Page 12 of Nocturne

It is laughable, the reactions happening in my body just to call out a name. A bloody name that will get us out of here, unscathed. There is no reason to feel jittery or have the heart beating miles per minute or gooseflesh to pop all around my skin. There is no reason for my palms to turn sweaty and I don’t think Eero’s smirk means something. Maybe he is just a guy who loves smirking.

I open my mouth.

“Look at me when you say my name, Ara.”

There he goes, calling my name as if he knows me in ways no one else does. It’s criminal, really—the way he looks, the way his voice rolls through the air, and the way he smells. It is just not fair to us mere mortals to be expected to keep a straight mind when in the presence of this divine being. I’m helpless against his command. I turn to look at him and into those pools of grey.

It would be weird just to call out his name. And because my mother raised a polite daughter, I say what I say.

“It’s nice to meet you… Zagan.” I smile.

It is difficult, but somehow I manage.

Everything stills for a minute.

Did the people around us stop breathing? Even the air seems to still for that second, and clouds come back to cover the moon, throwing us all into darkness. It makes Zagan appear more dangerous as he draws in a sharp breath at my words.

I feel his grip on me tighten to the point where it would leave bruises on my skin, but I say nothing. I feel as if, with one wrong move, everything around us could blow up. An illogical thought, but that is how I feel.

After what seems like a long time but must have only been a few minutes, his grip loosens. He slowly lets me go and I look away. I cannot continue staring at him and stop myself from touching his scars.

I try to ignore the sudden chill that digs into my skin as I take a step away from him and his large, warm body. My eyes are fixed on my Steve Maddens as I retreat until Ivy is allowed to reach me. I look up to see Iblis walk back towards his boss, his gaze fixed on Ivy. There is intent in his look and I know Ivy can see it as well.

Maybe it is that fear which has her gripping my hands and rushing us towards the exit. We don’t ask for permission and this time there isn’t anyone to stop us. But for reasons unknown, I turn to have one last glance at the man who evoked strange emotions in me no one has ever done.

Zagan Devlin moves to stand in front of the corpses. With his back to them and a wide stance, his fingers dig into his bicep. My eyes widen as he pulls out the bullet without so much a wince. Eero waves at me with the same mad smile he has had all the while.

I cannot name what I see in Devlin’s eyes, but it is something. Something that shakes me to the bone with its intensity and my gut tells me he is not done with me. With the night as the background and the corpses as witnesses, some twisted fate has changed our lives.

I’m scared that I have only been running from my demons until now. I don’t think I’d be able to run from the devil.

I’m not sure if I want to. And that scares me more.

Four

Zagan

A myth runs among the fishermen—a tale of a siren that has made many sane men insane. A beauty that outshines the deities that cast her away in envy. Countless men perished in search of the rock on which the siren sits, singing the tale of melancholy and despair. The men who returned, spent their lives in mad houses, talking about nothing but the siren’s beauty, which no earthly woman could match. The voice was so mesmerising that the men couldn’t bear to hear anything else.

Bunch of superstitious nonsense, of course.

But given the recent happenings, I had to halt to think if there is any truth in this particular folklore.

The voices have been in my head since I was a kid. Never quiet. Always pushing, always whispering things no kid should hear. Freak. That’s what they called me. Maybe they were right.

I grew too fast. Taller, stronger, meaner than the others. I scared people without trying, even before I said or did anything. The voices were worse when I got older—angrier. They wanted blood. I gave them what they wanted. Fights. Broken bones. Bodies.

For a long time, I thought the voices made me a monster. That they controlled me. Until I met Iko.

He was the first person who did not look at me like I was a freak. He told me that I had an advantage with the voices in my head, that they were my allies. He taught me control and ever since, Ihaven’t looked at the voices as anything but an advantage. Some people had to channel their inner rage to tap into the violence that doesn’t come normally to humans. I didn’t have to do that.

I was finally free when I learnt that the voices did not control me,Icontrolled them. They did not turn me into a monster. True monsters are not created, they are born that way.

I didn’t have to practice rigid self-control over the violence before. I was free to do as I wished, kill whom I wanted. Being a hitman was the right job for my bloodlust. But ever since I’ve taken the throne, the urge to draw violence has turned…pesky.

I nearly shot Morvain—one of the accord asshole—in the last meeting; months later, Iblis still moans about it. About how he had to clean up the mess and bridge the diplomatic relations I do not give a shit about.

The voices that whisper death had never wanted anything but carnage. That has always been the case. The twisted balance of my being. But it changed.

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