“Calm down,” I murmured, switching off the water and stepping out of the bathroom, ignoring the continuous pounding in my head. “You’ll get your body now.”
I managed to walk out of the bathroom just before my strides turned into staggers. A low growl ripped from my throat before I reached the bed and collapsed, damped, tired, an invisible hand ripping through my skull.
Another hollowed growl and my eyes finally closed.
How disappointing, that when these eyes would open again the next morning, the world would be quieter, softer,wrong.
It wouldn’t be me in control of this body.
It would be someone else. The owner.
My twin brother.
Callan.
5
CALLAN
A bullet to the heart.
“Christ.” My quiet whisper drifted into the air like smoke, then got lost in the hum of the afternoon traffic.
I shouldn’t have come here. This was one of my many bad ideas.
I hadn’t slept a wink in 96 hours. Every nerve in my body was rioting for rest, solitude. I should curl into a comfortable position and sleep. But here I was, standing in front of the largest convention hall just outside of Aldross.
Through the door, the chaos inside continued to spill out in waves. Crowds of people, hundreds of them in gaudy colors, made the room look like a rainbow had detonated. The air was a kaleidoscope of giggles and laughter. Too loud. Too much. Just too much.
What was I doing here?
I felt my fingers twitch, and I swiftly tucked one hand into my pocket, the other clenching the book I was carrying, my nails digging into the spine just to feel something solid beneath my touch.
Books.
For me, they were the only things that made the most amount of sense in a world filled with disorder. That and drawing, watching the stars, solving puzzles.
On some days, I spent my time locked up in my office with the whisper of pen on paper keeping me company. On different days, I would travel from one city to another, on repeat, tens of times. All to ensure the stability of the empire I was asked to run…temporarily, they had said.
And when all things were in order, though hardly, I would take the night off to sketch if I had the inspiration to, or find solace between the pages of books.
Maleficium, a book by an author called Donna Copeland, was my last read. Usually, it was difficult for a book to leave a long-lasting mark on me. But this one did. I never bothered unsubscribing when I discovered I had somehow subscribed to the author’s newsletter last week. Then, three days ago, an email landed within the junks in my inbox.
There was a book event, and the author was coming. And she planned on signing some copies of her most recent release.
That was how I got here.
And now I regretted it. Every single bit of it.
Raids, debt-collecting and commanding an army of men? Those things I could do. But willingly placing myself in the middle of a crowd? I would rather pass.
I turned slightly, my gaze travelling to the black car parked a few feet away, looking so out of place, too flashy for such a simple atmosphere.
One of my soldiers stood beside the car, his stance alert, eyes sweeping the area for any threats.
With the note Zaghan, my twin brother left for me two weeks ago;Be careful down in Braemont. Some fucker tried to kill me;I should have probably not come at all. Braemont and Aldross were just a couple of minutes away from each other.
Coming here wasn’t more important than my safety. But I was curious.What does a book signing look like?Quite foolish, if you asked me. Curiosity killed the cat, they said. Imagine being gunned down by an assassin because I wanted to get my book signed?
