Hurriedly he righted his robe, the material weaving itself back together to shield his self-inflicted flaw. He held up his hands, palms out, a stance he prayed reassured Annabelle that he currently lacked menace. “I’m sorry that I hurt you. That was not my intention.” Step by measured step, he approached her.
She shook her head viciously, hair he’d fisted only moments ago now hanging in tangles. All the while, she continued to rub at her chest. “I told you not to come any closer. Stay back!”
Just then, he would have done anything she asked—except that. If he retreated, she would never again trust him and on some deep level he did not understand, he needed her to trust him. She would build walls between them, walls he could never hope to breach, for they would be fortified by this terror and an ever-growing sense of fury. He discerned this on that same deep level, where instinct swirled with his primal need to protect her. He quickened his step, unwilling to prolong this a minute more.
The moment he reached her, she erupted, fighting him with every bit of her strength. At least she opted not to use her other blades.
Took him longer than he would have guessed, but he finally managed to capture her hands and spin her around, and though he despised the need for his next actions, he removed her torn shirt. He pinned her wrists above her with one hand and reached into an air pocket to claim the shirt he’d saved for her. The one he’d removed from its bag because it had been his favorite, a sparkling blue the same shade as her eyes.
Screaming, she bucked against him and cried, tears splashing as she shook her head. He worked the material over her head, through her arms.
All the while, he whispered into Annabelle’s ear. “I will not hurt you. You are safe with me. You have nothing to fear from me.”
She was too entrenched in her terror to hear him.
He would not be able to reach her this way, either, he realized. Not knowing what else to do, Zacharel flared his wings and flew her to the mouth of the cavern. Twice he nearly dropped her, so wild was her flailing, but in the end he was able to set her feet on the floor. The second he released her, she bolted into motion, sprinting through the tunnel, away from him.
Only when he rendered himself invisible did he follow after her, flying just overhead. Constantly she threw panicked glances over her shoulder, searching for him. Though she never spotted him, never sensed him, she never slowed. She ran and ran and ran, wheezing and crying. When she caught sight of the bright rays of sunlight pushing through the cave entrance, she increased her speed.
She burst into the daylight, tripped over a large rock. A mewl of pain escaped her, but she righted herself and kept going. He caught the scent of her blood and knew she’d skinned her knees.
Squawking birds took flight as she ran, and forest animals skittered away. She splashed through a puddle, then tripped again, over a tree root this time. Her palms took the brunt of the fall, abrading her flesh, and her ankle twisted, but not even that slowed her. Branches slapped at her, cutting her cheeks. Leaves stuck in her hair.
Soon she would tire. He would let her race wherever she desired until then. When she had nothing left, he would swoop in. She would have to pay attention to him as he did everything in his power to convince her of his remorse, to reassure her that nothing like this would ever happen again.
Though he wasn’t exactly sure what he’d done wrong. She had enjoyed his kisses and his touch. Yes?
“Just like them,” she sobbed, rubbing, rubbing, still rubbing at her chest. “Why’d he have to be just like them? I told him to slow down, but he wouldn’t and now I… Now I…”
With her words, understanding dawned. After everything she had endured in the institution, he had pushed her for too much, too fast. He had destroyed her clothing, as the ones who had forced her had probably done. He had not heeded her protests, but had tried to take what he desired.
She was right—he was just like them. Was there a way to fix this? A way to convince her that he wasn’t the monster she now considered him? In the past, when someone wronged him to such a degree, Zacharel had never been the type to forgive and forget.