Chapter 22 ZAGHAN
ZAGHAN
This was my playground.
I had a habit.
I liked to watch people.
From high places, preferably. The rooftops, balconies, second floor of the mall overlooking the atrium, the guard tower, watching soldiers parade the ground. I loved standing at anywhere I could look down at them without being part of them.
Was it a bad habit? I wasn’t sure. I was made of chaos and rot, after all. Nothing was good if it came from me. So I supposed it was a bad habit then…to watch people like a creep.
But humans were so fascinating, you see. Especially when they didn’t know they were being watched. When they moved differently, freely, carelessly.
I liked guessing things about them. Who was loved. Who was lonely. Who amongst them would go back to an empty house, disappear in the bathroom and cry their lungs out.
I liked how some looked fragile, breakable, like a glass. And I found myself wondering, not if they would hurt, but how loud they could scream, how long it would take until they stopped fighting.
Taking in a deep breath, I watched my fingers twitch before wrapping around the half-empty glass of wine placed on the flat top of the silver railing.
I had been standing at the balcony of Callan’s room for long, maybe hours, just watching the soldiers below, carving their skull open with a stare, hoping I could peek into their brains, pick their thoughts apart, learn what made each break the most.
Watching was so much fun.
I lifted my glass, and what was left of the liquid disappeared behind my lips within seconds. I pulled the glass away from my mouth, my brows furrowing at the emptiness, the corner of my lips twitching in what seemed like a frown.
I was unsatisfied. I needed more. My nerves had been all over the place since yesterday.
There was a fragile, breakable thing under my roof.
A human I really detested. Someone I desperately wanted to ruin.
And it was hard staying up here, fighting the urge to end her when her scent had begun to permeate the walls, a flowery, suffocating thing.
I needed to calm down. I needed to prove to Callan that I stayed out of her lane, and that she was the one that came to me. And only a drink could attempt to calm me down. It was hardly working, though. It was just a tiny form of distraction.
Lifting my body off the railing, I exited the balcony, the warmth of the room wrapping around me too quickly.
The bottle of whiskey sat on the coffee table, the amber liquid gleaming, inviting, and my throat worked like I had been starving for it.
I poured until my glass was half-filled, ready to return to the balcony to continue my…experiment.
But I had barely straightened when a knock came on the door–soft, hesitant, almost as if the person at the other end was afraid the door would shatter like glass if they knocked too hard.
Finally.
Fucking finally.
Something rotten and hot stirred in my chest at the idea of the entity behind that door, that fragile thing that dared to wage war against my existence.
Elizabeth.
I had recognised her at first glance yesterday, standing by the roadside, wind in her fiery hair, brows pinched in a tiny frown as she waited for Callan to come and save her. Little did she know the man that came wasn’t her dainty prince charming, but something else.
When the soldiers ushered them into the car, she had flushed red, just the way she did that day at the coffee shop, a soft, hi, leaving her lips.
How could I forget that face? Once upon a time, she had been my perfect prey. And I had wanted nothing but to crush her under the weight of my fingers then. Make her cry and beg to be spared, but I wouldn’t stop until her blood seeped into the cracks of the earth and light left those pretty eyes.
I wasn’t surprised that the girl who unknowingly fell into the edge of my cruel fascination then was the same one that had stolen my brother’s fragile heart. Nature had a way of appeasing to me like that. Because even nature knew I had been greatly wronged.
Three days ago, I had walked right out of my prison when Callan was asleep, exhausted, dark circles resting under his eyes, unable to fight me.
I didn’t have to beg, didn’t have to rip his skull in halves before making it through. I just slipped out…like a fucking dream.
Then, last night, and the night before that, blood clung to my skin like red roses blooming in snow. It was on my face, buried deep under my nails, on my fucking tongue, a metallic burst of flavour that fed the ravenous monsters in my head.
But I was merely telling lies if I said I wasn’t getting bored of that. When you ate the same thing over and over again, you would tend to get tired like that.
But today, there would be a difference. My meal was coming with an appetiser that I couldn’t wait to taste.
I had sworn not to touch her when Callan confronted me. I had promised not to hunt her, to stay in my lane. And I did. See how she walked to me, dangling herself outside my den like a fucking bait.
“Come in.” I sat down on the leather chair, taking a slow sip of my wine as I watched the door creaking open.
My pulse hummed as her feet padded against the floor ever so daintily, then she shut the door behind her before making it fully into the room.
She looked around a bit, eyes lingering for a second too long on every detail, as if committing all to memory.
And when her eyes finally decided to find me, she took in a deep breath, then approached me like someone approaching a wound; slowly, carefully, afraid of making it bleed.
Fucking cute.
I could feel the question trembling on her lips even before she spoke. Callan would have probably softened for that. Such an idiot.
I kept my eyes on her, uttering no word, letting her uncertainty stretch, letting it wrap around her throat.
Fear had a taste, a taste I was quite fascinated with, addicted to. And hers was currently trickling into the air, warm and metallic, beautifully human.
“Hey,” she said, her voice small as she fiddled with the loose thread of her arm warmer. “I um, I wanted to ask if you were able to get our car fixed. We could start going.”
For a moment too long, I didn’t answer, just watching, swirling the wine in my glass. I loved creating an air of mystery. It would increase the fear until it began to choke like smoke.
“Yes.” Finally, I replied, my tone flat and empty. Precisely the opposite of whatever she was expecting.
“Okay.”
She turned like she couldn’t leave fast enough. But a few steps before reaching the door, she hesitated. I loved that. That little turn of her body, the question forming behind her ribs. The confusion. The ache. The ghost of my brother which was still hovering around her.
I rose to my feet, the smile on my face sharp, wicked, none like my brother’s soft one.
Her brows pulled together. “Did I–did I do something wrong, Callan?” she asked, sadness dancing in her eyes, and my jaw worked in irritation at the name she just called me. “Sorry, I just want to understand why you’re acting so…cold.”
She lifted her gaze and finally looked at me, really looked as if trying to find the crack she had missed, a sign she ignored.
Good girl.
“Maybe,” I murmured, savoring the way her breath caught. “Maybe it’s because you have been talking to the wrong person?”
Her little face went pale. “Sorry?”
God, the fear in those eyes. It slid down my spin like the gentle stroke of a lover’s hand.
I lifted the glass to my lips, taking a slow sip, then my free hand fell into my pocket, the other clasping my wine glass tighter.
With every step closer to her, the panic in her eyes bloomed. “You keep calling me Callan. It’s irritating. I hate when people refer to me by a name that isn’t mine.”
She blinked. Once. Twice. Her face flushed, twisted in confusion. “What are you talking about?”
Of course she didn’t know. Callan protected his little secret like the coward he was. How did he not think a day like this would eventually come? How long was he planning on fooling her?
I almost pitied her. What a na?ve, little creature.
“As expected.” I let a soft, mocking chuckle slip out. “He never told you about me.”
I straightened, letting her see the difference–in my posture, my eyes, my smile that had not a sliver of warmth whatsoever.
“Hi,” I pulled my hand from my pocket on reaching her, offering it to her. “The name’s Zaghan. I’ve heard a lot about you, on the other hand.”
Of course she left my hand hanging mid air, confusion, fear and disbelief rolling off her like perfume. A sickly, sweet perfume.
“I’m Callan’s twin brother,” I added like it would change anything. “The one who died.” She took in a sharp breath at my last word, and my smirk deepened.
“I know he has been trying to hide my existence from you,” I continued, my voice taunting. “Probably because you don’t like ghosts.”
Oh, how that little heart broke. I felt it, savoured it, loved it. And for the first time since she walked in, I smiled with genuine pleasure.
“So,” she swallowed, staring at me like her mind was trying to rearrange itself, trying to make sense of the world again. “Where is. W-where is Callan, then?”
There it was. Hope.
Hope that she would still meet him again, maybe soon, maybe in a moment.
But I let her question linger in the air, let her panic and hope build, let her heart thump so loudly. I couldn’t wait to crush it all.
I closed the distance between us completely, so close I could hear her racing heart, feel the tremor beneath her veins.
“Where’s Callan, you say?” I leaned in, my face inches away from hers.
My world, her eyes were so big, so pretty. I would sacrifice anything to see it widen, streaked with horror as I squeezed her little neck, watching those pupils shrink as light escaped them.
“Let’s see…” I trailed off.
Her breath hitched.
“He’s here.” I tapped my temple with one finger, a slow crooked smile twisting onto my lips. “Asleep? I’ve got no idea.”
She froze.
“W-what does that mean?” she asked, voice cracking.
“Let’s say, I borrowed his body for a little while.” I pinched my fingers together for emphasis. “I could tell you how he’s doing but I haven’t heard his voice in days. Maybe he’s dead too.”
I had really not heard Callan’s voice since I slipped out.
He had been sleeping…deeply. He chose to overwork himself because he would rather die than give me control.
So I let him. I pretended like I couldn’t break through him, let him work himself like a fucking machine.
I knew humans were weak like that. There was only much their body could take until they stopped fighting.
“Callan isn’t here,” I concluded, straightening. “But Zaghan is. And trust me, I am so much better than your Callan.”
Her eyes flashed as realisation seemed to settle in them.
And I could almost see the memories connecting in her head.
Callan’s disappearing acts, his inability to explain the said disappearances, the mood swings she had been experiencing with me since she arrived, the warmness that switched to coldness like a season. It was all coming together in her head.
Slowly, her face drained of colours as the truth dawned on her, too big, too terrifying, and too wrong. She staggered backwards as if the air itself shoved her.
“No,” she whispered to herself, shaking her head. “That’s not, that isn’t right?”
She turned, stumbling for the door, towards escape, towards anywhere, anywhere else but here.
Little did she know that here was where she belonged now. The moment she walked through that gate, that very door, her fate was sealed.
Of course, I liked to have fun with my prey, make them believe there was another chance, an escape. Then I would pounce. So I let her go, take two steps. Then softly, I spoke, my voice like a blade sliding out of its sheath. “Elizabeth.”
She stopped, every muscle in her body locking.
Now, that was a good girl.
“The rule was simple,” I said, placing my wine glass gently on the table. “You walk into my lair, into my orbit, you become mine.”
She refused to turn around. Refused to breathe. She stood there frozen, her fright throbbing like heat.
I moved behind her, close enough to feel my terror brush behind her neck.
“Callan may let you run, darling,” I whispered, my lips brushing her earlobe. “But I won’t.”
She flinched at the promise in my words.
“With me, there’s no running, and even if you ran, you won’t get far enough. I’ll catch you. With me, all you’ll get is a cruel ending.”
The silence after that was ice cold, suffocating. Then very slowly, she turned her head, lips parted, eyes wide with the kind of fear that made my pulse hum louder.
She understood…perfectly.
Then I suddenly felt it, the sound of chains rattling in my head…a man in deep sleep stirring awake, a prisoner attempting to break loose.
I chuckled softly.
Not a chance.
Not so soon.
I only just started having fun.
He would sit there and watch, surrounded by the chains that once held me bound.
He would scream as I bled her dry.
He would thrash, kick, scratch, roar…but he would not be able to stop me.
This was my playground now.
Right here was my perfect prey. And I would not stop until I’d had a fill.
She was the one that came to me.
She was the one that offered herself to me.