FALLEN | rowan whitethorn x oc

CHAPTER TWELVE - lorcan chickens out of a fight

There were many things going in Isabella's mind -though that was not a surprise-. For once, she was trying to recall as many details from her soothing dreams as possible –which she was also failing miserably at-; she was trying not to think about the pain in her inner thighs due to riding her horse for hours and days; she was thinking about the possibility of discovering people from her world as they went from one place to the other; and she was trying, desperately, not to think of Rowan.

Rowan. Rowan. Rowan.

It was unnecessary to clarify that she was absolutely, and utterly failing at that, too.

She wished with almost all her being there was a way to forget the sensation of his big, strong hands on her arms burning her, the uproar that had raised within herself -something she had never experienced before- at the heat that had come from his own body; and had agitated her so strongly that she had felt like a candle set on fire, burning only for him; she desired to forget the gentleness of his grip on her, and the way she had felt nothing close to fear; she wanted to erase the memories of how it his presence had felt all around her, charming her, dazing her, until she could not form a coherent thought, for her mind was tangled only in Rowan; she hoped to forget his pine-green eyes filled with lust as he muttered something under his breath and gazed at her as if she were the most beautiful female he had ever seen, his eyes reflecting the same emotions in hers; but most of all, she craved to forget the way he had saved her, the way he had stayed by her side –twice already- and helped her find her way back to the real world through her panicked thoughts, and the way he had sounded, and looked utterly, and profoundly worried about her.

Isabella felt the rising heat on her neck and cheeks, she was blushing by the mere memory of their interaction. She eyed Rowan from the corner of her eye, he was running, all of them were, and there was a light layer of sweat covering his temple, his complexion shining in the sun due to it. He looked wholly surreal. He looked like a mythical thing, like something her mortal eyes should not be able to see; and yet she could do nothing to not look away. The sight of him was mesmerizing. She hated him.

He also appeared to be completely oblivious, and absolutely unaffected by their earlier encounter. She hated him even more for it. He must have known what he was doing, he must have known the effect he had on her –even if she did not wish it-, he must have done it just to play with her, just to distract her so she would not decide to run away from them. Even if she had not been doing that.

Perhaps it was all just a plan of his, to seduce her into his arms and  for her to give him her own shabby heart so she would not wish to depart from them, at least as long as she was necessary for their mission.

Isabella felt instantly disgusted by the idea. She felt used, and insignificant.

She wished it were not true, she wished she could convince herself that Rowan and the rest would never go to such immoral lengths, but the truth was that she could not, because she did not know them. She did not know who these four males around her were, she knew their names and faces, she could think of facts and memories attached to them, but none of that was real. They were all their own people, who she did not know, not really.

What did she know? That Fenrys was talkative and a diva? That Lorcan was silent and a goth? That Gavriel looked kind and approachable but he was only that when it suited him? Or that Rowan was the king of jerks?

Isabella contained the tired sight threatening to erupt from her by her force of will. She wanted to rub her eyes with the palm of her hands, and rest. She was tired, so, so tired. Not just physically, but emotionally. She was tired of trying to be respected, she was tired of trying to decipher the real version of the book characters she loved, she was tired of her nightmares, and she was tired of walking stray only to be more and more lost with every step she took.