Page 10 of Nocturne

He has caught me completely off guard. My inhibitions, my thoughts, my survival instincts—all of them blur as my neurones are consumed by the sight of the man, as if the gods themselves shaped him with their own hands. Just as Ivy shifts behind me, I instinctively reach to stop her.

In my haste, my mind still tangled in confusion, my finger pulls the trigger.

Three

Ara

The gunshot resonates around the room, louder than when I shot Nero. Ivy lets out a short scream of horror while my eyes widen and dread fills my body. Surprisingly, it isn’t for myself.

I turn to see that the bullet has lodged in Devlin’s left bicep.

A rope of crimson fluid spills from under his sleeves, followed by two more streams, dripping down to his index and little finger before falling to the ground.

I can’t bear it anymore. Firing the gun once was already more than I could handle. Killing Nero was necessary for survival—he meant to harm us.

But this man? He merely walked toward us, and he showed no intent to kill. If he had wanted to, we would already be dead. And yet, I shot him.

Seeing the blood, I lose control. I don’t stop when Ivy grabs my hand. Instead, I run toward the man I shot, not caring that he could kill me for this transgression.

“I didn’t mean to shoot,” I say.

I cannot look up at him; I don’t care that he is a stranger, let alone the criminal overlord of this country. My eyes are fixed on the blood I drew. The blood of an innocent who meant no harm. With shaky hands, I gently take his hand and examine the wound. Tears gather in my eyes when I see the blood oozingfrom the hole and note the absence of an exit hole. The bullet is embedded in there.

“I’m sorry,” my voice shakes.

With tears brimming in my eyes and my heart heavier than ever, I look up at him. His face is blurry, but I can see him tilting his head sideways, like before. He lets me hold his arm as his other one raises. I cringe back on reflex. Devlin’s hand halts for a second before he continues forward until he thumbs my tears. He brings them under his eyes for closer inspection and rubs them between his fingers. It is as if he is mesmerised by them, and this is his first time seeing someone cry.

Does he think I’d kill him just because I felt threatened? Does he hate me? Will he ever forgive me?

His eyes, fixed on mine, stir memories I’ve buried deep—of the eyes that met mine moments before I plunged the knife. The eyes that stared back, wide with fear and acceptance, just before I slit their throats. Innocent lives taken to preserve my own. I never asked them for forgiveness. I couldn’t. What right did I have to seek it?

I thought I could live with the guilt—that it was the price for survival. But it’s getting heavier. Crushing. A heart can only take so much before it shatters into pieces.

I never got to apologise to them. But this man… would he forgive me? And if he did, would it mean they might have, too?

I mentally shake my head, pitying the woman I’ve turned into. In the haze of my mistake, I’ve let emotions cloud me. I shouldn’t be touching a stranger, let alone him. I let him go and jump back slightly. I spy a look at his men, to see if they moved from their positions.

They didn’t. They all remain rooted to their spots, hands held back, awaiting orders. Nico has moved to stand under the light and his face looks strained with every second that passes with me touching his boss.

I make a move to step further away but am pulled back with a harsh tug around my waist. His injured arm holds me hostage, as I gasp at his sudden touch and the proximity.

“Ara!” I hear Ivy’s horrified cry from behind me.

I turn to see her running toward me, but Iblis steps in her way. His hand closes around her wrist, holding her back without the slightest strain.

“Ara.”

A shiver runs down my spine both at his voice and also at the way he says my name. How can a voice be this deep?

“Is that your name?”

With the cloudy haze of my emotions cleared, I catch his scent—an intoxicating blend of oud and leather. And also something else, something I can only describe as dark and primally masculine. It clings to him, filling the space between us, and despite everything, I can’t deny how much I like it. It’s the kind of scent that lingers, unforgettable, and it suits him perfectly. It’s the kind of scent that stays with you, embedding itself in your memory, just like him.

His thumb brushes beneath my other eye, and for a moment, my breath falters. The roughness of his fingers stands in stark contrast to my smooth skin—a touch both abrasive and gentle. There’s no hesitation, no awareness of boundaries, as if invadingmy personal space is the most natural thing for him. And having my lungs fight to function properly.

I nod in reply to his question, not trusting my voice at the moment.

My breasts are inches away from touching his chest, and I can feel his warmth on my skin despite the layers of clothing between us. His eyes are still those mesmerising shade of grey, dead but also slightly inquisitive. He rubs the other tear between his fingers again. My eyes widen when he brings his fingers towards his mouth and… licks them.

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