17. Dagon

17

DAGON

M y mind is chaotic as I recall the fight with Tagar. Now that he's gone, the house feels as if it has found a kind of peace, knowing that his animosity won't be antagonizing me at every turn. With him around I couldn't think past the anger he evoked in me. The control I had to display took every ounce of my energy, but now it's as if none of that even exists.

I pace my room thinking of Callista and the way she pissed me off with her fucking insubordination. I was too far gone to acknowledge her, but the moment that soz'garoth demon shoved Tagar's ass back to Aerasak, I was engulfed by a fearful fury. Now that she has been punished and I can think straight again, I've decided that I want her to be my mate.

The door creaks open, and there she stands, a disheveled vision in the doorway, her presence pulling at the very core of me. "What are you doing?" Callista's voice cuts through the silence, rough from sleep yet sharply curious.

"Just thinking," I reply curtly, my voice a low rumble, as I stop to look at her. Her eyes, ever probing, search mine for clues, always trying to delve deeper than I'm willing to let anyone.

"About?" she presses, stepping into the room with that maddening confidence that both challenges and attracts me.

"Things," I mutter vaguely, turning away to gaze out the window. I feel her presence in the room taking me in as I think of last night. Her body beneath mine as she begged, her mouth wrapped around me. And it's then I know exactly what I want.

In the days that follow, I find myself observing her more closely, noting the way she moves, the slight frown when she's focused, the way her laughter seems to brighten the darkest corners of any room.

As I watch, the decision to make her my mate solidifies with each passing moment, yet I hold my tongue. I need to be sure that when I tell her, it's at the perfect moment, under the right circumstances. I want her to understand the seriousness of my intent.

I bide my time, the decision burning like a fire within me, waiting for the moment when I can finally let the flames consume us both.

We dine under the low flicker of candles, shadows pooling around us. I slide my chair imperceptibly closer to Callista.

"How was your day?" My voice is deep, laced with an inherent darkness.

"Full," she replies simply, a note of weariness beneath her satisfaction.

I hand her a plate, ensuring our fingers brush. "Your relentless pursuit of perfection," I begin, my tone more an observation than a compliment, "it's compelling, almost consuming."

She offers a restrained chuckle, accepting the plate. "Perfectionism is a demanding master."

"Indeed," I agree, my gaze piercing through the dim light. "But necessary. We must pursue what is perfect, what is right—what is inevitable."

"And what might that be, Dagon?" Her voice is tinged with wariness.

"Us," I declare, the word heavy, irrevocable.

Her eyes search mine in the shadowed light, measuring the gravity of my words. "That's a dark vision."

"It's not a vision," I respond, my voice low and resolute. "It's an inexorable truth. You and me, bound together."

After a moment, she nods, her expression thoughtful yet accepting. "You frame destiny in such stark, inevitable terms."

"I do," I admit, the corners of my mouth twitching into a semblance of a smile. "And I trust, in time, you will see it as I do."

The faint echo of the day's camaraderie is drowned out by a more possessive, primal drumbeat. Callista, with her fierce spirit and unyielding courage, has become the center of a storm that rages within me—a storm driven by a need not just to win her heart but to take it, to dominate the very essence of her being.

Later, as the door to my room opens quietly, her figure appears, outlined by the dim candlelight light of the hallway. She steps into my domain, the space where my darkest thoughts twist around the core of my desires.

"You've been more... intense today," she observes, her tone neutral, her face unreadable in the dim light.

I stand, my gaze fixed firmly on her, letting the depth of my intentions weigh heavily in the atmosphere. "You're going to be my mate." I declare, my voice a deep timbre that seems to resonate with the coming darkness.

Her eyebrow lifts, a silent question at the bluntness of my words. "You state that as if it's already decided." The defiance in her tone stirs a flutter deep in my belly, and a growl escapes me.

"Because it is," I assert, closing the distance between us with slow, deliberate steps. Callista slowly steps back until her back is pressed against the door. The space around us feels charged, electric.

My hand grasps her chin, forcing her violet eyes to look into mine.

"I'm not asking Callista. You are meant to be mine."

She meets my gaze directly, her composure intact. "And if I were to disagree?"

"You won't," I say with unwavering conviction. "Because deep down, you feel the pull of this inevitability as strongly as I do. It's not merely attraction—it's a binding force."

Her stance is relaxed, but her eyes are alive, sharp, assessing every word. "You assume a lot, Dagon."

"I know a lot," I correct her firmly. We're almost chest to chest, and I'm close enough to feel the heaviness of her breathing and watch her chest quickly rise and fall. "I know this is right."

She pauses, her lips parting slightly as if to contest, but then she closes them, a slight nod acknowledging my point. "You don't leave much room for dissent."

I soften slightly, dropping my hand. "It's not about leaving room. It's about seeing the truth. And the truth is, we're fucking inevitable, Callista."

Her eyes lock onto mine, intense and full of life. "You're overwhelming," she admits, but her voice is steady, strong—not weakened, but acknowledging the force of my nature.

"That's because my conviction is strong," I reply, my voice lowering to a husky whisper. "I don't just want you—I fucking need you. And I believe you need this too."

She takes a deep breath, then exhales slowly, a small smile curving her lips. "There's no arguing with you, is there?"

"Not on this," I agree, a smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth. "So, do we understand each other?"

"Yes, Dagon," she says, her voice tinged with a newfound warmth, accepting the inevitable not with resignation, but with a quiet acceptance of the passion and certainty I offer. "I understand."