14. Diablos
Chapter fourteen
Diablos
Ididn’t know exactly what happened, but something shifted between us in that forest. I could feel it in the space between us. It wasn’t something unpleasant. It was quite the opposite.
I was sure Dagon had had a panic attack in the forest, but I didn't know why. Something in him flipped after I asked him why he hated me. What could possibly trigger a panic attack in him? There had to be a trigger – and that trigger was my question. I think.
I was beyond confused.
Why kept circling in my head. There was something more here, and not knowing was eating me from the inside.
Seeing him like that was like a punch to the gut. Dagon was always this impenetrable wall of power, confidence, and danger, but seeing him fight to hold himself together… my heart clenched at the memory.
Yes, he could be a cold asshole sometimes, okay, almost all the time, but the truth was, we never really got to know each other.
No, that was a lie. We used to know each other till we didn’t.
I wasn’t sure which was worse. I saw the real Dagon Hughes before I lost him.
No matter how much we fought or ignored each other, the memories of the Dagon I once knew never faded.
And for some reason, thinking about that threw me straight into the past. It was two weeks after my 18th birthday when I realized with certainty that I didn’t see Dagon as a brother. Not like I saw the others.
I had gone downstairs to pour myself a glass of water. I sensed someone entering the kitchen behind me, and when I turned, my hand froze mid-pour.
Dagon had clearly just gotten out of the shower. His shirt clung to his still-wet body, outlining muscles that looked like they'd been carved by gods. Fuck. He was gorgeous. From where I stood, I could see every taut line of his body. And those hands... seriously, who even has hands like that?
Wait, wait! Why the fuck am I thinking my brother is gorgeous?
Dagon had this wildness about him. A part of him screamed that it could never be tamed. It drew me in like a black hole. Danger, my mind screamed as my heart hammered with the desire to get closer. His black hair and dark gray eyes captured me, and I couldn’t take my eyes off him.
And then he grinned. Dagon pointed at my hands, and I followed his gaze. I’d overflowed the glass, water spilling all over the counter. It was like a déjà vu, just like the first time we met.
“Are you watering the counter or something?” His voice was somehow warm and cold at the same time. How was that even possible?
And what the fuck was wrong with me?
I grabbed a washcloth and frantically tried to clean up the mess I had made. Dagon came over to help, still laughing as he told me about his latest history class. I tried to listen, but then I saw his smirk full of mischief, and light, and him.
And I knew.
I was screwed.
I had a crush on my freaking brother!
The present snapped back into focus as we pulled into the town where we’d be staying for the night.
“Do you want to find a hotel near the edge of town?” Dagon’s tone was normal. No agitation, no coldness. “Or, if you prefer, we can find something in the center.”
“No, I’m going to look for something on the outskirts.”
“Okay.”
He drove in silence while I searched. A few minutes passed before he asked, “You okay?”
“Yeah. Why do you ask?”
“You looked lost in thought.”
I couldn’t tell him the truth. It wasn’t wise to mention the past after my question made him spiral earlier, so I denied it. Plus, there was no way I’d say, Oh, I was lost in the good old memories of the night I realized I had a crush on my brother. All’s good.
“Nah, I’m just spacing out. It’s been a long day.”
He nodded and focused on the road. I picked a small hotel that looked cozy and warm, not fancy, but something about it felt safe.
Twenty minutes later, we checked in. There was a cute coffee shop next to it, too.
I made a mental note to grab a cup before we left in the morning.
I could almost imagine we were on vacation right now. I wish.
When Dagon and I reached the elevator, I saw he had only one key.
“Huh?” He realized I was looking at his hand.
“We’re staying in one room. Two beds. Don’t worry.”
My jaw dropped. One room? “Why are we staying in one room?”
"Because we're far away from home, chasing down some demons, and searching for a powerful object. We're not separating even for five minutes." I raised my brows, and he added with an authoritative voice that made me shiver. "Clear?"
“Yep.” I probably should have felt embarrassed at how fast I agreed, but I wasn’t stupid enough to deny that I was relieved he was here. I wasn’t doing this alone.
The room had two beds, a TV, and a small table. I dropped my bag near the bed closest to the window.
Dagon asked, “Do you want to order room service? I’m not in the mood to go out.”
“I don’t want to go out either. Let’s see what they have and order?”
After ordering, I grabbed a change of clothes and went for a quick shower. No way was I changing in front of Dagon. When I came back, he headed into the bathroom. I could hear the shower running and had to fight hard not to imagine him naked.
My mind drifted again. This time back to the moment everything changed between us. It was a few months after my eighteenth birthday.
Today was Dagon’s big day. I was so excited to see his competition.
I've seen him before in competitions and he's absolutely amazing.
But this one is the final for the school year and the most important.
He had been over the moon last night, practically bouncing off the walls.
He recited his opening argument in front of me and I cheered for him.
Then he showed me all of his notes, and I couldn't stop smiling because he was so passionate about History and this competition.
If he wins, and I know he will, this will guarantee he'll get a scholarship for his dream university.
All of us were planning to be there, cheering him on. I smiled to myself, remembering our conversation the day before. No matter how much I tried to pretend otherwise, my heart fluttered every time he looked at me.
I was doomed.
Still, I wouldn’t trade our time together for anything.
There was still an hour before the competition started, and I needed to swing by the library quickly. Since I was close to the school, I decided to walk. I just had to cross the street, and I would be there.
When the light turned green, I stepped forward without thinking to double-check for cars. Seconds later, I heard the screeching of tires.
I turned just in time to see the vehicle hurtling toward me. I knew it was too late to move. It all happened so quickly. My life didn’t flash before my eyes. There was nothing besides paralyzing fear, the sound of my heart pounding, and then darkness.
Something tried to push through the fear, something right at the edge of awareness. But I never got the chance to understand it.
The next thing I knew, I was waking up in a hospital bed. My head had been spared, thanks to an instinctive twist at the last second. The damage wasn't as severe as it could have been. Of course, it still hurt like shit. My right leg and arm were broken, and my ribs were bruised pretty badly.
I didn’t remember how I got there. Maybe the driver called an ambulance. A few minutes after I opened my eyes, the door slammed open, and Dagon stormed toward me. His eyes were frantic with fear.
He knelt beside the bed and took my left hand. His were trembling. I'd never seen Dagon's hands tremble before. Not once.
"Are you alright? What happened? Who was this piece of shit? I swear, I'll kill him."
His gaze swept over me, scanning for damage, cataloguing every bruise, every bandage, like he was memorizing the inventory of what had been done to me. I tried to speak, to answer any of the questions, but the words got tangled somewhere between my throat and my swollen lip.
That's when his eyes locked on the blood on my hand. A small smear. Dried, brown, and easy to miss. I guess the nurse hadn't noticed it. I hadn't either.
The change in him was instant.
His whole body went still in a way that wasn't stillness.
It looked surreal. His breath caught. His fingers around mine went rigid, then loose, then rigid again, like he couldn't decide whether to hold on or let go.
The color drained from his face so fast I almost reached up to catch him, certain he was going to drop.
"Dagon?"
He didn't answer. He didn't look at me. He just stared at that small patch of dried blood on the back of my hand like it was the only thing in the room.
I had never seen Dagon Hughes afraid. Until that moment, I hadn't believed he was capable of fear.
Not the kind I felt in my bones every time the world got too loud, not the kind that made you want to crawl out of your own skin.
Dagon was the wall against that kind of fear.
He was the person other people stood behind.
But there he was, kneeling beside a hospital bed, holding my hand, staring at my blood, afraid.
When he finally looked up, his eyes weren't his.
I don't know how else to describe it. They were his color, his shape, his lashes, but what lived inside them was something I had never seen before.
Happiness and pain. Relief and anger. Love and disbelief.
More pain. More happiness. All of it churning at once, like he was drowning in a dozen feelings he didn't have permission to feel in this moment, in front of me.
Tears welled in his eyes. Dagon. My Dagon. The same Dagon who once told me crying was a luxury for people who hadn't had to grow up too fast. He was about to cry.
My heart broke open in a way I didn't know it could. I squeezed his hand as hard as I could manage – which was barely a flicker, the drugs and the broken bones making my body feel like wet sand – and tried to give him something. Anything. I'm here. I'm okay. Don't be afraid.
"I'm okay, Dagon," I croaked through my parched lips.
He bent over my hand. Slowly. Carefully.
Like the movement cost him something. His forehead came to rest against my knuckles, and I felt the warmth of his breath on my skin, the heat of his face, the dampness of his tears soaking into the cotton of the bandage at my wrist. And then barely, I felt the press of his lips against my hand.
I even thought I imagined it. He whispered something then.
I couldn't hear what it was. Not the words.
But I felt the shape of them against my hand – short, repeated, a chant or a prayer or an apology or something else that I had a feeling I'd never know.
I would never know.
And that whisper would haunt me for years.
I wanted to stay awake. I tried speaking, but the drugs were too strong, and I was dragged back into slumber.
The next day was a haze of visits and my brothers hovering over me. They all left at some point, all except Dagon. He was glued to my side, helping with anything I needed.
I was worried about him. He didn't seem like he was getting any sleep, and he was refusing to speak about the competition. Even the others refused to say a word about how it went.
One day, I looked up and caught him staring at me.
The same swirl of emotions from a few days ago danced in his eyes.
Our staring was broken when our father entered the room and started asking me questions about how I was feeling.
Dagon stayed by my side for the next several days and cared for me.
Everything was normal until one day, it wasn’t.
One day, he put on a mask. And I knew a mask when I saw one. After all, I’d worn mine for a long, long time.
“I’ll be right back,” he said, giving my hand a squeeze. “Everything will be alright.”
With that, he left and never came back the same.
Why did everything change? The more I thought about it, the less sense it made. There had to be a reason. There fucking had to be.
After I returned from the hospital, Dagon distanced himself from me.
Our late-night talks stopped. I spent many nights alone, waiting for him till I realized he wasn’t coming.
Several nights I went to his bedroom door and knocked, waiting for him to open the door, to let me in, or to come to me.
He never did. I tried speaking with him, but he made excuses, "I'm busy.
I need to study. I'm going out." Eventually, a few months later, when we graduated, he moved into an apartment, and I saw him once in a blue moon.
The devastation of losing him while he was still there had been a constant companion through the years.
Can we put it all behind us? Can we have what we once had? Can I see the real Dagon ever again, or am I doomed to stay on the other side of the iceberg he pretends to be?
I didn’t have time to spiral further since the room service arrived. Dagon came out of the shower as I set the food on the little table. His hair was damp and messy. Droplets clung to his skin and soaked into an old, oversized shirt with a tear along one sleeve. His sweatpants were baggy and loose.
Why the hell did he look even hotter like that?
I tried my best to keep my eyes from devouring him.
“Why didn’t you start?” he asked.
It took me several seconds to register what he meant. Good thing he gestured toward the food.
“Oh, it just got here, and I was waiting for you.”
Dagon nodded and sat beside me. We ate in silence.
Thank god the TV was on. If not, the awkwardness would’ve rivaled the time Bren slipped on a banana peel in front of his crush and fell into a puddle of dog poo.
Yes, that actually happened. And yes, I still hear him recount it and claim a demon orchestrated it.
I stole a few glances at Dagon between bites. I couldn’t help but notice how different he was. Genuinely different. At home, he never wore comfortable clothes and always seemed tense. Why did he have to look like sin in sweatpants?
Add in the comfortable clothes and casual energy, and the package ‘drool over Dagon’ was complete with a bow.
“The hotel’s nice,” Dagon said after dinner. “Good choice.”
“Thanks. We should get some sleep. Tomorrow will be a long day.”
He stared at me a second too long, and I shifted under his gaze. I turned toward my bed with my Kindle, but caught something as I looked back.
A smile.
He was smiling at me.
I fell asleep with that image burned into my brain, and my book clutched in my hands.