Page 88 of Nocte

He’ll listen to every word that vamryre said. He can hide it. Deny it.

Despite clutching me tight and tugging me along through the twisting streets, he cringes. He will hate me. He does hate me.

I don’t know why.

I know why.

I was never good enough to keep him, not always. I was never good enough. I am not good.

Enough.

“I am sorry,” I tell him. Maybe that will make him stay? If I plead and beg and grovel. “I am sorry. I am sorry. Don’t?—”

Leave me,I want to say. Want to scream.Don’t leave me!

He snarls, “Shut up. Shut up.”

“Don’t leave me.”

“Shut up! I need to listen. Need to hear.”

Hear what exactly? We are nearing a familiar building—the motel. The sky is darkening, with heavy purple clouds rolling in. A storm is coming, both literally and figuratively.

The world is gearing up for one hell of a storm, and Caspian is gearing up for one hell of a fight. His posture changes, eyes glow and alight with excitement. In the short time I’ve known him, only a few things get him excited like this.

Violence and bloodshed.

Something is coming. Whatever it is, he knew it was coming. He is so eager for it. Eager for violence and bloodshed.

But I want to run. I want to claw my fingers from his and run. Run and run and run.

But he won’t let me. If he stays, then so will I. As long as he fights, so will I. My heart aches as I look up at him, my Caspian. Mine. I want him. I’ll keep him. I’ll stay, just as long as he…

“Don’t leave me,” I whisper. I beg. I plead.

He hisses and snarls in irritation, “Get ready.”

Get ready.

Because a trap has been set and laid for us. All day it has been waiting to spring. The trip to the secret vamryre was a trap. A way to waste time.

Because reinforcements are here. The mortal set us up. She turned us in to the authorities that matter—not their fake ones, but the elder council. The elder council is here.

For him.

For me.

But why?

Why?

You know why,a part of me murmurs, dripping with glee.You are a corrupted creature who stole him away. You are evil. Dirty. Broken.

You deserve to die and so you will.

You sinned too greatly. Wanted too much.

You will die, Niamh.