14. Niamh

Iam so very tired. It isn't the natural exhaustion I used to feel after a particularly hard day of chores. No. This is something else. A malaise that drains me every waking moment. It festers and weighs me down until—for only a second—I can breathe again.

It's those moments that I hate the most. They happen in snatches, whenever I feel an icy breath fan against my shoulder and a gruff voice whispers into my ear. Then and there, I suddenly have all of the energy in the world. To run with. Fight with. Die with.

And I'm frozen. Whenever he touches me, I'm frozen. Can't resist. Can't push him off. Can't deny…

But it's the price I'm willing to pay. Corruption I'm willing to endure. Anything. I'll suffer any indiscretion or punishment. My entire life, I've endured worse for far less.

But his cruelty…

It doesn't hurt the way it should. He doesn't feel the way he should. I don't want…

Until I feel his fingers grazing my skin, and I'm greedy again. Too greedy. And I can't remember exactly what I'm after. Can't remember the only thing in the world I desire. To leave. To see. To experience the mortal realm.

Whenever he touches me, I drown.

My only solace is that he won't come back. I know it. I got too greedy. Demanded too much. For the first time in my life, I asked for far too much.

There are some things that a vamryre cannot provide. Some risks are too great, and I alone am not a worthy enough prize. If I knew what he really wanted, I'd scrape and crawl to get it. I'd give him anything. I would.

I can't. And it hurts. It hurts like a gaping wound that won't heal, and for the first time in my life, I can't move like I used to. My chores are a nightmare, tedious and tortuous. I'm sweating before I've finished cleaning the floor. Every book I return to the shelves weighs an almost unliftable amount. I am so heavy and slow and bumbling.

When Day appears, I can't even muster up a greeting or a smile. All I can do is avert my face so he can't see my frown. My disappointment.

For the first time in my life, he isn't the one I need to see standing there.

"The ceremony is nearly upon us," he says, his voice lifting with excitement. He is so very happy. Happy to ignore my rudeness. Happy enough to stalk forward, radiating warmth and light. Happy enough to take my hand without asking.

And I am shameful enough to cringe back and trip over my own feet. Shameful enough to clutch my hand to my wrist as if it burned. Shameful enough to feel—even for one second—unnerved. As if… I don't want him to touch me.

"D-Day, I'm sorry," I say to the floor, struggling to right myself. When I look up, he is no longer smiling. His green eyes are blazing and angry. He almost resembles a vamryre. Almost.

"What is wrong with you?" he asks, voice trembling with derision.

"I… I don't know," I croak back. I don't know. The entire world is shifting and spinning around me. For once, I don't know my place. I've forgotten it. My little hole in the shelf is sealed up and inescapable. Where in the world do I belong?

I don't know. Maybe deep down, I never really knew.

"You've been distracted for days," he continues to rant. "I have tolerated your disrespect, but honestly, sister. Is this how you repay me for all the times I've visited you?"

"I'm sorry," I whisper. But I can't look at him anymore. All I can do is stare at a shadowy corner that remains empty.

Give me a day, he said.

A lie. He will take an eternity and never return. I ruined it—the only chance I'll ever have. I'm so stupid. Stupid.

"Look at me!" Day snatches my shoulder and wrenches me around to face him—but it hurts. His nails scrape at my flesh and sting. There isn't any mocking careful care. He slams me into the wall, his expression furious, teeth bared. "After everything I've done for you! Everything I've been willing to risk. You treat me like some dust beneath your feet."

"I'm sorry," I rasp. Because he is wrong. Day could never be beneath me. I will always be below him. In every aspect. Every way.

I could never see him as my equal. He isn't some unwanted creepy, shadow thing. He isn't a man with white hair and red eyes that peer into my soul and make me quake. Day is no risk to me. He doesn't threaten to shatter my pathetic, imaginary place in the world. He doesn't make me want to sin.

"I think I know why," he snarls, his voice uncharacteristically cold.

My heart stops. Does he?

"Someone else has come in here to see you, haven't they?" His green eyes peer into me, probing and accusatory.

Breathless, all I can do is sway. Can't speak. Can't deny.

"Who is it?" he wonders. "Some nosy lower fae? Tell me!"

Air trickles into my lungs again. He doesn't know. Not truly.

"No one," I whisper. "No other fae."

He isn't appeased. He starts to pace, jaw clenched, hands twitching at his sides. "You're lying to me. You never lie! Not to me!" His voice rings out, far too loud. He'll draw notice. Attention. He'll get himself banned from ever visiting the archives.

Fear is why I do the only thing I can think of to calm him. I sink to my knees, head bowed. "I'm so sorry," I croak to the floor, and I mean it. I am. "I don't deserve your visits, but I cherish them. I do. I'm sorry."

He stops. I look up to see him smoothing his robes with self-assured hands. His head is high again, confidence assured again. But… Something is wrong with him. It's obvious in the way he holds his head and the way he looks at me. Creeping, glancing looks that travel up and down the length of me.

I stand. Then, I cross my arms over my chest and huddle in my robe. I don't know why. I am dust. He is a Day, a fae, my dearest one of my blood. So why is he staring at me? Watching me?

Why do I press myself into the wall as though I aim to squeeze through every cracked and crumbling bit of stone? My heart races. Something is wrong. Very wrong.

"I am so very sorry, Day," I say, my voice thick. "I didn't mean to upset you. You are right. I have been awful to you. You don't deserve it."

He nods in agreement. I have been awful, treating him in a way he doesn't deserve. But why…

He's still looking at me in that strange, calculating way and I don't know why.

"Tell me what's been distracting you and I may forgive you," he says.

I lower my head in contrite thought. Liar. I'm hiding my face from him. Hiding my shame from him. Hiding how I lie.

"It's just the ceremony," I say, my voice rasping. "I don't want to disappoint the Lord Master."

Even if I don't know what my "role" will be. Even if I haven't thought of it once since the night a monster crept into the courtyard and taunted me with temptation. The ceremony is one of only three important days of the year and I haven't thought of it once.

Day sighs. It isn't like him. He's anxious and on edge, but I am a small part of his irritation. "You don't know, do you?" he says.

I shake my head, my gaze still downcast. "My role? No, I don't."

"Not your role," he snaps. How dare I even assume he meant me. "Mine. You really don't understand it, do you? I saw the book and thought you understood. I saw the book and thought you knew what was at stake."

The book. The historical reference on prior battles? No. I know the answer even before I look up and catch him glaring angrily toward that shelf in the middle of the archives. That taboo subject. The one I read only to entertain a price only a vamryre would request from me.

Why does Day care? Because it is sinful of course. Shameful. He's afraid my indiscretion will infect him as well.

"It was just a book," I insist, hoping my voice alone conveys my conviction. Just a book. Just a sinful, dangerous, all-important book. Just a guidebook to my dealings with Caspian. It's all he wanted from me. All I had to offer.

And it still wasn't enough.

"No!" Day snaps, turning on his heel, robes swishing, red hair flying. He's animated today. Tonight. For the first time, I realize it is later than he normally visits. The others are all abed. I am alone, lurking long past the hour I should be in my room asleep. Because I'm waiting for him. Hoping for him.

And hope is such a dirty, sinful thing.

"You have no idea, do you?" Day remarks, spinning to eye me, his expression one of disgust. His upper lip curls, nostrils flare. He has never once been disgusted with me in all the years we've met in secret. What have I done to offend him so?

Or maybe nothing. Perhaps he's finally accepted what we have both known all along?

"You are so naive of the ways of the world." He advances toward me angrily and reaches out, snagging a piece of my hair. He winds it around a pale finger, but it isn't gentle, a harmless touch. He grinds the strands between rubbing fingertips as if chasing out my very essence, spreading corruption all over his fingers. Then he breathes in but it's a long, lingering inhale.

My heart lurches. Skips. My throat feels tight. I feel dizzy and sick. Something is wrong. Very wrong.

"You don't understand, how could you? You have no idea what I mean to offer you."

I can't speak. I have to lick my lips to find enough traction. Once. Twice. When I breathe in again the air is different. Thicker. Heavier. Spicier. I feel a familiar chill and my body comes to life again.

"I think you're beginning to understand," Day says, his smile back. Pulsing. Relieved. I've made him happy but I don't know how. He smiles and runs his finger along my jawline, tracing the shape of my bottom lip. It's curled upwards in a weird shape.

My own imitation of his half-smile? But Day thinks he is the cause of it. He isn't. It's my own greedy selfishness. Maybe…

Maybe I can finally get what I want. The potential deliverer is here, watching and waiting. Impatient. I can tell without even seeing his face. It's like I can hear him, hissing, Send him away. Away.

"I hate that I've wasted so much of your time," I tell Day. "You are so very busy with your studies. You don't need to visit me if it is a chore."

A part of me winces. Will I deny myself my only real distraction? Maybe. If. If. If…

If I can attain something else. But poor Day, he is worthy too. Worthy of so much more than chasing hours in a dank crypt with an unworthy abomination.

"You should go," I tell him, moving cautiously as his fingers still trace my lip. Over and over they trace. Too many times they trace.

I step back. "You need rest. I hate to be the cause of distracting you from the ceremony."

He frowns, fingers still hanging in the air. They reach for me again. "Don't you see? You are the only part of the ceremony that matters to me! I can save you," he hisses, gripping my shoulder tight. "I can save you from all of this. I can give you the life you've only dreamed about."

I don't understand. I don't.

"Day, I?—"

"Don't you see?" He yanks me closer, bringing his face within a hair's breadth of mine. I've known this face for most of my life. Now, I barely recognize it. "You are my rightful Aurelia. Not the other one. You know your place. You will serve me with modesty and obedience. It will only be you!"

My voice breaks. I try to move away. "Day?—"

"No!" He takes my hand again, gripping the fingers so tight it hurts. I gasp. His eyes widen with guilt. Then narrow. His hand clamps down over my own, jarring the very bones.

"You can't deny me," he warns. "I am the only one who has ever cared for you. Who taught you. Look at me!"

I can't. I turn my face away rather than see the look in his eye. Something dangerous and dark buried within that once friendly green.

"Look at me!" He snatches a fistful of my hair—something he has never done. Yanks me toward him. Presses his mouth to mine?—

"No!" I push him off. Try to. He is too big. Too strong. He steps into me, lashing at my lower lip harshly. So hard that he bites. Draws blood.

I'm bleeding.

"Day, stop!" I wrench away and stagger into the wall. He's panting, swiping at his mouth. A drop of red gleams there and is instantly chased by his tongue. Gone in a flash. I don't know him, this stranger eyeing me, his chest heaving, eyes blazing.

I want to run from him.

Hide from him.

My foot twitches against the floor, but then I go still. Movement flickers against the wall across from me and a new fear takes over. A living shadow approaches us both, looming above, threatening to descend.

I can feel its dark intentions seep into the air: to kill.

"Don't you see?" Day continues, oblivious to me and the creature creeping toward him. "I can save you from all of this! Your place will be by my side. That is where you belong."

"Of course," I say, but I barely hear him or what he says next. All I can see is the pale face creeping closer, fangs bared, eyes blazing. The longer Day touches me, the more ominous the moment feels. Need to stop it. End this.

So I'll say anything. "Of course. You are right," I tell him, this unfamiliar figure wearing the face of dear Day. "You are always right. I understand now."

"You do?" His voice is so hopeful it hurts. It sounds like my voice. Too close to my voice.

When the vamryre offered me the world, and I begged for a price.

"Yes," I insist. "So please rest. I am sorry. I understand."

"Good." He smiles for real and finally withdraws. My heart pounds as I watch him go. I intend to watch and wait for him to slip out of the main chamber.

Too late. My shadow monster has grown tired of waiting. He latches onto my shoulders and steers me back, back into the most shadowed section of the catacombs. He pins me against the wall there. He steps into me. Slams his mouth to mine. Creeping fingers inch beneath my robe and upward. Then brush past a tender slip of flesh and plunge inside of me.

It hurts, but in a different way than it should. The way it hurts to breathe ice-cold air on a winter day. But you breathe in deeply. It's fresh. It's cold. It's thrilling.

And you need it.

I need this. His touch, stroking from the inside out, sowing friction that makes the world fall away and makes me forget who I am and what I am. I need this.

My teeth clench. A strange sound catches in my throat. A noise he doesn't like. A noise he craves and presses his weight into me until I make it again. Again.

I can't stop making pathetic, tiny, choked sounds.

With a sweep of his tongue, he chases the violence, demanding more. Always more.

I feel him tugging at my robes and scratching the flesh underneath. Steps back. Head bowed and half-cocked he takes me in. Every greedy, selfish inch of me he inhales with glowing red eyes. Grasping the front of his black pants, he approaches. A flicking thumb unhooks a metal clasp. A clenched fist tugs the waistband down.

And my mind is wiped blank.

He is a sinful creature too beautiful to exist. Too beautiful to compare to dull illustrations and diagrams in that hated book. I never knew that beneath heavy fabric and dark trousers, bodies could morph and change. Muscle can strain against flesh in a haunting, lovely refrain.

I never knew that the sight of a vamryre's body could make me hate myself more than I already do.

The way he looks at me, however, is all wrong. As he stares, my eyes burn, sear, and prickle. He doesn't look at me as Day does.

It's as though he's hungry, starving, ravenous, and I'm a thing to be devoured. Not barely palatable sustenance like the bread I eat. He looks at me the way I look at…

The way I look at the sketches in my secret mortal sketchbook.

"Stay there," Caspian snaps. Maybe I tried to move or flinched. Maybe I just needed to say something to fill the silence and regain control again. He steps out of his spilled trousers and advances toward me, naked from the lower half down.

I feel dizzy with relief. Finally. Finally. He's changed his mind. He'll accept my price. Finally.

It will be a painful bargain, but finally, finally…

I'll have what I want, perhaps. Finally.

As his lips brush the crook of my throat, I realize I almost forgot to ask. Almost forgot the entire point of this twisted, filthy game.

"Will you take me there?" I ask him.

"Will I take you?" he echoes, his voice mocking and cold. But his touch is fire, licking a path down my hips, beneath my legs, inching inside me again. "I'll take you," he grates out, but he doesn't mean what I want. He's solely focused on his greedy desire; the game he finds in turning my body into a puppet on a string. "I'll take you to a place you've never been, little fae. I'll make you scream. Make you pay. For this, I will make you pay."

For what? He doesn't say. He doesn't deem me worthy enough to explain. And Day, he can have his secrets. He is special, my dearest, a fae.

But him?

The vamryre can't deny me everything. My hand disobeys the protocol I've always followed. It finds his wrist and grips it tight—flesh over marble. A string wrapped around stone.

He could easily shrug me off, but he stills. Groaning in frustration, he stills.

"What?"

"Tell me that you'll help me." Oh no. I'm saying strange things. Nonsense. Incoherent nonsense.

In any case, he understands me. His eyes flash as he draws back. He bares his fangs. Brings them dangerously close to my mouth. Nips—barely soft enough to avoid breaking skin and drawing blood. Then he hisses a sigh.

"What do you want?"

"The other realm," I say.

He snarls and hisses. Without permission, he strokes my back, sending shockwaves down my spine.

"I can make you feel better than the fucking mortal realm," he snarls into my throat.

I know he can. That's the terrifying part of this exchange. My bargain with a blood devil. He offers a world beyond my wildest dreams. Things someone like me should never ever feel.

But if I lost my one hope, I'd lose me.

"Please."

He growls and staggers back, hands clenching and unclenching. Eyes fiery holes in a perfect skull. "Damn you. You aren't worth it!"

"I know," I say, taking a step toward him. He is my only chance. My only chance. I can't let him escape. I need a promise. I need a plea.

Vamryres are deceitful creatures, but him…

I know he'll keep any promise he agrees to. I know it.

"Just tell me about it," I plead, taking another step. "Please! How to get there. What it's like. I'll settle for that much, I will. Just tell me?—"

"No." He lunges for me. Slams me back. Takes my hands in both of his and pins them up, holding me flat. I can't move. Can't breathe. Then he claims my mouth so hard I see stars. His tongue rakes over mine as if in punishment for the words he'll say next. He can't help himself.

Honesty is my virtue, but he embodies it.

"Fuck you," he grates, panting against my open, wet mouth. "There is a way. Only the elders know it. A secret path. No approval required. In and out. It's how they sneak in when the folly strikes them. It's how they break the rules."

His eyes blaze. It's like he's drunk, the way the workers get on ceremony days. Too intoxicated to care for what leaves his mouth.

To me, each word is gold. Precious.

"More," I beg him, but my body does something I don't tell it to: arch into him, press my chest to the hard expanse of his. My nipples are sharp enough to graze him through the material of my robe. I don't care. With a ragged sigh, I tilt my head and offer up all I have to give. I need more. He'll give me it all.

For a price.

"How can I get there?"

"Not alone," he hisses. Harsh and cold hands slip beneath my skull, angling it away from him. Then back until those eyes are all I can see, and his touch is all I can feel. Care about. Need.

Except…

"How?"

"You'd need protection," he grates out. "It isn't safe. You'll be eaten alive."

He means it as a threat. A deterrent that should silence me. Yet, another request is already poised on the tip of my tongue. "Then… Come with me."

He laughs as those eyes go wide. Then he groans and slips his hand between my legs—but I don't clamp them tight like I should. His touch is sinful, coaxing my knees apart, letting him cup his palm against me. A mass of aching flesh, he has me, putty in his hands. Then he crooks a finger, sliding it inside me. Then another.

My eyelids flutter as I struggle to register the intrusion. He is ice cold. Hard as stone. Disturbingly gentle as he eases those probing digits deeper and deeper. I never knew one could feel so full and yet so empty. My senses scatter. Already, it's getting harder to think. Remember…

Our bargain.

"Tell me," I breathe before I lose my mind completely. Too late. His thumb comes to rest on a bundle of flesh that makes me lurch as if burned. In this moment, pain was expected—not what I feel crawling up my spine in its stead. Pleasure.

If he did so to silence me, the punishing friction does the opposite. My tongue loosens and a command slips out, "Help me?—"

"No!" He means it, that angry wail. He won't tell me. He can't. He refuses. It's forbidden.

"Please—" I reach for him, pressing a shaking hand to his shoulder. He snatches it and tugs my wrist downward, between us. A firmness brushes my fingertips. Danger. Pulsating. Ice. He wants me to cringe in fear—give him a reason to stop this.

I don't. My fingers flex as if of their own accord. In response, he shudders, teeth grated, eyes blazing.

"I need to fuck you," he rasps against my throat. He isn't asking, yet… He wants an answer from me. Badly enough to wait for it, teeth gnashing, voice guttural. "Tell me I can," he snaps in response to my silence.

I don't know why these words spring from my tongue next, "Promise me first. Promise?—"

"No!" Grunting, he bats my hand away and wrenches my thighs further apart. His fingers are then replaced by something thicker. Heavier. Harder. It penetrates my outer folds with menacing pressure. Waits. Then his hand hooks around my backside as he slams into me. Groans. Goes limp.

I'm on fire, impaled, and emboldened all at once. I know without even looking down, what he's initiated. What he's done—taken his price. My body. My soul. All in a brief thrust of fiery pain.

Yet corruption isn't the degrading destruction I thought it would be. I am not fearful and trembling. I feel swollen and needy. Desperate. Demanding. He is inside me and perhaps that is why; I'm infected with his power. His dominance.

How I even manage to speak, I'll never know. Somehow, I plead into his ear, "Please. Promise… Say it?—"

"Fuck," he says, grunting out the word as though it was being torn from his throat. His fingers flex, manipulating my waist so that our pelvises collide. Then he bucks his hips, making me empty. Slams forward. I'm full. Again, again and again, until the pain fades away and all I feel is everything.

This isn't mating. It is decimation. He rips through old barriers my body had in place and sows chaos in his wake. I whimper and writhe to adjust to the sensation. It is unlike anything else. Burning, aching, fulfilling pain, spreading like wildfire. Beneath the discomfort, I can't deny a sense of relief.

His price has been paid. Our deal is done. But… I can't escape a nagging need for more. More secrets. More corruption. More bargains to be struck. My fingers grip his shoulders tight as my vision clears and I catch my breath again. His face is buried against my shoulder now, leaving his ear within reach of my gaping mouth. "Please," I beg of him. "Promise. Promise me?—"

"Yes," he hisses, lunging forward, expanding his invasion. Another thrust. "I'll take you. Yes, yes, yes?—"

It's all I need to hear. It's all I'll need ever again.

He'll help me. He'll help me.

More relief renders me boneless, held up only by his grip. Undeterred, he grinds himself into me, as hard as he can. Nowhere near hard enough.

My thoughts splinter, and my one and only hope is pushed aside for a brief moment. As far as my body is concerned, it is all sin and fire. Finding relief is vital. I can't think about anything else.

I can't need anything else.

I bend my knees and wrap my legs around his waist, drawing him closer. Deeper. Not enough.

And then a dangerous sound—more alarming than the rest—slips out of my mouth and makes him growl in response. It makes him wild. He hooks his hands beneath me, wrenches me from the floor. Slams me against the wall, pushing into me from a newer angle. Harder. Harder.

Isn't enough.

He takes me back to the floor instead. Grips my thigh and raises it high, his teeth bared, gaze feral. His mind is fixated on one focus. One goal. Something he can't find until he's so deep inside me I cry out, and my head lolls back against the stone. Then he reaches between us, stroking, rubbing, and setting off fireworks.

My lips part. Another dangerous sound trickles out. Another. I hear it this time, echoed back, taunting me.

His name. Over and over, his name leaves my throat. Nothing else.