Page 73 of Lux

I don’t belong here.

And there is nothing, or no one—not even a neglected, dusty space or a conflicted vamryre—that I can call my own.

CHAPTER 25

Caspian

Anger and rage. I dwell among those emotions and embody them the most. Not softness. Not fleeting niceness, and soft, lingering glances. Not savoring kisses and gentle caresses.

I require none of those things.

I can ignore them.

Ignore her.

Focus on what I do best: enjoy the hunt.

The Pol-spawn, silent and strange, suits one purpose best of all. He, too, enjoys the hunt. He is skilled at it, tracking this mortal mundane with a skill honed over vast centuries. Eons. Pol was rumored to let her toys loose on the population in droves. Killing for them was a sport, not a game. The winner would be praised by her, the loser torn to pieces.

A cruel mistress, but she trained her spawn well. They do not question. Do not hesitate.

They would not see a fae and deign to play with her rather than kill her.

Even now, her thoughts distract me. As does her body. Her scent. My hand twitches at my side, itching to grab her. Hold her close and tight. My thoughts spin, aching to worm their way into hers. See her hurt and pain. Relish in it.

Or not.

Damn her.

There isn’t time for her. As we near a busy street blocks from Altaris’s dwelling, I notice the Pol-spawn stiffen. He raises his head, nostrils twitching as if scent alone is how he tracks this mundane.

But it isn’t.

The Poppy one has a skill for knowledge. The Ginni one is insane enough to pick apart bodies and know how. This one’s gift is for tracking. Pinning down a piece of prey with surgical precision.

He glances at me and nods toward a building up ahead. I follow his gaze. Hiss.

Not this place. That wretched motel. The Bleeding Hearts.

Fortunately, it's not where we're led by the Pol-spawn, but to a smaller building next to it. It looks like a laundromat—where mortals wash their filthy clothing in large, square machines.

Or so it appears to the uneducated mundane. There is a secret here. A flickering around the edges of the boring store facade. As the Pol-spawn approaches, the illusion blinks and gives way.

There is another establishment here, hidden behind the fake. Not a laundromat, but something else. A place for dark andseedy mundane. A place that Cassius would never let me wander unattended.

There are too many distractions in this place: once you slip inside the glass doors and into the real world beyond. Mortals must not be able to see it: a yawning space at the back of the room, behind a row of machines. Step behind them and enter a world of lights and brick and wood.

A city within a city.

A black market for mundane magic. Cassius knew of it. For a dark, hidden reason he knew of it and tucked the secret into my brain. Maybe I have been here once, but I don’t remember.

Or…

Perhaps it was before him?

I don’t remember.

In any case, I navigate these narrow paths, impatient and restless. As the Pol-spawn takes the lead, I stay within his shadow. My attention is drawn to the thin, fragile fae lurking behind us both.

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