Daughter of the Night

Aerrin’s P.O.V.

It had been four days since I had first woken up to discover that I was chained to a hospital bed. Since then I had been subjected to a series of tortures ranging from being spoon-fed to having Lemariastra’s grandchildren, armed with coloring markers, let loose upon my face like a pack of starving dogs.

Needless to say, I was also in a lot of pain; it was an old companion that I had come to know very well over the years. Lemariastra had to clean my wounds and change my bandages once a day, all of which was quite agonizing. I let slip quite a few less-than-complementary exclamations during these sessions that Lem did not appreciate. I was almost positive that that had been why she had unleashed her grandchildren on me.

Still, I could feel myself recovering. Slowly, so slowly, but I was definitely regaining strength. I was also dying of boredom. I wasn’t sure if I would be freed from this stretcher before or after my brain went dead from lack of use. There was nothing to do. I had gone over every crack in the ceiling about eight hundred times. I could tell you how many flowers were in the vase on the nightstand at the foot of my bed, or how many stones made up the hearth of the fireplace, or how many footsteps it took Lem to cross from the storage room to her office. I could say how often I inhaled every minute. That’s how bored I was. I was starting to wish that the werewolf actually had finished me off. It would have been a lot quicker, at least.

That’s why when the door to the hospital wing creaked open I got really excited. Even if it was Cross returning to scream some more at me, I was totally okay with it. It’d be more interesting than counting cracks in a ceiling.

Of course, it wasn’t Cross. She never comes when I want her to, only when she feels like it. I should have known better.

I didn’t, however, expect it to be Siamarkechek who stepped through the doorway. My stomach sank. Dying of boredom suddenly became the favorable option.

“Back again, are we?” he said, his orange eyes flashing as he smirked.

“I’m flattered you came just to see me,” I replied, giving him a wide grin that I definitely did not feel. The biggest difficulty of any faerie is hiding their emotions from the rest of the Fae. If Siamarkechek knew the effect his presence had on me that would just give him more of an edge.

“I heard about your fight,” he said. “I didn’t hear about how you got injured, though. Care to spill the details?”

“Not unless you’re planning on hero-worshipping me for it.”

“I don’t think so,” he said silkily. “But why won’t you tell me? You didn’t do something profoundly stupid, did you? Oh, wait, I remember now. You didn’t want to kill the werewolf, did you?”

I am under the impression that Siamarkechek’s only skill of any real capacity is his ability to get under peoples’ skin. I felt the irritation growing, but I knew that that was what he wanted, so I tried to stamp it out.

“I would not presume to know everything if I were you,” I replied evenly.

“Oh, I know enough,” he informed me wickedly. “For instance, I know that you lacked the resolve to execute a killing blow. I know that your vampire girlfriend is in serious trouble now because of you. I know that-“

“Don’t drag her into this,” I cut him off sharply. “And she’s not my girlfriend. If your only intention is to ridicule me, you’d better leave.”

“Oh?” he said. I saw humor run across his face. He leaned towards me, sparse inches away from my bed. “And how do you plan to enforce that?”

I tried to sit up, but a flash of agony shot through my torso at the same time as my wrists caught against the ropes holding me down. I thumped back against the pillows.

“Why are you here?” I asked through gritted teeth. “Are you that much of a coward that you won’t insult me when I can actually stand?”

He frowned slightly. “Insult you? I’m merely trying to acquire your perspective on a series of events.”

“Sure you are,” I agreed. “And I’m the Queen of England. Would you like some crumpets?”

“You’re not as funny as you think you are,” Siamarkechek said peevishly. “You’re also losing your touch, as demonstrated by the fact that you’re hospitalized yet again.”

“I don’t see you challenging prodigious werewolves to death matches,” I shot back.

“You don’t see me cheating my way out of death matches either, do you?” he retorted slyly. “I suppose that no matter how much effort one puts in, one can’t escape their lineage, can they?”

A wave of black fury rose up in my gut. How dare he? I was formulating a response when I saw a blur of darkness come from the end of the hospital ward so fast that I couldn’t make it out. All of the sudden, Siamarkechek was simply gone. I would have been forced to believe that I had just hallucinated our whole conversation if it wasn’t for the door swinging closed.

I would have been completely befuddled if not for the breeze that touched my face. When I inhaled, I caught a familiar scent.

And smiled.

Cross’s P.O.V.

“Listen up, bitch,” I hissed after I had slammed the slimy little faerie face-first into the hard stone-lined wall outside the hospital ward. I grounded his head into the granite for a period of time before removing his face from the rubble. His nose was flattened and bleeding and he already had massive bruises forming on his cheekbones. There was still no mistaking the beady orange eyes or the slicked-back mane of pale yellow hair, however.

“I am the only one allowed to insult the Summer Knight,” I breathed into his ear. “I am the only one who can mock him, ridicule him, or make him suffer in any way. If you ever confront him like that again, I will skin you alive and throw what’s left to the werewolves.”

He grunted something into the wall, although the stone muffled his words enough that I couldn’t understand them. This irked me and I grounded his face further into the stone.

“After our earlier conversation, I strongly dislike you,” I hissed. “If you make another false move, I am going to hate you. And if there is even one brain cell floating around in that pathetically empty skull of yours, you’ll be able to process that you don’t want me as your enemy.”

I seized his thick ponytail and used it as leverage to twist his face even further into the wall for emphasis. “Do you understand?”

He grunted, whether out of pain or agreement I wasn’t sure. Out of the kindness in my heart I assumed it was the latter and peeled his face off the wall.

“Oh, look,” I said disinterestedly. “Your face left an indent in the wall. It actually sort of looks like you, doesn’t it?”

When I turned to make eye contact with him, I could read his shock and fear. He was scared of me. Good. I grinned at him, fangs fully extended, in order to drive my point home.

It must have worked because he turned and stumbled back down the hallway, away from Aerrin’s room and from me. Judging from the way he high-tailed it out of there, he wasn’t coming back any time soon. Mission accomplished.

I turned to leave before some other faerie came and associated me with the bloodstains on the wall. I had taken several long strides before I heard the door swinging open again. I turned, curious as to whom it was.

Aerrin was leaning against the doorpost, pale from the exertion of getting from his bed to the exit.

“Cross,” he called, “wait up.”

“How-“ I began, then stopped. He dangled a dagger made from faerie steel in one hand, giving me a lopsided grin. There was the answer as to how he had freed himself from his bonds, I thought wryly. I hadn’t known he had such light fingers. Hmm.

“I lifted it from Siamarkechek,” he said by way of explanation. “He came just a little too close to my bedside.”

I turned my back on him and began walking. “Go back to bed. You can’t even stand, and I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Clearly, I can walk-“ he began, but he stopped when he realized that I did not intend to continue the conversation.

I left him standing against the door, or at least I thought I had. Then I heard him behind me. Following me.

Damn it, I couldn’t just strap him to his bed again. I didn’t know where to find any more faerie rope, and besides, he’d probably try to resist me and end up reopening his wounds. Not that he didn’t deserve to.

“Cross, I need to explain myself,” he said. “You haven’t given me a chance to tell you why I did what I did. Sure, it looks bad, but you don’t know my side of the story!”

I slowed my steps, unwilling to turn around. That would mean surrender.

“You’re going to have to talk fast,” I called over my shoulder, “Because I‘m leaving. And you won’t be able to keep up with me, so don’t try it.”

“The Alpha… he’s just like I was, Cross. Exactly like me when I lost my mother. I couldn’t kill him, it’d be like… killing myself.”

“That’s a bit extreme,” I said, finally turning around.

“Not after you hear the whole story,” he retorted, grimacing as he pushed himself off from the wall.

I couldn’t help it; my curiosity was piqued. I had never heard anything of Aerrin’s past before, and I wanted it straight from him. While I was, of course, still furious at him and he was, obviously, still far from healed, this was as good an opportunity as I had ever gotten to hear about his history.

“So you will tell me the whole story?” I asked carefully.

He grinned wearily. “Anything to placate your anger.”

I considered him for a long moment, although I was sure that we both knew I would agree. Still, I had to keep up my appearance.

“And you’ll go back to your bed right now?” I pressed, narrowing my eyes to let him know I expected a positive answer.

“Getting out of it in the first place was a bad idea,” he replied. I noticed that his face was losing color quickly. With a sigh, I went over to him and offered a shoulder for support. He gratefully slung an arm around my neck and I carried most of his weight through the room back to the bed.

He slid back under his sheets with a long sigh. The skin around his emerald eyes was drawn with pain, so clearly his little excursion had taken more out of him than he wanted to let on.

“You’re an idiot,” I said as I studied him.

He rolled his eyes. “After hanging out with you for so long, I’ve developed an immunity to your insults. Which, by the way, I seem to receive constantly.”

“I don’t insult people, I threaten them,” I informed him irritably. “I was merely stating a fact by calling you an idiot.”

He laughed tiredly. “I’m glad we got that cleared up.”

“Now tell me about your past,” I commanded, selecting the plush red armchair next to his bed to sit in.

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “You’re going to owe me one, you know,” he said amiably. “After all, I don’t know anything about your past.”

I frowned, unable to ignore the prick of discomfort. “There’s a reason you don’t know anything.”

His eyebrows lifted. “Reason being?”

“I don’t want you to.”

“It’s not like I want you to know that my mother was the criminal mastermind responsible for all underground trade of contraband faerie technology for almost two centuries,” he shot back.

I blinked. “Okay, now I definitely want the whole story. You’d better not leave anything out.”

He looked at me sideways. “Are you sure? It might take a while.”

“I have a few hours,” I said nonchalantly.

He relaxed into his bed until his head rested on the pillows. His eyes wandered up to the ceiling and became distant, unfocused. “I’ll start from the beginning,” he said. “And don’t think this is easy for me. I’ll do the best I can, but I might skip around by accident. Anyways, whatever you do, don’t interrupt.”

I studied him for a long moment before I realized that he was being perfectly serious. He wasn’t merely summarizing his past; he was planning on revisiting it. I of all people could understand how difficult such an experience could be. “Got it.”