Chapter 55: Curveball
Vivian Grey’s POV
A killing machine? Zaliver. My thoughts splintered into a thousand pieces, and for a moment, all I could do was stare at him, stunned and silent.
"I have all this strength, all this control, and for what?" His voice cracked like thunder, bitter and jagged. He let out a sharp, mirthless laugh, stepping back from me, his hands tugging through his hair as he shook his head slowly, like he was trying to shake off ghosts only he could see.
I didn’t move. I just watched, my chest tight with unease as his energy shifted into something darker. Something haunted.
"We were human once. All of us. Chosen, trained, molded for them," he said, and there was a hollow ache behind every word. "But I didn’t even know who ’they’ were at the time. The control they had over our minds back then, it was terrifying. We were loyal, like a brotherhood with the other soldiers. But the gods? The real ones? They were untouchable. Distant. We weren’t allowed near them unless summoned."
He paused, eyes distant. "We worshiped them. I worshiped them. Blindly. Faithfully. I don’t remember everything about that life, but there’s one thing I do remember. My brother."
My heart lurched.
"Your brother?" I asked softly, barely able to get the words out.
He gave a single nod. "Yeah. I had a brother. And they slaughtered him."
The horror of it sent ice skittering down my spine. My stomach clenched, but I had a sinking feeling it wasn’t even the worst of it.
"Actually," his voice dropped to a broken whisper, "I slaughtered him."
For a second, I couldn’t breathe.
"They wanted proof, proof that our loyalty to the gods was greater than anything else. Even blood. They made us show them," he said, and something shattered in his voice. "I was the better fighter. Always had been. Joshula never stood a chance. He didn’t even fight back. And when it was over, they didn’t even let me bury him. Just took his body like he was nothing."
Zaliver stared down at his hands as if expecting them to still be soaked in blood. A long silence stretched between us, filled with the weight of everything he’d said. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet, raw with grief.
I swallowed hard, unsure if the ache I felt in my chest was mine or his. Maybe both. To be forced to kill your only family, there were no words in any language that could fix that kind of wound. His body bore no scars, but I could feel them seared deep into his soul.
Then, suddenly, like a storm snapping back to life, he looked up at me with a wild, unsettling smile. His blue eyes gleamed with something twisted.
"So I trained harder. I got stronger. Better. I outmatched every one of them. If I could take down hundreds, why would they need thousands?" His lips curled with a cruel edge. "So I took them out. All my competitors. One by one. Earned the bastards’ trust. Climbed the ranks. Became more than a soldier. I became family." His laugh was dark. Bitter. "Funny, right?"
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. My pulse thundered loudly in my ears, and the more he spoke, the clearer it became. Zaliver wasn’t just powerful. He was dangerous. Unpredictable. And beneath that lethal exterior, there was a storm that had never truly passed.
"My plan was simple," he went on, his tone becoming unnervingly calm. "Earn their love. Then use it to turn them against each other. Let them destroy themselves the same way they made me destroy Joshula."
Then his tone shifted again, almost amused. "But then something unexpected happened. Luna, yeah, the same one your kind calls Mother Luna, she joined the circle. And Fate, the spiteful, calculating bastard, didn’t like it one bit. Luna’s wolves intrigued him. So he sent me down to observe. Report. Spy."
I swallowed hard, my throat dry as sand.
"I did what I was told, like the loyal soldier I was," he sneered. "But then Fate got jealous. Couldn’t stand that Luna might have power he couldn’t control. So what did he do?" Zaliver’s smile deepened, teeth flashing like a predator ready to pounce. "He promoted me. Gave me more influence. Moved me higher."
And just like that, I understood the gravity of what I was dealing with.
Zaliver wasn’t just some overpowered Alpha or feared immortal.
He was forged in blood and betrayal, built from grief and obedience and the slow, deliberate corruption of someone who had started out human.
And Fate had made him his weapon.
"But no human could be a god," he said, his voice almost dreamy, like he was caught between memory and madness. "They’re too fragile. Too easy to kill. He wanted a god for the wolves, something similar but not quite the same. Not the same species at all. And honestly, it was brilliant. A stroke of cruel genius."
His eyes, glassy with memories that haunted him, drifted away for a moment before they snapped back to me.
"It might’ve worked," he said, "if he hadn’t chosen me. If he hadn’t trained, altered, and handed that much power to the one soul who despised them all the most."
There was no emotion in his voice. Just bone-deep exhaustion and resignation. But his words sent a chill crawling up my spine. My gut twisted. What was he trying to tell me?
I narrowed my eyes, trying to read the man standing across from me, my mate, my mystery, my walking contradiction. A tightness squeezed in my chest. Something felt off. The kind of off that makes your instincts scream run. That fight-or-flight part of me stirred again, and it wasn’t subtle.
Then he moved, crossing his arms over his chest with slow deliberation. His gaze latched onto me like I was a question he couldn’t quite solve.
"But you?" he murmured, voice low and dark. "You were the curveball, Vivian Grey."
He started to circle me slowly like a predator sizing up its prey, like he was waiting for me to sprout wings or light the room on fire with some untapped force I didn’t even know I had. I tensed but didn’t move, locking my knees firmly in place.
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