13. Callista

13

CALLISTA

M y body feels antsy knowing that Dagon is out at a bar with Tagar. Finally, I've had enough and manage to sneak out of the house. I walk along the streets of Galmoleth, searching for the demon that complicates my thoughts.

As I round a corner, I'm brought to a sharp halt. My hand comes up to my mouth as I see Dagon pulling Tagar back from what looks like a dead demon

My heart pounds against my ribcage, each beat echoing in the eerie silence of Galmoleth's shadowed alleys. The streets, usually buzzing with the clandestine activities of night-dwellers, feel ominously vacant tonight as if the city itself is holding its breath. My footsteps are silent against the pavement, but inside, my mind is a tempest of worry and anger.

As I round the corner, the sight that greets me freezes me in place. Dagon, his broad shoulders tense, is holding back Tagar, whose hands are stained a glistening red. My hand flies to my mouth to stifle a gasp. The metallic scent of blood taints the air, thick and suffocating.

I stay close to the shadows as I watch, heart sinking, as Dagon's face contorts with conflict. As I peer through the dim light, my breath catches in the back of my throat. Dagon grips Tagar's arm, pulling him away from a dead demon on the ground, the body still twitches slightly, lying crumpled at their feet.

It's ridiculous, this surge of protectiveness I feel for Dagon. He's the embodiment of strength and resolve, not someone who needs guarding. Yet, as I watch him confront Tagar, a fierce protectiveness claws at my chest. I want to rush forward, to intervene, to stand by his side—even if he doesn't need or want me there.

The muscles in Dagon's back tense under his clothes, a visible indicator of his anger and control. Tagar, caught in his grasp, looks small, almost pitiful, but I know better than to underestimate the danger he poses. This isn't just about a physical threat. It's the potential fallout, I fear.

What if this escalates beyond a mere altercation? What if Dagon loses himself to the darkness that swirls so heavily within him?

I should stay hidden and remain a silent observer, but every fiber of my being screams for me to act, to prevent this from spiraling into chaos. It's an irrational, burning need to protect Dagon from the repercussions of his own wrath. My hands tremble slightly, not from fear of what might happen to me, but from the overwhelming desire to save him from what he might do.

Tagar says something low and harsh, his tone dripping with disdain. Though I can't catch the words, the sneer on his lips speaks volumes. He kicks at the fallen demon, a move that seems to ignite a fire in Dagon. My fingers dig into my palm, nails biting skin, as I fight the urge to run forward. To intervene. To protect Dagon from reverting to a person he no longer wishes to be.

"Dagon, come back with me to Aerasak. You belong there, not here playing house with a human," Tagar's voice carries, laced with venom.

Dagon's response is a guttural rebuke, his voice rough with suppressed fury. "No. That life is not mine anymore." The resolve in his voice sends a wave of relief through me, but it is short-lived.

I slip from the shadows, moving closer to Dagon and his brother, trying to hear the venom that drips from Tagar's voice.

Tagar turns his sneer on me, suddenly noticing my presence. "You think you can change him? He's a killer, a demon. You're nothing but a plaything to him. There are better women on Aerasak, far better than a human."

The air thickens with tension. Dagon's reaction is immediate and violent. His fist connects with Tagar's jaw with a sound that cracks through the night like thunder. Tagar stumbles back, surprise etched on his face.

As they grapple, my emotions churn. Fear, anger, and that overpowering protective instinct collide within me. I should be terrified, and I know I should run. But instead, I'm wrestling with the urge to dive into the fray, to pull Dagon away, to scream at Tagar for bringing this chaos into our lives.

The fight is brutal, a dance of fury and desperation. My feet are rooted to the spot, my body trembling. The man I care about is slipping, drawn into a battle that could very well consume him.

Dagon's words hang heavy in the damp air of Galmoleth's night, a deadly promise made through gritted teeth. But words alone fail to quench the fire of rage burning through his veins. With a deafening roar, he lunges forward, tackling Tagar to the ground with the force of his entire body.

The ground thuds under them as they crash into the dirt and gravel of the alley. Dagon's hands find Tagar's collar, lifting him slightly before slamming him back down with a brutal force that sends a shock wave of pain through Tagar's body. Dagon's fist, driven by a vortex of protective fury and familial betrayal, crashes into Tagar's face, once, twice, blood splattering with each hit.

"You think you can come here and insult her? You think you can just spew your venom?" Dagon growls, each word punctuated by another fierce punch. "She is beyond your reach, beyond your influence. And I will not let you—or anyone—bring harm to her!"

Tagar tries to defend himself, his arms weakly blocking his face, but Dagon is relentless. His next blow lands hard against Tagar's jaw, a sickening crack echoes in the empty streets. Tagar's body goes limp for a moment, the fight draining from him under the onslaught.

Breathing heavily, Dagon stands, dragging his brother by his shirtfront, his eyes burning into his brother's. He throws him against the alley wall, Tagar's head snapping back against the stone. "Remember this pain," Dagon seethes, his voice low and menacing. "Remember it every fucking time you even think of crossing her path with disrespect."

Tagar smiles, his teeth bloodied and sinister-looking. My heart races as I realize the depth of the situation. Tagar has no intention of backing down. Dagon's hold on his brother tightens as I watch the recognition flash through his eyes. The darkness is simmering just beneath the surface, and I brace myself for what comes next.