Page 53 of Lux

She scoffs.

The man, Jack, nods with a sigh. “Marin, please.”

In a huff, she storms off and the second she’s gone Altaris drops the act. “Now, then. We can talk plainly.” His true age seeps into his words, making everything around him feel heavier. He is ageless. Not to be trifled with. “I will give you three reasons why you will let my new darlings go unaccosted.”

Jack crosses his arms, a black eyebrow raised. “They better be good bloody reasons?—”

“Oh, they are.” Altaris smiles, baring his fangs for all to see. “Yelim, Yarrow, Max?—”

“Fucking…” Jack’s voice breaks. His will shatters. Wide-eyed and stoic, Altaris has his full attention. “You sick son of a bitch. How did you even?—”

“Clear the scene, darling,” Altaris says, his charming self once again. “I suggest you do so now. Caspian, why don’t you run along as well. Take the fae with you.”

Run.

I cradle Niamh in my arms and leave the room—no, a filthy tent. Filth and rancid creatures abound in this place. Too many noises, sounds and sights itch at my senses. Scratch at my psyche. It is a destitute place for exploitation and sin.

Yet she wound up here, because of me.

“I’m sorry,” I tell her, my mouth near her ear, voice low and soothing. “I am so sorry.”

She doesn't say anything. There is nothing on her mind but blank space. As I take her through the enchanted alleyway and back into the city proper, she flinches. Just once, nothing more.

So I run. I move blindly in the direction of Altaris’s domain and I barely notice the creature relentlessly keeping pace. It isn't until we arrive at the decrepit warehouse that he comes from nowhere to open the heavy front door.

“Stay out,” I tell him.

Out. Out.

It's her domain, not mine. The place where she gaped at the windows unrestrainedly and danced away the cobwebs. Her place with its food rotting away in a refrigerator and persistent heat crawling through rusted vents.

I set her down in our corner, against the wall, at the far end of the room. Then I strip off the gaudy robe and stare at her in full.Underneath, she is shaking. Blood coats her delicate skin. There are bruises all over her body.

Despite this, her skin remains unbroken. I find a rag and wet it with lukewarm water. I clean her limbs meticulously and find her arms unblemished. Her perfect torso, devoid of wounds. Her throat. The scalp beneath her thick cape of hair. I nudge her around. Eye her back.

Rip the rag in two. Don’t mean to. It happens as I inspect a mass of black on her back that shouldn't be there.

It looks like ink, but it isn't. In shimmering black lines, two birds are etched into her flesh. When I try to wipe them away, the marks don’t budge.

Nevertheless, she flinches. It hurts her. I can feel her pain. Good. Good. She's still in there, that shocked brain. She just needs time to come out again. Coaxing.

As if I know how.

Hands like mine are made for killing and tearing. Ripping. Gentleness is unknown to them. They can't stroke soft, silky skin without breaking bones underneath. This voice is incapable of maintaining a soothing hum.

I try to talk to her. I’m growling at her.

“Niamh, wake up. Look at me!”

But she is looking. Staring into some infinite void right past me. It isn’t natural, I know as much. Something has her mind captured, dangling on a string. When I reach for her, she’s yanked further away.

Bringing her back will require drastic measures.

Searching, hunting, I scan the room. Near the door, I see a pile of things on a wooden table. The mortal’s things. Daven Wick. He brought her clothing. Food. A book.

One of Altaris's, dark and foreboding, reeking of unseemly truths and forbidden histories. This book frightened her. Alarmed.

I try reading from it. “...hybrid creatures are…”

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