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 oozing from 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 invading my 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.
His nostrils flare, and his eyes darken. I’m unable to wrap my head around what he has done, but the reaction it evokes inside me is not what I expected. I should be shocked—which I am—appalled, disgusted, and not… aroused. Something is wrong with me for the pulse down south to beat erratically right now.
I’m broken. That is it. I’m a broken human being who has no idea how to process emotions right.
“Do you know what happens when someone shoots me, Ara?”
Try as I might, I cannot stop the full-body shudder at the way he says my name. I shake my head.
That seems to agitate him as his grip on me turns slightly tighter, and he pulls me closer. We are almost close to touching.
“Use your voice,” he orders.
I begin to nod. “Okay,” I say instead.
“I kill them.”
I wince at his words.
“Even if it’s not fatal?”
My mind-mouth coordination has evaporated by this point. Devlin remains silent. He might be contemplating how to kill me, perhaps?
“Can we not get even by you shooting me in my arm as well?”
The premise sounds painful, but that is better than dying. He doesn’t seem amused by the words.
“We can get even if you do something for me,” he says instead.
I don’t like to be leveraged into a situation. But I cannot, not, accept the responsibility for my mistake. So I nod. His eyes snap down to my lips and for one crazy moment, I think he might ask me to kiss him. I shoo that thought away as soon as it enters my head. There is no way for someone like him to be even remotely attracted to someone like me. Even without glasses, I’m nothing special to look at.
He bends, bringing his face closer to mine, letting me smell the richness of a cigar. His eyes are distracting, taking away my thought process with the way they shine with a lot and nothing at the same time. The flecks of black in them draw me in, wanting to submerge myself in those depths of nothingness.
The scars seem to bring out the curiosity that I thought I killed. The urge to run my fingers over them, to feel the slightly large indents in between them, to know if they still hurt, fills me. But with extreme difficulty and reasoning that I wouldn’t want to lose my limb, I rein the urge in.
When I don’t reply, his fingers dig into my waist, reminding me to use my voice.
“Anything,” I say and regret it instantly.
I squeeze my eyes shut, cursing myself for the wording. When I open them back, it is to see a ghost of a smirk on his lips. It is barely there, but it transforms him from a human to a beast in an instant.
He shifts closer, his breath brushing against my ear. I can feel the flush creeping up my cheeks, a traitor to my composure, threatening to give me away if he so much as glances at me.
“Say my name.”
It’s not a question—he doesn’t need to ask if I know it. He must already know, judging by the way I reacted moments ago.
What he asks for isn’t anything big—it’s as simple as breathing. Yet, something inside me holds back. It’s ridiculous to give weight to any of the rumours people have spun about him, but my mind clings to one in particular. The story that says he knows anyone who speaks his name, that he emerges from the shadows to claim their souls, leaving their final scream echoing in the darkness. His name is as big of a myth as Voldemort’s if he would have been real.
He moves to look at me when I hesitate. There is a challenge in the way his split eyebrow raises slightly.
“That’s it? If I say your name, you will let us go?”
He nods—mighty hypocritical of him not to use his voice when he wants to hear mine. I don’t think it is wise to voice the thought though.
“Without any strings attached?” I ask again to confirm.
One more nod.
“Very well,” I nod to myself.
It is laughable, the reactions happening in my body just to call out a name. A bloody name that will get us out of here, unscathed. There is no reason to feel jittery or have the heart beating miles per minute or gooseflesh to pop all around my skin. There is no reason for my palms to turn sweaty and I don’t think Eero’s smirk means something. Maybe he is just a guy who loves smirking.
I open my mouth.
“Look at me when you say my name, Ara.”
There he goes, calling my name as if he knows me in ways no one else does. It’s criminal, really—the way he looks, the way his voice rolls through the air, and the way he smells. It is just not fair to us mere mortals to be expected to keep a straight mind when in the presence of this divine being. I’m helpless against his command. I turn to look at him and into those pools of grey.
It would be weird just to call out his name. And because my mother raised a polite daughter, I say what I say.
“It’s nice to meet you… Zagan.” I smile.
It is difficult, but somehow I manage.
Everything stills for a minute.
Did the people around us stop breathing? Even the air seems to still for that second, and clouds come back to cover the moon, throwing us all into darkness. It makes Zagan appear more dangerous as he draws in a sharp breath at my words.
I feel his grip on me tighten to the point where it would leave bruises on my skin, but I say nothing. I feel as if, with one wrong move, everything around us could blow up. An illogical thought, but that is how I feel.
After what seems like a long time but must have only been a few minutes, his grip loosens. He slowly lets me go and I look away. I cannot continue staring at him and stop myself from touching his scars.
I try to ignore the sudden chill that digs into my skin as I take a step away from him and his large, warm body. My eyes are fixed on my Steve Maddens as I retreat until Ivy is allowed to reach me. I look up to see Iblis walk back towards his boss, his gaze fixed on Ivy. There is intent in his look and I know Ivy can see it as well.
Maybe it is that fear which has her gripping my hands and rushing us towards the exit. We don’t ask for permission and this time there isn’t anyone to stop us. But for reasons unknown, I turn to have one last glance at the man who evoked strange emotions in me no one has ever done.
Zagan Devlin moves to stand in front of the corpses. With his back to them and a wide stance, his fingers dig into his bicep. My eyes widen as he pulls out the bullet without so much a wince. Eero waves at me with the same mad smile he has had all the while.
I cannot name what I see in Devlin’s eyes, but it is something. Something that shakes me to the bone with its intensity and my gut tells me he is not done with me. With the night as the background and the corpses as witnesses, some twisted fate has changed our lives.
I’m scared that I have only been running from my demons until now. I don’t think I’d be able to run from the devil.
I’m not sure if I want to. And that scares me more.