Marked

Chapter 4

Oh gods. He was right.

Just when she thought she had gotten herself under control, it started all over again. She felt dizzy as she reached for the chair and sat down roughly. This couldn't be.

To be marked was a death sentence...

But Roe had never considered what it would mean to be the last person touched by the marked. Second in line was doomed to the same fate. She would be next. He would get himself killed, and those things would be after her. She was nauseous with fear, so much so that she suddenly sprang up, and ran to the bathing room to be sick. When she was done, she came back out to the living space to see him propping her door back into its place.

"I'll come fix this tomorrow," he said, without turning towards her.

"That won't be necessary," She ground out, annoyed by the imposition. He had ruined her life with a simple touch, and now he was trying to make up for it by fixing the door. It was insulting, to say the least.

"It is necessary," he spat back, still trying to angle her door into its spot without having it fall over.

"All thanks to you." Growing over the fear that made its home in the pit of her belly came anger, as she shot daggers with her eyes into his back. She wanted nothing more than for this to be a nightmare that she'd wake from in the morning only half-remembering.

"You should have thought about that before stealing from me, you petulant brat. I could kill you and be perfectly within my right to do so." He turned around to face her, evidently satisfied with his work.

"I'm not the one who knocked someone's door down over a piece of stone. I can tell using your words isn't your forte."

She took a step forward, poking a finger into his chest before snarling, "You have ruined any chance I had at a life." She pushed him with one hand, which barely moved him, and continued with, "You broke into my house, you led Daemon to my front door, you have essentially marked me, and now you're insulting me in my own home. Get out."

Roe's eyes shifted to the door that he had nearly shattered, and she wondered if she should be a bit more careful with her words. As silence washed over them, a numbness had spread through her as she looked at the splintered wood balancing precariously in the frame. She needed a whole new door, but she wasn't going to tell him that. Exhaustion rolled over her in waves, her muscles tingly and her head light. The final dregs of adrenaline had left her system, and with it, it took some of the edge from her temper.

After a moment, he removed his hood, and she suppressed a gasp. The first thing she noticed was his ears, which came to a delicate point, garnished with rings around the cartilage. He was Fae.

Tanned, with stubble speckled across his jaw, he had a ruggedness to him. His eyes were dark, and she couldn't tell if they were black or brown in the candlelight. He had angled features; a square jaw and high cheekbones, with a little bump in an otherwise perfectly straight nose. Even that looked like a calculated decision by the gods, to add a shred of imperfection to an otherwise flawless face. Little scars were littered across his cheeks, hands, and neck like flecks of snow on a bed of clay. He had an arrogant air about him, from the way he looked down on her to the way he was acting like he owned the place. She noted that he had hair that ended at his shoulders, thick dark locks falling out of the braid they had hastily been tied in.

Realizing that she was staring, she backed up from him and folded her arms against her chest. He was staring at her with an eyebrow raised, as if to say make me leave. I'd like to see you try.

They stood like this for a moment, before he said, "You need to do something for me."

He said it casually, as if he were asking for a favor from a friend. As if he expected her to not only comply, but to be grateful that he was granting her with the opportunity to serve him.