Page 78 of Lux

Altaris may want his toy back. He may regret my giving away such a valuable tool to one he despises. Don’t care. As I see the look on her face, once she has that stone in her hands, I don’t give a damn about anything the vamryre could do to me.

Hope is a painful thing when it dwells into those black eyes. She seems to fear it, that volatile emotion. It makes her feel greedy and reckless, all those naughty things the fae would tell her not to indulge in.

But I like her this way. I like seeing her gaze glow with interest, and I love hearing bits of knowledge churn through her fathomless mind. She takes the stone and tucks it gingerly into her pocket, along with that drawing I’d forgotten about. The one of her. She treats both with the same reverent curiosity.

And suddenly, I am the one struck dumb with awe.

“You will find her,” I say. “The Aurelia. I will help you.”

She nods, and a shy smile shapes those lips. It’s too tempting up here in this dark, quiet space. I can’t resist. I grab her wrist, pull her into me and press that mouth to mine.

A kiss is a fleeting thing. A stupid, customary act the mortals liked to be placated with. A rare glimpse of intimacy that Cassius craved. He loved to be kissed by me.

With her, there is no gloating obsession. There is savoring and vital contact. There is no choice but to kiss her harder in return. To grip her tighter as she relents to the embrace.

I kiss her and I forget myself. Sometimes, it’s a fucking gift to forget. I could drown in her if I wanted to. Never to resurface.

But unlike me, she needs to breathe. I pull back, let her suck in air. She sways on her feet, still dangerously close to the roof’s edge.

I grab her hand and pull her back inside.

The noise has died down somewhat—but it seems the mundane creature hasn’t. She gasps for air, writhing on a pile of blankets in the corner. The blonde woman, Colleen, crouches over her, holding her hand. Altaris stands near the opposite corner. He is surrounded by two newcomers who must have arrived in our absence.

One of them I recognize as Daven Wick. The other is a woman. Her scent immediately identifies her. Awful. Musk.Lunaria.

“Is this the whelp that caused the bite?” I wonder aloud.

Altaris winces.

The woman scoffs, her eyes narrowed. “Watch your fucking mouth, vamp. In that pretty realm of yours, your kind do as theyplease. Here, your bigotry isn’t tolerated. You so much as think about calling me whelp or dog or whatever fucking terms you pricks use, and I’ll give you a bite of my own?—”

“Now, now, Sylvie, dear,” Altaris interjects—but verbally and physically. Standing between us, he raises both hands in a placating gesture. “There is no need for that. You two are on the same side. In fact, I insist you two work together.”

“Cut the shit, Altaris,” the whelp snaps. With her head cocked, she steps toward him. Her display might have been intimidating if she weren't half his size. It is odd to see a lunarian with such a petite structure.

Strong and robust bodies make it easy for them to morph into their beast forms. In this case, it appears that the only form she could master is that of a bird. Or a rat.

Her dark hair is streaked with gold, her eyes a flashing brown.

Lunaria were confined to the main city and rural outposts in the other realm. Cassius didn't let me mingle with them too much. Their blood was far too gamey for his tastes, and their manners were lacking. In every way, he preferred mortals. The only complementary trait he would ever extend to a wolf whelp might be admiration for their loyalty.

They were known to be willing to die for their clan leaders. To take their own lives if they had to.

Yet, this one stands alone without the safety of a pack behind her. She has no other litter mates mingled with her scent. She is solitary.

An easy mark.

“Now, Caspian, play nice,” Altaris warns in his authoritative tone. “We need to find that ledger. The little fae-spawn does not have it. We must move quickly, my dears. Especially if you are sure about who made that bite—” He looks at the whelp, Sylvie.

She nods. “That’s Black Fang poison,” she admits. “I’d know it anywhere, but it’s stronger than what we used. More potent—” She sniffs and shudders. “I can smell it from over here.”

“Yes, it seems to have been augmented with some kind of enhancing property,” Daven Wick remarks, stroking his chin. “I can’t think of what could have been added to make it lethal. An extract of some kind. A venom.”

“Or blood,” Altaris remarks, his eyes on my fae. “Fae blood mixed with something else. Something unnatural.”

“Killing wasn’t our style,” Sylvie says, but her expression is strained, her gaze distant. “At least not then.”

“In any case, we need that ledger?—”

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