Page 25

Raidon

I t’s the second night and for some reason, Raidon still can’t think of a way to let Veronica go. He could—should—haul her onto one of his jets and fly her back. End this before it ruins them both. And when she inevitably demands for answers, he could tell he can’t do this, that he doesn’t want to be with her, that he never wants to see her again.

It should be really simple. Cut clean. A single moment of cruelty for the sake of something greater. But it isn’t as simple as it seems. And no matter how hard he tries to convince himself otherwise, it feels like he’s just trying to make excuses because every other thing is a lie and there’s only one truth.

He wants her.

He has never wanted anything in his life as much as he wants Veronica Beaumont.

Never been this obsessed. Never been this addicted.

Never felt like dying.

A sudden knock on his door punctures the quietness of his room, breaking into his thoughts, the glass of whiskey frozen midway to his lips.

He doesn’t answer the knock and instead sets the glass back down, then leans into the couch, staring at the door, feeling it vibrate with each impatient knock.

He assumes it’s Riccardo, his nephew. Maybe he would get tired of knocking, assume he’s fast asleep and be on his merry way. But to his dismay, the door suddenly creaks, opening without a struggle.

I thought I locked it?

The intruder steps in, and his heart shudders, far from fear, but draws a bit too close to what people might call excitement.

His little fairy.

He tries to smile at her but fails the moment his eyes flicker to her hands and catch a plate of food.

No.

This is the final blow.

This won’t end well tonight.

“Since you refused to have dinner with us, I brought it up to you.” So unassuming and innocent, she explores further into the room, ready to drag him out of his darkness, food in hand, ready to hand feed him, perhaps.

He tries to rise from the leather couch and almost staggers, his bones suddenly too weak to hold his weight.

“Take it away,” he says, his voice hoarse.

She scoffs, quite dismissive of his sentiment and unable to see the imminence of danger roaring in his eyes. “Nice try, soldier. But you are not just going to eat this, you are gonna ask for more.”

She is standing in front of him now, the plate literally being shoved into his nose, yet she can’t see the plea in his eyes for her to take it away from him. She can’t see that she’s haunting him.

The smell—possibly delectable—nauseates him, the sight; probably inviting, makes him recoil. Memories that he never truly buried come rushing back, coiling tight in his gut like a barbed wire.

Still unaware of his distress, she pushes him back down onto the couch, twisting just enough to face him.

And all of a sudden, that playful smile on her face fades into something darker, sharper. A wicked sneer. Her bejeweled eyes, now a haunting cocktail of vice.

“Please have some.” What is supposed to sound like a soothing plea reaches his ears like a grating taunt.

“Take it away.” He barely touches the plate as he attempts to push it aside. “Please, Veronica.”

He hears himself whimper.

“Snow white?” She blurs out of his visual line. “Are you—”

Before she can finish her sentence, Raidon is on his feet, covering the distance between the chair they are sitting on and the door to his room.

He heads for the bathroom, bending over the toilet bowl in a second. Series of gurgling sounds intermingle into the air as he empties his gut out.

“It’s okay.” He feels her hand rest daintily on his back, rubbing soothing circles. “It’s okay.”

There she is, unlocking something new. He has always gone through his crisis alone. Now she is here, next to him, trying to offer a form of comfort, something he has never experienced before.

It suddenly upsets him. Her presence angers him.

“Leave.” He doesn’t expect the word to come out as harsh as they do, but they do, and he can’t take it back.

“Are you…”

Her question is interrupted by the sound of rushing water as he turns on the faucet, scooping water into his mouth for a thorough rinse, scrubbing his face, hoping the coolness will have a little effect on calming the sudden chaos in his head.

But it doesn’t work. He is not okay.

He is yet again being haunted by the undying memories of his mother’s last days.

Starved to death, he had watched her body decay, day by day, until the skin split and peeled, until the air reeked of rot. Maggots wriggled through her flesh, burrowing into the softness of what remained, and he had crushed them between his fingers, confused. What were those little creatures? Why were they nesting inside his mother’s body? And why wasn’t she brushing them off? She only lay there, still and silent, until all that was left were brittle bones and the whisper of who she had been.

The villagers wouldn’t even bury her. There was hardly anything left to bury. Instead, they set the house ablaze, muttering of curses, of bad blood that needed to burn. If he hadn’t been watching from the branch of a tree where he perched, cradling the infant his mother had left behind, he was sure they would have thrown him into the fire too.

How could he feast when his mother died starving?

“Hey, are you alright?” When her voice suddenly sounds distant, he knows his brother is clawing out. He is in misery, and Kael likes to set out when he catches him being too vulnerable and helpless.

It is an opportunity Kael can’t wait to grasp with a welcoming hand.

“Talk to me.” Her voice is a dying whisper. Something fragile, something he should hold on to. But he doesn’t. He can’t.

Because he is unraveling. His body is fraying at the seams, his mind splitting at the edges. He has fought so hard to keep Kael at bay—to keep her safe from him—but his body is giving up. He is giving up…for tonight. Hopefully for tonight only.

But he shouldn’t. Not with Kael here.

Yet the darkness is already clawing in, swallowing him whole.

And in the moment of his transition, he can’t help but chuckle at his hypocrisy. He often says he hates Kael . He hates how he shares his body with him. He hates how he uses his body to do something he wouldn’t normally do. But in a little crisis, he always finds himself calling to him. Because he is still that coward from 24 years ago. Because 24 years later, he is still that pale and weak little boy who is afraid of air, afraid of the sun, afraid of water, afraid of people—so timid and terror-stricken, he closed up his vocal cord, refused to utter a word to his own mother, wouldn’t sing to his little sister when she cries.

Because he is so afraid, afraid people would hear his voice and realize an abomination like him still exists in that village.

He is 32 now, but truthfully, he is still that eight-year-old boy—frail, unwanted, scared… alone .

‘Come on now, brother. Let go,’ Kael commands, and seeing as Veronica still stands there, Raidon should have rebelled against the voice. But the darkness is more powerful than he last remembers. It had already swallowed him whole, locked his muscles, blurred his vision at the edges, leaving him gasping for air.

Kael was not bluffing. The longer Raidon locks him away, the stronger he becomes.