Wicked Strings

Chapter 1

I am sure his head flickered to the door and saw it swing slightly to the cold breeze; his spine must have shivered in fear. Where was I? You must be wondering if I am dreaming. The girl who lets a man corner her, threaten her, and watch her like a damn hawk has no guts or determination to watch the blood ooze from every pore like a boomslang. Silence embodies the role of an observer, a quiet figure teetering on the edge of anticipation, eager to witness events unfold like a gripping performance. To consider Azazel a predator is to align oneself with the many who misinterpret the facade. With his dazzling smile, immaculate attire, and a surname that resonates with charm, he presents an image that can swiftly morph into a waking nightmare. A wolf cloaked in sheep's clothing resembles a lion concealed in the tall grass, waiting for the opportune moment to pounce.

I navigate between the numerous benches, resembling the solemn pews of a church, within a school that longs for reverence, as if it were a deity. Yet, it permits boys younger than itself to orchestrate their deceptive schemes under the guise of authority—authority that feels as transient as gum stuck beneath a pair of pristine Dior heels. I stay low, creeping behind him as he studies me through his blue mask, its surface shimmering in the light that dances across the keys he clutches tightly. His obsession with cleanliness is palpable, a need for everything to exude an air of opulence, as if a mere breath could tarnish its polished facade.

He was still like the boy whose finger could create magic with a single strum. ''You have a death wish?'' He asked coldly, turning around. He trusted that I was here to die like a squirming coward. I shook my head innocently as my eyes widened like Bambi, but I was no less than the snake that entranced Mowgli. I could feel him smirk under that smirk as weighing me out to see which method to shatter every part of me. Before he could swirl around, the knife touched his neck as the freed arm held him tightly against my chest. A grunt leaves his mouth. Hatred swirls within me like the seething breath of a mighty dragon, capable of incinerating anyone who dares to approach.

"You enjoy biting, do you?" he chuckled darkly, his laughter echoing with an unsettling charm. His eyes mirrored my own, but where mine shimmered with warmth, his were the frigid blue of a glacier, capable of freezing the very essence of life around him. "A snake in her true form. Isn't it beautiful?" His amusement danced in the air, drawing my grip around him tighter, enough that he could feel the sharpness of my resolve. Yet he remained unfazed, his gaze piercing through the shiny black and white keys of the piano before us.

With a swift motion, his hands returned to the instrument, coaxing forth the haunting melody that had invaded my thoughts, sending tremors coursing through my fingers.

"The girl staring out her window," Azazel jeered, an infuriating smirk etched across his face as if he relished every moment of my torment. ''Mother gone mad like my own,'' I pierced at the vein of his neck that popped in the tension building as the ghost howled. "Maybe the son should join his pathetic mother," I growled, my voice low and laced with disdain as he stumbled over the piano keys, the abrupt clash of sound shattering the stillness in the room. "Since when did the beautiful snake learn to rub salt into old, raw wounds?"

His voice pierced the air, sharp as a cold breeze that danced under our skin, igniting a prickling sensation of vulnerability. I felt the weight of his gaze, much like a shadowy predator lurking in the dark, waiting to pounce. Leaning closer, my lips brushed against the delicate curve of his ear, and for a heartbeat, I swear I felt the breath catch in his throat. A smirk curled on my lips, allowing him to savour the tantalising tease, "I thought you wanted to die with me," I whispered, each word dripping with a mischief that sliced through the ambient light like a devil in his most enchanting guise.

He remained utterly still, his finger gliding away from the piano keys in a slow, deliberate motion, tracing a languid path up to my wrist. The delicate patterns he drew on my skin sent shivers coursing through me like a jolt of electricity, igniting every nerve ending. "Do you think I hate you?" he whispered, his breath warm against the sensitive flesh of my wrist. Then, in an unexpected gesture, he pressed a gentle kiss to that spot, causing my hand to jerk instinctively away from his neck. The sharp edge of the knife grazed the skin of his collarbone, drawing a soft hiss from his lips. Instinctively, I pulled back, creating a palpable distance between us, my heart racing in the charged silence that followed.

Azazel was the lone wolf among the Sons of Sinners. The lone wolf was intimidating because they had the power to defeat more packs than they could join. His thumb swipes against the wound, letting the blood sweep through each curve of his print. I quickly stepped back as he rose from his throne with a smirk as he suckled the iron-flavoured liquid. I would tell you to run. I would say to you to slither away,'' He steps closer like a lion to a deer looking for help from its helpless mother.

''I would tell you to hide because I will find you,'' he grunted until he hovered above me. My jaws clench, and my eyes turned fierce despite the fear coursing through my flesh. ''But I want you to taste me. I want you to anticipate death. Look at it. Because this is your last year,'' my eyes widen and even before my mouth could let out a gasp or a breath, his lips sealed my own.

My fist hits his one arm, but his chest presses against my waist, pressing us further together as he tries to deepen the kiss so that the taste of his blood remains in my system as a reminder that my circle was bound to end. I grip the knife tighter as I try to slit his arm and I successfully done so but his arms almost break my ribs as his tongue rubs against my own. I think I lost my breath as my body hyperventilated, causing the knife to slip out of my hands and me to lose consciousness. I don't remember much, but the sting on my lips and his iron grip that matched his grey eyes.

"Tomorrow marks the end of everything, as our voices will weave the final melody you dance to. My kiss will be both your first and last, a sweet farewell, beautiful snake." Azazel murmured, his breath warm against my lips as shadows descended, and the towering trees enveloped the school, casting it into a consuming darkness.

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WHAT DO YOU THINK?

DO YOU FEEL THE TENSION?

ARE YOU'LL READY FOR MORE?

THE SONS OF THE SINNERS ARE READY TO PERFORM. 

BUY YOUR TICKETS TO YOUR OWN DEATH. 

PRAY YOU HAVEN'T SINNED LIKE DEVI RAI SINGHANIA. 

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