11. Caspian

She makes her magic so easily. She interprets her symbols and precious books at a glance, then spits out the words. Creates worlds. Makes me fucking see the things she intones. Even when she isn't trying.

Even when she doesn't want to.

Making her read for me is like forcing a bird to sing. It's pretty, all the same. An incessant song.

Damn her.

The smell of her is as intoxicating as it is vile, reminiscent of dust and forgotten things. Like fresh air and sunlight. Rain, and heat, and sweetness.

With every breath I breathe in, Cassius rages and raves. Her mere presence infuriates him. My nearness to her. How I struggle on the tightrope he's made me walk.

Every action I inflict on the fae, he'll make me inflict on him. One kiss already. What is one more? I start to reach for her. Then stop. She's still reading. Still emitting that little voice into the air. Compared to her, Cassius is a whisper now. I can barely hear him. As she drones on and on about some obscure, forgotten thing, the bastard can't touch me. Can't exert his presence.

He wants to.

Under this fae's dark spell, I am once again beyond his reach. That is what makes her so dangerous to him. Not the jealousy. It's her power to hold sway over me where he can't. Because I'm hungry. I'm restless. I want her so badly it fucking hurts. My throat aches for her blood. The thought of being buried inside of her makes my cock throb.

Can't bite. Can't fuck. Doesn't matter. As long as I don't have to hear him again, I'll torture myself to the point of madness...

Until she falls silent.

"Read," I snap.

"It's finished." A tremor runs through her voice. "I've read it all."

All.I've been leaning over her shoulder for hours, devouring this sweet songbird's tune like a vulture. Her tune has run out. Now should be when I bite. Kill. Strike.

But I won't. As soon as I kill her, Cassius will have me back under his thumb, with no plaything to distract from him.

Using my body, I push her onward, onward, toward that towering collection of books. I make her grab one—all I have to do is pretend to reach for it first. Then I tell her, "Read it."

"I can't." Her voice is barely audible, almost choked out. Sweat enhances her scent: I can see drops of it, dripping down her neck. "It's late. The day is wasted. I… I need to sleep."

Sleep. Day. Wasted.

I don't care. Let the fae sleep after I've ripped her to pieces. I want her awake and alert now. She needs to read.

"Do it."

"I can't." She pushes back, newly emboldened like a mother hen protecting her flock. A flock of paper and leather that smell like dust. "It's time for you to go." Her voice flits between a whisper and a shout. It's like she took lessons from Cassius once and then forgot them: how to be an arrogant prick and order your lessers around.

Unlike his voice, hers doesn't irritate me. I want to hear it more. In more ways. How can she stretch it? What other magic can she create? How will it sound to hear her scream?

"When," I snap.

Her fingers run through her mane of black hair as she stiffens. It's so damn long, reaching past her narrow waist. Then she cocks her head and inhales. "Tomorrow. No… Tomorrow. Please go."

Go.I let her think I do. I watch her scramble to the bell tower, her gray robes hanging off her gaunt frame. She's easy to follow. Easy to watch.

Taking off her shift, she washes her limbs. Eats a hunk of stale bread. Goes to sleep.

In one small way, I will give the fae their win. They have one advantage over the vamryre. Sleep. They can turn their minds off and escape into a world where none can follow.

We are not so lucky. Cassius is our morning, noon, and night. There is no rest from him. No respite.

Yet, even in her dreamworld, the fae doesn't find peace. She tosses and turns. Whenever the wind cuts through the crumbling plaster and old wood, she shivers.

Then she wakes up before dawn and shuffles to do it all over again. This is her existence, scurrying in the shadows, hoping to avoid notice. I think she truly believes it matters whether she is seen or not by the hordes of other fae that call this complex home.

She's wrong.

They all know of her. They talk of her in harsh whispers. How they despise her.

Except for that one.

He's different from the rest. Most fae are pretty, flighty, flaky things. They huddle beneath the sunlight and shun those they deem unworthy—which is everyone that isn't fae.

Not him. Sneering, he looks down on his own kind. He charms the lesser fae females that flock to him. He fucks them in secret, caring little for them after. Yet, seeks her out like a wolf hunting prey. Fitting because that's my role. Only he has no idea how to play it. No idea what he wants. He sees her, and watches her, and the little fae is none the wiser.

She thinks she's humoring him.

He's studying her.

He thinks he can take her for himself.

I'll kill him first.

Even now, I can sense him, creeping his way toward her little hovel, hoping to slip inside. He isn't allowed to, but he does so anyway. Boldly he shuns their little rules. He is confident that she belongs to him alone.

She's mine, though. Only she isn't. The cost is too great. Too steep. Cassius has tightened his leash and made my boundary clear. I can watch the little fae but I can't touch. To do so is to incur a debt I must repay to him. Disgusting, sick fucker.

I owe him one kiss already. That's why he sits back, content to let me play another day.

Eventually, I must pay my dues.

But no more. She isn't worth any more.

Even so, I haunt her worthless steps, deep into their dusty, suffocating archives. The fae spread the rumor that their vaults of knowledge are safe and secure.

A lie. It's too easy to slip in and walk around unnoticed. Those haughty fae have their noses too far into the air to notice. They think that the threat of discovery alone keeps them safe and hidden.

Even Cassius is surprised by how easily I can creep in amongst their stone. He's never tried, but he's wanted to—that much he lets me discern.

However, he is lazy and unmotivated. I am not. I have a prize to hunt. A toy to play with. A body dressed in ugly rags that beckons to me even in this dark, dank crypt.

Cassius' price tag isn't the worst part, nor is the looming death hanging around her neck. It's the fact that she knows I'm here. She's known all along.

Rather than quiver in fear, she waits for me to make myself known. Eventually, the little fae becomes impatient. Hunched on the floor, rag in hand, she asks, "What do you want?"

"You know what I want," I reply. But that isn't quite the truth. She knows what I want but can't have. I'm here for another reason. A foolish reason.

"Pick up one of those books and read to me, little fae."

She shakes her head. Picks up her rag. Tries to clean. She fails. Her hand shakes too badly to manipulate the rag correctly, but fear isn't the reason.

"No. They… They are not a game." Disgust paints her words with a fae-like haughty sheen, but she couldn't sound like them if she tried. Even here in her chosen domain, she isn't arrogant enough. "These books are important. Not toys."

She truly believes that. It amuses me just how deeply she believes that. As if none of the shit in this stuffy room is as fragile as paper. One small flame and it's all alight. All gone. Poof. Dust.

Telling her so would make her snap. I like her better this way, fragile and delicate. I'll use her books against her the way Cassius has used her body against me. She wants my mercy? I'll make her dance for it.

"Read to me little fae, or…"

The threat dangles in the air, unspoken but just as sweet. Just as potent. She jumps as if I've pulled a knife out and slashed at one of those leatherbound covers.

"I can't," she insists. "I have to clean. I can't stay here all day."

Partly the truth. Mainly a lie. The others avoid this place like the plague. Oh, how the fae pretend to exalt knowledge and wisdom and their history-laden bullshit. In reality, they prefer to play, and gossip and fuck. They hate this place. They hate her.

Yet they allowed her to believe that it all matters. That this place, which she treats so sacredly, is important. I want to crush her delusion. Tell her just how little they care.

I don't. Cassius wants me to. He's purring encouragement at the back of my mind, lurking there like a coiled snake, waiting to strike. Come, Caspian. My loyal one. My little sadist. He wants me to dash her little fae hopes and dreams—which means I can't. I won't.

Even if it hurts her, I will never please him.

"I want you to read," I tell her. Her lips part but before she can speak, I add, "You want me to tell you about the other realm. The mortal realm. Don't you?"

She stifles a gasp as she falls silent. Ah, I've got her. She can't wiggle away from her heart's desire. She'll jump through any hoop just to achieve a glimpse of it.

Though, she's not as dumb as I thought. "You've told me nothing," she points out, chin in the air. "Even after…"

I lick my lips, recalling the toll she's already paid. One kiss. Two. Three.

"Yet, you've told me nothing. I'm starting to think that you know nothing."

Ah, maybe she's right. Perhaps she's wrong. Our collective mind hums at the mention of forbidden knowledge. I'd run myself ragged trying to break down Cassius' mental barriers—not that I have to. I'll make him a trade. A small piece of knowledge for…

Another kiss,he replies in an instant. Greedy bastard. There is no time to regret or despair. No time to hate him either, because in my mind unfurls a kernel of information, brilliant and bright.

"There is a way out of the Citadel," I tell her, and watch those black eyes widen. "A secret way where one can pass without needing clearance from the elder council. Another tunnel, underground. A forgotten portal."

Is there? Cassius, the bastard, doesn't clarify. He could be feeding a lie through me to this little fae. But, hell, I'd lie to her forever if it made her eyes widen like this and her throat clench.

"Really?"

Oh, her hope is such a delicate, fragile thing. I'll dangle it and toy with it. I'll tease it to the breaking point before snapping it.

"What will you give me for more?"

Her eyes narrow and she casts a downward glance at her body. That shapeless, haunting body. The one I lust after like a dog in heat. I want to tear the robes from her skin. My fingers twitch but I force them down to my sides. I can't.

But she can.

No, Cassius warns. Toe your boundaries. Stupid bastard. He thought he'd won, but he hasn't. His game can be beaten.

"Take off your robe," I tell her before she can question.

She stiffens. One pale hand flies to her throat, but not to the clasp holding her poor excuse for a robe together. She runs her finger along the pulse point as if to draw my attention to it. Taunting me with one of the many parts of her I can't have.

Stupid, fucking Cassius. How I hate him. Hate. Hate…

My thoughts go quiet as she stands. I forget to think rebellious thoughts to needle the bastard with. I forget Cassius completely.

She has my attention in the palm of her hand, that slim pale hand that she uses to finally tug the opening of her robe apart.

A memory creeps in—one I don't want. Hundreds. Maybe thousands. All the people I've lured for Cassius. Seduced for him. Plied for him. Fucked for him. They would eye me shyly, men and women alike. They'd strip as if their body was the only one that existed. As if I hadn't seen them all before. Male. Female. Thick. Thin. Dark. Pale.

One and the same.

My skull is full of ripe, beautiful, imperfect, ugly bodies I could compare her to. Then she opens her robe and lets it fall to the ground.

I come up short.

No one is like her and perhaps that's a good thing. No one Cassius craves anyway. Her flaws are numerous, her appeal to him in the negative degree. We vamryre in our collective all have the same cravings, the same tastes.

It's what he wants us to believe.

As I look at her, all I know is... I want. Me, Caspian. I want her. I need her. I'll have her.

Wait. Wait. WAIT!

A million warnings sound off in my skull, all unheeded. For now. I can't kiss. Can't fuck. But…

Cassius can't demand a damn thing from me if I look at her. "Turn around," I command.

Confusion flits across those eyes, but she complies. Has no choice but to. With slow, shuffling steps, she spins in a circle, putting her back to me.

I look, expecting more pale skin and visible bones. I find as much—and more. Someone has hurt her far worse than a skinned, battered knee. My hand shoots out, fingers grasping…over nothing. I force it down by my side. No touching.

Instead, I inspect her the way I would anything else. Some poor, desecrated thing.

Once—no, recently—someone took to the little fae over and over again. With a knife they made neat, clean cuts. From her neck down, they form a macabre row. A mocking imitation of wings.

I've seen scars before, on bodies vamryre and mortal alike. They are silvery with age. Sparkling reminders of violence.

Not hers. They glow, a strip of fresh crimson as if her blood still glistens there. Fresh. Bleeding.

"Enough," I say.

Dutifully, she spins around to face me. "I don't know."

Her reply rings out in response to a question I never asked. Maybe I did. How? Who did this? For what?

She shakes her head. I must have asked her again.

Not that I care.

She shivers as I approach and backs herself into a corner. Poor little fae. I can hear her pulse tapping into the air. I can taste it in my throat. Thump. Thump.

Yet she hides it well. She holds her head high and stares into my eyes, as though she isn't afraid. As though she isn't tensing in anticipation of the nails I brush along her hip. Then upward.

Her breasts are small, not plump like Cassius prefers. No. He isn't here and I cut him out of my skull. I focus on her, her breathing, that delicate little song. I can't hear him.

Good.

Still, I don't touch her. I let my fingers dance in the air just above her skin. I watch her body react more violently than if I had groped her with raking nails and biting teeth. Or perhaps the knife she's used to. Her hips are small, her thighs thin and compact. I want to see what lies between them, but she clamps her knees together. Her hands fly to her chest, then lower. Up again. She's fighting the modest part of herself, screaming that this is wrong.

To let a vamryre drink in her naked body is oh so wrong.

The fact that just looking isn't enough is even worse. I need to touch. Feel. Take. My fingers twitch. I'll go insane without feeling that delicate skin beneath them.

Your debt, Caspian, Cassius warns, his voice blaring as I attempt to shut him out.

My debt. His pleasure.

Don't care. Don't care. I want her. Need to…

Touch. I grip her arms and push her back into the wall so hard she gasps. Terrified. No. She's impatient, lifting her head to bare the throat she teased. Fuck. It's like she knows the price I have to pay. She's daring me to gamble what little of my soul I have left. She'll make me offer it up to Cassius piece by piece.

Maybe I will.

The sound she makes when I press my hips into hers is too damn soft. She is too damn soft. Her skin is ivory silk, likely to tear with one wrong move. After all, I've torn her already, those knobby knees. I crane my neck to eye my handiwork—the first of many bloody masterpieces I'll make of her before this all ends…

There is nothing beautiful about the healing scabs. They're too stark against her flesh. I don't like them, and a new word trickles into my skull from some distant memory. Garish.

Fuck.

She's messing with my head again. I meet her gaze and silently dare her to continue. Let her think that she can manipulate me. Yet her stare is neither frightened nor defiant.

I look at her and all I see is greedy selfish need. Not for my cock—no, not yet. She is after something else.

"I have what you want, don't I, fae?" I taunt her, bringing my mouth close to her neck. Close enough to bite. I'd be risking Cassius' wrath but I don't care.

I do. I break the rules, and he'll cut my game short. So I'll play for now. I just breathe her in, that strange sweet scent. I brush aside a strand of her hair, thick, boundless ebony. Then I run my tongue over the galloping pulse where I long to bite.

Her whimper isn't what I want to hear. It's excited. Thrilled. Not terrified. So I lick her again. Again. I press my teeth to her flesh and feel her pulse explode. Thumpthumpthump. The poor thing might hammer itself from her chest if I'm not careful.

Not that I give a damn. Oh, how I long to see that heart in all its glory. One day…

I'm going to rip it from her chest. My fingers shoot out, finding the spot. However, my thumb slips downwards and captures a nipple instead. I watch it harden and feel her entire spine shake in response. No one has ever touched her like this, not even that stupid, male fae.

Her eyes are wide, horrified and brimming with emotions. She can't reconcile this. Standing still and letting a vamryre defile her.

It's not like anyone else wants to. Except him.

Except me.

I stroke that peak until it's sharp enough to cut. Around and around and around I grind her beneath my thumb until she's choking on a broken sound that can't quite leave her throat. I've made my point. It should be enough.

But it isn't.

I capture her entire breast against my palm. Squeeze. Caress. Crush.

She whimpers again, her face turned away from me, chest heaving. Terror should be the emotion gripping her. Yes, that's what I want. What I crave…

Then I smell her. Her body exudes a newer scent. Instinctive. Hormonal. Arousal.

Fuck.

I can't stop touching her. I can't keep my fingers from seeking out that strip of flesh between her thighs, shrouded by a thatch of dark curls. Damn. The lips of her cleft are soft, so soft I go against my own intentions. I won't rip and claw her here. I prod. I test. I taste. With the tip of one thumb, I tease the inside of the little fae.

She is molten. Too fucking hot to be contained. My fingers will melt if I probe any deeper. Should I try to fuck her, I'll set my cock on fire. The interior of this fae is scorching.

But damn…

It feels good to burn inside her. Too good. Can't stop. I slide a whole finger inside her all at once, and she clutches at my shoulders with tiny, scratching nails. Her voice breaks around a sound. Not a cry. Not a scream. Something else.

A series of rasping syllables that explode over my eardrums and render me deaf to every other sound but her. I need to hear that sound again. I crook my finger through her flesh, trying to coax her into making it again. Fuck, I need that sound.

Another gasp. Another whimper. More. More.

I keep stroking her, and the fire grows hotter. It's like velvet, how tightly she grips me. My finger strokes her again, and she's wet. Damp. Drenched. I can't stop. Not until she goes limp and her knees buckle. Not until she utters a string of noises that echo through my skull. Not until her nails dig at my skin—as if she could ever pierce it. Hurt me. Mark me.

I've already marked her. I'll always be the first man to make her head rear back, and her eyes roll in her skull. The first creature to have her panting and breathless and broken.

The first monster to make her bleed. She's a virgin, so tight she'll rip when I shove my cock into her. So tight she might swallow me whole. So fucking tight, I'll never hear Cassius in my head again…

My cock is throbbing, swollen and needy, but I don't free it yet. I step back and watch her shiver on jellied legs, her hands braced against the stone, dark hair tangled and wild.

More words spill onto my corrupted, broken mind. Cassius'? Mine? A torrent of descriptors. Rosy nipples. Glistening skin. Taut flesh over incredible bone structure. A work of art. Art…

It's more than a word to me. Even thinking it makes something rip through my chest, sowing a burning searing pain. What the hell is this feeling? I can't remember.

No one—not since this damned immortal life—has ever made me feel anything. Not once. No matter how many I pleasured for him. No matter how I performed for him.

I never wanted it. Never wanted them. They were all stupid toys.

I can't fucking think around her. There is no desire to fuck her and seduce her into joining the collective. I want to pin her down, slam into her for my own pleasure. Rake my fingers through her hair and grip her skull. I want to mount her. Mate her.

Sink my teeth into her throat and dare her to give me the one thing I never ever gave Cassius…

"Wait." Her voice is a wail trapped between clenched teeth. I assume she means wait. Don't fuck her. Not yet.

Too late. I'm reaching for the buckle of my pants. I undo the clasp. My finger inches back inside her, and even as she shakes her head, I feel her grow wet all over again. Melt. "Wait," she whispers. "Wait. Wait!"

She's warning me of something. Someone. The bastard male fae. I can hear him tiptoeing back toward this corner, oblivious that the one he desires is already mine. I could fuck her in front of him. Make the fool watch. I want to…

"Please," she insists, her hand flat against my chest. She tries to push. I let her, taking a step back. She crouches and scrambles into her robes. Wide and fearful, her eyes meet mine as the idiot draws near. "Please," she whimpers. "Please. Please."

I don't hide, but I let her run, slipping past me to greet him. I hear her voice, false and high-pitched.

"Greetings, Day."

Day. That's what they call each other, all the fae. Numbered like the days of the week, or in this case their age. The youngest born are sunrise, then dawn, day, night, elder, whatever-the-fuck. Don't care.

It's not the name that irritates me. It's how she says it. Fearful and worried. Hopeful and afraid.

She's uneasy around this stupid fae, not like how she is around me.

She fears him. I wonder if she even knows it.