Or, if he really wanted to play with his food, he could use his Manipuli ability to control her mind. He enjoyed making his victims do anything he wanted, only allowing them their control back right at the end when they realised it was too late. He could make her cut her own wrists and feed him as he lay on the table. She herself would tear through the delicate tapestry of her being, provide him with the very essence of her mortality, and he would never have to lift a finger.
No.He shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut, attempting to rid his mind of the awful thoughts running through it, thoughts of pain and death that he longed to deliver this innocent child.This isn’t me,he reminded himself.I would not do that. I will not do that.
The white hot rage that heated his veins and urged his muscles to break free of the bindings seared through his mind, causing him to thrash against the table and grit his teeth to stop himself from screaming. His sweat dripped off of him and merged with the blood of his recent victims spattered on his body. The guilt of what he had done, and the euphoria of still being able to taste their fear in his mouth, overwhelmed his senses.
He was ashamed, so ashamed he had lost his control again. Lost it all toher.
His eyes flew open at the sound of the girl's feet shuffling across the stone floor, gradually coming closer to where he lay. He bared his teeth out of instinct, noticing the shock in her eyes as she saw the sharp fangs protruding from his mouth.
“You need to leave,” he urgently pleaded. “Please, girl, you need to go. It is not safe for you down here. You do not know what I could do, what I am.”
“You are a Lamia,” she calmly said. His eyes widened at her bold statement, the pain leaving him momentarily at the distraction. He had not met many mortals who knew of Daemons, and he’d never met one who was so confident around them. “I know all about your kind, I know all about Daemons.”
Curiosity sparked within him as he observed the girl. There was an awareness in her eyes that hinted beyond the basic knowledge of Daemons. It was as if she knew him, as if she somehow understood that underneath his current state, was a man longing to be free of the monster that cloaked his appearance. The thought, unsettling and intriguing in equal measure, lingered for a moment, but before he could even consider delving into her mind, he was overcome by another wave of white-hot anger.
He growled at the pain licking his body like fire and the insistent scratching at the doors to his mind. It was pure agony, both mental and physical, as the brutal onslaught obliterated all thoughts of control. He clenched his fists so tight his talons cut into the palms of his hands, his blood slowly dripping onto the floor.
He tried and tried to shield his mind, to block out Lilith’s control, but she was strong. So much stronger than the first time she had seized control when she had created him over two centuries ago.
Xander took pride in his usual control over his bloodlust, something all of his brothers struggled with from time to time. It was particularly difficult to keep it contained if they were in pain or if emotions were running high, but he had been able to use his Manipuli ability over his own mind to avoid the extensive effects bloodlust could have for decades. Until today.
Witnessing all that pain at the meeting, seeing his friends fall, feeling that impotent rage surge through him—it all led him to loosen his grip on his control over his mind. It wasn’t just thatLilith had managed to pry open the locked doors of his mind, it was his own unchecked fury and desperate need to protect his people that had become the very key she needed. He had not only unlocked the door for her, but he had stood there and held it wide open. And she, ever the parasite, had gladly stepped back into the vulnerable spaces of his consciousness, infecting the territory he had fought so hard to bury.
He watched the girl as she continued to stare at him, her gaze wide but unwavering. There was no fear in her eyes, not even a hint of the slightest tremor of apprehension that he had come to expect from even the bravest of souls.
She claimed to know what he was, and her utter lack of terror was not only a startling anomaly, but a solid anchor in the swirling chaos of his mind. Her curiosity was a rope, unexpectedly thrown into the dark pit he had been thrown into, a fragile lifeline that he grasped onto. He knew he should not entertain the young girl, but she was proving to be a welcoming distraction.
“You know about Daemonium,” he said, his voice strained as he fought to dull the blazing fire in his mind. “How have you come to learn of such things? Who are you?”
She hesitated for a moment before she answered. “Just a servant girl. My mother works in the kitchens here, but I have heard stories from Lady Striga.”
A harsh, involuntary laugh ripped from his throat, the sound immediately followed by a sharp intake of breath as agony lanced through his chest at the movement. “Of course, Striga loves to tell her stories. Even those that are not hers to tell.”
A frustrated growl rumbled deep within him as the pain spiked once more. He thrashed against the table, a desperate and futile attempt to find some sort of relief from the relentless assault on his mind. In an attempt to quieten his escaping cries, his fangs had dug deep into his bottom lip, the sharp points piercing theflesh. Warm blood welled up and began to trickle down the side of his face, painting his chin and jaw with streaks of red.
The girl continued to watch him, and as he focused on her mind again, he caught a whiff of an emotion he hadn’t expected. This girl, whoever she was, pitied him.
Xander knew, given the state of his current blood-stained appearance, that she must have had some idea of what he had just recently done. She knew he was a Lamia, she knew what that meant, and so he assumed it must be pure naivety that led her to feel even an ounce of sympathy for him. But then she spoke again, her timid voice stronger this time as she gave him a daring look.
“I knowwhoyou are, too, Mr Duran.”
He stilled instantly. Every muscle in his body went taught as his breath caught in his throat, the cold shock of her words somehow dousing the fiery pain within him. Slowly, he turned his head to watch her, wondering if there was more to this seemingly mortal girl than he initially thought. He tried to push through to her mind, but through his exhaustion he couldn’t quite get a grasp on her, only brief flashes of the sorrow she felt for him.
“Then you know what I am capable of,” he spat out, hoping his words would chase her away for her own safety. The darkness around him began to twitch in anticipation as dark tendrils from the shadows in the corners of the cellar seeped across the floor to grow around him in protection. Shadows did not like to be used to hide, but they would protect of their own will, they would protect the one person in this world who could understand them. “And you know that you should leave before I decide to rip your throat out.”
He didn’t leave room for threat. It was a promise. A promise that if he did indeed want to kill her, he would. Xander knew he would never wish to harm someone, especially a child. Buthe had not belonged to himself in those moments before he had been dragged to the cellar. He washers. And he could not be sure he no longer was.
Expecting her to run like any normal child would, he watched in astonishment as she deliberately stepped further towards him. She was standing so close that he’d only have to reach out and grab her, so close to handing her life over to him. He shifted uncomfortably under her scrutinising stare as she looked him up and down, her eyes lingering on the bonds tying him down.
“I told you, I am not afraid of you,” she said. “I am not scared of your kind, and I am not scared of you. What could you possibly do when you are tied to that table?”
Xander laughed at the boldness of the girl, or perhaps the stupidity. He wanted to tell her he could do anything. Any cruel thing she could think of, he had probably already done, and being bound to a wooden table would do nothing to stop him. But before he could tell her any of that, she traced a tiny finger along the dark markings along his arms, the shadowy wisps that covered almost his entire upper half as a reminder of his Nocte power.
The instant her fingers brushed against his skin, his hand shot out to grab hers, almost tearing through some of the bindings, as the shadows around him flared and scattered. His grip was overly harsh, with his talons pressing uncomfortably against the veins beneath the thin skin on the inside of her wrist, not piercing through but pressing enough to warn her of their silent threat. The girl stumbled forward from the sudden force, her small body nearly smacking into the table. Yet through it all, she continued to show no sign of fear.
Realising what he had done, Xander let go of her arm and held onto the side of the table, resorting to scratching at the wooden surface once again. She rubbed her wrist, small imprints alreadyappearing on the side from the pressure of his hand that made Xander wince.
He did not want to scare her, or hurt her. He merely wanted to protect her from himself, but it seemed this stubborn girl would not budge.
