“You really think you can do that?” I ask, leaning closer as my fingers find her wrists. “You really think you can hurt me?”

She nods her head up and down, an arrogant look in her eyes, and I fucking hate how much I love it; love that she just might be able to hurt me. “It’d be the easiest thing I’ve ever done,” she says haughtily.

I assess her closely, debating how much I should push her. How far should I go with this just to see how deeply she’s possessed? I know the mark on her arm is powerful and it might be stupid to test it’s strength against Gemma’s feelings for me, but it might be the only way to get her back.

I just hope this plan doesn’t backfire and I wind up dead.

This world has always been confusing to me; life has always been confusing. It’s always full of surprises and full of risks. There never seems to be a right or wrong way to solve problems, and a lot of the time problems aren’t solved intentionally but by accident. I know nothing about Gemma’s condition—how my father got the mark on her—so I have no idea how to get it off of her. The only thing I can do is try and hope that whatever I do works. It fucking sucks. But I have to try.

I lock eyes with her and force her to look at me. Stare at her until she becomes completely uncomfortable, which is right where I want her—confused. “So you really think you can hurt me?” I ask, stretching my arm toward one of the ties around her wrist, the one secured around the hand that has the scar on it from when we made our blood promise; the promise we made to be together forever. “Cause me pain? Agony? Hurt me until I take my last breath and die?” I unhitch one of the knots and loosen the fabric, moving slowly, carefully. She watches my face instead of my hands, trying to act tough; but still, she looks so lost, just like when I first met her. “Do you think you could do it?”

She nods her head while her eyes remain fastened on mine, yet there’s hesitancy in them. “I can do anything I want to, and the thing is, you can’t stop me.”

I don’t know why I do it, other then the need to devour her as I make her mine again. Force the possession out of her and bring her back. Do something other than feel so helpless. I hate feeling helpless. So, in a desperate panic, I lean down and kiss her passionately, half expecting her to bite me. She doesn’t, though.

She just lies there beneath me, her hand twitching restlessly in the bind I have untied. Her chest is crashing against mine as she inhales and exhales ravenously, her body heat intoxicating as she rolls her hips, rubbing ever so slightly against mine. It’s mind blowing, the way she makes me feel; the heat flowing between us, the sparks, near explosion. I’m one step away from ripping her clothes off and fucking her. I’m nearly being driven mad by the feel of her, almost completely forgetting the situation as her intoxicating taste overpowers me. Then I feel her shift and her hand slips out of the bind.

I have seconds to respond as her hand finds my neck and wraps around it. She pulls me toward her, looking me in the eye as she digs her fingers inward. “You think I’m weak?” she questions in a low voice that doesn’t even sound like it belongs to her. “That a fucking kiss is going to stop me from doing what’s burning in my blood? Stop the painful desire to spill your blood out? Stop the throbbing need to end your life?”

When she tugs me even closer, our foreheads slamming together, I don’t bother fighting it as my body falls on top of hers. My weight lands on her as she leans up and nips my lip, sucking it into her mouth and grazing her teeth across it. Blood pools out and the taste of salt and rust floods my mouth. “You like me better this way, anyway; if you’d just admit it to yourself,” she whispers against my lips.

My veins are pulsating under her rough touch as I gasp for air quietly, not wanting to give her the satisfaction of seeing me weak and powerless. “You have no idea what I like,” I choke, gripping handfuls of the blanket beside her head, trying to hold my weight up off of her in a lame attempt to get away.

She tries to wiggle her hand out of the other bind as she continues to strangle me, her eyes filled with both desire and terror. She wants to do this, yet she doesn’t want to, which means my Gemma still lies inside there somewhere, and I have to get her out somehow. The only way I can think of is to push her to her limits. Let her get close to killing me. Let her think I’m about to die. Then maybe her true feelings will come out and override what my father has done to her.

I’ve seen this done once when a Keeper became possessed by a Lost Soul, which is basically a mummy that possesses and steals souls. A Witch brought the Keeper back by testing them; pushing them to the point where they were either going to have to completely give into the Lost Soul’s possession or fight their way back. I know Gemma is a fighter, but the problem is that I don’t know her true feelings for me, or if she even has any at all. I guess I’m about to find out.

I let her keep choking me; suffocating me, strangling me. I see life in her eyes flicker then diminish. Her emotions turn on and off. She’s conflicted. This is good. It means she cares about me; has feelings for me; wants me enough that she’s not sure she really desires my death. The idea both enthralls me and scares the shit out of me. All my life, I’ve felt nothing for anyone, and that’s how I’ve liked it because feelings equal hurt. Pain. Loneliness. Shut everyone out and no one can hurt you. Turn it off and you’ll be stronger. That’s what I’ve been taught.

That was the great thing about dating Stasha. I never had any feelings for her. She didn’t make me happy. Piss me off. Get under my skin. Floor me to the point where I felt like I was going to explode.

Gemma on the other hand… She does all of that and more. My emotions are so tangled up inside because I want her so fucking much, yet I’m afraid to want her so badly.

“You can’t do it,” I choke as my breath dwindles, my lungs constricting. It’s becoming harder to breathe. The room is spinning and the lights above our heads are dimming. “You care for me too much.”

“Stop saying that,” she growls, her face reddening with anger.

“No,” I say, however it sounds more like a groan. “I won’t.”

“Shut up!”

“You care for me. Admit it.”

She leans even closer and speaks slowly. “Think whatever you want, but the truth is, I feel nothing for you.” Her grip tightens. Suddenly the lights in her eyes turn off and there’s nothing there anymore. No life inside. No emotion. No Gemma. Maybe I’ve jumped to conclusions. Perhaps I’ve been wrong. Maybe she doesn’t care about me like I’ve thought she does. And if so, I’m not sure what to do about it now that I’ve realized how much I care about her. There’s no reversing that. She owns me now.

It feels like I should fight back, but I don’t. I have no idea whether it’s because I’m confused or if I’m simply so dizzy that my strength is gone. I start to fall. Sink into darkness. I think I’m dying and Gemma is the one doing it—killing me. I can’t breathe and the buzzing of the sparks is fizzling. I need to fight, yet I feel nothing…

“I think I might love you,” Gemma whispers in my ear as she holds onto me. “But I’m confused.”

“About what?” I ask, trying not to smile as I kiss her neck, my eyes shut, the cool air brushing across my skin as I breathe in her scent; lavender and vanilla. “About love?”

“Yes,” she says softly. “I’m not sure if what I’m feeling is that. Love or something else… can you tell me?”

I tense, my eyes remaining shut. “Tell you what?”

“What love is?” she whispers with a desperate plea in her voice, begging me to explain it to her, begging me to understand it.