Dark Heart, Gentle Hands Chapter 20: your body wants it

Enzo’s POV

Why is everything like this?

Why does the world always feel like it’s pressing down on , suffocating the joy out of even the smallest, simplest monts? Laughter, peace, a soft sunrise all things others take for granted feel like luxuries I can’t afford. There’s always a weight, always sothing lurking. And tonight, it was worse.

I didn’t hear him enter, but I felt him. A pair of strong, steady arms wrapped around from behind. He pulled in with an urgency that almost felt like desperation a need to soothe, to fix, to protect. The warmth of his chest against my back, his breath brushing against my ear, was sohow both comforting and suffocating.

"I’ll make sure he pays for hurting you," he murmured, voice low, rough with promise. "No one has the right to touch you except ."

I stiffened. The words weren’t comforting they were possessive. And yet, my chest ached with a strange mix of anger and longing.

"Can you just leave alone?" My voice cracked as I pulled away. I stood from the floor, hugging my arms to myself. He rose too, shadowing . "I want to be alone."

I pushed at him weakly, trying to force him toward the door. "You should leave," I said, again and again, but he didn’t budge. Not even an inch. His body might as well have been made of stone.

Then, without warning, he lifted like I weighed nothing. My breath caught as he placed on the bed with infuriating gentleness, like I was sothing precious, breakable.

"I said you should leave," I repeated, more firmly. "I want to be alone."

His expression shifted half amused, half unbothered. "Little human," he said, the words laced with condescension and sothing else fondness? "You’re still not used to how I am. I don’t take orders. I only do what I want." His smirk deepened as he climbed onto the bed, shedding his shirt as though this entire situation was his to command.

But it wasn’t his presence on the bed that stole my voice it was what wasn’t there. I blinked, sat up, stared. No blood. No scar. Nothing.

"Where is the bullet wound?" I asked slowly.

"I healed," he said simply, like that answered everything.

My fingers trembled as I reached for the spot I had stitched myself, the mory still vivid the panic, the blood, the scent of gunpowder and fear. "What do you an you healed? Where’s the scar?"

He took my hand in his, lifted it, and kissed my palm with deliberate slowness. "Because I healed," he repeated. "My body doesn’t keep scars."

"But—" I began, but he cut off.

"Shhh, little human. You should sleep." He leaned closer, and I had to tilt my chin up just to et his gaze. He was tall, towering over like a dark mountain.

"What’s your na?" I asked, still caught in that strange space between fear and fascination.

"Alaric," he answered without hesitation.

"Okay then, Alaric. I think you should let handle Doc Olivier," I said, grasping at so semblance of control. "And seriously, stop breaking into my house. If I wanted you here, I’d just give you my key."

Alaric laughed, that low, infuriating chuckle that made my spine prickle. "But I already have a key. I don’t need another."

I stared at him, blinking slowly as the realization settled. Of course he had a key. How else had he been slipping in and out like a ghost? I should’ve known but sohow, I wasn’t even surprised. I t his gaze again, and there was amusent dancing in his eyes like firelight. The kind of look that dared to fight, knowing I wouldn’t.

"I said you should sleep, little human," he said again, more softly this ti.

"I don’t feel sleepy," I whispered before I could stop myself. "I was... but not anymore."

He whispered back, as if mirroring my tone was part of so intimate ga. "Why don’t I help you with that?"

Before I could even register what he ant, he was on top of . My breath hitched as he moved, his body pressing mine into the mattress like he belonged there.

He peeled off my shirt with alarming ease, tossing it aside like it was aningless. I knew I should stop this. My head scread that this wasn’t right not now, not after everything. But my body betrayed .

Instead of pushing him away, I pulled him into a kiss.

And he kissed back fierce and hungry like he’d been waiting for this mont forever.

His kiss was deep, devouring, like he wanted to consu every broken part of and claim it for himself. I shouldn’t have kissed him. I should have shoved him away, reminded him that I didn’t ask for this, that I never agreed to let him worm his way into the cracks of my soul but I didn’t.

Because in that mont, it felt like maybe... maybe I wanted soone to choose . Even if it was him.

His hands road my skin like he’d touched a hundred tis before. Confident. Possessive. Like he was tracing a map he already morized. My breath hitched when his mouth found that sensitive spot below my ear. I hated that I tilted my head to give him better access. Hated that I wanted more.

"Alaric..." I whispered, the na shaky on my lips. A warning. A plea. I didn’t even know which.

He stilled above , but only for a second. His lips ghosted over mine, his voice low and velvet-dark. "Say it again."

I didn’t.

I couldn’t.

Instead, I turned my face away, ashad of how easy I was making this for him. He was the one who healed without scars, who walked through my door like he owned the place like he owned .

"You don’t get to play the savior and the sinner in the sa breath," I murmured, my voice tight.

His hand found my jaw and gently coaxed my gaze back to his. "I already told you, Enzo... I’m not playing. I don’t do pretending. When I say you’re mine, I an it."

My heart stuttered.

Sothing dangerous glinted in his eyes. Not the kind of danger that made you run. The kind that made you want to step closer, even if you knew you’d get burned. My body responded before my brain could catch up. I wrapped my arms around his neck, and his mouth descended on mine again less urgent this ti, more deliberate. Like he wanted to morize the taste of my surrender.

And maybe I gave it to him.Maybe I let him take a piece of . His hand reached for my pants but then I stopped him, "I don’t want this, let’s stop"

Alaric didn’t move at first. He hovered just above , his breath warm on my lips, eyes searching mine like he was trying to read every unspoken thought tangled in my head.

"You keep looking at like you’re waiting for to disappear," he murmured.

I didn’t answer. Maybe because part of was. People like him mysterious, dangerous, otherworldly they didn’t stay. They didn’t hold broken things like and call them precious.

But Alaric didn’t pull away. His fingers trailed down my chest, slow and deliberate, like he was testing the edges of my restraint. I inhaled sharply, feeling every inch of his touch like fire crawling across my skin.

"You say you don’t want this," he said quietly, "but your body betrays you."

"Alaric..." I warned, my voice barely above a breath.

He moved lower, lips brushing down my neck, then across my collarbone. "Let take care of you," he whispered.

His hands were warm, grounding, but it was the intensity in his gaze that truly undid . Not lust though that was there too but sothing deeper. Fierce. Protective. Dangerous.

I wasn’t sure when my hands found his hair, or when I arched into him, whispering his na again, this ti not in protest, but need.

He didn’t ask for permission.

He just worshipped like he already knew every way to unravel .

And I let him. Because for once, I didn’t want to fight. I just wanted to feel wanted. Owned. Safe. Even if it was only for tonight.