Page 71 of Lux

Yet, a monster is all I am.

All I will be.

The alternative would be to give in to Cassius's wishes for me. To stop resisting. Stop fighting. Be owned. Could I let her own me?

No.

Never.

I won’t.

Even so, I can feel her grasping fingers. I can feel her marking me, nonetheless. I can’t shake her grip as easily as I could Cassius.

I don’t hate her in the same way.

Damn her.

Damn.

I want to shout at her. Seethe. Make her cower and feel shame. Something that proves she hasn't won. I am not a pet on her leash, she is mine.

I think about pinning her there, against the brick wall. Reminding her who and what I am.

I am Caspian, toy of Cassius. Monster. Murderer. Sadist.

I think about it.

I linger among boxes and crates instead. I move them all upstairs and out of the way. I stomp. Storm. I rage in silence.

I try to ignore her.

She hasn’t come for me. The itch for me isn’t as volatile as my itch for her. I crave to see her face. To see if I hurt her with my actions. If I did…

I should smile.

Laugh.

No.A part of me wants to stroke her hair instead.

So I stomp. Lift. Toss. Lift. Toss. Throw. A crate launches from my grip and slams into the wall, shattering to pieces. Objects fall out. More worthless crap and junk that Altaris has kept, hidden away to surround his empty mind with. I turn, aiming to leave them there.

A glimmer catches my eye. It is blue and round with a faint, weak glow. It is warm when I touch it. A slight vibration resonates from it into my palm. As though it is alive. Pulsating.

Then I remember: I’ve seen one before. Many, in fact, embedded in the wall of the underground tunnel.

A fae stone, Niamh called them. Magic to her. Fae magic. She would be shocked to see one here. Those black eyes might fall out of her skull. She would be happy, oh so happy. She would be pleased with me.

But I don’t want nor need her pleasure. I need a reminder of what I am. What I stand to lose if I fail in my task and forget my true nature. Cassius will come crawling to me. He will seek to devour me.

I cannot become lost in a fae’s black, doe eyes. I must remember who and what I am.

Caspian. A monster: nothing more, nothing less.

Monsters do not gripe and wallow. They do not crave happy, hopeful fae eyes.

I take the fae stone in my grasp and slip it into my pocket.

I will not tell her that I found it ever.

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