Thirteen
Ara
It is as if my mere thoughts have conjured him.
Have I been thinking about him more than usual? Yes.
Did a small part of me hope to encounter him while I drove myself to this part of the dock which stands on the border of Roarfort? Maybe.
Will I ever agree to that under sobriety? Not a chance in hell.
Mr Devlin stands in front of me, his legs stretching tall and clad in dark clothes like his expression. He has put on his emotionless mask again, but the air of danger doesn’t leave him. Even in the simplest posture of having his hand inside his pocket, he oozes control and danger.
When did the air turn thick around here? And why did it get difficult to breathe?
“Wandering again?”
Sweet baby cupcakes!
Two months without hearing it or even feeling his presence, and it still has this effect. It’s not fair that, without touching me or stepping into my personal space, this man can turn my insides to mush and render my brain useless.
His dark hair is swept back neatly, and his piercing grey eyes track my every move like a skilled hunter. There’s a hint of disapproval in them—or maybe not. It’s nearly impossible to read his thoughts.
Those stormy grey depths, set beneath strong brows, hold an intensity that feels like it’s trying to unearth my deepest, darkest secrets.
Sometimes, looking at him is almost painful—a stark reminder of how insignificant the rest of us seem in the shadow of his godlike presence. Or perhaps it’s a devilish one. I’m inclined to think the latter as his brows lift ever so slightly, as though he’s waiting for something.
Wait.
Did he ask me a question?
Shoot! What was it?
“Huh?”
What did he ask me? My name?
I thought he knew it.
“Ara?”
A small indention of his eyebrow is the only indication of his microscopic frown. God forbid he show any human emotion like us all. How else will he set himself apart from us mere mortals?
“You’re drunk,” he observes.
“Um…no?”
He gives me a silent stare that has me fidgeting at my place. I jump when his foot breaks my empty bottle, and I look away, trying to hide my cheeks, which are no doubt turning pink. Trust my body to betray me in front of an attractive stranger/part-time stalker/saviour!
“Yes,” I admit.
“You’re irresponsible,”
Here’s why I avoid drinking:
One, it gives me fleeting courage that my drunk self shamelessly exploits, leaving my sober self to deal with the fallout. Two, I lose control of my mouth and actions, which has come back to bite me more times than I care to admit.
But did I learn? No.
The fear I usually feel for him is muted now. With a boldness I have no right to possess, I march toward him, tilt my head up, and fix him with a glare
“And you, sir, are mean.”
I think I see a fissure of amusement pass in those endless greys. But it is gone before I can be sure. I think I imagined it. I’m drunk as a skunk, and there is simply no way this man can feel anything, let alone something as humane as amusement.
I look down to see the glass shards under his feet.
“These might hurt someone,”
I bend to pick them up. But a grip on my upper arm stops me from doing so. Despite my drunk state, I notice the way my skin sizzles at his contact.
I glance up at him, questioning but silent. His touch robs me of words, leaving me momentarily speechless.
My eyes catch the way his large hand easily circles my arm, making it seem smaller than it is. My own hand can’t even wrap around it fully, a constant reminder of its thickness. I’ve felt self-conscious about my body before—about how I look bigger and less soft compared to my friends. But with him, I feel impossibly small.
It’s a feeling I’ve never experienced before, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like it.
“No.”
He flicks the pieces away with his foot, not allowing me to pick them.
I suppose that settles it, then.
I take my hand from his grip when my lungs scream for air. I step back and clear my throat, looking down at my shoes.
Why do I feel conscious about my simple jeans and hoodie all of a sudden?
“W-What brings you by?”
When I look up, it is to see a muscle in his jaw tick. He doesn’t answer, not that I expected him to. The man has an aversion towards talking. I wonder why.
“I came here because it’s so peaceful than the pier in the city. It is always filled with tourists and pickpockets.”
Nothing from him.
“I was once robbed. Darn thieves took my new pair of Louboutins,”
A pout tugs at my lips as I think back to the day I bought my first pair of those iconic red-soled heels. I’ve always gravitated toward boots and kitten heels, but sometimes, a girl just wants to feel sexy. And nothing does that quite like strutting in five-inch stilettos paired with a jaw-dropping dress.
Still nothing from him.
“Rude,” I mutter under my breath and turn around.
If he isn’t going to be decent enough to converse, I’m not going to acknowledge his presence. I’m bummed with everything as it is.
Even as his attention prickles my neck, I turn and don’t look back. I’m also easily offended and sensitive like this. I wouldn’t want to cry just because he won’t talk.
Oh wow. Drunk Ara is a real handful. Maybe I’m better off alone when I’m drunk. I rather not make a fool out of myself in front of the man I fancy.
My eyes widen. What was that? Did I just think that I fancy Zagan Devlin?
No. No!
I shake my head, denying even the lone thought. Nope. There is no way I can fancy him. The man scares the bejeesus out of me. I’m a nervous wreck whenever he is around.
You also cannot look away.
I squeeze my eyes shut at the treacherous voice inside my head. I need to kill it before it kills my sanity.
“How’s your leg?”
Is there any universe where everything inside me doesn’t sing at his voice? What is it about the baritone that brings out such visceral reactions from me? Is it his deep tenor? Or is it the way his words end in a slight, barely noticeable growl? As if he is trying his best not to let his beastly sideshow?
When I open my eyes, I see the raging sea in front of me. The North Sea that I both love and fear. His voice reminds me of this. His eyes remind me of the booming clouds above the tumultuous waves. A voice so deep, dark and dangerous as these waters.
“Ara,”
A delirious shiver passes down my spine at the way he says my name. It has never felt so right, so…sensual.
“It’s fine after weeks of rest. Dr Llyod suggested to take it easy for another week.”
I don’t turn to look at him. I cannot.
I’m not strong enough to resist what my mind wants to do—what it’s always wanted to do. I’d want to touch him, to trace the scars that hold my attention, to stare into those magnetic eyes that remain an enigma.
They say eyes are the windows to the soul, but how can someone hide the mirror so perfectly? Is he concealing it, or am I wrong? Maybe there’s nothing there—no soul, no emotions, just an endless void that drains everything around it.
No.
I’ve seen anger. Anger on my behalf.
He isn’t the emotionless mask he tries to be. But then again, was that anger for me? Or is he just the kind of man who’s furious when a woman’s honour is threatened? Zagan Devlin might be the Devil, but he seems like an old-school guy. He might not help the elderly, but I doubt he’d ever harm a child or raise his hand to a woman.
I let out a shaky breath, his presence pressing down on me, impossible to ignore.
Why is he still here? Why is he staring at me?
Shaking my head, I turn toward the iron railing of the pier. I’d rather face the ocean, feel the salty wind on my cheeks, than try to unravel his behaviour. At least this way, I might sober up faster and find a reason for my reddening cheeks and nose—other than him.
Given my inebriated state, I probably shouldn’t stand on the raised step. I can still see the sea clearly without standing on it. But knowing something is different from following it.
I throw caution to the wind as I try to climb the step and lose my footing.
“Sweet rivers,”
I hold the railing before I can hit my face and use it to pull myself upright. This time, I manage to climb the step successfully. My grip is solid on the metal as it digs into my lower stomach, and I close my eyes shut and lean slightly forward.
The wind whips against my face, tangling my hair in wild strands, carrying the distant shouts of sailors racing toward the docks. The sharp, earthy scent of petrichor fills the air, and I inhale deeply, desperate to hold on to its intoxicating freshness. Maybe it can drown out the stench of rotting flesh and burning meat that clings to my mind.
The thought hits me like a cold wave, dragging with it the familiar chill of my past. My mood sinks as the wind grows sharper, slicing through me. The petrichor fades, replaced by the sickening stench of decay. The sailors’ distant cries twist into haunting echoes of the women’s screams as they were dragged to their cells.
My hands tremble, my grip on the metal railing unsteady. Fear coils tightly, freezing my legs, locking me in place. My mind pulls me deeper into its torment, flashing images I can’t escape.
Would it be so bad to let go? To fall headfirst into the ocean and let it swallow me whole?
Suddenly, a wave of heat brushes against my back, and I don’t need to turn around to know who it is. The chill gripping me evaporates in the wake of his warmth as his presence envelops me. His hands grip the railing on either side of mine, trapping me in his space. The air thickens with the rich, intoxicating scent of oud and leather, filling my senses and pulling me further into his orbit.
Zagan Devlin isn’t just any normal man. He commands attention even in the tiniest of details. With him behind me, his coat grazing my clothes, and his smell enveloping my senses, I can think of nothing but him. Without exerting a lot of effort, the man has driven the onslaught of what might have been the cruellest of images from my past.
“W-What are you doing?”
Why is he so big? And warm?
Why is he evoking these confusing feelings inside me?
“I’m in no mood to play rescue today,”
I can feel the vibration of his chest as he speaks. His breath hits my hair, and I sense that he is bent slightly forward as he leans forward. He isn’t touching me, but the position he is in, trapping me between him and the railing, shouldn’t be this comfortable.
I look down to see my hand beside his. If I move mine just an inch, I would touch his. The stark difference between them has me staring down at them, awestruck.
Where mine are milky white, his are tanned. Where mine are unblemished and soft, his are covered in tattoos and look hard. There are even some small scars peppered on his skin. Where mine are small, his are huge, like bear paws, as his grip tightens around the railing.
I’m afraid that if he grips it any harder, he might bend it. My fingers are short, slightly stubby, and painted in dusty pink, while his fingers are long, thick and with thin veins running around the fingers, embossed under the skin.
My throat goes parched looking at them. His digits are so thick and sexy that I wonder how they would feel on my skin. I’ve felt his touch, his hands are calloused, and the friction was delicious. Even without much experience, I know his fingers could elicit the deepest pleasures known. How would they feel wrapped around my hair or neck as he thrust-
I shake my head, ridding myself of those images.
My mind has turned into a gutter. Absolute sick fest.
I need to stop reading those raunchy novels Ivy and Iyra love so much. I fidget on the step as I look away and feel slickness between my legs. Oh my god! What the frack is wrong with me? Since when I’ve turned into a hormonal rut, who gets wet without even having a man touch her?
“What are you thinking about, little siren?”
I draw a sharp gasp at his voice and nickname.
He is closer. I feel his breath right above my left ear. And if I turn, if I look at his eyes…I shudder to fathom what I would even do.
So I don’t turn.
I ignore the way my body comes alive under his attention, ignore the way I see his grip tighten around the railing and look at the sea. Deflection is the better choice right now. Under no circumstances am I indulging the sicko inside my head.
Party pooper.
“Rouge waves,” I squeak.
I start to talk. More for the sake of filling my mind with anything other than improper thoughts about this enigmatic man.
“I’m thinking about rouge waves.” My tone is much better now, “They are exceptionally large and spontaneous ocean waves that can appear suddenly and are much larger than surrounding waves. Did you know that they were once considered mythical by scientists until their existence was proven through satellite imagery and ship data?”
Something inside me eases when I can spout random facts that fill my head. I was bullied in my school and even in college for giving facts about things.
Even Ivy, who loves me dearly, had enough of my random nonsense. I stopped giving lectures arbitrarily when I realised how annoying I was being. Except for Cas, no one is interested in it. And Cas only listens when I talk about space and quantum physics. And sometimes, all this information inside my head wants an outlet.
“Ordinary waves merge into a single, enormous wave, which appears without warning and disappears just as quickly. According to an article, this sea and the connecting ocean see them more than any other,” I jut my chin towards the waters in front of us as I imagine the massive waves.
“It never ceases to amaze me that there is so much out there that we are yet to learn about. There is so much knowledge waiting to be found.”
“It is often said that humanity has explored more of outer space than the depths of our oceans. Can you believe that, Mr Devlin? We have explored more of what’s outside this planet than what's inside of it,”
At this point, I’m talking more to myself than him. But I’m glad that he is listening, not interrupting.
Is he listening? Or did he tune me out like my ex did?
Okay, let’s not go there right now.
“Why?”
I smile at his question.
He is listening.
“Well, most of the scientists would say that it is because of technological challenges or not having enough funds. But the truth is, they are scared.”
I turn slowly to face him and lean my back on the bannister to look at the man as I speak. His eyes are the lightest shade of grey I’ve seen on them, and I think some light crept into those otherwise dark eyes.
As I guessed, he is bent forward slightly as he looks down at me. His sliver scars shine under the dull light, enhancing his rugged beauty that tries to deviate me from the topic at hand.
“Don’t you think it’s unfair to conclude that something is dangerous just because they are afraid of its depth?”
He tilts his head to the side as those magnetic eyes fix on mine
“Maybe they are scared of what lurks underneath,” he says.
“It might surprise us with the beauty underneath all that darkness and depth,”
I’m not sure if I’m talking about the ocean anymore. And I think he has caught onto that. Is that why his eyes are slowly turning darker? Why his somewhat relaxed body is turning rigid?
“Darkness is never beautiful, little siren. It is dangerous and all-consuming. The wise stay away while the foolish try to explore and die under its wrath.”
“To witness something as beautiful and precious, you need to be ready to pay the price.”
The air crackles with electric tension. His eyes darken, matching the storm clouds overhead. A fierce look pins me, and I shiver, feeling the spark of his gaze slide down my spine like lightning.
“Do not go asking for something you cannot handle, little siren,”
That darn nickname is going to be the death of me.
“You’d be surprised to know what people can handle, Mr Devlin,” I breathe.
It has become tough to breathe again. But looking at his eyes, my senses filled with him, suddenly, breathing in oxygen didn’t seem as essential.
His face comes down, halting inches away from mine. Our breaths intermingle, and I can smell his rich cigar and mint-filled breath. I hate tobacco, but for some reason, I cannot hate it now. It is a heady aroma when mixed with his unique scent. It is so heady that when I take a huge inhale, I roll my eyes backwards and try to keep in a groan.
How can a man be so fine?
“Are you going to kiss me?”
God knows where the question came from. But the moment it is out of my mouth, I want to know the answer.
What am I hoping for?
Yes?
“Are you offering?”
My eyes turn to his lips. Towards the scar that pulls their left side down in a permanent frown. I wonder how they would feel. I wonder if he is a good kisser. I wonder if he is as dominant and rough as he looks.
Unknowingly, I bend forward, unable to look away from those lips. Kissing him is all I can think about right now.
“No,”
I startle as he steps closer, engulfing me with his presence. The metal digs into my hips as he looms over me, his expression dark and intense. His nostrils flare as he presses the tip of his nose to mine. A shiver runs through me, and I gasp, parting my lips. His gaze shifts to my mouth, making my tongue instinctively dart out to wet them.
In anticipation and delirious pain, I wait.
“You’re playing a dangerous game, Ara. A game you won’t win,” he growls, the rumble echoing on my chest with the proximity of us.
“What if I don’t want to win?” I whisper.
I’m not thinking of anything but his lips on mine. I’m unable to think of anything other than wanting to feel his touch, to be claimed by him.
He remains in that position for a while. In my periphery, I see his hands clutch the railing so hard that his knuckles turn white. I’m clutching the metal hard, too, so that I don’t touch him.
I’m losing the battle slowly. The will to keep away is dwindling slowly. The question ‘ why can’t I have this one thing?’ keeps popping into my head.
Before I can do anything about it, he takes a step back.
He takes away his warmth, his intoxicating scent and also his presence. Just as quickly, the stench of rotting flesh and charred meat fills my nostrils, and my brain, which was filled with thoughts of him, threatens to spill the images I want to avoid, at least for today. I know I will have better control over them tomorrow.
I don’t want to be left alone. Not with these thoughts.
I don’t think before I stumble forward and grab Devlin’s coat. I gasp when he grips my waist to keep me upright. My grip on the lapels of his coat tightens as I step into his personal space. He doesn’t push me away, and I thank god for that.
“Don’t leave me,” I plead.
I see something intense and primal pass in his eyes, but I’m too desperate and scared to focus on it. Instead, I try to keep my bottom lip from wobbling so that I don’t end up crying into his shirt like I did in Nocturne.
“I don’t want to be alone. Not today,” my voice does break at the end.
He looks down at me while I wait with a bated breath for his reply. A moment later, he turns away, brushing his nose with his thumb before he shakes his head. He then turns back to me, removes his coat when I shiver slightly at a heavy gust of wind and drapes my body with it.
“Behave,” he warns before he motions me to follow him.
I think, for the first time today, I smile genuinely as I thank him.
He probably doesn’t know what he has done, but I’d forever be thankful for what he is doing for me today.