Page 17 of Lux

“Niamh!” I shout her name as I lash at the painted figure resembling her. I need her here. Need her to explain.

Explain why her image is here.

Why someone painted her.

Why she looks so damn happy amongst all that chaos and destruction.

Happier than she has ever been with me.

CHAPTER 10

Niamh

As I wake up, I find myself in a dank, dark, enclosed space. It isn’t the peaceful arousal I’ve come to expect since I entered the mortal realm: stirring awake in Caspian’s arms.

This place is colder than he could ever be. So cold my breath paints the air before me white. I’m shivering, my teeth chattering together. Pitch-black darkness cloaks everything else. All I can hear is the distant hum of what sounds like music. And…

Voices. Loud, raucous voices.

My head aches. I reach up to touch my forehead and my fingers brush a dried, crusty substance caked to the skin. A searing pain pulses above my left eye. It hurts to blink.

Where am I?

Tentatively, I reach out. Try to speak. “Caspian?”

Nothing.

Not even a mocking laughter in answer.

Because a possible reason for this predicament has already entered my mind. It’s always been there. A small, hidden fear that my reliance on him was a lie. On his end, devotion was a burden. He left me.

And this time a wayward truck wasn’t what found me.

Predators. Their auras betray them. A strange word, one I think I stole from Caspian’s mind. He liked to catalog people while working under the sway of his master. Easy prey. Not prey. Worthless. Predator.

Given that he was a vamryre, mortal predators were a game to him. He loved pretending to be weak, and then turning the tables. Going for their throats right when they thought they had the upper hand.

Cassius didn’t command him to enjoy those moments. He did, anyway. He enjoyed taking the power from those who abused it, even if he didn’t know it then.

In the absence of him, these thoughts seem to fester. The old ones. The things he left stuffed in mental boxes and never bothered to sort. The parts of him that Cassius severed from his soul and discarded as useless at various intervals.

Poor Caspian. I can see those shattered bits of him. Visualize them. Yet, if I try to seek out anything more—any actual thoughts—it’s like I hit a blank wall. He’s cut me out. Closed himself up.

Becausea part of me insists,he left you here to die, of course.

He left you to be gobbled up.

Eager to do so, three monsters lurk nearby. I can tell from the cadence of their footsteps and—eventually—the tone of voice.Among the trio, one has a deep, raspy baritone and a heavy, resonant step.

“You bet your ass, Cyrus,” he rumbles. “It’s our lucky day. An honest to God, fucking fae! We just stumbled across her while tracking the little Lunarian minx?—”

“Who you let prance away. To capture a fae, you say? I’ll be the judge of that,” a softer voice cuts in. Slick and oily like Altaris’s purr, but darker. Somehow gruffer. His voice inspires more unease than that of the first man. It’s like, with one whisper, he can penetrate skulls and corrupt minds. He reminds me, in a way, of the Lord Master. Some powerful, elder fae. “You dumb sons of bitches wouldn’t know a goddamn pixy from your own arsehole.”

“Take a look! She’s the real deal, Cyrus,” a third man pitches in. His voice is a mix of the two, yet somehow the least offensive. “Pretty as a fucking picture. The spitting image of the one in the ledger?—”

“She isn’t fae, and I’ll tell you why, you fucking idiots?—”

Suddenly, a bright light explodes into being, blinding me. I shift back, striking a firm surface that rattles in a chilling echo. Ice-cold bars kiss the back of my neck. I’m in a cage. It is tall, made of black metal that clangs with the slightest movement. A circular space surrounds it, with a wooden pillar reaching up to the ceiling. Except there isn’t a ceiling in the normal sense: just swaths of dark, scarlet fabric suspended by ropes and cord.

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