries to make it so.
The halls are quiet, save for my feet pounding across the hardwood floors. I’m hopeful that I haven’t made a grave mistake in not heeding Marcellus’s warning.
Surely, he wouldn’t bring the Council back here this late.
A door slams ahead and I screech to a halt, eyes scanning the area for somewhere to hide. Until I’m sure that it’s only Marcellus, I need to remain unseen and unheard.
“Fuck.” Marcellus’s voice echoes off the walls.
I don’t move. Don’t breathe. Waiting in the dark alcove, I listen for signs that he’s not alone.
“Why are you out of your room, Magdalena?”
I stiffen, knowing I’ve been caught. He doesn’t sound angry. He sounds... broken.
His voice is strained with something that sounds an awful lot like pain and regret.
I slink out from my hidden spot and move forward apprehensively, not sure what I’ll find when I round the corner.
It’s worse than I thought.
I watch as Marcellus falls to his knees, curling into himself on the floor, appearing every bit the broken man I feared I’d find.
“Marc?” I call out timidly, unsure how to approach.
“Don’t come near me.” He practically whimpers, coiling further into himself.
I take several steps toward him, approaching him like I would a feral animal. Tentative steps, as quiet as possible.
When I place my hand on his arm, his body goes rigid.
“Don’t,” he growls. “Go to your room, Maggie.”
I don’t listen, dropping to my knees at his side.
“I won’t. You need me, Marc.”
His body shudders, and I lay my hand on his back to offer whatever comfort he’ll allow.
“I’m here, Marcellus. You’re not alone.”
His ragged breaths and shaking have my mind reeling. In the almost year I’ve been here with him, I’ve never seen him like this.
He’s stoic. Reserved. Hard.
Bits of what I think are the true Marcellus Bellamy shone through in the way he watched over me at night. Held me while I dealt with the aftereffects of my nightmares. Every now and again, a playful side would sneak in while we tended to the flowers.
But emotion like this?
I didn’t even know it was possible for him.
“What happened tonight?”
“Maggie.” His voice cracks. “I... can’t.”
I squeeze his shoulder. “I’m here for you. Tell me.”
The silence that follows is thick with tension, but I don’t utter a single word. I barely breathe for fear he’ll pull away, leaving me with more questions.