Chapter 37: Beg me!
Cassian did not know when these words flowed out of his mouth. He had no inkling of what he was even saying. But the aching sensation in his chest was a constant reminder of the truth: he was not dreaming. That this was reality, and the man in front of him was real, and his pain was real too.
The anguish in the man’s words and the sorrow in his eyes, which seemed to carry the weight of countless lives, were as transparent as a sheet of glass. Every plea and word from him pierced the very core of Cassian. Even though Cassian knew he had done nothing to deserve this, he found himself consumed by guilt.
The words escaped him before he could even grasp their meaning, as if he had been yearning to utter them for a longer time....even far longer than his own life.
Xalor stiffened when he heard the unfamiliar voice beside him. The world began to sharpen in his vision, and like a cold water was poured on him, when he looked down at the tear-streaked face of the boy—an unfamiliar face, an unfamiliar voice.
It was as if the fog in his mind had finally lifted. without thinking of anything. He jerked Cassian away from him with a harsh shove, sending him sprawling to the floor.
Cassian hit the ground with a resounding thud, followed by a fit of coughing, his throat ached from the tight grip of the man on his neck. He stared up at the man who had just thrown him aside like he was worthless, when only moments before...
Cassian’s gaze met the looming figure of Xalor, whose cold, ink-black eyes were even darker than the void. He visibly shuddered and tried to retreat as the man’s presence closed in on him. Cassian felt like he was a prey ready to be devored any time.
Each step Xalor took was punctuated by the soft, ominous thud of his boots. With each sound, Cassian’s fear grew. He deeply regretted being out so late. It would have been far better to be wrapped in his warm blankets instead of facing a man who seemed on the brink of madness.
Xalor looked at Cassian’s terror-stricken, pale blue eyes and felt a dangerous urge rising within him. He loathed himself for losing control over something as trivial as a scent. "The scent was nothing special... it cannot control..." Xalor tried to convince himself, but his voice grew weaker with each word, as if even his own conscience knew he was lying.
The scent might be the same, but that did not mean they were the same. He could end up harming an innocent life in his quest to quench his thirst; he had to keep himself in check.
But a small voice in the back of his mind whispered, "What if they are the same... After all, faces can differ, but souls remain the same."