Page 74 of Lux

I try to ignore her, but others are watching. Their eyes are drawn to her as if she is a wayward doe in a den of predators, bleeding. Fresh. An easy kill.

I am angry with her, unwilling to be owned.

But…

I am the only one who ownsher. Stopping short, I let her catch up. The Pol-spawn continues, too intent on his tracking to notice that we do not follow. Still, when she nears I forget everything. Altaris’s request. My purpose. My sole, fucking reason for being.

I look at her, and nothing else makes sense in the face of her pain. I’ve hurt her—I’m hurting her still. Good, a part of me sings, gleeful. Let her hate me. Let her remember. I am a monster. A monster. A…

I reach out my hand. Her eyes find it, but she fidgets with the skirt of her orange dress rather than take it. That dress makes her seem like a flame. A burst of starlight in the dark. These seedy mundane see her and they can’t take their eyes away from this being. This unnatural creature in their midst.

It’s the pain in her eyes. Pain I put there.

It makes her far more enticing to those with evil in their hearts.

“Come,” I tell her, extending my hand again.

Nodding, she stares past me, still moving toward the Pol-spawn. I watch her go, seething. Restless.

I should be angry with her, but she's angry with me. My eyes roam along that slender frame, tracing every inch. I could break her so easily. Chase her down. Rip her limb from limb. Dangle her disembodied hand in mine if she will not offer it willingly.

Within seconds, I gain on her. One of those pale hands catches my eye.

I don’t move. Something won’t let me, and I glower, teeth clenched, a growl caught in my throat.

She is angry with me.

Hurt and angry.

Were she Cassius I would savor the emotion with glee. Yes. Hate me. Wretched, miserable Cassius.

“I am sorry,” I tell her instead. “I do not want to change who I am. You are changing me.”

A chill shoots through her. She hugs herself, still walking. Limping. Wading through quicksand as if every step hurts.

I don’t understand.

Then I remembered what Altaris taunts her with. The same words they hissed at her in the other realm. Evil. Corrupting everything she touches. Unworthy.

The words to fix this don't come to me. I am at a loss. Violence is my specialty, not this.

So, I watch her and follow. I keep my head low and lose sight of everything else. The winding alleyways. The sellers hawking illegal goods.

The Pol-spawn lurking nearby.

I watch her, my wayward little fae. I imagine leaving her again. Letting her get picked off by another dark, demented thing.

I wince. The thought hurts. Stings. Irritates.

I try again. “Niamh?—”

“That’s her.” Her gaze wanders across the haphazard arrangement of stalls and mundane items. An unknown pale woman emerges from the shadows, wearing a green jacket with its hood drawn low. She is not vamryre, and it isn't the light she shields herself from.

Niamh surges toward her, nimble and quick. It takes effort to keep up with her, weaving around the bodies she easily slips past. Effort to draw level with her. Effort still to keep from grasping the hand she reaches out. “Minchae!”

The woman looks up with different-colored eyes, one green and one blue. She sees Niamh. Her face pales even more. She tries to run.

From the shadows, the Pol-spawn descends, capturing her arm in a firm grip.

---