23. Caspian

Stay back. Stay back. Stay back!

The fae will die if I kill the mortal. I could hear the truth in the woman's voice.

But then she reaches toward the fae with grasping hands. Fingers full of tainted, dirty, black magic. Wrong magic.

It seeps into the fae's pale skin and she screams. Throat rasping, limbs jerking, she screams and screams.

But I can't help her. To do so will be to let her die—or so the mortal claims. So she says.

Regardless, I take a step. Another. The screaming is too loud. This alone is killing her.

"Stay back!" the blond mortal hisses, her brows furrowed in concentration, hands moving, sowing her twisted magic.

So, she isn't a mundane. She isn't vamryre. She is something else. Some kind of defective being. Her kind of magic shouldn't exist. It isn't clean. Isn't nice and neat like the spells of the fae.

It is messy and painful and it…

Repairs. I can hear it. Her magic rips the fae apart piece by broken piece and puts her back together. Painfully. Slowly.

But it mends. She can breathe again. Move again without wincing. She can open her eyes and gape at the ceiling. She can work that throat and say my name.

"Caspian?" Afraid.

"Caspian." Worried.

No one has ever said my name so damn worried. Except for, maybe…

Cassiopeia. She said it that way once, when we both went too far against our master. We wanted to kill him. Tried to kill him.

Together, we almost killed him. Something went wrong, ruining our plan. I was meant to do something. Something important. Find…

"Colleen?" The fat mortal raps on the door. I can hear her jowls jiggling and stubby fingers thumping. "What the hell is all this ruckus? I'm gonna lose business if people think this is some kind of torture house!"

The mortal woman winces, still spewing her dark magic. A few more seconds. Then she lets her hands fall and nearly collapses onto the floor completely. Sweat drips down her pale forehead, pungent and sweet.

"I… I'm sorry, Mo," she says in between pants. "I'll keep it down from here on out."

"Good," the fat woman replies. "Oh no, Mr. Morris, don't you worry. We assure discretion here for any sort of kink. Come downstairs, and we can discuss a discount on your next stay, eh?"

This place is a den of debauchery. A haven for sin, mortal and immortal alike.

Cassius has never come here, but he knew of it. He used me as his mule to lure victims here for him. To drink. To puppet. To play with.

It was never my choice. I can see them clearly again. Remember some of their faces. So many frightened, desperate, greedy faces. Happy in the beginning…

In the beginning, when they thought I was a savior. A protector from boredom. From a loveless future. From ugliness.

But, oh, I never protected them.

I'd give my soul for her. Gave it up already. But why? Why?

Because she asked. I look at her, breathing easy, body limp. I look at her pale, gangly limbs. My limbs. Mine. All of her is mine to have. To take.

But only if she asks me to.

Why? Why?

"Did you hear me?" the blond mortal asks, having regained some energy. Colleen, the other one, called her. She is pale and thin with coils of blond hair threatening to burst from that bundle at the nape of her neck. Pretty, but not enough for Cassius. Young, but with a mind too old for me. She seems older than I am, as if she's lived centuries. Lifetimes.

"I asked you what her name is?" the woman retorts, eyeing me from over her shoulder. Her hands are trembling, her brow still coated in sweat. It dampens her blue sweater and makes the wool cling to her flesh. Pink flesh, brimming with blood. "Can you not speak English?"

"Name?" I snap. "She doesn't have one."

Then I remember. Spit it out, "Niamh."

"Oh, that's pretty," the mortal whispers, eyeing the fae once more. "It's Irish in origin, isn't it? I thought your kind didn't have names like ours."

Like them. Disgusting, vermin names. Humans have too many to keep track of. They name their children with whatever folly enters their minds at the time.

Stupid.

Foolish.

We are named for a God, our maker. Our master. I am a proud spawn of Cassius, one of the elder three?—

No.I shake my head and grit out a hiss. Even here, he creeps into my thoughts if I'm not careful. Even here, the bastard still seeks to infect me.

Because of her. I'm not near her. I creep closer from the corner the mortal banished me to. Crouch on the other end of the bed, too close to the fae. Nowhere near close enough.

I run my thumb along her throat. There. Like magic, the world is silent again. Only annoying blond mortals can penetrate with wary gasps and uneasy swallows.

"What is your relationship to her, vampire?" she wonders. "She isn't a mortal, but she isn't one of your kind either. Did you steal her from somewhere? Take her? Aim to sell her on the black market?"

"Yes," I reply. "I took her."

The truth.

A lie.

She followed me willingly. Followed me as a means to her end. Followed me to achieve her real aim.

But still. There was no Cassius prodding my every movement. No motel to drag her to.

She followed me out of that forsaken realm. She wanted to follow me.

"I don't know what Mo lets your kind get away with, but I am not one for bribes, vampire," the mortal hisses, her pink cheeks flushed, blue eyes angry. "If you have harmed her, I will report you to the authorities. Slavers are not tolerated here. The boneys will throw you right into the pits if?—"

I laugh, and the mortal jumps. So I bare my fangs and laugh again. Words aren't necessary. Just this. As if any authority could maintain a hold over me.

The only authority I fear is Cassius.

Wait.No. Don't fear him. Hate. Hate. Hate?—

"I mean it. Now, where are the clothes I sent you for?"

I growl but gesture to a pile by the door. Garments stolen from some place. A store. The humans display their clothing rather than have it assigned. They pick their status, either honestly or dishonestly. They wear their wealth on display.

"Good," the mortal says, rubbing her hands. Slowly, she stands, barely as tall as my shoulder. Those curls threaten to explode as she reaches back to cup the mass in the palm of her hand. Then she sighs. "I'll help her get dressed."

She says those words as if they mean something. A command.

One I don't understand. Don't care to process.

"Dress her," I say.

She flinches, a blush creeping across those pretty cheeks. "You should leave. Offer her some dignity, at least!"

Dignity. As if the fae deserves it. As if I haven't offered her everything and anything.

However, this mortal... She is dangerous. That corrupted magic leeches from her, tainting the air. If she touches me, she might rip and tear. How fun. How irritating.

She'll cost me more time.

After looking at Niamh, I step back.

Her eyes are on me, sparkling and alert. Alive and pleading. She wants me on my best behavior. She wants me on her leash.

But…

For now, I'll play along. Cassius is waiting and lurking. He'll be here soon. So soon.

It will be then that I will have the bloodshed that I crave.