Page 16 of When Day Breaks

And last, IcraveRivian.

I don't know why. But my need to be filled by him, touched by him, crushed by him is so fucking visceral, it hurts more than my hunger for flesh and blood.

"It's assaulting, isn't it?" The voice again, this time sounding a little bit more familiar than before. I twist my body, chains swirling around me as I strain my neck into the darkness to find out where it's coming from. "The cravings and the aches for feeling. It's overpowering and soon, it will devour you."

"Don't be such a pussy," I say with an ounce of nonchalance in my tone. "Show yourself." I lean back into the wall, feigning boredom as I wait for the mystery behind the deep voice to step out in front of me.

A man steps out from the shadows, a black diamond mask covering part of his face. His outfit is vastly different from the first time I saw him, dressed in a black V-neck, black jeans with rips in the knees, and a black leather jacket.

Travois.

I blink my eyes a few times, still trying to adjust to the dark as I watch him take a few steps forward. He carefully and slowly lifts a hand—a gloved hand—to remove the mask.

"Hello, sister." A grin forms across his face and something foreboding stirs deep in my gut.

His face is nearly shrouded by the dark shadows that loom, but I try to look closely.

"It's finally time we properly meet." His voice is deep, embedded with an ominous tone.

He leans down on his haunches and that's when the little sliver of light produced by a small window shines generously across his face, his features now available for me to assess.

He's handsome, of course. The features he possesses are nearly identical to his twin, Troian. But on second glance, I can see something else. Or rather,someoneelse . . .our mother.

His right eye is a pure blue, deep and bright swirling with remnants of light and freedom. His left eye is a mystical sight; half of it blue resembles the ocean and the other half gray, mirroring my own. Except this eye seems to be clouded with sorrow and pain.

His lips are full like Troy's. His nose is slender like my mom's. His hair is black as midnight, just like my natural hair color would be if I didn't keep it hidden under bright strands of white.

Thoughts go back to the night I first met Rivian at the bookstore when he'd made a comment about my hair and something swirls in my veins. But the coveted memory doesn't hold long before I hear Travois' voice again.

"So little, yet so mighty," he states, looking straight at me.

"What do you want?" I ask calmly.

"I just wanted to finally meet my little sister. See what all the fuss was about." He stands up and takes a few steps back, still keeping his eyes on me and something cynical fills the room, like an air weighted with anger and toxic fumes. "I can see the infatuation, see the reason why he needed to have you around. After all, I did say you were perfect. I just didn't know you'd go this far." Travois' words layer around me in annoyance. "I'm impressed," he praises.

What the fuck is he talking about? I rear back my shoulders and try with all my might to push forward, hoping to break the chains, but they don't even budge. I huff and Travois lets out a slight chuckle.

“Are you here for any real reason or did you just want to gawk at the exhibit?” I let my tone spit like lava at him.

Before, I would have established interest in . . . I don’t know, getting to know him. Even when I didn't know he was my brother. Not that he was very nice when I first met him, but now, I just don’t care.

"I came to fill you in on a little secret, sis. A secret I know you’ll appreciate seeing as we’re cut from the same cloth.” He smirks before running his ungloved finger through a layer of dust against the floor and rubbing it between his fingers.

“You see, everyone has a darkness and a weakness. You might think that those two components are the same but they are not,” he starts. “Some revel in it, use it to their advantage to expose just how evil they can really be. That's the power they admire holding onto, being up front with needing to milk fear from those around them.

“Others will bury it deep beneath the cold and fragile exterior that they work so hard to keep hidden, as if it doesn't exist because fear of exposure chips at their reserve and threatens to engulf them. They don't know how to deal with their shadowedsecrets and they don’t want anyone to know that their darkness exists." Travois runs the dust sanding his fingers over the black diamond embellishments of his mask, slowly admiring the raised bumps while soiling them with the dirt he’s picked up from the floor, grinning ominously as he continues to speak whatever unavailing words he deems educational.

"On one hand, if you’re the kind of person who likes to embrace the darkness, no one can use it against you but then you risk making yourself out to be the very villain that you yourself are afraid of. On the other hand, if you decide to be the kind of person to hide it, then no one can use it to haunt you, but then you just look weak." He drags his eyes up to meet mine, undoubtedly seeing the confliction I can't seem to deny.

"You and I, we're stuck in the middle." His conclusion is harrowing, unraveling even. Not because of his insinuation that we are one in the same, but because I can understand what he means when he says that I am stuck in the middle.

I roll my eyes at him despite the truth I find in his words because what the fuck does this elusive creature know about me? And what possesses him to compare the likes of us? And who the fuck does he think he is trying to disassemble my character by exposing who he thinks I am?

"What about weakness?" I ask, entertaining his little charade. "You said they aren't one in the same."

"Ahh, yes. Two players, same game.” He stands as he deepens his explanation. “You see, weakness is the very thing that you yearn for. The one thing you crave more than anything in life. It could be something tangible or simply a whisper of hope. Either way, it's likely the one thing that can be used against you. In other words . . . your demise." His eyes look sinister as he stands in the dark, the glow of them so fierce it causes me to need to look anywhere other than where he stares at me. “Your darkness is wrath and your weakness is love, isn't it?”

I snap my head to face him, his knowledge of the very things that drive me falling out his mouth in some kind of dissemination surprises me. While he was spot on with a lot of his analysis, I didn’t expect him to call me out that way.

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