Page 94 of Nocturne

* * *

The video is playing, and even with the volume low, the screams are unavoidable, slicing through the room like knives. My stomach churns, memories of the night clawing back up, almost choking me. Across from me, Iblis watches with a face of cold indifference, his gaze unwavering even as the worst parts flash onscreen.

I glance at Ivy, who’s seated next to me, her eyes locked onto him with a mixture of fascination and fear. I would have rolled my eyes if I were on higher moral ground—but right now, I’m not.

An unwelcome tingle still lingers on my lips from that stupid kiss with Zagan an hour ago. I shove the thought down, forcing my attention back to Iblis. He sits here, in my living room, looking absurdly out of place. He belongs in a penthouse or manor, not on this cream couch in my modest home.

But he’s here, and so is Eero, thanks to the ‘crap storm’ at the docks.

Eero brought him, saying, “He’s got ways to help,” like that was reason enough to invite a man like Iblis Vesper into my home—this charming, snake-eyeddiplomatwhose real expertise is a twisted brand of negotiation and manipulation.

I’m uneasy having these two men inside my home. Somewhere along the way, as Eero tried to befriend us, it became easier to overlook what he was capable of—the things he did the night we met. Maybe we’ve been working so hard to suppress those memories—memories of corpses, flashes of lightning, and the brush with death—that we convinced ourselves it was all just a nightmare conjured up by an overactive imagination.

But the image of Nico, staring down at the men he killed with complete disregard, still lingers. He didn’t flinch, not once. And Zagan, completely unfazed, watched as blood pooled and stained his shoes.

The harsh truth hits me with disturbing clarity: these men aren’t just anyone. Eero is an enforcer, a man who tortures and kills for information—and he relishes it. Nico, a loyal guard to his boss, doesn’t hesitate to carry out any order, no matter how dark. Then there’s Iblis, the silver-tongued diplomat who handles their delicate negotiations, the gatekeeper who decides who gets invited into their world and who meets the wrath of their enforcer.

These aren’t just men—they’re the embodiment of the shadows that rule their world. And Zagan…Zagan Devlin, the man who oversees it all, whose power stretches into every shadowed corner of this world. He’s unfeeling and ruthless—I saw it firsthand tonight.

I was under the illusion that they were somehow approachable, even within reach—just because he’d saved me a few times. I’m grateful for what he’s done, but it’s time to shatter that dream where I painted them as something close to normal. But now, the reality is crashing down: these are no knights in shining armour. They’re killers, ruthless and unyielding, and I have two of them in my home right now, with my child asleep upstairs. And, worse still, I kissed the most dangerous one of them all!

You speak as if you aren’t one like them.

The hiss inside my head feels like a physical slap to my cheek, silencing the judgmental thoughts swirling within me. It’s true; I have no right to sit here and condemn them when I’ve done the same—if not worse. I’ve killed innocents, all for my own gain.

I ran, abandoning my friend in that wretched place. I didn’t even glance back, not even when I heard the screams of the women being dragged into the burning wagons at the ritual grounds. Instead, I just kept running. I ran until those cries faded into the distance, until the darkness engulfed me completely, transforming me into a monster I feared to face.

Every time I look in the mirror, I see that reflection—the dangerous, all-consuming part of me that turns me into something out of nightmares.

I let out a breath, pushing away the notion that I could ever be a normal woman. No matter how much I wish it were true, I’m not.

I look at the men, seeing them for who they truly are, accepting them without delusion. Eero is my friend. Despite his abilities, he chose to be kind to me, to be someone I can turn to in times like this. Yes, they’re dangerous, and being associated with themcomes with its own risks. But am I not more dangerous? Doesn’t the threat of what I could bring to their doorstep still loom over us?

To be honest, I need this friendship. I need these connections to this mob, just in case—just in case I’m found. It’s a selfish thought, and I recognise that. But I’ve never claimed to be pure. I’m tainted. My soul, my very existence, is stained with a dark, sticky substance that glimmers red.

“That’s quite an evidence you’ve gathered, Ms O’Shea.” Iblis’s voice is soft, almost mocking.

Ivy thinks she is sneaky, but both Iblis and I observe the way she turns rigid and moves closer to me. She is scared, more scared than when we were being chased. Why? I thought Iblis never approached her after she quit her job. It is clear from the way she reacts, there’s more between them than that meets the eye.

I turn from her to Iblis, who sports a small smirk on his handsome face. His eyes are fixed on my friend, not hiding the intensity of whatever dark thoughts are brewing inside his head. If I’m being honest, out of all these men, I’m wary of this guy the most. I’d be a fool to trust this man. Unlike Zagan’s unfiltered menace, Iblis hides his darkness beneath a gentleman’s mask, almost undetectable—until it’s not.

At least with Zagan, I know not to expect anything good.

Why? He saved you more times than you have saved yourself.

I ignore the thought. I’m hell-bent on not seeing him as anything good. It does not bode well for the gutter-worthy thoughts flowing inside my brain whenever I think about him. I can feel the bruises his fingers left on my waist from earlier. I wanted to slap myself when a fissure of erotic high went down south atseeing them as I changed out of my clothes, which I promptly burned after bandaging my poor feet.

“Can this be enough to stop them?” I ask.

Iblis’s eyes turn to me, losing the darkness to be masked with the faux gentleman.

“You think a small video with grainy quality is enough to stop an organisation that might be conducting human experiments in different parts of the world?”

I knew that. But he didn’t need to sound so condescending in the way he framed his question as if he was looking down at us.

“Don’t be a dick, Iblis,” Eero warns from behind him.

Iblis gives a delicate, insincere smile. “Apologies,” he murmurs, eyes glittering with barely veiled amusement. “But no, Dr Sinclair. It won’t be enough.”

---