Mystical (Mystical #1) (Revising)

Chapter Twenty ☆

"Let me go!" Eliza's voice edged with urgency.

"Calm down. I need to show you something," Donovan's tone was composed as he closed the door behind them.

Eliza's house gradually faded from view as they walked. Standing at a streetlight, they waited to cross the road. Eliza felt Donovan's gaze on her, and their eyes briefly met before awkwardly shifting away. Without her broomstick at her side, she braced herself for any unexpected actions from him.

"Where are we headed?" Eliza's curiosity brimmed in her voice.

The path seemed to lead towards the city. Ahead of them, a group of tough-looking individuals loitered. Eliza's fingers felt a soft grip intertwining with hers – Donovan was holding her hand.

"Don't let go," Donovan's words were barely audible.

The group of individuals ceased their banter, directing their attention toward Eliza and Donovan. "Hey there, Donovan," one of them spat on the ground. "Got yourself some company?"

Another member of the group kicked a nearby trash can as a passing car created a gust of air. Eliza's senses heightened, her heart accelerating in response to the mounting tension. Donovan's hand tightened around hers. Facing the unfolding scene, Eliza decided to heed his advice and held on, not releasing his hand despite the intimidating atmosphere around them.

Guiding Eliza into the midst of the group of rough-looking individuals, Donovan's presence provided an unspoken assertion of control. Eliza's gaze found refuge on the ground, avoiding direct eye contact with the strangers around her.

"She's quite the looker. What do you say, guys?" A smug voice broke the tension, and Eliza pivoted to glare at the speaker. "Are you playing the sharing game, Don?"

"Don't you dare touch me," Eliza's voice was a controlled hiss, her teeth clenching with defiance. The proximity of one of the goons caused an involuntary brush against her, a move that Donovan swiftly countered by stepping in, pushing the guy back.

"Nah, I'm not in the mood to share anything," Donovan's voice was firm, devoid of compromise.

The expressions of the guys in the group soured, their dissatisfaction evident. Another figure dared to cross a boundary, his hand brushing against Eliza's waist. In a swift motion, Donovan turned and delivered a punch.

"Step back," Donovan's command echoed, drawing the group back a few paces. Eliza's senses were attuned to Donovan's tension, his controlled breathing a backdrop to his assertiveness. The markings around his neck shimmered with an ethereal glow.

"This freak's all aglow again. Let's get out of here." The goons retreated into the shadows, their figures melting into the darkness as they moved away. Donovan's hand found Eliza's arm, guiding her as they continued down the street, eventually crossing over.

Donovan's gaze slid toward Eliza, and she involuntarily parted her lips before quickly averting her gaze. "Word spreads fast in this city," Donovan remarked.

Eliza's curiosity sparked. "What do you mean?" She couldn't help but ask, her voice laced with intrigue.

"The gangs and gangsters," Donovan's gaze was fixed on the path ahead, his voice carrying a somber tone. "The goons. They all know about the guy who takes lives." His words lingered momentarily, as if he needed to clear his throat before continuing. His broomstick was withdrawn from its resting place, held out by his side as he spoke. "The guy who's not afraid to get his hands dirty."

Eliza's curiosity was piqued. "But how do you manage to keep the existence of mystics hidden?" She questioned.

"I don't. They see what transpires. I just don't tamper with their memories, so they know better than to meddle with me," Donovan responded. His eyes shifted upwards, his lips pressing together in a thoughtful expression before casting a glance behind and to the side.