Page 60 of Nocte

She swallows and tries to speak.

“Shut up.”

Defiant in her final moments, she inhales raggedly. Sucks in as much of a breath as she can. She speaks.

“Thank you.”

Thank me. For killing her. For leaving her. For letting another creature rip her apart into broken, bleeding pieces.

Thank me.

No.

“Fuck you,” I hiss at her. “Don’t die. Not yet. I won’t let you die just yet.”

My fingers twitch closer to her, coiling in the dark hair that spreads out over a yellow blanket beneath her. I twist those strands around my fingers. Tug until she winces, issuing a pained gasp. Then I stroke and smooth.

Hurting her more will make her die faster. My alternative is to stroke her. Caress her. My hands don’t know how—they are tools used for destruction. Bred for destruction.

Still, I stroke her anyway. Pet her. There, there. I’ll treat her like glass if it will make her stay.

“Don’t die,” I command. No, wait… I’m asking. I’ll ask. The niceties will keep her here. She won’t die then; she’s too polite. I’ll keep her here in any way I can.

I’ll kiss her sweetly, press my lips to her forehead and beg. “Stay with me. Don’t die yet. Can’t die yet. I need to be the one to kill you.”

“Ah…” It’s the only sound she can make.Ah. Ah.But a new tear forms at the corners of her eyes, both of them, one closed and one open.

Fuck her. Fuck.

“You haven’t been to your museum,” I say, a cruel taunt. But it’s a strong enough motivation to keep her here, I can see that. Her good eye widens. She parts her lips. Tries to speak. Can’t.

I press my lips to her skull and murmur another deadly secret just for her. A promise. A threat. I’ll keep her here anyway I can. It isn’t lying in this case. Not if I intend to keep the promise. Maybe. Never.

Maybe someday.

“I’ll take you there,” I tell her. “You’ll show me one of those stupid paintings. You can’t die yet, stupid fae. I want to see the look on your face…”

When she sees her art up close. When she realizes that her hopes and dreams are all an illusion. Nothing is worth anything. There are no hopes in the world worthy of being fulfilled. Everything is a lie.

That’s one thing Cassius taught me, the sick fucker.

There is no such thing as perfection. We are all tainted, twisted little lies. Broken dolls, performing for a master desperate to pretend that he matters. That we matter.

That all of this matters before the inevitable end.

But I’ll make her believe it too, I have to. I’ll feed her that silly, foolish fantasy to keep her here.

“Don’t die,” I snarl. “Don’t fucking die.”

And she doesn’t. As the seconds tick by, she holds on, my stupid, foolish fae. She holds onto her life with all her might. She’s dumb enough to believe me. To think I care about her wish enough to fulfill it.

She thinks I care about her.

Oh, what a fool. What a poor, stupid soul.

But I’ll make her believe it.

“You matter,” I lie. “Don’t die yet. Stay here. Stay with me.”