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21

The Watcher

I watched as Callum Thorne and Lydia Aston warmed to one another, and then I watched them argue. It was quite delightful.

It seems all they needed was a little push, a little forced proximity to awaken their feelings. Lydia is a smart girl. She played Callum right into her palm, guiding him to crack open his walls for her. And she almost succeeded. She would have, too, if I had not walked in and interrupted their little bonding session.

I make my way to the cell to check in on them, taking my time and keeping my steps slow and purposeful. I turn toward the cell as soon as it becomes visible, taking in the sight of the two of them huddled close together against the back bars. Funny, they were not next to one another when I left my office. In fact, they seemed to want to be as far from one another as possible. I smile beneath my mask, knowing that all of my plans are playing out perfectly.

My plan is simple, really. I wish to break Callum’s heart to the point of no return and make him my soldier. Then, Lydia will be mine for the taking—mine for the molding. My echoes belong to me, and no one else.

This is the way it was meant to be.

I finally make it to the cell, stopping and turning to face the two of them. They watch me as I watch them, their faces giving away every emotion they try desperately to conceal.

“Welcome. I’ve been anticipating this for quite some time,” I say, looking between the two of them.

Lydia grips Callum’s arm tightly, and although he tries, he can’t fight the way his soul yearns to protect her. He reaches over and places a hand on hers, rubbing his thumb over her skin in delicate, back-and-forth strokes. I don’t think he even knows he’s doing it.

“What do you want from us?” Callum asks, training his gaze directly on me.

“Yeah, Scream wannabe, what do you want from us?” Lydia calls out.

Callum glares down at her in annoyance, and I almost laugh at the way they bicker without words. I watch as Lydia lifts her gaze to his, giving him a knowing look. If I weren’t planning to tear these two apart, I’d think they were pretty dang cute right about now. Shaking my head, I refocus my attention on the primary objective.

“The Second Wave is coming. Let us not hinder its progression,” I say to them. They stare up at me as if I’d spoken a language they don’t understand. How could I make myself any clearer than that?

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Callum asks, his tension palpable.

“You feel it. I know you do,” I say.

“Feel what, you fucker?” Callum asks, growing impatient with my riddles.

“I know that you’ve seen things, both of you,” I say, glancing between them.

Lydia stills, sucks in a breath, and turns her attention toward Callum for answers. He flexes his thick jaw muscles, and I sense that he’s on the verge of losing it. I want to push him. I want to see how far a man like Callum Thorne can fall.

“Tell me, Callum. What haunts your visions? What demons have come back to collect your soul?” I push. Lydia glances up at Callum and then back to me, curiosity burning behind her vivid blue eyes.

“Tell me, Callum,” I continue. “What would Kaila think if she were still alive?”

I know about the accident. I know that he blames himself for her death. And I know that if my suspicions are correct, revealing this tidbit of information will have Lydia reeling from the inside out.

“Listen, you motherfucker,” Callum starts, standing from the floor and stalking toward the bars where I stand waiting.

Come, Callum. Come to me.

I don’t cower as he stops directly in front of me with only the bars of the cell between us. I lift my head a couple of inches to meet his murderous gaze, averting my own to watch as Lydia stands and makes her way toward us. She stares up at Callum, confusion sweeping over her features. As I study her, I can hear something deep within, begging me to listen. It feels like I’m missing some important part of a puzzle.

Too bad I don’t have time for puzzles.

“What does he mean, Callum?” she asks, wanting to know what demons haunt her beloved sunshine. What an odd name to give to such a stormy soul. The irony, in fact, is lost on me.

“Tell me what the fuck you want from us,” Callum snarls, spit flying from between his tightly clenched teeth as he chooses to ignore Lydia’s question and focus his rage on me instead.

He’s angry, fuming even. His chest rises and falls in sync with his escalating emotional state. Emotions. Such pesky little things. Lydia stands off to Callum’s right, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as she glares up at me, eagerly awaiting my response. Callum notices her in his periphery, reaching his arm out to push her behind him.

“Stop it, Callum. I’m not a child. I can handle myself,” Lydia says, pushing his arm away to stand at his side once more. He glares down at her, angry. No, not angry—afraid. I latch onto his fear, planning my next moves accordingly.