Page 29 of Nocte

Regardless, I step forward, hands clenched, head bowed. My hackles raise with every step. I hate this. I hate the way this monster’s eyes widen in shock and desire as I draw near. When he reaches for me, trailing a finger along my jaw, his hand shakes and I have to choke down my revulsion. He wants this more than he wants her gone. A chance to touch me if I can touch her? A fair trade.

A sick trade.

A bitter bargain I will make, for I need to see her again, sweet little Niamh.

As Cassius traces my mouth with the pad of his thumb, her fate is sealed. For this, I will make her pay. As he crushes his lips to mine, I count the ways I’ll make the fae return the favor.

She will suffer as I suffer.

It’s just that she’s so damn naive...

She might enjoy her punishment.

CHAPTER9

Niamh

Here in the archives, apart from any race, I have learned to create my own creed by which to live by. A purpose. That of a fae is to fly on the rays of the sun, majestic and wise. The lunaria live by the light of the moon, powerful and bold. Aloof and mysterious, the vamryre dwell in shadow, comforted by their distorted truth.

And I…

I thrive in disappointment. Resilience. Honesty. I have learned not to expect anything from anyone. It was a lesson I thought I’d ingrained within myself.

Apparently not. The vamryre and his offer was a test, one I failed miserably. I dared to hope.

Never again will I fall for such a distraction. I will tend to my studies and my chores with vigor. I will clean and order the archives. I will ignore that hidden sketchbook. I won’t think of him.

I won’t.

It’s been two nights, going on a third. How pleased he must be with himself. He dashed my hopes, but to what end? My mind can’t conjure up a reason, and that is what unsettles me. I don’t know why he came to me in the first place. Why he taunted and touched. Kissed. Toyed.

There should be a reason. One that explains his behavior—all vamryre have a motive, driven by the will of their master. He has to have one.

In the end, what matters is not his motives. I could have used him in my own greedy way. I could have glimpsed, maybe…

No.I shake my head and refocus. Rather than wait on the roof, I linger in my room until the complex falls silent. I’ve never noticed how enclosed this space is—a narrow box that spans the length of the bell tower. I never realized how cold it is—the wind whistles through the thin windows and their fragile shutters. My only source of light is a candle, not the fae magic that illuminates the rest of the Citadel proper. The flame on the wick dances as I cradle it to my chest and tiptoe down into the archives. Upon finding it empty, I creep back, back to the furthest, most darkened corner.

No one comes this far in. These shelves hold the books of least interest to fae kind. Some of these books have not been touched for hundreds of years.

I crouch down behind the most neglected shelf and…

I don’t cry. It isn’t allowed. I just breathe. In and out. Out and in. Then I bite my lip and dig the nails of one hand into the flesh of another. The pain is sharp and sweet, but it doesn’t penetrate. I have to dig deeper. Scrape. My nails, however, are a pale imitation of the Lord Master’s blade.

Still, as I scratch, my mind grows numb. Until, clarity. I can think. The thoughts aren’t quiet like they should be. They’re bitter and lingering, fixating on the vamryre no matter how hard I try not to. It’s wrong to hate. Taboo. Forbidden.

But if I could…

I’d despise him.

“Little fae. Is this where you hide at night?”

I blink. Stiffen. Freeze. He can’t be here—I conjured this hallucination from thoughts alone. It’s why negative emotions are forbidden. They seep into our psyche and stain. Corrupt.

The vamryre standing here isn’t real. He does, however, have a scent. This hallucination can also move, advancing toward me, pale enough to reflect what little lamplight there is. Despite his kind’s aversion to daylight, down here he is the sun. He is blinding.

However, something isn’t right. His steps are different, lacking the predatory ease. They’re stilted. Stiff. As if he’s fighting through lead with every inch he advances. Like it hurts him just to come near me.

Those eyes blaze, burning bright. They peer into me and turn any hesitation I had to dust. My body has already become accustomed to our transactions. The questions I thought I’d put behind me surge back to the forefront of my mind. I can’t resist. My lips part, and they tumble out one after the other. “I waited. Where were you? What do you know? Tell me about?—”

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