Page 27 of Nocte

CHAPTER8

Caspian

Idisobeyed. Therefore, I should be punished.

Oh, how the bastard makes me pay.

A simple game of torture is his favorite.

I sit in a room with nothing in it. No furniture. No window. No him. No light, either.

Should be paradise in theory. I’d kill for a world without him.

But then he plays, oh, how he plays. He twists my thoughts to suit his needs and makes me see what he wants me to be. In my own damn skull, he makes me play pretend. As a benevolent master with me as his slave.

I can’t resist—not when the fantasy is his creation. The only thing I can do is watch as this simpering, twisted wretch wears my face and submits to him. Moans for him. Begs for him.

I’d rip off my skin if I could. Gouge out my eyes. I’d tear my throat to pieces if only to give him the satisfaction of watching me choke on a pool of blood at his feet.

But he won’t let me. In this dance, he holds all the cards, a cruel puppet master. I can only sit and watch. And watch. And seethe.

His fantasy begins the same way they always do. I thank him for rescuing me from the bonds of mortal life. Oh, how I simper and carry on. What a fucking fool this fake Caspian makes of himself.

Usually, he shows me what he wants from me in these deranged mental theaters. Disgusting shit. Twisted shit. I have to beat it out of my mind later—literally. I ram my face against a wall until my skull splits, and the pain rips me in half. As I heal, the others will whine and whimper. They’ve grown weak in their immortality, sheltered like the well-fed lambs they are. It’s Cassius who enjoys my agony. He enjoys it too damn much.

The only way to forget is through the pain. To numb the part of my brain only he can touch and exploit for his own uses. He never lets the others see these sick fantasies of me. Only he and I can play this game.

And now her. He takes my fantasy of Niamh and corrupts it. It’shimthat I watch sling her against that wall and rip at her delicate robes. He is the only one in those dark, haunting eyes. He is the one who breaks her. Who makes her scream.Hepaints that ugly face with tears.

No. No. No.

It should be me. Me!

During his torture, I normally feel hatred, not this. This is rage. Anger.No.She’s mine.Mine!

Suddenly, his fantasy breaks. The fake Caspian lunges, eyes blazing, a knife conjured from nowhere. Maybe I created it. Maybe it’s a memory…

“Enough.”

He’s here now, in this room, and I’m back in my own skin. Fists clenched, teeth bared.

Cassius isn’t smiling either. “You go too far, boy,” he snarls, and his face reveals itself for what it is: a mask of skin stretched taut over a skeleton that should have long since faded to dust. “Your disobedience is a novelty to me.”

At least he admits it. To hear him admit it…doesn’t fill me with the glee it should. It sounds like a warning.

“But outright defiance? I will not allow it.” His voice raises and echoes throughout the house. Our siblings cringe and shudder. He isn’t like this: angry and unseemly. All because of some stupid little fae.

A fae who ismine.

“She isn’t yours,” he corrects, flicking through my thoughts as if they were a swarm of flies. He sees me watching her, well before I ever approached. Then he sees me touch her. Kiss. Crave.

He knows what I really want: to remember. To take her. To feel that body envelope mine in a way I’ve never craved anyone. Never him.

No!He hisses. Anger makes him ugly and strips away the beautiful veneer. Any other time, I would revel in this. I did it, finally. I pissed him off well and truly.

But I’m not gloating. His rage carries a risk this time. He can batter me. Hurt me. Torture. But I don’t want him to?—

“It was a mistake to trust you with such a vital task,” he says, and my vision turns red. “I’ll ask one of your brothers instead. Then sweep your memories clean.”

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