4. Caspian

Ihate him. Cassius, the all-knowing. Cassius, the brave. He makes up those fucking titles to adorn himself with, always including his name. That name.

It's why he named me Caspian—as unique from his own as he could come, or so he said.

So he says.

Yet the others—countless many that compose his collective of souls—all have names deriving from his. Cassius. Beneath him swell an army of brothers: Cassander, Cassper, Cassador. Among them lies a harem of sisters: Cassie, Cassandra, Cassidine.

Then there is me, Caspian. His broken one. In fact, he named me differently from them. To prove it. To remind me. To torment.

I hate him. I hate him.

You love—the thought comes from outside my skull, bearing down like the stern hand of a parent. Scolding. Guiding. Warning. We all love Cassius. We all love Caspian.

As if the vamryre know any damn thing about such an emotion.

We feel nothing. It's why we like to masquerade as we do, luring fae, human, and lunaria alike. Oh, how we fucking love to play pretend. Those fools eat it up. They play into our hands, ripe for the taking. Ripe for the killing. Ripe for becoming yet one more of the undead, a new pawn in the Three's collection.

But her…

She irritates. Pale-faced and wide-eyed, she should have trembled head to toe with fear at the sight of me. Tears should have sprung to those strange, black eyes. Damn. It should have been easy.

But she resists, stubborn and unwilling. And yet she felt…

So soft. Unafraid. Another word trips into my brain, as unwelcomed as ebony. Ivory. The color of skin like the petals of that infernal rose. Delicate ivory.

Like a rose, she was fragile and weak, with limbs like petals that could be easily plucked. It was only natural for her to tremble. Even if they craved my touch, so many others before her shivered in apprehension. Instinctively, they knew to fear me. To hate me. To want to run from me.

She didn't. Her gaze held mine, those eyes unyielding. They relented to my touch as if she wasn't afraid, and I…

I wanted to taste her. Me. Not Cassius or the others. Her taste would belong to me.

Come, Caspian.

At night his command is too strong to resist. Cassius is awake at full strength, his veracity running through me. I am enslaved to the pull of the collective, those blind, dumb bastards. Their thoughts suck me in, pouring over the fae with disgust before scurrying away.

She doesn't interest them. They can't understand Cassius' greater plan.

Because he is, of course, why I have any interest in her at all. His will commands it.

There is something wrong with her, the broken fae with black eyes. They all can see it. Smell it. The nearer I am to her, the more revulsion they feel. As if cringing from an insect, they pull away from my thoughts. It's brief, but I get a glimpse of silence. Absence of thought.

I should loathe that emptiness.

You do, Cassius' voice in my head urges, potent with slavish devotion. Resist it. Resist her. Kill her at the ceremony and be done with it.

I will.

After a little longer play. He owes it to me after what he did to Cassiopeia. Loyalty is a foreign concept to our kind. There is only our master. Only the enclave and the collective. Only the vamryre.

No.I don't give a damn what Cassius thinks—what they all insist I think. Cassiopeia wasn't a mindless slave in a hive mind—what the other races call our collective. She resisted. We would tangle and clash our thoughts together. Sometimes, the clamor blocked him out.

Sometimes his voice overpowered us both.

I want her back.

No, you don't,Cassius' voice demands. Cassiopeia was a traitor. She betrayed us all.

How? We can't fucking know. He won't let us. No matter how hard I try to unravel the twisted thoughts, he keeps me at bay. It's only when I think of the fae creature that he lets me close. Slithering over my memories of her, he darts away once more. Apart from his plan, he has no interest in her, that broken thing.

He doesn't see in her what I do. Oh, she does her best to hide it. Maybe it would be more fun if she did? That hunger in her eye. That blind acceptance of pain. I know it well: desperation. She'll make this game too damn easy.

Good.

Centuries at Cassius' beck and call, and I need a good distraction. I've earned it. Earned her. He said I was a disgusting mortal. Evil, callous, and cruel. That was what drew him to me. Sometimes, he'll let me get snippets. Fragments of thought.

A boy. A man. I can't see his face, but I can hear his laughter. Cold as ice, my own voice distorted back. How I envy that bastard. How I wish I could remember.

You don't, Cassius claims.

But I do. If I taste her blood, I may remember. Fae blood is potent, rumored to?—

Forbidden,Cassius snaps, monitoring my thoughts as always. With a sharp tug on my psyche, he aims to draw me back into line. His good, obedient, little Caspian. The creature he so badly wants me to be. A cherished pet I never was. There was a time when I treasured words like ivory and ebony. When I knew the terms beyond their superficial definition.

But how?

Enough! Come home, Cassius tells me. Beckons. Demands.

With night having fallen, there is no choice. My limbs move and carry me through the heart of the Citadel, away from the bell tower. Our home rests on a hill above the city, sprawling like a grasping spider, our web endless. We dwell within the most enviable luxury. Our master loves us so well.

When I enter the main hall of the manor, three siblings stand to greet me. "Welcome home, Caspian," they chant.

I can't even remember their names. There's so many of us now. Hundreds of insipid toys, each one as empty and uninspired as the last. Their minds were so easy to mold beneath the weight of his. Almost too easy. He's grown bored of the malleable ones, hungry for another rebellious entity to consume.

Like you,he hums. My Caspian.

Hate. Hate. Hate.

"You've done wrong," a sister says, stepping forward. Her eyes are beady red, her smile as rich and expressive as one painted on a doll. She's a puppet at the moment, controlled only by him. "He wants to see you, our beloved Master. Come."

I want to resist but denying him is futile. He is in my head—burrowed deep within my skull, laughing at my attempts to shut him out. One day, I'll silence that laugh. I'll render him eternally quiet.

"Enough!" Though her lips are moving, it's Cassius' voice she speaks with. "Come now. You've had your fun."

The others avert their gazes. It's not that they aren't enjoying my impending scolding. Their glee licks through our connected minds like the buzzing of bees throughout a hive. They'll watch and savor my punishment.

Cassius prefers to pretend these moments are private. I don't know why. He prefers to have me walk up the long winding hall to his chambers alone, where he sits on a velvet chaise, alone. When it comes to me, the bastard always desires to be alone.

Not the others. Not his perfect, unflawed toys.

"You've been restless, Caspian," Cassius declares as I approach him, sinking down to one knee. The action isn't mine. This close to him, there is no choice but his. No will but his. Only here in my mind can I rebel.

I hate this bastard.

No,he insists. You love only me, your savior. Your master. Your?—

"I was doing your bidding," I grit out. Doing his bidding. Spending his fortune. Learning forbidden words he wanted me to forget: ebony and ivory.

Insolence!An audible hiss resonates through the mansion and through the mental collective. Another sin. One can't interrupt Cassius. It isn't done.

Yet, he smiles and, instantly, all are quieted.

"You are correct," he says, his voice like frozen honey.

Unlike his two counterparts that make up the vamryre council, beauty is the main trait that Cassius desires to hone, despite untold centuries of life. His—our eldest brother Nataniel prizes wisdom and collects his little tokens with their intelligence in mind. His—our sister Pol cultivates strength in her section of the vast collective mind. She seeks out mortals and immortals alike with a bloodlust on par with her own.

Cassius is different. He likes to claim that his oddity makes him unique among his equals, but it must be a lie because he makes us believe it. Beauty and character are what appeal to him. Sex and adoration are the only talents he deems worthy.

"You are restless tonight, Caspian," he repeats, but this time, the full weight of the collective echoes him.

Restless, dear Caspian, dear. Our dear, dear brother.

"I'm doing your bidding," I snap. "I always do your bidding. But I remembered something?—"

Something lurking in those ebony eyes that haunts me still.

"Words," I spit out. "Words you wanted me to forget, but this is the part you won't let them hear, right?"

I can feel his smile widen like a string being pulled taunt. A warning. Yet, for a second, the rest of the mind grows silent. Only he can do so at whim—turn off the din of the others, create a secluded hole where he and his chosen prey can linger.

Is that what he did to Cassiopeia? It's been days, and I can't hear or feel her. I only know the bastard hasn't killed her.

To do so would be to admit failure, and dear brother Cassius is never wrong.

"Look at me, child," he commands.

My head jerks up, and I take in the creature lounging before me. He somehow manages to be both revulsive and appealing. Disgusting and breathtaking. A face and body that can attract both men and women, but I despise those gleaming red eyes. Hate. Hate.

"You've enjoyed playing with your toy," he says.

My upper lip curls at the word. The way he says it drips with disdain, but maybe it's the only one that fits. Enjoy.

"Yes," I admit. "Let me do more."

Poor little fae. She seems so damn innocent, locked away in her crumbling tower. The fae must tell her that she is a scourge, unknown to the others.

Lies. The secret has been out for all twenty-four years of her life. We all know. Her existence festers. Besides, the fae couldn't keep secrets if they tried. Those high and mighty bastions of haughty birds. The day she was born they had to reconcile with their flawed perfection. They haven't been the same since. She with eyes of ebony and ivory skin threatens their entire fragile balance…

I'm not sure if my memory goes back that far or if I'm just leeching off Cassius.

"My thoughts are your thoughts," he quietly scolds. "We are one, dear brother. It pains me that you resent us so."

Me and us. How he uses those terms so interchangeably. He wants the rest of his followers to abandon all sense of self. Become one with him.

Yet he can shed us just as easily as a silk robe. We matter little to him. His scars penetrate our bodies and minds, but in the end, the most lasting mark we can make on him is dissent. Being the off-note in his perfect symphony of sycophants. Hating him relentlessly.

"Wrong," he tells me while lifting the edge of his embroidered tunic. A perfect body chiseled from living stone but with one small flaw. "You are the only one of my many children to ever harm me." He's smiling. He relishes the pathetic attempt. He savors it over and over.

Why?

He thrives on control, and one day, decades ago. Days? Years? One day in the near past, I came after the bastard with a knife taken from some fancy display deep in the mansion. I tried to plunge it into his stomach.

No, that's wrong. The image in my head blurs and resets, clarified. Me and Cassiopeia.

"You miss her," Cassius says. "Our disobedient one."

He smiles wide.

"Yes," I say on cue. "She's served her punishment. Bring her back."

"I alone say when she has served long enough," he reminds. His glee licks through the back of my mind, exciting the others even if they're kept in the dark. I can visualize myself as he sees me. Bowed low, pretty little head upturned. Anger blazing in red eyes. Cassiopeia isn't the one he's punishing.

It's me. Always been me.

"Such an egoist you are," he murmurs, practically laughing. "Even now, after so long as a superior being, you still believe that the world revolves solely around you, little Caspian. Always raging like a mindless human. Hoarding meaningless words. Ideals. I've long tried to coax that out of you. How perfect you could be if you wanted to achieve it."

I hiss through clenched teeth. "Don't want…"

"Don't want what?" He raises an eyebrow innocently. "Finish your statement, brother. As you said, we are alone at this moment." He raises his hand, gesturing for me to continue.

I can't. He is subtle in his mastery, but I know the sudden dryness in my throat isn't real. Neither is my inability to find words.

The bastard loves to exert his control in small ways. He loves to watch me struggle on his proverbial leash.

One day, I'll strangle him with it.

"Your little fae bird?—"

As soon as she is mentioned, my ears perk up. He suddenly has my full attention, and his pleasure settles over me like a sickly sweet perfume. He likes my attention, oh yes. He craves it.

"You do realize that your role only matters during the ceremony? Perhaps it was a mistake to tell you so soon?"

He's lying. Dear brother Cassius never makes mistakes. He told me for a reason. He lets me play with her for a reason. Because of his disgust for the fae. He wants her to suffer. Wants to shame and embarrass them.

He wants me to hurt her in order to hurt them.

"Those creatures have paraded their treaty over our heads for long enough," he says. But that's all he'll ever say. The real reasons behind his anger are locked up tight, well beyond my reach. Even his—our—brethren don't prod it. They let him fester in silence. They think he's too inept to act.

Cassius knows they underestimate him.

He is counting on it.

"Beautiful things are always overlooked," he says softly. "We understand this, my dear Caspian. More than you realize. Those who see beauty in the world are discounted. Ignored. Dreamers, they call us. Starving artists?—"

"You want me to ruin the ceremony," I blurt out. Pretty words sound intriguing when uttered by the fae bird. Ugly when spoken by him. Wrong. I'll draw his attention away to anything else. "Why wait that long?"

The reasons why don't matter to me. I want to rip. Bleed. Kill. Without Cassiopeia, what else is there to do?

If I linger in this den of sheep, one day I will become like them. Their thoughts are a mindless hum: we are one, one… My brain will turn to mush like theirs.

And he will rue the day. He is my tormentor but I am his only source of amusement. I know it.

"So deviant you are, little Caspian. But yes, you are my agent of chaos. My knight," he purrs. "The fae have lorded over us all for long enough."

He will never make a move against them. He can't.

I can. I will.

But…

"I want to play with her," I say. Dumb, silly words, but they're the only ones that feel like me. Not pretty and fanciful like him. I'd speak in grunts if I could. I wonder if that little fae would shudder then.

"You can't harm her before then," he warns. "That is an order, Caspian."

Too late. I picture her blood. Hell, I can still smell it. Sweet and fragrant despite her abominable form. Far better than the itchy rose she sniffed with a longing she thought I didn't notice. My mouth waters. Tongue dampens. Damn, I want to taste her.

"Be careful," Cassius warns, his tone stern for once. My little rebellions don't faze him but this does: risking his precious plan. I'm only a small cog in it, that I know. Cassius would never ever trust the entirety of his plans to me.

In fact, I'm probably a backup. A last resort. My dear master, he has something else in mind.

"Such little faith you have in your own skills, my brother," Cassius scolds, still serious. His voice sounds different. Less flowery. More grated, betraying his real age. This man's life has spawned countless civilizations. He doesn't waste his time on trivial nonsense.

Unless it happens within the walls of his domain.

"But that one stipulation cannot be undone. You've marked her pretty skin once. That should be enough."

It isn't. I want to bite her. Make her bleed more. Scream. I want to see fear in the little fae's eyes. More forgotten words might spill into my mind when I do. Such as new, pretty words for the color red.

"You will," he promises.

I flinch at that. Cassius never promises me anything, but he means this.

"You will have your bloodshed soon enough," he adds. "That I can promise you, my dear boy."

Yes. I nod. Oh, yes, I want it. But…

I remember something else. Fragments of a memory he doesn't want me to fully grasp. Someone. Female, her voice a mocking imitation of his…

"Cassiopeia," I grate out her name and it's like yanking away a blindfold. I see her. Remember. My sister in bondage. She was punished, and he promised... "I do your bidding. You free her."

Was it our agreement in the first place? I can't remember. He dangles the true memory just beyond my reach, chuckling the harder I try to grasp at it.

"Our dear sister, Cassiopeia, who attempted to betray us all," he says, his voice low with disapproval. "Do my bidding in this matter, save your bloodshed until the ceremony and I will consider..."

No. Liar!

"You promised."

"I will reconsider her punishment," he says, smiling. Gloating. He holds all the cards, and we both know it. The whole damn collective knows it, simmering with the echo of his smug glee. He threatens to let them back in. To shatter this moment.

As pathetic as it is, I lower my head in deference. I don't want this quiet to end just yet. It's almost like my thoughts are mine alone. I only have to contend with his. Even so, I can grasp at thoughts just beyond my reach. Almost touch them. Ebony. Ivory. Art. Museum. Canvas…

"Are we agreed?" Cassius wonders, greedy to be my sole focus, always.

"As you wish, brother Cassius. I won't hurt her."

Yet. I won't leave marks. I'll make her bleed in ways that won't draw her pretty blood. Don't know how, but I will. I'll find a new word at the sight of her pain.

Sadist, Cassius interjects, supplying me with one I already know well.

"It is in your nature," he says out loud, sounding sad. Sounding pleased. "Always has been, before I rescued you from mortal obscurity. A fact that you have never forgiven me for it seems."

Forgiven. But what is there to forgive? He made me a perfect, immortal creature.

No. He corrupted me. Ruined. He?—

"I saved you. One day, my dear boy, you will see that. I am your lover. Your only. Your savior. But for now, you may have your fun."

His permission is a gift. I'll take it anyway. Yes. I picture her, the fae. Those black eyes, pale skin. Ebony and ivory. I'll rip her to pieces before this is all done. I'll smear her blood all over the Citadel stone. I'll relish it all.

And, for once, he won't stop me.

"Just remember," he says. "Keep her in one piece until the ceremony. But have your fun."

He doesn't approve. The fae unnerves him. Disgusts him. She isn't a pretty, sweet thing ripe for the plucking like my "siblings" are. She is ugly and different and distasteful.

But what really bothers him is that I want her.

Never, not once, have I ever wanted him.