𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐒𝐢𝐧𝐬

~Threat~

Before Cameron Came Home...

The window was whispering to him.

Telling him that something rotten was coming for him.

Something vile.

Telling him secrets old and new. The moon was staring at him...ridiculing him and susurrating silent threats while the wind remained on his side and the stars allowed for his reign.

But the more he listened, the more he realized that the wind was telling him pretty little lies and fears...selling him out to the moon.

While the sun sat back quietly...and scrutinized....waiting for his doom. 

~~~~~

"We have a problem. He won't talk," Leo scowled as he walked into the dark meeting room where Noctifer stood facing the city with his hands in his pockets.

His merciless and unrelenting eyes reflected the millions of glimmering lights that were the only thing that lit the obscure room. His mazarine eyes were like life itself amongst his lifeless and unforgiving frame.

The lights of New York were like mines of diamonds or firework sparks in the night.

He rolled up his sleeves, exposing more of the designed ink and veins while his golden rings glistened against the city lights. He walked past Leo as he made his way down to the basement of the warehouse.

The walls were clean but the rooms were littered with the scent and patches of metallic blood.

The bulky men lowered their heads as they opened the doors that revealed a man sitting on a chair that might as well be broken. A man with messy brown hair and a mischievous smirk looked straight ahead at him.

He wasn't tied up.

Even if he managed to escape -that's a big 'if'- the hundreds of men with guns swarmed who halls outside would get to him first. 

He wouldn't last a second.

Most victims of the reaper of the night would be quivering, quaking in fear, or dead of panic already but this man looked anything but inclined to fear.

With a nod of his head, Noctifer's men closed the doors to leave him alone with the man.

"To what do I owe the honor of being in the presence of the all mighty Noctifer?" the man with a thick Russian accent spoke, deriding him.

"I'll tell you after you tell me why a west-Russian is on my territory," Noctifer growled lowly. The man released a throaty chuckle that thundered off the concrete walls.

"Why don't you ask your girl?" the man suddenly asked in a solemn yet insulting tone. Noctifer froze for a moment before cocking his head to the side in a confused manner, acting like he didn't know what the man was talking about.

"My girl? I don't have one," Noctifer denies with his face not faltering through the lie.

How did they know about Ariella? Noctifer thought.

"Sure you do!" the man spoke as he brought his hand to his beard and looking up, heavily thinking.

"Her name...is it Alessia? Riana? Bella?" he guessed with a thinking expression.

"No, wait...Ariella is her name. That's right...Ariella... Lilac... Grey," he smirked, saying her beloved name slowly as if he was taunting him. Her name was too good to be spoken on his tongue.

Noctifer's fist clenched as his jaw ticked. The man got up from the chair as he made his way over to Noctifer, taking out something from his pocket.

"I'd keep a close eye on her if I were you. She's a gorgeous little thing...it would be a real shame if she just happened to slip from your hands. You never know when the pretty ones could be snatched up," the man threatened.

Before Noctifer could react or punch the living daylights out of him, he got out a pocket knife and slashed a deep cut on his chest through the fabric of his shirt. The man was just about to push the blade all the way in before Noctifer grabbed his wrist and curled his own fist around it, cutting off the blood circulation. The man's hand turned stark white as he tied to fight from the grip while his knees slowly sank.

 Noctifer looked down at him like a titan with a malignant gaze that was as cold as the Arctic.

It was almost like his veins were made out of ice. So raw and intense...

His eyes petrifying and piercing with utter darkness. His gaze was demonic like the devil himself was possessing his very soul.

The knife dropped with a clank against the cold floor, the echo never-ending. The man looked at him with absolute terror, knowing there was no use in fighting now.

With his other hand, Noctifer held his throat. Pressing and squeezing the oxygen from his lungs, the air being suffocated from his bloodstream. It was like Noctifer was coaxing the blood to gurgle from the man's mouth as it dribbled down Noctifer's curled fist. His knuckles bone white as the veins bulged from his pale skin.

Noctifer purposely slowed down the strangling because he wanted to make it last as long as possible. As long it would take for his thirst for blood to be satisfied.

All that could be heard was the prayers and dying breaths of the Russian man.

At last, the snapping sound of his neck and the weight of his dead body falling limp in his arms sounded throughout the vast room.

Noctifer dropped the body as it fell to the floor with a thunk.

Noctifer stood still, frozen, and faced with the dead body, looking at the lifeless eyes with no emotion. His knuckles were ghost white as with his pale skin and dark tattoos. His muscles bulged from his clothing as blood gushed from the open wound.

The cut on his chest was throbbing, burning, with excruciating and intense agony. It was a tight yet lightening-hot sensation that burned his whole chest yet it did no justice against the rage that was boiling underneath.

Someone had threatened what was most precious to him.

They might've as well threatened him personally. 

He must've stood there for hours, glued against the concrete as his anger suppressed itself with thoughts of the green-eyed angel that was hopefully peacefully sleeping at the penthouse.

Leo walked into the room, "What are we going to do?" he mumbled, breaking the silence.

"No one gets in or out of the city without us knowing about it. Triple the security around Lily, your place, and mine," he muttered in an ominous tone.

Leo nodded approvingly before walking off to get things sorted.

Noctifer turned around as well, leaving the warehouse.

The whole world was going to learn why storms were named after people...and Ariella would know first.

~

Word count: 1132