Chapter 24

Iyla

SOMETHING MOVED OVER MY FOOT. My eyes snapped open, and a scream lodged in my throat as I yanked my foot up to my chest and threw my blankets off me. Coldin slithered over the mattress, unfazed by my reaction.

I gripped the front of my t-shirt and tried to calm my erratic heartbeat. “Coldin,” I snapped. “You can’t do that! You scared the shit out of me! You shouldn’t … slither across people while they’re sleeping.”

His forked tongue flicked out in response, and he continued his trek along my sheets until he disappeared back under my blanket.

Not wanting to share my bed with the unwelcome guest, I got up and went across the hall to the bathroom. My entire body was hella sore from a night of unrelenting and mind-blowing sex. The lingering satisfaction of each release still burrowed in my limbs, and when I walked, I really felt the aftermath of it.

Zagan and I went multiple rounds last night, and guilt over not returning to our friends tried to nuzzle its way into my chest. I shot each one a message, explaining mine and Zagan’s sudden departure, which earned me the excitement I was starting to expect when talking to my friends about my sexual endeavors.

I went back to my room after relieving myself and doing my morning routine to fish some yoga pants out of my dresser to slip on with the shirt I wore—something Zagan must’ve put me in during the night since I hadn’t fallen asleep in it. It was a band t-shirt with his face front and center. I smiled to myself.

Of course, he chose this one.

My first night in my new room was memorable, to say the least. I wondered if it would feel awkward, like when you stayed at a hotel or a friend’s house. That unsettledness never came, though. I felt more at home snuggled up in those sheets than I did in the bed at my apartment. I wasn’t sure if it was because of Zagan’s smell on the blankets or if it was because I knew I was no longer under Mom’s thumb. Either way, I’d slept better in my new room than I had slept in a long time.

I crept into the hall and down the stairs when I heard music coming from the lowest level. Figuring Zagan was down there dancing or something, I continued to that floor. I was surprised to find him, not in the dance room, but in his writing and recording studio.

Zagan leaned back on the couch in his human form. He wore black silk lounge pants and a matching robe, which was open so that I could see his tattooed torso and pierced nipples in all their mouth-watering glory. His pierced brow was furrowed as he stared at some music sheets in his hand.

I cleared my throat and crept slowly into the room. “Hey.”

He looked up at me then, and there was no missing the defeat in his eyes. “Hey.”

“Whatcha up to?” I probed, sitting adjacent to him on the couch.

He sighed and held the papers up. “Working on a new song.”

The disdain in his voice was pungent, and it was punctuated by the way he glowered at the sheet music. I knew he’d been struggling to write a song he enjoyed, and despite not liking the latest song they’d just recorded, he let the group use it to appease their demands.

We were our own worst critics, so, eager to relieve some of that self-loathing clouding his features, I asked, “Can I hear what you have so far?”

He looked reluctant, maybe even a little embarrassed, but he grabbed the guitar next to him and began to sing. I listened, fully swept away with the melody and the beautiful sound of his voice. I held my breath as he sang, too afraid to even move out of fear that I’d somehow miss a sound.

He stopped abruptly and looked at me. “That’s all I have so far.”

I immediately grinned. “I like it!” I glanced at the music sheets spread out on the table as the lyrics replayed in my mind. “It has a nice sound, and the lyrics are fun. Very on brand for you guys.”

“But …” he encouraged, staring at me like he knew the word was right there on the tip of my tongue.

I bit my lip. I wanted to help him, not make his frustration worse. Maybe being honest was the help he needed, though. “But … it does sound pretty similar to the music you already have out. You know. Sex. Pleasure. Sin.”

He sighed and sat the guitar aside to rake both hands through his already tousled black hair. “I know. That’s my issue. I just can’t seem to get inspired or write something different these days.”

This was important to him. Music was Zagan’s passion, and struggling with it was weighing him down greatly. He needed a solution. He needed some inspiration. He needed a break .

“Maybe you need to step away from it a bit,” I offered slowly. “Forcing yourself to come up with something isn’t going to help. It needs to be natural, and for that to happen, breaks are occasionally needed. Try listening to or playing a different type of music for a bit. You’ve been honing in on this one style for so long, which can make you stagnant. Change things up. Play a different instrument or something.”

He seemed to weigh my suggestion before nodding. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. I might try that.”

Offering him a suggestion he found helpful made pride swell up inside me. I beamed at him. “Good. Now then, I was gonna make some coffee. You want some?”

The demon perked up. “That sounds great.”

He followed me down the hall and up the stairs to the main floor. I waltzed into the open kitchen to make the hot brew while he continued on into the house.

“How was your first night in your new room?” he called from one of the neighboring rooms.

“Good,” I yelled over my shoulder so that he could hear me from wherever he was. “That bed is amazing. I really appreciate you getting it for me. I appreciate the whole room .”

“As I said before. There’s no need to thank me,” came his faraway response.

I hit brew on the coffee pot just as a new sound began to filter into the room. My entire body locked up, and I took in a sharp breath. Goosebumps prickled over my skin, and my heart beat faster as my ears tuned into the slow, beautiful sound of the piano. I turned on autopilot and stared at the stretch of wall separating the ballroom from the kitchen and living room, and as if pulled by the piece, I trudged closer to the doorway. I stopped just shy of the entrance and pressed my back to the wall, listening to the haunting and somber movement of the piece. My eyes slipped shut, and Zagan’s melancholy spirit practically touched me in a ghostly whisper with each note.

I stood there, enraptured and in awe for the entire first movement. When the coda finished and he didn’t continue into the next movement, I peeled my eyes open and took what felt like my first breath in the past six minutes.

I finally rounded the doorway and found Zagan at the piano bench, hands now on his thighs, looking like a fallen god.

“Beethoven. ‘Moonlight Sonata.’ First movement,” I said, but I wasn’t sure who I was really saying it to. Probably myself. It was a reminder to the girl who’d been buried inside me. She still knew these pieces as well as she knew her own reflection, even after all this time.

Zagan looked up at me and gave me a small smile. “You know it?”

I nodded once, but I couldn’t move anything else. I was frozen, staring at the sleek piano. The instrument was my deepest temptation manifested. I could still feel the dark movement of the sonata gripping my chest.

Zagan ran his fingers over the black and white keys. “It is a pretty well-known piece.”

I cleared my throat and gestured to the instrument. “You played it beautifully. Can—Can you keep going?”

His eyes trailed over my form in the doorway, the gaze like a tentative caress. I didn’t think he was going to meet my request when finally, he hovered both hands over the keys and began the second movement. This was the shortest of the three movements in the piece, but it was the start of what would lead into the fiery third movement.

I lingered in the doorway like a ghost haunting the room, listening with eyes closed, as Zagan commanded the music like a master.

When it finished, and he made no move to keep going to the finale, I opened my eyes to find him watching me.

“You play,” he stated, staring at me with unwavering certainty.

I blinked and tried to clear the haze of the piece from my mind. “What?”

He pointed at me. “You were mirroring the keys on your leg.”

I looked down, and sure enough, my fingertips were still posed in the ending notes of the movement. I hadn’t even realized, but now, my throat squeezed with emotion trying to climb up it. I curled my fingers into fists against my legs.

I didn’t answer him. I couldn’t. Instead, I finally closed the space between us and gingerly sat beside him on the bench. With the black and white keys right there in front of me, close enough for me to reach out and touch, the ache in my chest intensified like a seismic wave rolling through a city.

“Keep going,” I whispered, my eyes never leaving the keys. “Please.”

I could see him watching me from the corner of my eye, but with less hesitation than before, his tattooed hands hovered over the keys. The fierce final movement began. There was no faltering or stumbling as he moved with the skill of a seasoned pianist.

I closed my eyes, brow furrowed and lips parted, as I focused on the intense movement. The music carved into me with its fire and strength, infusing me with its power for this moment in time.

Until suddenly, it stopped, not even three minutes in. I was getting sick of him stopping. I turned my glare on him, and, once again, I found him watching me.

“What?” I demanded.

“Why do you close your eyes while you listen?”

“Oh.” The annoyance inside me slipped away, and a softness replaced it. “It’s something my dad always did. He … He played the piano. It was what he wanted to do with his life, what he got a full-ride to university for. Anyway, he would have me close my eyes while he played or while we listened to one of our records, because it was one less sense to take away from the music. With your eyes closed, all you can focus on is the sound of the instrument telling you their story through the notes and melodies. You can feel the song better that way.”

Zagan stared at me thoughtfully, his eyes softening. “Your dad sounds nice.”

Tears burned the backs of my eyes, but I blinked them away. “Yeah. He was.”

Silence fell over us, and Zagan didn’t make an effort to break it. It was like he wanted me to have a moment to exist in my dad’s memory. It was something I didn’t do often—think about him. Like music, I kept him tucked away in my mind, hidden in a box for safety where nothing Mom said or did could tarnish the man he was in life.

A musician, who played with the beautiful touch resembling composers of old.

A husband, who did everything from simple to grand gestures just to make his wife smile.

A father, who loved his daughters more than life itself.

He was warm, selfless, and he was mine —my hero, my best friend. My dad.

“I miss him,” I whispered, a tear finally rolling down my cheek.

Zagan reached over to gently wipe the tear with his thumb. His hand lingered, and I leaned my cheek into it, letting his touch soothe the ache now searing a hole into my chest. His strong palm acted like a beacon of light as I navigated the turbulent sea of years old grief, and with it, the pain slowly rolled back into the cracks of my heart like the receding tide. I sniffled as I looked down at my lap.

Zagan nudged me lightly, and in seemingly an effort to distract me, said, “Your turn. Play something for me.”

My gaze bounced between him and the piano and back again. The mere suggestion had my heart pounding and my nerves scattering. I quickly waved my hands dismissively. “No, no. I don’t know how to play.”

His eyes narrowed with skepticism. “Liar. You were just doing the fingering for the piece.”

I wanted to hang my head like a child who’d just been discovered breaking the rules. There was no denying that I knew how to play, not when he’d seen me.

“Fine,” I gritted out, not meeting his gaze. “I won’t play.”

“Why not?” Zagan questioned as he turned toward me fully. “I know piano means something to you. So why won’t you play?”

“Because!” I snapped, my eyes finally searing into his. He didn’t back down at my outburst, which only spurred on the rush of an answer. “Because playing will make me want it too badly, and that’s something I can’t want.”

His jaw worked, and his shoulders pulled back in defiance. “Says who? Your mom? She doesn’t control you, Iyla. Not anymore.”

I heard him. I knew what he was saying, but I couldn’t be sure I believed him. Sure, I lived in this new place with new things that existed outside of Valerie Winters, but I’d never be free of her. She’d always be there.

Her voice in the back of my mind, scolding me when I tried to eat something fattening.

Her sharp eyes watching my every move and how I behaved around boys.

Her disappointed scowl staring back at me as I tried to embrace myself and what I wanted.

The thunder cloud of her memory would always loom above me, ready to strike me with lightning and rain down feelings of inadequacy, discomfort, and self-doubt.

Could I live with that? Could I live with feeling like a failure of a daughter, all because I wanted to live my way and reach for my dreams?

I wasn’t sure if I was strong enough to shoulder those feelings.

And that scared me enough to hesitate, even when freedom was fingertips away.

I should feel confident in who I was and what I wanted, but that confidence had been stolen long ago. Even without a direct tie to Mom, I still felt chained to her, and I wasn’t sure how to break free of that.

The strong smell of freshly brewed coffee filtered into the ballroom, and I latched onto the scent as my excuse to leave.

“I think the coffee’s ready,” I mumbled. Without another word or backward glance, I got up and left Zagan and his words behind.