Page 12

H.A.Z.E

' I 'm changing the world, and you're going to help me.'

The only thing the world has given me is the inability to sleep.

My head is clouded, and my demons are faceless with suppressed thoughts.

They surround me, always. Coming out when I'm alone, enveloped in darkness; when it's so quiet, all I can hear is the blood rushing through my ears and the splash of black rolling off my bound wrists to join the pool of blood surrounding me.

Fortunately for me, drowning isn't painful when you're dead.

My head drops back against the cold concrete wall, its rough surface biting into my skin. My eyes remain shut and my body is so still, that to anyone watching I probably appear dead.

Heat coils through my veins, spreading like fire beneath my skin. Every inch of me feels raw, scraped down to something jagged and unhealed, as if my flesh has turned to sandpaper.

I pissed off the Saviour, and now I'm left alone in the darkness.

'Smile. It doesn't matter whether it's real or fake.'

I hate the dark.

The voices like to come out in the dark.

Then, a lock snaps open. The sound is sharp, like a gunshot. Another follows, and another, heavy bolts sliding back with a low, grinding groan.

The air shifts, cold and stale, as the final mechanism clanks free. Then, slowly, the door begins to move. A deep, guttural groan reverberates through the walls as dust shakes loose from the ceiling.

Light seeps through the widening gap—weak at first, then growing, spilling into my dungeon in fractured beams.

"Seven days, five hours, twenty-four minutes, and thirteen seconds," I rasp, my throat aching from the slight strain.

I open my eyes, glancing briefly at large black boots before a figure steps through the threshold. A silhouette against the harsh light beyond. The Saviour. He doesn't speak. Doesn't hesitate. He just stands there, letting the cold air from the open doorway rush in, letting the moment drag.

I smile, my words soft. "I wasn't expecting a visit so soon."

"Believe me, I'd rather leave you to rot down here," he drawls coldly.

"Rot?" I echo, tilting my head as a slow smile curls over my lips. Sitting up, I cross my legs as I stretch my arms over my head. "No, that would be too easy. And nothing about my life has ever been easy, Saviour."

I can’t kill him, I can’t seduce him, I can’t hurt him, so I thought maybe playing with his head, making him uncomfortable with my darkness, would ruffle some feathers.

But I should've known better. This man practically bleeds darkness. It’s stitched into every fibre of his being.

Of course, he wouldn't be affected by mine.

He cocks an unimpressed brow. "Do you want sympathy?"

I laugh as if he told the most ridiculous joke. "Keep your sympathy for the ones who deserve it, Saviour." I lean in, voice dropping to something almost sweet. "I only want chaos."

The Saviour narrows his gaze, his jaw clenched tight, and his eyes shoot fire at me. "Get up," he says.

I do so with a grin as the vines—embedded so deeply into my skin that they hug my bones—slip to the floor and slither away. I watch them, the way they avoid the Saviour and drift away with a heartbreaking cry.

It’s Sparrow… My only weakness.

Nothing has ever mattered to me—not my life, not my sins, not even the Saviour capturing and enslaving me. But Sparrow—Sparrow matters.

I'm a Nightwalker, evil incarnate, so it only makes sense to hurt, destroy, and completely ruin lives, because if I didn't, if I wasn't entertained, the consequences would be disastrous.

I wasn't created to live a peaceful life; I'm a creature of death.

The evidence is on the floor, slithering at my feet. Taking, taking, taking.

"If you know about Sparrow, then surely you know how they're made." He doesn't answer; he didn't need to. "I respect Nature more than I do the Gods. The Gods want control, and Nature wants balance. Something unnatural was born, and Sparrow came into existence."

I perch low, running my hand over the vines that cried as they pulled away from my touch, wanting so badly to sink into my skin. I'm sure they were following the Saviour's command, but how the fuck is that even possible?

"My weakness." The words are a broken whisper on my lips. In the silence, I'm sure he hears, but I don’t care. My voice is colder when I speak again. "You're hurting them."

Suddenly, he’s there. A hand instantly closes around my throat, his fingers gripping my chin, forcing my head back until we're nose-to-nose.

He consumes my vision. The deep crimson of his eyes swirl like a vortex, twisting and devouring.

"What the fuck was that in your voice just now?" His voice is sharp and so dangerously low, I feel a shiver roll down my spine.

His grip tightens. A muscle in his jaw tenses as he drags me closer, his presence pressing into mine like a suffocating weight.

"You can fake pity for the thorns," he murmurs, voice dark and deadly, "but not for my mate ."

I blink— mate?

She was his mate. Leila was protecting him. If he wanted to torture me for what I had taken from him, he could do so much worse than isolation and Sparrow—so why hasn't he? Why am I still alive?

"I knew there was something wrong about you," I murmur. His grip tightens around my throat, tight enough to wake the monster inside me from her slumber. "How broken are you that you can't even avenge your fated mate, your equal, your Queen properly?"

He releases me with a shove, and I fall back. The Sparrow slices into the skin on my palms, but I’m focused on those crimson eyes that are suddenly empty. Analysing every small detail, picking and prodding at me despite the fact I had warned him not to do that.

I narrow my eyes, my voice a warning. "You're doing it again."

"What's that?"

"Didn't your parents warn you not to look too deeply into an empty well? You can fall right in and be lost forever," I say, shaking my head and rising back to my feet. "It would be a pointless sacrifice."

My words don't scare him, but I had very little doubt they would. I thought mentioning his parents would bring out some of his anger, but that isn't the case, either.

How do I make this man squirm?

I'm sure he has the same thoughts about me as we analyse each other. Looking for weaknesses, a way to make the other more compliant. But I'm not sure I can. I killed his mate, and his reaction was underwhelming. I expected more pain, more violence, just… more.

This Saviour is broken, and broken toys are no fun to play with. Unfortunately, I can't give up on this one. He needs to pay for what he's done to me. He needs to suffer. I want—no, need— to bring this man to his knees.

Something new shifts inside me. I almost gasp from the shock of its existence. A thought forms in my head, muting all the other noise.

'Everything. Take everything.'

I want everything he is. I want to be able to control it, use it, destroy it, and rebuild it. I want him at my mercy. Only mine.

The fact that it's such a challenge is the entire reason I want it.

It shouldn't be such a difficult task until now. What the hell makes him so different that I can't pull on and manipulate even one of those bleeding emotions pouring out of his eyes?

Who are they for? Why can't I touch them?

My gaze darkens, my fingers twitching to peek inside his head, but something makes me pause. I tilt my head and frown.

The Aether that clings to this man—it's weeping.

The usually serene white orbs tremble. They shudder, restless, pulsing with an unspoken sorrow, their delicate dance disrupted by the weight of whatever darkness lingers inside him.

I'm quickly toe-to-toe with my captor, staring at his chest as if it's the most fascinating thing in the world. I'm about to place a hand over his heart, when he grabs my wrist and pushes me with such speed and force that when I hit the concrete wall, I can't help but gasp.

He pins my wrist above my head, his searing crimson eyes boring into mine with such hate, I can taste it. His lips pull back into a smile, but there’s nothing human about it. It’s slow, deliberate, and cold. "Think you can rip my heart out that easily, do you?"

"No, that wouldn't be fun, now would it?" His hand only tightens around my wrist at my words. I glance at his chest once more before meeting his eyes. "The air around you; it feels… confined ."

I don't think confined is the right word. It's practically screaming. How had I missed that?

I usually ignore Aether. The glowing orbs hanging weightless in the air. They look like pixies. Pixies!

Happy, carefree, always dancing; if I told anyone, I'd be a goddamn joke.

But beside Riot, they seem stiff.

Riot stares at me blankly and pulls away. "We need to talk."

I smile, knowing I'll figure it out eventually. I allow him to steer the conversation elsewhere. "The Defect I killed… You needed his ability to track and kill Damien." Riot shifts his head, watching me with narrowed eyes. "Yes, I read minds. A fucking pointless ability, if you ask me."

"Yeah?" he drawls, raising a perfectly arched brow. "And why's that?"

"Jace Reeves."

"What?" Riot looks at me, his shoulders stiff and his eyes slightly wide, but the shock is quickly replaced with cold calculation.

"The Defect’s name was Jace Reeves." I roll my eyes, aggravated by my own ability. "I mean, why would I want to know that? He was still going to die, regardless."

Riot stares at me blankly and pulls away. "Get out."

I smile, knowing I'll figure it out eventually and skip past him. As soon as I'm out the door, I step into an office.

A backdrop is completely consumed by endless space, scattered light, and the sun surrounded by blackness—a picture frozen in time since the Tearing.

His office is simple; a large mahogany desk, a small sitting area with a coffee table, books placed neatly on shelves across an entire wall, and a glittering chandelier.

I glance over my shoulder as Riot approaches and I wonder, "Don't you have corridors?"