26. Niamh

Iwake up in his arms, at peace when I should be afraid. It's terrifying, this unnerving, persistent feeling. Like I'm standing on the end of a precipice, and he is below.

Jump,he says.

My body still remembers the first time he issued such a dare. He let me fall.

Let me hurt.

Then he left me again.

Now he's inside me again, and all those aches and pains feel as though they never happened. He can get inside my skin so easily. It must be a vamryre skill.

You let them inside your body, and they crawl into your head. They whisper secret desires you weren't aware of. Start fires in your soul.

It hurts, and it burns to feel parts of you that you thought you knew turn to ash and fade away.

But left in their place are new spaces, aching to be filled. Demanding to be filled.

I'll let him break me if he wants to. I'll give him my pain if only it means that…

He won't lose interest. He'll stay near. Won't leave me again.

He can't leave me again.

Because that hurt. Worse than any fire or glowing orbs with the power to break bone. He left me and for a moment, I'd forgotten myself.

So I burrow my face into his shoulder now. I let him claim me as deeply as he wants to. I let him think…

I let him think that I'm his to corrupt. This game was always his from the start, not mine.

I'm not really the one in control.

But I am. I have to be. I can't let him leave me. At least not until…

I fulfill my heart's desire, then he can go. Maybe. Maybe then he can go.

"Where are we?" I ask him, if only to distract from the cacophony of chaos playing out in my mind. Oh, how greedy I am in this open, mortal air. I don't shy from him like I would in our old realm.

I hook my fingers around the back of his neck. Gently. Trembling, interlocking fingers—an embrace he could easily break without a second thought. I stare up at him, into those festering red eyes. I watch them glow as he feasts on me.

But then the flames fizzle out. He's empty, staring down on me. Remembering what we are and where we are. It's my fault.

I asked the wrong thing.

"Where you wanted to be," he hisses, drawing away from me, lunging upright. His body is perfection, even in this room with peeling, yellow walls and beige flooring. Even here he is so beautiful. So dangerous. So deadly. The look in his eye claims as much. With one question, I have him enraged. "Get your fill of it, fae," he snarls, fists clenched, eyes downcast. "You are in the mortal realm. Prepare to live out your pathetic hopes and dreams."

He means those words to sting—and they do, but not for the reason he intends them too. It's a reminder that this moment has a time limit. An end point.

I get what I want. He's gotten what he craves.

The end. There isn't any more to this sordid tale.

But I don't want it to end. Not yet.

"Wait," I tell him, my voice tight, throat heavy. "You have to take me to a museum."

He has to. He has to. Then our deal will be sealed and done. Then…

Only then can he leave again.

Angling his head, he rakes a hand through his pale hair. Still glowering. Growling. But I can tell from how his shoulders tense and then relax that he's sated, for now. I paid the toll for another day. He will stay. To get me to my desired destination, he will stay.

"I'll get dressed," I say, scrambling upright. Only my knees don't work right. My legs threaten to collapse beneath me, and then they do, pitching me to the hard floor.

But I don't fall, because Caspian comes from nowhere to catch me, arm hooked around my waist, body pressed tightly to his.

He hisses in annoyance. He inhales with greed.

I shiver. It feels so wrong to be in his embrace. Wrong because I crave it. I don't endure his touch like I would Day's wandering glances and accidental touches. Contact wasn't needed with him. Wanted?

With Caspian there is only want. Only need. Only hungry, vicious feelings.

"You'll get dressed," he grates out, teeth clenched, icy breath on my shoulder. "I'll get you dressed."

He takes me into that closet bathroom and sets me on the end of the basin Colleen helped me wash in. A sink, she called it. He stares at the empty basin. I reach behind me and turn one of the round knobs meant to trigger a flow of running water.

Like magic. Only it isn't magic. Mortals have their own ways of making the world conform to their will. Like by conjuring light to illuminate their homes with, via stagnant, tiny bulbs that glow. Each room is flooded with warmth that creeps through the walls and foundation.

Most intriguing of all are their mirrors. They show the world reflected back as it truly is. In this moment, I can see Caspian from the corner of my eye: looming over me, watching me. His jaw is clenched, gaze reluctant.

He watches me like he could stare for a century. An eternity of gazing at me in silence.

But never, not once, would I ever be able to know what he is thinking.

What is he thinking? I wish I knew. Which is a dumb thought. Vamryres have a hive mind. A collective mind. The man before me is one of many. Perhaps... He has never acted on his own volition but with the permission of his master.

I think it. Then I look forward into that burning, icy gaze and I remember.

A price, he told me. Hissed at me. I was worth it. Then not. Worth it. Not.

I press my fingers to his lips unbidden as if I can make him tell me the truth. Am I worth this elusive price now? Is this all just a puppet show at my expense? Does he really even feel of his own accord?

Of course not. He can't. There are rules that govern this world, and we all have no choice but to live by them. Die by them. Thrive by them.

As he remains silent, I lean forward and press my lips against his jawline. Oh no. I'm a pathetic begging thing, but I need to know. Have to.

"Is it you that wants me?" I ask him, my Caspian. I have to know. Have to hear it.

"No," he says. "Of course I don't." He holds my chin in a stone grip and makes me stare at him. I couldn't turn away if I tried. If I wanted to.

I don't want to.

"Cassius wants you dead," he tells me, voice harsh and mocking. "He wants you bleeding out over their ceremonial floor. From the start that was my goal. Kill you. Gut you."

Nothing else.

I feel my heart sink in my chest, like a heavy weight. I can't seem to breathe anymore. All of the work poor Colleen put into this worthless body is wasted. I'm dying all over again, my injuries numerous and invisible. Fatal.

"Don't," he snarls, scraping the pad of his thumb below my left eye. "Don't. Don't. Don't cry."

Cry. He makes it sound like more of a sin than the Lord Master ever did. To cry in the old realm was to believe, even for a moment, that I deserved more than I had. More than my lot.

I didn't. Therefore... crying was greedy and shameful. Stupid, ungrateful girl.

With him, crying is to sin against him. Irritate him, my Caspian. Make him feel as though he isn't enough. But he is enough.

I want more.

"Stop it," he hisses, still swiping. "Shut up. Shut up! Fine—" He leans in and brings his mouth to my ear, teeth nipping dangerously close. "I wanted you, foolish fae. From the start, I wanted you. I took you. I have you. You are mine."

He laughs. Hahaha. He won this game.

Nevertheless, I am glad. I need him to win me, have me. I'm his to take. His to have.

"Yes," I whisper to him, closing my eyes to guard against his reaction. "Yours. Yours."

He groans. It's an angry sound, not quite pleased. Still, the trickle of running water nearly drowns him out. Icy fingers grip my legs, prying them apart. I hear him grapple for something nearby. Feel cold, damp fabric lap at my skin.

He's washing me. Slowly and carefully, Caspian washes me with water that isn't too warm nor too cold. Then he sets the rag aside—I hear the damp, heavy plop of it hit the floor. His fingers tease through my hair next, gathering it in a single fist. Then he grips it like a rope and coils it around and around. When he finally steps back, I open my eyes again. I crane my neck and look back.

The figure staring back doesn't look like the blurred, scattered images of the Niamh I knew in the Citadel. She is paler here. Her eyes are brighter here. Coiled at the nape of her neck meticulously by a vamryre, her hair shines here.

Reflected not just in the mirror, but in his eyes, she is beautiful.

"Thank you," I say to her. To him.

He says nothing. His mouth finds its home near my ear, his inhalations loud and slow. He doesn't need to breathe—at least I don't think so—but he does around me. He feasts on the air around me. Then he inches closer and presses his lips to my throat. Against the skin, he hisses, "Don't."

Don't thank him.

I must.

"Thank you. Thank you." I lean into him. Practically throw myself into him. He catches me, gripping my body tight while the water still runs behind us. As long as he catches me, I will be fine.

It's all worth it as long as he catches me.

As long as he catches me.

"Hello?" A knock rattles the door to the main room. Bang. Bang. "Are you awake?"

"Stupid mortal," Caspian growls. He steps back and lunges inside the main room. Throws the door open. I can hear it thud against the wall and I race to the doorway just in time to catch the woman lurking behind it before she steps inside. Head held high, blond curls tied back. She smiles and beams, bringing light into this room, like a living sun.

"Good morning, vampire," she says, her tone cold. Then she spies me and her smile widens. "Ah, good morning, Niamh! You look so much better." She carries something on her back—a leather case with straps that she shrugs off one by one. "I'll just check some of your vital signs. Vampire—" She doesn't even look at him. "You can square your debt with Mo, downstairs. Cash only, or a fair exchange. I'm sure you know the drill anyway."

The drill. Caspian does know it, apparently. He narrows his eyes and stalks into the hall, slamming the door behind him. But then he lingers. Waits.

"I won't hurt her," Colleen calls back, sensing him as well. "Idiot," she mumbles under her breath, arms crossed, blue eyes glinting with irritation and confusion.

The vamryre's care confuses her. Confounds.

But it thrills me. Yes.

If I can't make him stay with a good enough trade, then I will take anything. Concern. Pity. Guilt.

Anything.