Page 49 of Lux

I force myself to meet his gaze. I won’t huddle and cower any longer.

I got to fly.

I can die happy.

Die even at his hands.

I got to fly.

In death, maybe I can fly again…

“...Just like that other bitch,” he says, chuckling. “Maybe you need to be taught a lesson too? A long-term lesson.” He moves for the buckle of his pants. I know the threat—what it entails.

Long-term lesson. Too.

Long-term.

Too.

Is that what he did to Night Aurelia if she was the fae he held captive? Gave her a long-term lesson? No. He gave that lesson to me. That torment to me.

The reason for everything--my existence and my pain--may lie with some bastard I never knew existed.

He is the reason.

And I want him dead.

I want him in bloody, bleeding pieces.

I want to rip out his throat with my bare hands.

I want to?—

“What the hell? Get back!” Cyrus is moving, inching back, back. Away from me. Two large, black creatures fly at him, with nipping beaks of unnatural sharpness. Their red eyes blaze.

We hear you, sister,they sing to me, whispering in my skull.

We will do as you ask.

We will rip and tear into bloody chunks.

Tear his throat out.

I watch them do so. I watch…

And I smile.

CHAPTER 19

Caspian

The Pol-spawn is quick and efficient. In response to the strange one's odd ramblings, he nods once. Then he turns on his heel and leads us through the winding, darkened streets. The street lamps in this part of the city are broken and flickering. No light reaches this deep into the shadows.

It is a night realm. A quiet corner where creatures, mortal and immortal alike, thrive in the dank darkness. This is a black market. Somehow, I know the term. A roving collection of alleys and shops that spring up after nightfall, meant only for mundane eyes.

They do not hoard their strange, faded magic like the fae do. They do not obscure and hide their weirdness like the lunaria, and they do not retreat from view like we vamryre.

They trade their magic and shove it into boxes and trinkets. They haggle and shout and fight over it. They ply their trade right in the open as boneys patrol between them. They think themselves civilized.

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