Page 74 of Nocte

What is he thinking? I wish I knew. Which is a dumb thought. Vamryres have a hive mind. A collective mind. The man before me is one of many. Perhaps... He has never acted on his own volition but with the permission of his master.

I think it. Then I look forward into that burning, icy gaze and I remember.

A price, he told me. Hissed at me. I was worth it. Then not. Worth it. Not.

I press my fingers to his lips unbidden as if I can make him tell me the truth. Am I worth this elusive price now? Is this all just a puppet show at my expense? Does he really even feel of his own accord?

Of course not. He can’t. There are rules that govern this world, and we all have no choice but to live by them. Die by them. Thrive by them.

As he remains silent, I lean forward and press my lips against his jawline. Oh no. I’m a pathetic begging thing, but I need to know. Have to.

“Is it you that wants me?” I ask him, my Caspian. I have to know. Have to hear it.

“No,” he says. “Of course I don’t.” He holds my chin in a stone grip and makes me stare at him. I couldn’t turn away if I tried. If I wanted to.

I don’t want to.

“Cassius wants you dead,” he tells me, voice harsh and mocking. “He wants you bleeding out over their ceremonial floor. From the start that was my goal. Kill you. Gut you.”

Nothing else.

I feel my heart sink in my chest, like a heavy weight. I can’t seem to breathe anymore. All of the work poor Colleen put into this worthless body is wasted. I’m dying all over again, my injuries numerous and invisible. Fatal.

“Don’t,” he snarls, scraping the pad of his thumb below my left eye. “Don’t. Don’t. Don’t cry.”

Cry. He makes it sound like more of a sin than the Lord Master ever did. To cry in the old realm was to believe, even for a moment, that I deserved more than I had. More than my lot.

I didn’t. Therefore... crying was greedy and shameful. Stupid, ungrateful girl.

With him, crying is to sin against him. Irritate him, my Caspian. Make him feel as though he isn’t enough. But he is enough.

I wantmore.

“Stop it,” he hisses, still swiping. “Shut up. Shut up! Fine—” He leans in and brings his mouth to my ear, teeth nipping dangerously close. “I wanted you, foolish fae. From the start, I wanted you. I took you. I have you. You are mine.”

He laughs.Hahaha.He won this game.

Nevertheless, I am glad. I need him to win me, have me. I’m his to take. His to have.

“Yes,” I whisper to him, closing my eyes to guard against his reaction. “Yours. Yours.”

He groans. It’s an angry sound, not quite pleased. Still, the trickle of running water nearly drowns him out. Icy fingers grip my legs, prying them apart. I hear him grapple for something nearby. Feel cold, damp fabric lap at my skin.

He’s washing me. Slowly and carefully, Caspian washes me with water that isn’t too warm nor too cold. Then he sets the rag aside—I hear the damp, heavy plop of it hit the floor. His fingers tease through my hair next, gathering it in a single fist. Then he grips it like a rope and coils it around and around. When he finally steps back, I open my eyes again. I crane my neck and look back.

The figure staring back doesn’t look like the blurred, scattered images of the Niamh I knew in the Citadel. She is paler here. Her eyes are brighter here. Coiled at the nape of her neck meticulously by a vamryre, her hair shines here.

Reflected not just in the mirror, but in his eyes, she is beautiful.

“Thank you,” I say to her. To him.

He says nothing. His mouth finds its home near my ear, his inhalations loud and slow. He doesn’t need to breathe—at least I don’t think so—but he does around me. He feasts on the air around me. Then he inches closer and presses his lips to my throat. Against the skin, he hisses, “Don’t.”

Don’t thank him.

I must.

“Thank you. Thank you.” I lean into him. Practically throw myself into him. He catches me, gripping my body tight while the water still runs behind us. As long as he catches me, I will be fine.