Page 9 of Nocturne

We need to get out of here. Soon.

“What is it that has girls like you trotting around here anyway?” Eero asks.

My face remains the same fearful expression I’m forcing it into, but I see Ivy growing tensed from my periphery. She isn’t used to confronting men like this. She doesn’t know that they look for every microexpression and use it against you. As expected, they notice the change in her demeanour and their eyes grow hard.

“Reporter?” Iblis asks.

“How did you know?”

I shut my eyes for a brief second, willing my patience.

Iblis smiles at Ivy’s indirect confirmation and she shivers.

“They are the only lot who still doesn’t learn,” Eero tsks as he shakes his head.

“Would be reporting this in your paper, Miss…?”

Iblis waits for her to reveal her name. And before she does, I grab her wrist to stop and speak.

“No. We want nothing to do with any of the…events that occurred here. We just want to leave and forget this night ever happened.”

We are by no means revealing our names to the men who run this bloody country and belong to the bloody mafia. We might as well hand them over our ID cards and place a welcome mat into our lives and let them torch it up.

And with the way he keeps looking at Ivy, giving our names is the worst possible thing to do.

“And we can just take your word for it?” Iblis raises his brow.

“Yes, and also that we are not suicidal or foolish to report something that will vanish by dawn.”

No one speaks. But something else happens.

Something that has me drawing in a shuddery breath and bracing myself for the unknown. Zagan Devlin takes a heavy step forward, one more and one more until I push Ivy behind me again. It is a poor attempt at protection but he will have to go through me to hurt her.

“Don’t come closer,”

Eero raises his brows as if he cannot believe I would order his boss.

I raise my hands and point my gun at the man who ignores my words and continues to walk forward. The shadows are still concealing his face except for those alarmingly dead eyes that look at me with…nothing.

He emerges like a figure from a nightmare. The polished tip of his shoe gleams first under the moonlight, followed by hislarge feet and thick, powerful legs encased in black trousers that hug his muscles. A belt catches the light, reflecting off his solid frame. His broad shoulders taper to a strong waist, but every inch of him is carved from strength, a body built for dominance.

One hand rests casually in his trouser pocket, the other hanging at his side, revealing forearms and fingers thick with muscle, veins snaking under the tanned skin. His perfectly fitted black shirt clings to his form, tucked into his trousers, giving him a presence that feels unbreakable. He looks colossal, indestructible, like a force of nature.

On anyone else, these muscles might scream excess, like an ad for steroids. But on him, they just work. I hate to admit it, but he’s undeniably attractive.

His rolled-up sleeves flaunt arms that could be every woman’s fantasy, and the fluidity with which he moves seems unnatural. With every step, the air around me grows heavier, and I seem to lose my coherent way of thinking.

“Sir, I will shoot. Please don’t come any closer.” I warn again.

My voice is breathy this time. Ivy curses behind me, refusing to stay there. I place my finger on the trigger and look to see if any of his men would protest or would even want to stop me. Iblis looks bored, I still cannot see Nico, and Eero shakes his head at me in pity. I turn back to the giant man.

His face is last to come into the light. And I’m not prepared for it. I don’t think anyone would be prepared for the man who is Zagan Devlin.

His hair, darker than the night itself, is meticulously styled, not a strand daring to move even with the wind. His eyes, stormy grey, seem lighter in the moonlight, yet they gleam with danger.A jawline sharp enough to slice through paper. High cheekbones framed by a thick, well-kept beard. His nose is strong, slightly crooked at the top, as if it’s been broken. But rather than diminishing his allure, it adds to the ruggedness of his features. His face could be a weapon—he looks the bait to draw in his prey. But it’s not his devilish charm that pulls me in. It’s the scars.

He bears a few scars. The longest, deep and jagged, starts from his left temple, slicing through his thick eyebrow, down his cheek, and disappearing beneath his beard. Another one cuts across the corner of his lips, leaving them perpetually curled in a frown. A third runs below his chin, tracing the line of his jaw down to his corded neck. Beneath his collar, tattoos peek out, hinting at the ink that sprawls across his forearms, as if the scars are merely the prelude to a much darker story written on his skin.

In the light, fully exposed, the man is nothing short of formidable—majestic, yet as dangerous as any beast. His towering height and the sheer mass of muscle he’s sculpted make him seem capable of overpowering anyone. But it’s the way his eyes burn with an unsettling beauty and the weight of power he carries with him that truly set him apart. How can eyes that look so stunning hold such a dead, lifeless gaze?

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