19. Caspian

Stupid, fucking, stupid fae. Stupid, fucking, stupid Cassius. Stupid, fucking, stupid me. I've let my toy wander by herself for a fucking second.

One second.

And she wandered her way right into danger. Another creature ripped her apart and left her body torn and bleeding. I can feel her dying. Taste her blood, painting the air. There is no Cassius to please anymore, no rules to follow. I could stop running. Set her aside in some dark, dank place and drain her dry. Feast and feast.

I want to.

My steps slow, and I hear her ragged, half-assed breathing. In and out, she sucks in air, but she's running out of time. Her tiny heart is tired of pumping. It starts to stammer and fizzle out. The longer I linger, she'll fizzle out. Already, she's too limp. Too weak. Her voice is a croak, and I can feel her wet, warm blood dripping all over me. Spilling all over me.

Yummy. Delicious.

I only have to lower my mouth to her neck and look past those wide, staring, half-closed eyes. I only have to prod her throat with a hungry tongue. Lap up some of the precious, beautiful red that's already spilled.

I can drink her. Take her. Have her entire essence, then throw away the dried-out husk. I can do it. Oh, how I want to.

Do it. Do it.

I can't. She's too weak. Too pale. One drop could never be enough, and then she'll be dead in a heartbeat. Which is what I want.

Isn't it?

Yes.

No.

Fuck me. Fuck her.

I keep moving, heading down the road the mortals call a highway. They navigated it blindly in little cages of metal and rubber. Cars, they call them. Trucks as well, bigger and longer. One of those infernal contraptions plowed into her. Shattered skin and bone. Her ribs are snapped. I can hear one of the jagged edges scraping into her lungs. Scritch. Scrape.

She should be moaning in agony. Writhing like they all do. The damage caused by the truck was great, but I've done worse to others. Many, many, many before her. I tore them apart with my bare hands while Cassius watched and goaded me on.

Such a good boy, his Caspian was.

He loved to watch me fuck his chosen appetites, but he liked to watch me kill even more. He used me like a rabid dog on a leash. Let me snap bone and chew and gnaw on the gaping, gory pieces.

During the throes of the death rattle, all of his victims loved to beg. They would murmur their final words, like, "please, don't." "Have mercy." "I have a family."

Boring, worthless, meaningless lies.

But her… She pries her heavy lips apart, and to nothing and no one, she says, "Beautiful. So beautiful."

We've left the darkness behind for a world of lights. Bright, nonsensical color—that's what the mortals like. They drape their homes in neon and let their world sparkle with nauseating brilliance. Cassius would like to do it, even in our other realm. Perhaps he would if his two elders didn't keep him in line. They made him dim his shine and confine his extravagance to his mansion.

I prefer the dark. The cold. The quiet. Endless misery and stoic silence.

Or I did.

Until I heard a broken, dying, uttered "beautiful," and saw this sickening world in a new light. A new way. She doesn't prize mindless beauty like Cassius. She feasts on the novelty. The brilliance. She sees these twisted lights and towering buildings as though they are the stars in the sky, fallen to her feet, suddenly within her reach.

I hate her. How she looks at this realm, dying and broken, and still praises it. How she clings to me with soft, powerless fingers and struggles to stare. She'll kill herself faster if only to see more of this realm before she goes.

She's so fucking selfish. Out of spite, I can't let her die. Not yet. Not here.

So, I run.

This city unfurls before me, its roads well-tread and buildings changing, but my knowledge of it withstands the test of time. For centuries I've roamed these dirt, stone, now asphalt roads. More memories I wasn't aware of flood back, giving me a clear idea of what to do next.

I take this fae through empty streets and winding alleys. I take her to the one place Cassius had deemed a haven for our kind in this wasteland.

A motel, shaky and crumbling, squeezed in between a laundromat and a deli. I forget its name, something that implies a double entendre in the mortal tongue.

My victims would remark on it more often than not, whenever I brought them here.

"Bleeding Hearts Motel," they'd read, eyeing the flashing lights at the top of the building skeptically. Sometimes, they'd laugh. Sometimes, they'd sneer and beg to go somewhere else.

But there was nowhere else. Because this place was run not by fae or vamryre or lunaria, but half-creatures. Bastard bloodlines long forgotten and left behind. They would let Cassius do his bidding in peace for a price.

They'll let me stay here for a price.

How will I pay it?

Who the hell knows? Who cares? If they keep her alive, I don't fucking care. I'll give them anything.

Exceptreturn to Cassius—never that.

But anything else. They won't have a choice. When I enter the ruin, the fae in my arms, a woman at the front desk barely looks up from some tawdry image. A magazine. She sighs and shrugs.

"How can I help you?"

She isn't fae or vamryre or lunaria, but she isn't entirely mortal either. Her eyes sparkle in a way humans don't. Her nostrils flare, picking up a scent they can't. Then she looks up and she sees in a heartbeat what I am and where I am from.

But fear isn't what makes her gasp and stagger forward.

It's recognition.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" she demands, her cheeks splattered with angry red, her pudgy arms crossed over her chest. "Fuck, I thought they'd locked you in some dungeon or whatever the hell it is they do. You aren't allowed in here, bloodsucker. Not anymore. Get the fuck out before I sick my dog on you!"

"No." I dig my heels in. I hold the fae tight. She's running out of time, her breathing frail. But she's watching. Greedy, stupid thing, she's watching and curious and fighting with the last of her strength to take in what little she can of her precious mortal realm. She isn't staring at the woman or the disgusting room with stained floors and shitty music blaring from a metal box. Her gaze is fixed straight ahead. I risk a glance down to watch her. Her one good eye widens with hope and delight.

She's disgusting. This place is disgusting.

Except for a painting hanging on the wall behind the woman's head. She sees it, and she's content enough to die here and now.

Not while I have any say in it. I grip the back of her skull and wrench her head around to face me. Then I eye the woman and say, "Heal her."

"Hell no!" She sputters. Then eyes the fae and her eyes widen with unmistakable interest. She sees what she is. Knows it. Vamryre are a dime a dozen around this place, but not her kind. Not her. Fae—corrupted or not, she is a novelty. A new treat I can exploit.

"Heal her," I snarl. "Then supply me with a room. You don't have a choice, mundane."

That's the term Cassius told me, once upon a time, to refer to these half-immortal kinds. Mundane. Unspecial. Unpretty. Unworthy of entrance to the other realm.

So they live here among mortals and hide their powers and differences. In a way, they live like she did, my fae. Making themselves small by shrinking and hiding.

Their overseers aren't the members of the high council. Just their own disparate set of rules meant to keep mortal fears in check. How silly. How stupid.

Their rules aren't what I fear.

"Heal her, or I will rip you limb from limb," I tell her.

She swallows hard. She knows I mean it.

I will. I would.

But if I set the fae down in order to bite and tear, she'll die faster. Already, I can feel her slipping away. Away from me. Leaving me behind like I left her.

"Do it!" I bellow.

The mundane sighs. "I can't heal her, you idiot. That isn't my skill. Besides, if you lay a hand on me, the boneys will throw you in the pits where you belong."

A refusal. Then I will rip her to pieces. I start to set the fae down.

"But," the woman continues. "I know someone who can help. It will take her a while to make it out this way though. Your girl might be gone by then. Better to just pay off a boney. They'll pay good money for one of them kind, I think. We can split the fee." Split a fee. A price for the dead fae. A price nowhere near high enough to compensate for what I've done. No stupid mortal coin could ever be worth enough.

"Call your healer," I demand. "No one else. If anyone touches her, you die. If she dies…you die."

Her cheeks hollow. She sputters and spins around for a hook on the wall. Several hooks, most sporting keys.

"Fine, you stupid bastard." She snatches a handful of metal and throws it at me. "Last room on the left. a suite for your high and mightiness. I'll call the healer girl, but I've warned you. She won't get it at least until the morning. If that woman dies before then, don't you dare let it stink. We've got other paying customers to tend to. The last time you were here we had to close down for a fucking week to repair the damages."

The last time. When was the last time? I wrack my brain but it's a mess. There are too many new memories to sort. Too many old ones demanding attention. Cassius kept my thoughts neat and orderly, but without him….

It's a chaotic mess. Good. I'd rather be insane than be under his thumb. I'd rather be here with her.

Stupid fae. Dying fae. She struggles in my arms, croaking out her last few breaths.

No.I refuse to let her die here. Not now.

I take the keys the woman threw and go up to the last room on the left. There is only a dank, long hallway and ten rooms in total.

She gave me the suite, or so she claimed.

It's a square box with a bed and a closet holding a porcelain toilet and sink. Mortals. They construct their dwellings in strange, illogical ways. A boxy bed. A narrow window with a view of brick.

And a porcelain tub nowhere near big enough to capture the dripping blood pouring from my fading, dying fae.

I drop her onto the bed instead. Then I watch and wait. I'm wasting time by being here.

All of this is for nothing. Nothing.

I've brought her here for nothing. Wasted my moment to inflict her death sweetly, slowly, for nothing.

She will die for nothing.

No. I won't let her. I crouch onto the bed and hover above her, body braced on both hands planted beside her head.

"Look at me," I command.

She does. With one open, bruised, bleeding eye she looks at me. She's never stopped looking.

And in that eye, my brain goes silent. The anger I've known and craved is snuffed out. Cassius is a forgotten, fading thing on the edges of my psyche.

I look at her, and all I see is her. My fae. Mine.

"Don't you dare die," I tell her.

She swallows and tries to speak.

"Shut up."

Defiant in her final moments, she inhales raggedly. Sucks in as much of a breath as she can. She speaks.

"Thank you."

Thank me. For killing her. For leaving her. For letting another creature rip her apart into broken, bleeding pieces.

Thank me.

No.

"Fuck you," I hiss at her. "Don't die. Not yet. I won't let you die just yet."

My fingers twitch closer to her, coiling in the dark hair that spreads out over a yellow blanket beneath her. I twist those strands around my fingers. Tug until she winces, issuing a pained gasp. Then I stroke and smooth.

Hurting her more will make her die faster. My alternative is to stroke her. Caress her. My hands don't know how—they are tools used for destruction. Bred for destruction.

Still, I stroke her anyway. Pet her. There, there. I'll treat her like glass if it will make her stay.

"Don't die," I command. No, wait… I'm asking. I'll ask. The niceties will keep her here. She won't die then; she's too polite. I'll keep her here in any way I can.

I'll kiss her sweetly, press my lips to her forehead and beg. "Stay with me. Don't die yet. Can't die yet. I need to be the one to kill you."

"Ah…" It's the only sound she can make. Ah. Ah. But a new tear forms at the corners of her eyes, both of them, one closed and one open.

Fuck her. Fuck.

"You haven't been to your museum," I say, a cruel taunt. But it's a strong enough motivation to keep her here, I can see that. Her good eye widens. She parts her lips. Tries to speak. Can't.

I press my lips to her skull and murmur another deadly secret just for her. A promise. A threat. I'll keep her here anyway I can. It isn't lying in this case. Not if I intend to keep the promise. Maybe. Never.

Maybe someday.

"I'll take you there," I tell her. "You'll show me one of those stupid paintings. You can't die yet, stupid fae. I want to see the look on your face…"

When she sees her art up close. When she realizes that her hopes and dreams are all an illusion. Nothing is worth anything. There are no hopes in the world worthy of being fulfilled. Everything is a lie.

That's one thing Cassius taught me, the sick fucker.

There is no such thing as perfection. We are all tainted, twisted little lies. Broken dolls, performing for a master desperate to pretend that he matters. That we matter.

That all of this matters before the inevitable end.

But I'll make her believe it too, I have to. I'll feed her that silly, foolish fantasy to keep her here.

"Don't die," I snarl. "Don't fucking die."

And she doesn't. As the seconds tick by, she holds on, my stupid, foolish fae. She holds onto her life with all her might. She's dumb enough to believe me. To think I care about her wish enough to fulfill it.

She thinks I care about her.

Oh, what a fool. What a poor, stupid soul.

But I'll make her believe it.

"You matter," I lie. "Don't die yet. Stay here. Stay with me."

Because one day, I want to be the one to kill her with my own two hands.

It's what I have to do.

What I was born and bred to do.

A killer is all I am, before Cassius, after Cassius.

I can never be anything else.

I can never want to be anything else.

And she can never make me be, not her. Not someone so weak and stupid as her.

I can't help her fly and she can't make me feel.

My heart is dead. I am dead.

What makes me so desperate for her?

I don't know.