Page 3 of Lux

Even now, others pound on the door of our figurative minds, howling to be let in.

Don’t want to. I bury my mouth against her shoulder to shut them out. Ignore. Ignore.

“Caspian.” Her hand cradles my cheek, her tone worried. “Someone’s… Someone’s here.”

A real-life intruder, then. They knock on the door of this hovel, hesitant and unsure. Not the male fae. He would barge in and claim her.

So, who?

“He betrayed us,” she says, her voice thready, eyes blazing. “Altaris?—”

“He didn’t,” I snap. Don’t know how I know that. Then I smell it. Hear it. An unfamiliar yet familiar smell. Frantic, unsteady breaths coming from behind a metal door.

Not human. Something else. Not a threat, either. Their mousy scent reeks of unease and fear. Altaris sent them, but he scared them well.

I look down at my fae as she reaches for her dress.

“No.” I want her naked. I want her to wait for me. I’m not done being inside that body. I’m not done with her peace. “Stay here.”

Before she can reply, I have my clothing on. I cross the wide space—this looming building Altaris sent us to. It’s old and abandoned. The air reeks of mildew and musk, but there is plumbing. Electricity. Appliances. Those things mortals crave and need.

Things she needs. There is also food for her in a metal case in the corner. Heat to warm her trickling in through looming vents overhead.

And there is a heavy metal door to provide her protection. I wrench it open. Stare down the figure on the other side.

A man, with dark hair and a scar across his right cheek. His brown eyes are watery and bloodshot. His breath smells of alcohol, but he isn't drunk. For now.

As soon as he can slither away to some corner, he will be.

“Hey,” he says, his frown wary. “The name’s Daven. Uh, Daven Wick. I’m ah, Colleen’s dad.”

The name of the mortal with the strange healing magic. This man is her sire. Don’t care. I can sense my fae, moving despite my objections. Tugging on her dress.

No.I begin to turn toward her. A tendril of her thoughts reaches out to me then like a trembling finger. So damn hesitant. Gentle. I feel her penetrate my skull and make herself at home. In response, I decide that killing this man would solve nothing.

She’s curious of him. Because of Colleen; the smiling blonde with the leather case. She likes her. Aims to appease her.

“Um, Altaris sent me over to check out the…” The man trails off as his eyes widen. “Holy shit.” His hand flutters across his face as though the motion might adjust his vision. It’s a ghost he sees behind me. Some horrific figure from a long, long memory. In a trembling voice, he says the name of this horrifying specter, “Aurelia.”

Not a name. One of the houses of fae. Her house.

Yet he does not mean to refer to her as one of many. No. There is a specific woman in mind. A specific creature whom he sees in her black eyes.

He blinks. Shakes his head to clear it. Places his face in the palm of his hand. Through gaps in his fingers, he eyes her. He stares at her for so long she’s forced to clear her throat, inching toward me.

“I… I’m not,” she says gently, her tone pained. The same pain in her voice that I recall from those days sitting empty in that room.

“Bloody hell. I’m sorry,” the man says, letting his hand fall. “I’m Daven Wick at your service.” He extends his hand for her to take.

I step in front of her before she can.

There is something wrong about this mundane. A stench beneath the booze. Beneath the shock and alarm at the sight of Niamh. A darkness shrouds him, barely visible in his gaze, but there none the less.

Like a vamryre trapped in the hive mind of our masters, he too belongs to another creature. Several perhaps. They yank his leash and keep him chained, only to be used for their ends. Not Altaris. The vamryre is too lazy to exert his will on a mortal.

Others. Powerful ones.

Through him, they seek to achieve an aim. What it is? I don’t know, but it has to do with her. My fae. They want her for themselves.

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