4. Callista

4

CALLISTA

M y dreams are filled with images of Dagon's chiseled body. Each morning, I wake flushed and flustered, scolding myself for having such thoughts, fueling my growing disdain for him. I throw myself into chores, sweeping and dusting, and hoping to escape Dagon's every call.

Despite my efforts to remain invisible, our paths intersect more often than I'd like. One afternoon, as I'm trimming a particularly sinister-looking plant, Dagon appears at the garden entrance, his figure casting a long shadow across the overgrown path.

"You're taking to the comforts of your cage quite well Callista," he remarks coldly, his voice echoing slightly in the open air.

I straighten up, shears in hand, and meet his gaze with a glare. "Comfort is the last thing I feel in this damn prison. You may control where I sleep, but don't flatter yourself thinking you control my thoughts or my will."

He steps closer, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "Yet here you are, my unwilling guest, pruning my gardens as if they were your own."

"I'd rather prune your head from your fucking shoulders."

Dagon's voice is low and menacing. "Such fire, it's quite entertaining."

He reaches out as if to touch me, and I snap the shears shut with a sharp click, my frustration boiling over. He snatches his hand back with a dark laugh.

Our fingers brush accidentally as I thrust the shears into his hand, ready to storm off, sending an unexpected jolt through me. I suppress it quickly, stepping back.

"I am no one's plaything," I hiss, my voice laced with venom. I storm off without a second look and lock myself in my room, seething with the intensity of my hatred for him.

The next morning, I stand by the window letting my gaze drift out outside with a furrowed brow. Despite the darkness that hangs over Galmoleth, the world outside seems mockingly vibrant.

I curse everything I see, channeling my anger and hatred for Dagon into everything from the karasu fluttering in the sky to the suru scampering in the courtyard below. Each creature, each blade of grass seems an affront, a reminder of the freedom I cannot taste.

A harsh knock at the door startles me. Reluctantly, I open it, and there stands Dagon, his presence as imposing as the dark stone walls that encase us.

"Enjoying the view, Callista? Or perhaps you're plotting which part of the garden to poison first?" His mocking condescension instantly ignites my temper.

I step closer, my voice low and steady with barely contained rage. "I was imagining how much brighter this place might be without your shadow darkening it."

He raises an eyebrow, his gaze assessing. "Your spirit remains unbroken. Admirable, yet fucking futile. You need to accept your new reality."

"I accept nothing," I snap back. "Not this house, not these grounds, and certainly not you."

Dagon's eyes narrow slightly, and for a moment, there is a flicker of something like respect in his gaze. "That fucking defiance is going to be your undoing." His crimson eyes peer into me, sweeping down my body with an intrusive intensity that makes me shudder.

He leaves before I can muster another retort, the echo of his footsteps a taunting reminder of his control. I slam the door shut, leaning against it as a mixture of frustration and something perilously close to exhilaration pulses through me.

But beneath the surface, a dangerous curiosity grows—a desire to understand the enigmatic and complex creature who has turned my life into a mockery for his twisted enjoyment.

During the day, I channel my energy into finding potential escape routes. I study the rotations of the guards, memorize the layout of the house, and search for any hidden passageways, but all my efforts have proven fruitless so far.

As I walk through the courtyard, ostensibly enjoying the fresh air, my gaze sweeps over the landscape with the keen eye of a captive plotting her freedom. Each step carries me past flower beds and fountains, but my mind is elsewhere, mapping exit points and noting the patrol timings of the guards.

The clashing sound of steel draws my attention across the courtyard where Dagon is training with a sword. His movements, fluid and precise, are filled with deadly intent. He wields his sword with an expert's grace, his shirt discarded beside him, revealing gleaming muscles and a tapestry of scars that speak of countless battles.

I pause, hidden in the shadow of a tall column, stealing quick glances as I watch him move. Every swing and parry is a testament to his power, the very power he holds over me.

Suddenly, he stops, straightening as he senses my presence. He turns, fixing me with a piercing gaze as a slow, wicked smirk spreads across his face.

"Enjoying the view, Callista? Or are you studying, hoping to find a weakness?" His voice carries across the courtyard, rough and taunting.

I step out from the shadows, refusing to appear intimidated. "I don't need to study you to know your weaknesses, Dagon. Arrogance is the most obvious one."

He laughs, a harsh, mocking sound that echoes off the stone walls. "Fucking brave words for someone who's more prisoner than guest. What's your plan? Going to try and take me down with a pair of garden shears?"

His words sting, the venom in them is piercing, yet I stand my ground, my voice steady. "Maybe I am." Seeing the brief flicker of annoyance in his eyes, I push harder. "Or maybe you're all sword and no substance, Dagon. It must be exhausting, puffing yourself up all day just to scare a girl."

His smile vanishes, replaced by a tightened jaw and a darkening gaze.

Dagon sets his sword down with a clang against the stone. His eyes never leave mine as he covers the ground in a few strides, stepping into my space with an aggression that makes me scramble back until my back meets the pillar.

The intensity of his gaze makes me squirm and my heart races as he leans in, his cheek brushing mine. His voice is low and rumbles against my ear as he whispers. "Keep fucking pushing me, Callista, and you might not like what you unleash. But then, maybe that's what you're hoping for?"

His tone is a blend of challenge and a strange, probing curiosity. He raises his head to meet my eyes and I feel a surge of reckless courage.

"I'm not afraid of you, Dagon. I've dealt with demons far less frightening than you pretend to be."

He steps back and picks up his sword again, as his smirk returns. "We'll see about that then, won't we?"

I let out a deep sigh, drowning in uncertainty as I watch him turn away, unable to help the pull this brooding demon seems to have on me.