45. Caspian

Dirty fae. Stupid fae. My fae.

I have her.

I hold her tight, and I have her. She is mine. Mine.

But I am hers—a bargain I didn't ask for. Didn't want.

Need to have.

I am hers, and her possession is stranger than mortals and their so-called art. Stranger than any prize or reward Cassius could wave before me.

Her heart is stranger, still. Even bloodied and gaping and pumping noisily, I can see it. Hold it. But even if I reach into her chest and crush it in a fist, I won't have it. It won't be mine, not truly.

Only she can give it to me. In those frantic little whispers of my name. In the way she grabs me tight. Begs me. Pleads.

To save her again, I will have to break the rules.

Bend the rules.

Ignore the rules.

Because here, in this mortal realm with her, no other rules matter.

So I rip my wrist open with the tip of a nail, press it to her mouth, and make her drink.

I command her. Beg her. Insist she does it.

We'll sin together, her and me.

We will sin together, and no one will tell us right from wrong.

No one will rule over us again.

So, I press my blood between her lips, and I command her, "Drink!"

She does. Slowly and weakly, lapping at my wounded skin. She cringes in disgust. Then gasps. Takes another delicate sip. So fucking delicate she is. Making sure not to hurt. Making sure not to bite and tear.

She feeds from me, and I am the one who is hungry. She presses her lips to me, and I am the one who craves more. More.

I would let her feed from me for an eternity if she wanted to.

"Drink," I tell her, and she does.

And she heals.

Color returns to her cheeks. The wound on her chest ceases to bleed. The one on her wrist remains, but that's because she's taken only a few drops. She needs more. Don't know how I know that.

I can feel it, the resistance in her to clamp down over rent flesh and truly feed.

"Drink," I tell her, sinking my hand through her hair and seizing a handful of it in a fist. I press on her skull. Will her to take.

But she is stubborn as hell, my fae. She writhes until I let her go. Those black eyes fixate on mine, her lips smeared a vibrant, ruby red.

An oddity, this moment is. A momentous, strange moment, though I'm not sure why. It takes my brain seconds to process it. Then I realize: this is the first time in decades I have seen my own blood. Bright. Wet. Red.

So many years since I've seen it outside this hollow shell.

How many exactly? Too many to count. Too many years to stomach spent in Cassius' domain.

But I am free…

Alone in my skull, I can think and only hear myself thinking back. Me…

And her. She dwells in this space with me, unobtrusive. A quiet, pensive thing. Her thoughts are whisper-soft and thread together like brightly colored ribbons. Just out of my reach, but distinctive from my own.

She is not like Cassius. She shies away in her own corner of this shared, false collective. Even in her own mind, she's used to shirking and hiding.

Until now. Our eyes meet, and I can sense her intentions clearly. Guilt and regret. She fed from me. Took from me. It is only fair that she gives me something in return.

"Stupid," I tell her out loud, pressing my palm to her cheek. "Stupid. You owe me nothing."

Because all of her is already mine. I'll take every last piece. She will never wander alone again. Whether or not she wants to. I will keep her.

Or will I? Cassius was one to take and keep his captive toys on invisible chains. I am not him. Never will be.

But I will keep her.

I just can't make her stay. She is right; this must be an exchange. A melding of bodies and minds.

"We share everything," she murmurs against my fingertips. Without meaning, too, my thumb seeks out the corner of her mouth, feeling my blood drying there. The scarlet hue seems at home on this mouth. It belongs here. On her. In her. In me.

An exchange is what she craves. That way…

We don't own each other. I am not Cassius, and she is not the monster Altaris claimed she is. Fine.

I relent. I press my forehead to hers and let her have her wish. She wants to exchange. My blood for hers. I'll let her. I'll bite her. Drain her.

I won't stop. Won't stop.

"You will," she tells me, her eyes on my throat. She doesn't want to admit it: this festering itch that begins to take root in her, wherever my blood flows. Down her throat into her belly. A hunger begins to gnaw there. Take root there.

And it shouldn't. She is fae. Not a creature that craves blood. Not a vamryre…

Because this is a hunger I know well. But only a shadow of it. I knew hunger only under Cassius, and he kept us sated and plied on mental lies. If I feed from her now…

I don't know if I can stop myself.

"You will," she murmurs, reaching for me, already craving more. Her tongue flits across her lips, tracing the remnants of me. She still needs to heal. Her wrist is severed, bleeding away. She'll bleed out if we aren't careful. If I don't help her.

Give to her. Take from her.

"Here." She reaches up with her unblemished hand and swipes a lock of dark hair from her throat. This throat I've longed to sink into. Her blood I've craved for so damn long…

No. I pull back. Copy her by going for my own throat and using my own nail to rip it open. Her delicate fae teeth aren't strong enough to bite through flesh. But I have no trouble when I lean in and press my fangs to her tender neck.

Fuck, she smells so damn good. Hell, she feels so damn good, leaning into me, her hands reaching around my shoulders to hold me close. Her mouth finds my bleeding wound. Her tongue tentatively licks.

She hesitates. I can hear her thoughts, spoken in our shared mental space rather than out loud. Please…

So, I please her. I bite. I sink my fangs deep.

I taste her blood.

And the entire world unravels. The old rules and roles we played by cease to matter. A new world unfurls between us here and now. A new realm.

Our realm.

One where no one can take us from.

Separate us, ever.

A world of violence and sin and hate and all of those things we both learned to feel in the shadow of our masters.

I feed from her, and I live again.

In her, I become something different from a man or a mere vamryre. Something terrible and new.

A monster with two minds.

Two hearts.

Two souls.

Yet she won't be mine alone for long. I can sense them in the air in ways she cannot: smell them, hear them riding on the wind.

Vamryre.

And fae—just one. That one. Her cries of pain woke me up but drew him to her as well.

Right from his supposed grave.