Page 42 of A Study of Blood and Ichor

I peered over at the demon, a sad and worried expression passing over his face.

“Vain,” Alastair almost whispered, calling him to come forward.

Vain’s presence slithered to the forefront of my mind to take over. He rolled his head across the pillow, peering up at Alastair through one half-lidded eye.

“What?” he grumbled, feeling the effects of the alcohol the same as I was. Unfortunately, his immortal powers weren’t quite enough to stave off the very mortal effects of my drunkenness.

“Sir—” Alastair started, his mouth hanging open slightly at the pause.

“There’s nothing that can be done, friend,” Vain said to him.

Alastair nodded, his six eyes blinked slowly. “I’ll bring some water,” he said over his shoulder as he swept out of the room.

Vain relaxed into the mattress and groaned. “You drink too much,” he drawled.

I didn’t respond.

“Besides, I thought you hated bourbon.”

When I remained quiet, he sighed and rubbed absently at his temples. “Tell me, was it your plan to punish me by downing four glasses? Or was it your sole intent to make you hate yourself in the morning?”

The sharpness of his words should have cut me, but I couldn’t feel them. I didn’t want to feel anything. I wanted to be swallowed up by the darkness, to be consumed completely by it until I was nothing at all. If it would be inevitable, then what was the point in fighting anymore? Why couldn’t I just let go?

“Talk to me,” Vain pleaded softly, staring up at the ceiling.

I sank deeper into my mind to try and shut him out—to shut everything out—but Vain ripped me forward instead.

I tore at the pillow with clawed fingers. “Fuck you!”

Don’t tempt me, he purred back.

“Let me back in, Vain. Take over. Please, I don’t want to…I can’t…” I bit down hard on my lip to distract me from the lump lodged in my throat.

You were sinking too deep where I couldn’t feel you. I need you to stay close to the surface.

The silence that hung between us was stifling, thick and heavy with all the words I couldn’t say. With Vain, I didn’t need to say them though. He already knew.

I know that you are tired, he said, and it took everything within me to choke back my sob. You think that I don’t feel how painful this is for you?

It was true. Especially since the witches had held us in their prison for weeks, with death looming over our heads every day, that had forced something inside me to shift, something that I hadn’t felt in a long time.

“I just don’t see the point in fighting it anymore, Vain.” I paused, allowing the words to sink in not only for him, but for me too.

Do you want to die, Rory?

He shouldn’t have needed to ask. He should already feel the answer—know it as well as I did. But I could tell he wanted me to say it out loud. As if admitting the words beyond just my thoughts would somehow register differently.

“Sometimes, yes,” I admitted. “There are times when it feels so inevitable and I convince myself it might not be so bad. But…”

It’s her, isn’t it?

“Yes.” I choked on the word. I turned my face into the pillow and the room spun, so I shut my eyes. “Ava, she’s—fuck she’s frustrating and intoxicating. And…I’ve never felt more alive when I’m around her. She makes me want to fight this.”

Vain was quiet, his presence calming. Leave it to a demon to force me to admit the truth of my feelings. I was at least self-aware enough to recognize that I’d been going through the motions for years now, strung along through life, content with being merely a passenger for Vain. And while he was a comforting and, more often, annoying co-pilot, he could only ease the emptiness inside me to a point.

It had been a long time since anyone had made me feel what Ava did. She’d sparked something in me that I couldn’t deny any longer, but I still wasn’t sure how to feel about it yet. Hell, I still didn’t know why she even cared about me at all.

You ask why she cares, and yet you never ask the same of me.

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