10. Niamh

Iwake up with a renewed sense of mind and a stronger resolve. I know my place and I will seek comfort in the dusty corner of this massive shelf that is our realm. I will take the Lord Master's wishes to heart. I will obey and cloak myself in honesty.

When the ceremony comes, I will perform however I am asked to.

I will clean and hide. Hide and clean.

When I creep into the archives before dawn, I do so with my hair pulled back, and my head bowed in deference to no one. Obscurity is all I require. Even Day…

If he comes, I will turn him away. No one should penetrate this dusty, cobweb-covered solitude. It is all I deserve.

In resignation, I begin cleaning. I wipe the floors until they shine and return the books to their shelves. Then I dust and sweep and…

I nearly choke on a hard swallow. The back of my neck prickles—it has from the very second I entered this vast chamber. From the moment I sensed him, even if I didn't want to. I've tried to ignore him. Pretend. Will him away.

He isn't here. He is a figment of my imagination.

He is right behind me. The primal rasp of his inhalation teases the air. Inescapable. Was he here all night? Watching and waiting for me. Or perhaps he meant to prey on one of the other workers? No. Drinking from them would risk prison or worse.

But me…

No one would care if he hurt me.

I wait for him to make himself known. My heart races—he has to hear it. He must feel how my skin heats and catch the hitch in my breathing. Damn him, he knows.

He says nothing.

So I keep walking, moving deeper into the catacombs. The darkness shrouds me, a familiar friend, but it's heavier than ever. The solitude descends, and too late do I realize my mistake.

No one comes here. No one…

Except for Day for a few brief hours a week.

And him. Caspian is behind me. Against me. Pressing his body into mine.

I can't contain the sound that rips from my throat. A gasp. A whimper. A cry.

It's a noise that strikes a match and sets him alight. His hand captures my mouth, sealing the lips shut. Then his body acts as a battering ram, shoving me into a shelf, as if he means to crush me into it. His free hand creeps over my body, grasping through my robes to grope the flesh beneath. My throat. My collarbone. My breasts. He grips one tight, so hard I lurch on tiptoe. It hurts, but in that pain lurks something else that shouldn't be there. It makes my head feel lighter. Dizzy. It makes my lips part against his palm, and another broken noise slips out.

He groans then. For a second, I think I've hurt him. Bitten.

But I haven't. Although his mouth finds the crook of my throat and suckles at my flesh, he hasn't either. A sharpness rakes over my pulse point: teeth. Still, he doesn't bite.

In spite of this, I'm bleeding, drained of something more vital than blood. The feeling makes my body go limp. It makes it easier for him to grind his hips into mine. Wrench me to face him. It is this overwhelming, draining emotion that makes my lips part in anticipation, even before his tongue plunges between them. He drives into me so hard it hurts. Stars dance before my eyes, and the blood rushes through my eardrums.

I can't breathe. My hands fly to his chest, aiming to push him away. My grasping fingers snag the edges of his robes instead. Grips them for dear life. Holds on as he drains me dry.

And it is a tormenting, torturous, incredible way to die.

When I am kissed by him, I lose myself in the violent nature of it. The hunger betrayed by his grasping hands that roam my body. Tug. Grab. Knead. That ache within me returns, gathering in my abdomen. Then lower. Pressing my legs together isn't enough to stifle it. I can't…

Abruptly, he pulls back, but there isn't a smile on those beautiful lips now. In contrast, he seems even more lovely, with a look of horror corrupting his features. The first time he kissed me was a taunt. The second, a game.

But this…

With a third kiss, he's committed some horrific sin that rattles him to his very core. It guts him. Disgust fills his eyes as he looks at the fingers still grasping me. His upper lip pulls back from his teeth, exposing his fangs. He'll bite me now, I know he will.

He kisses me instead. Harder than the last. Grasping my skull, his fingers tear through my hair. His chest presses against mine as if he is trying to crush my beating heart with force alone. Each brush of his lips feels sharper, tinged with fangs he doesn't bother to restrain. My blood is a symphony humming through my veins, reaching a crescendo as his nails scrape at my scalp, locking me in place.

He breathes his darkness into me. Like a wildfire, the corruption spreads from my belly to my entire body. It steals my breath away, and I feel that foreign pressure building within me, pulsing. Unbearable. Only by rocking my hips and grinding my knees together can I smother it.

The vamryer notices, tearing his mouth from mine. His eyes blaze as he looks down, lips glistening—but he doesn't move. Using his leg to push mine apart, he grinds his knee against the source of the ache instead.

And it is…

Violent. Searing. Fire.

A broken sound rips from my throat. My head rears back. I can't find the strength to stop him or even remember if I should. I only need relief. Anything…

Then, too quickly to bear, he jerks back, out of reach. "Fuck him," he hisses. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!"

There is a look of torment in those eyes. Yet before I can pull away, his hand slides down to my hip, stroking through the fabric. I shouldn't find comfort in the action, but I do. He wants me, the only bargaining chip I have to trade. Whatever his hesitation, I'll make him push past it.

I have to.

"What's wrong?" My voice is a breathless gasp.

"I can't," he hisses. "Already owe him. Fuck him."

"Who?"

My voice makes him stiffen, and those eyes fixate on me once more. It's like he's seeing me for the first time.

Disgust isn't there, though. That dangerous hunger returns for a second, and I know exactly what he wants. He's never stopped wanting it. However, something has held him back.

Maybe it's the same rules that should restrain me.

No matter; I know what I want. What I crave. What I need.

"Tell me about the other realms," I murmur, my voice soft in the echoing space.

"I can't." He breathes out as if pained. Then he lowers his skull to mine, our foreheads meeting, lips a hair's breadth away. "What do you want to know?"

My mind runs wild. There are so many things. So many more questions. One day in, I've already broken my new rule. The hope is back, and it's too potent to resist. In his arms, I'm suffocating with greedy, filthy need. I'm drowning.

And he is my lifeline.

"I want to know everything," I breathe out. "What is it like? How can I go? I want to go. Take me?—"

No.I bite that back so hard my tongue stings. Too hard. I've made myself bleed.

"And what will you give me in return?" he asks, his voice practically a whine. "Your body?"

He uses both hands to capture my waist while raking his gaze over the body in question. Small in comparison to his. Thin. Pale. Sickly.

Even so, his eyes gleam and glow. For this, he's just as greedy.

"Is that what you'd give me? You'd let me fuck you if I wanted. Shove my cock between those pretty little thighs."

My cheeks flame at the vulgarity. Never outside of that infamous novel have I heard such language spoken. But I don't deny it.

And he groans, his throat rasping. "You would," he snarls. "You would. But I don't want it, fae. You aren't worth it." He steps into me, shoving his knee between my legs like before, but this time, his hand follows, inching up, up, up. "But I do want you," he grates, prodding at that part of me, unshielded by fabric. "I'll take?—"

Suddenly, he stiffens, head cocked, eyes narrowed. He frowns and steps back, pressing a finger to his mouth. A heartbeat later, he fades into the shadows.

And then I hear it. Footsteps, bold yet soft. Day.

I can't move fast enough. My limbs don't seem to work, and I'm left tugging my robes into place as he steps from behind the nearest shelf. His gaze is warm, his half-smile firmly in place. Somehow, he doesn't sense the vamryre lurking just out of sight. Somehow.

Though he is all I can feel. All I can focus on. His presence cloaks me in an icy chill that even poor Day, despite his namesake, can't displace. As the seconds tick by, the furrow in his brow deepens. He is unsure.

"You should be happy to see me." The statement isn't a question and yet it shatters my mind state all the same. Am I happy to see him? Yes. No. I fear for him.

Caspian's vile emotions are so easy to read. Even with my eyes closed, breath held, I'm sure I could sense what he's thinking. His anger has a smell, like sulfur and fire. Like smoke.

How can Day not sense him?

But he doesn't. His smile is gone now, his gaze wary. He runs a pale hand along the front of his green robes—an uncharacteristic display. What in the hell is wrong with me?

"I… I am always happy to see you," I choke out in a whisper. My voice can't seem to penetrate the quiet. My heartbeat surges, seeming so much louder. It tolls like an alarm bell, sounding suspiciously similar to a name. Caspian! Caspian!

"You're shaking. Are you cold?" Day's frustration has turned to concern. He grabs my forearm and steers me toward the hearth at the front of the chamber—or, he tries to. Something happens the second his fingers make contact with the fabric of my sleeve. It's like I'm electrified—struck by lightning like the bell tower is during a particularly fierce storm. Jolted. I trip over my feet and crash into a shelf, knocking books off their perches and sending a teeth-grinding pain through my shoulder.

He shouts in alarm, Day does—but I barely hear him. I can't hear him. All I can see is a creature molded from the shadows, threatening to descend. I shake my head. I'd plead with him aloud if my voice worked. Don't. Please.

And somehow… The shadow stills and fades back into the darkness.

"You're ill." Day's tone carries a knowing dip in inflection. As if my pale presence confirms a deep-seated fear. As if he finally realized that I'm broken and might corrupt him with my taint. He steps back, and it hurts. I don't know why it does.

The vamryre leaves me in disgust, and I hate him.

Day cringes from me and alarm, and it hurts me.

"I'm sorry. I'm fine," I rasp. My right hand won't stop stroking my left shoulder. It aches and aches. My eyes water if I touch it. It burns if I don't.

Still, I push the pain deep, deep down and smile.

Day is at ease again. He steps out into the main chamber and beckons for me to follow. We're at our familiar corner within seconds, and all should be well again. Should be. His visits bring me such pleasure—at any other time. When he isn't in danger. When I'm not gritting my teeth in agony. When a bloodthirsty creature isn't watching us from the shadows, leeching anger and bitterness into the air.

Unconcerned, Day heads to the nearest bookshelf—the one that contains his favorite volumes. He picks up a well-worn leather book, a different one than the other day.

"Read to me?" He asks, or rather, demands.

But it is a request I always fulfill so happily without question. When a monster isn't near, hungry for me, seething that his meal was cut short.

"Of course." I take his preferred book like I always do and flip it open to the first page. Then I read. I try to. My voice is a croak, but I try so very hard to.

Luckily, Day doesn't notice or care. He gets his story told in a halting, hesitant near-whisper. Even so, he nods, content.

When I finish, I return the volume to its proper shelf. Then I face Day. Smile.

He doesn't leave. Instead, he leans against a bookshelf and watches me. He lingers. It's the first time he's done this. My fingers tremble as I trace the spine of another book. Wait for him to speak.

"I've noticed that you've been distracted lately," he finally says, his disappointment clear. Suddenly, my heart hurts more than my shoulder. I've upset him. All my fault.

"I'm sorry?—"

"I think I know why." He tilts his head to eye me solemnly, his hands clasped at his front. The stance is so similar to Lord Master's that I blink. At the pinnacle of youth, it's like Day has morphed into an elder overnight. Then his half-smile returns, and the illusion is shattered. He is still my almost, not really sibling. We are blood again.

"I'm sure you heard the rumors." His tone is a prompt, but I don't know the correct answer. What to say? What to say?

I stammer. "Rumors?"

He nods, a red eyebrow raised in suspicion. Or is he merely skeptical? "About the ceremony."

Ceremony. Ah, that ceremony. The one the Lord Master hinted about. The one Caspian claimed I would attend. The centennial anniversary of the only order our society has ever known.

"The ceremony." I nod.

Day's brows furrow. Wrong. I've given him an incorrect answer. "Perhaps I misunderstood." He starts to leave without uttering his customary goodbye. It's not that he's angry, but that he's stuck in his head, much like I am. But why? Over what?

Suddenly, he stops. Spins, the edges of his robes swishing out in an emerald wave behind him.

"The book you were reading," he says. "The other day. I'm sure you know."

My cheeks flame. I can't breathe, and the shame has nothing to do with the taboo topic tucked away on that very back shelf. It's because of who is here to hear it. My filthy indiscretion. That, more than anything, has caught the vamryre's interest. I can feel him listening, hunting for any topic to use against me.

"I… I was returning it," I rasp.

Day frowns. Then he sighs. "I am ascending early on the centennial."

He says it so casually, which it is anything but. An asteroid has just struck, destroying my entire world in the violent aftermath—and it happens completely in utter silence.

Day will ascend. He will marry his chosen bride, his counterpart. He will live in wedded bliss in the high Citadel.

He will never ever see me again.

"You didn't know." His tone is cautious but relieved. I didn't lie to him—I never would. Whatever fear he's held silently has been put at ease. His smile returns, but this time… It's nearly full and almost fills his eyes with mirth. "Are you happy for me?"

"Yes," I croak. For him, ascension is everything. He will become a full Day with all the rights on the council. His purpose will be fulfilled.

I will be left behind. How selfish of me to care about that instance of his happiness. How greedy to want him to stay here forever.

"That isn't all," he says. "We are House Aurelius, the most pure. Due to our status, I can make decisions that others cannot."

My mind is buzzing so loudly that I barely hear him. My body hurts. Brain hurts. My skull is two sizes too small, and my heart will soon grow tired of beating if the vamryre doesn't leave soon. Boom. Boom. It hammers into me, overpowering whatever Day tells me next.

I only hear snippets.

"Choose my bride…"

But she's already been chosen. His counterpart—our sister Day—as is custom. She's been chosen for him since birth, destined since we all drew our first breath. She is everything I'm not, but jealousy isn't what I feel.

In a sense, it is relief.

He'll go live the rest of his life in bliss, and he'll never see the mess of me that Caspian makes.

Because I saw his intentions clearly. I can almost hear him shouting them, even in the silent dark.

I'll break you, little fae.

I'll gobble you up whole.

"Goodbye, sister," Day says. I realize he's never left. Not yet.

As he does, my feet move of their own accord as if I mean to follow him out. Run. Chase. I've barely entered the ring of light that shrouds the main chamber when a hand comes from the shadows and yanks me back, back, back.

He drags me to the end of the archives and shoves me into a dark alcove where the candlelight can't reach. He's so heavy. I can't move him, even when I press both hands to his chest and push. He is stone, crushing me, slowly, slowly…

He's not. He has me pinned, both hands on my shoulders—my poor, injured shoulder—but his fingers shake. He wants to grip me tighter. Push me away. Then he compromises, bringing his face in close while letting his hands fall.

"Read to me," he intones in a cruel mocking imitation of Day's fae-like cadence. Coming from him, the accent sounds slippery. Sickly sweet. A mask. "Is that all he wants from you, the pretty fae? A story?"

He's implying something. But what? I don't know. It stings anyway. I try to press my body flat to the wall and squeeze past him.

He blocks me in so easily, and his mouth draws nearer to mine.

"Perhaps that is what I should make you do in exchange for my kindness? Read to me?"

"N-No," I choke out. I never could. These books are sacred precious things that look so fragile in his hands as he snatches one from the nearest shelf. He rips it open to a random page. As his eyes scan the text something strange happens. Confusion. Irritation. Aggravation.

He throws the volume across the room and it hits the wall with a bang.

"No!" The poor, dear thing. Its cover is dented, forever mauled. All because I failed to protect it. I stoop and cradle it to my chest. Then I whirl around to face him and snarl, "You stupid brute!"

The words hang in the air, harsh and angry. Oh. I never say such things. Never ever. Day would be ashamed and shocked. He might swear never to visit me again.

Caspian laughs. Head cocked he advances, predatory again. Hungry for me once more. Paces away, he extends his hand.

I'd rather die than give him this book. I clutch it. Hold it so tightly my fingers turn white.

He smiles in that sinister way. Then he demands, "Read it to me."

"No!"

He reaches for another. Another to mutilate and maul.

I scramble to flip to a page. My fingers smooth over the parchment, as if to soothe it. Poor, poor thing. I'm here now. I'll never let him hurt it again.

But he's creeping behind me, his breathing audible and heavy. "Read," he commands into the nape of my neck.

I look down and do so woodenly in a mindless monotone. There is none of the flare nor excitement like when I read for Day. Because Caspian, he doesn't care?—

"What is that?" he demands. "What does it mean?"

I stop. Breathe. Re-read the passage for myself and struggle to decipher it. Of all the things he chose, this is a text on fae history. An older text, less valued than the pristine copies on display in the Citadel proper. Just a draft.

And yet for once, the vamryre is interested. His curiosity wasn't faked. He wants to know about the Fae ruler I just mentioned. Some king in the olden times, long since forgotten.

I should shut this book. Shut him out. Refuse.

But he is insistent. "Read," he commands.

So I do, haltingly. Brokenly. Hoarsely.

And he listens to every word, rapt, as if gobbling them up the way his kind do blood. Word by word. Drop by drop.

He listens—but not in amused silence like Day does. He takes these words from me and churns them up in his collective hive mind. What he makes of them? I can't know. I will never know.

But it's strange. Like speaking into an endless void.