Tangan Di Iris Novels & Stories

Iris still watched me with careful eyes and I burned under that scrutiny. Too many thoughts rushed through my mind all at once, and I chose to grab onto the one that promised to bring a temporary solution. Leaping, I stretched a hand toward Iris’ face, but she was too fast; she caught my hand before it could even complete its mission. Her eyes narrowed. “What are you doing?” I swallowed. “I just wanted to pinch your cheek to be sure that you're real.” She tilted her head to the side as though she needed to watch me from a new angle to truly understand me. “So me holding you by the hand is not enough.”

I just stayed still. She raised her hand, hovering it inches from my chest. The space between us tightened — not with tension, but with something older. Healers had their own way of seeing, and Iris was one of the rare few who didn’t need spells or incense or stones. Then the room was silent, Her eyes closed immediately. Then her brows pulled together. Her hand trembled — not from fear. From recognition. “There’s something here,” she murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “Not yours. Not his. It’s wrapped around the bond like a second skin… a film.”

“Oh, what have they done to you? I’m so sorry I couldn’t protect you.” That finally kickstarts Iris again. She shakes her head. “There was nothing you could have done, Tilda. Please don’t blame yourself.” Tilda looks like she wants to say something, but she pauses and sniffs the air. Then she’s looking over Iris with more scrutiny. When her gaze reaches Iris’ hands, she’s pulling them up and forcing them open.

" I ordered. Without question, he yanked off the tubes passed into Iris body, supporting her to her feet with his arms around her shoulder. "Loose him." She winced, supporting her weight with her hands on the edge of the bed. Klien rushed over to my side, cutting off the tubes on my hands with his claws. "My Lord!" The pain in his voice was pulpable. Just then, Iris crumbled on her knees and hands, coughing out the purple liquid. Some trickled out of her nose, splotching the white tiles below her pale face. "Iris!" I fell out of the bed in a frenzy, dislocating my left shoulder blade in the process. Her entire system had been soaked in the liquid, as mine was bathed in silver.

“Do you have a hand cream or something?” “I think so,” Iris said and began to look around for her handbag. Garvin picked it for her from the back seat and gave her to bring out the hand cream. Pouring a generous amount in his palm, he rubbed it together, at the same time issuing a warning, “It might hurt a little but the pain will be relieved.” Iris nodded her head but as soon as Garvin’s moistened hand came into contact with her thighs and began to move up and down, she stiffened.

But Autumn, as always, was playing the same game Iris played, but better, the quiet victim. Ivan swiftly intervened, positioning himself between the two sisters. His gentle fingers began to massage the crimson mark on Autumn's cheek, but she recoiled at his touch, her eyes welling up with tears. Each tender caress of his thumb sent a wave of discomfort through her, and she flinched, her body language screaming in protest. As Ivan's gaze shifted to Iris, his expression transformed into a fierce glare.

The doctor left the room. I lifted myself out of my bed with Mason's help and refused the wheelchair he offered with a death glare. I was weak and quite small but I was not disabled. I entered Iris's room and more tears brimmed my eyes. Her wrists were purple with a silver tint. Under her eyes was purple and her fingernails seemed like they were deteriorating when my fingers skimmed them. She was pale, so pale, too pale. I didn't want to touch her too much because I knew it may cause her pain and she wouldn't be able to tell me to stop. I had caused her enough pain, I didn't want to cause more.

“You say that you can tell if I am lying, right? Can you also tell if I am not lying? Cuz there’s not a lot more of the story, but it’s… I don’t know, I don’t want you to think I am still keeping something secret. I promise I’ll tell you. I just… either I remember it wrong, or the things they said I just don’t understand. It doesn’t really make sense, but it’s all I know, I swear.” This was an opportunity. “Iris, if I touch you – like, just place my fingertips on your wrist or hand – I would be able to tell something like that with more certainty. Contact helps me to perceive emotions more clearly. If you would like, you could tell me the story while I touch your hand, and if you tell the tr

Frustrated in the way people were frustrated when their ability was not matching their effort. "Because you are tense," Lena said. "When you are tense it scatters. Relax your hand." "I am relaxed," Iris said. "You are not," Lena said. "I can feel you holding your fingers." Iris looked at her hand. Deliberately opened her fingers one by one. The power in her palm shifted immediately, steadying, the scatter pulling inward into something more coherent. Iris's expression changed. "Oh," she said. "Yes," Lena said. "There it is."

But Iris was nowhere near finished. Her eyes fluttered open again, and that glassy hunger was still there, brighter than before, almost feverish in its intensity. She lifted one hand and traced my jaw with trembling fingers, her touch featherlight, her fingertips mapping the lines of my face like she was trying to memorize me for a time when she might not have me this close.