Page 20 of Lux

Then I bash, bash, bash it all out again.

It’s only amid the pain that I can think. Try to remember…

Something. Why the fuck can’t I remember?

I try again. Endure again. Bash and break and barrel this stupid brain into submission. I will recall it all, no matter the cost. Why those paintings were so goddamn familiar. Whyshewas in them. Why my fingers tingle and ache as though itching to perform some vital task? Something I forgot how to do. Remnants of it tease the edges of my broken mind.

Canvas and oil.

Oil and Pigment.

“Caspian—”

Canvas and pigment.

Pigment. Oil.

Bash.

“Caspian!” That voice itches in my mind, but it isn’t Cassius’s sly murmur, so I don’t need to let it in. Not that I’d want to lethimin. Damn him. Damn him.

But he knew. Those things I forgot and want to remember. Cassius knew them all. He would taunt me with them.

What a naughty little sadist of a mortal you were, my Caspian. I plucked you from obscurity. Saved you. You were always meant to be mine. You came to me, willingly?—

“If you want to track down your little, morbid, fae toy before she’s chopped to pieces and sold on the black market, I suggest you cut out this ruckus, Caspian. Listen to me!”

Listen. Fae. Toy. Mine.

I see her. Beautiful, fragile little Niamh, chopped to pieces. Sold.

I stop, even though I still want to bash. I think of her, and I stop. Then I blink away the blood and try to see. Focus.

I’m in a room. A room with chains dangling from the concrete walls and a harsh light above. A room that reeks of blood and bodily muck that isn’t mine. Piss. Shit. So many men and women alike have been herded in here and left to rot. Their stink has collected in the metal drains carved into the floor. It’s never been cleaned properly, just hosed down with water that smells like sulfur. A naughty room this is. Meant for containment.

Not of mortal or vamryre, or lunaria alike—but all.

All kinds of races have been stored here.

Butchered in here.

I want someone to try to butcher me. Oh, what fun we will have?—

“You need to focus, Caspian,” that stern voice cuts in. Nags. “I don’t much care for the little creature, but I shudder at the damage she can do while unleashed upon the population unsupervised, even for a moment. You need to help me find her. Damn, what was its name again? Eve? Neel?—”

“Niamh,” I say. Her name is a spell that snaps me back. Clarity returns with icy precision. My Niamh is out there alone. Beyond this butchering room.

Because I left her. I wandered off into that museum and saw those damned paintings.

Or is it a lie? This creature is keeping her from me. He aims to take her.

I turn on him, blinking more of his body into view. Tall, slender. Piercing green eyes and a sly grin. What did Niamh call him? Altaris, the one she hates.

“Where is she?” I demand, my hands in fists, fangs drawn. My skull is melding together again, and my vision is clearing by the second. Should he lie to me, I’ll have more than enough strength to kill him.

“I was hoping you could tell me,” he says without fear. “You’ve mated with her. Use your little mental connection thing and tell me. Or were my suspicions of her wrong? Perhaps, she’s merely a powerless abomination? It doesn't seem that her blood melted your body, at least.” He strokes his chin as if seriously questioning an answer.

“Can’t hear her,” I snap, not that he is worthy to know any inch of her thoughts. There is too much chaos in my head. Too many whispering murmurs. Despite my best efforts, I am unable to find her thread—the connection to her mind. That realm of perfect peace.

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