Page 68 of Thirst
But instead of an aging human, Cain had come instead. And now Jerome was in his final grave, and I was trapped on Lilith Island with a syndicate that didn’t trust me…and a man who didn’t love me.
That last part cut deeper than anything my father had planned.
The lantern flickered and died, plunging me into darkness. It was the final straw. I threw up my hands, cursing my father—and myself for getting dragged into one last game instead of leaving when I had the chance.
My cursing ended in a moan. Everything inside me just…gave out.
I let myself collapse back onto the mattress, staring up at the dark ceiling. The fever, the cell, my burning wrists—it was all bad enough. But the betrayal? That was the part that hollowed me out. Every person I’d ever trusted had either used me, lied to me, or handed me off like I was nothing.
And now here I was, sick in a dungeon, proving them right. Proving I wasn’t worth choosing.
The weight of that settled on my chest, like the whole castle was sitting on my ribs.
I didn’t care what Cain said; it was hard to believe he hadn’t planned something like this from the start. He was that ruthless. I’d heard the stories.
Naïve, thinking he wouldn’t turn on me. I felt like that firefly he liked to call me, drawn too close to a torch and somehow surprised when my wings caught fire.
Maybe he’d even been the one who leaked that we were secretly meeting. Nazaire paid well for any scrap of intel on the Maritime Syndicate, and that would’ve been monumental.
How well did I know Cain, after all? I flashed to those photos behind his couch, the ones he’d taken—the dark, understated romanticism they had, like French New Wave. Who would’ve guessed the controlled Maritime lieutenant had a romantic streak? There was so much more to him than he’d let me see.
But then, I hadn’t told Cain much either. He hadn’t even known that I was a painter, let alone The Haunt.
I huffed a laugh.
Gods, we were pathetic. Sharing bodies but no real trust.
One thing was clear. He wasn’t on my side. He could’ve let me go last night when he’d realized it was me, not one of Nazaire’s men. But he hadn’t. No, he’d taken me prisoner.
Maybe my father had been right all along. Maybe I wasn’t the predator I tried to be.
I was the rabbit.
Soft… vulnerable. Toothless in a world built for wolves.
Sleep pulled me under like a suffocating wave, dragging me into a feverish dream. I saw Lilith Island from the sea—the coal-black castle crouched on its cliff, unnatural vines snaking down its walls, its four towers soaked in a blood-moon light.
Then I was running through the castle halls—arched ceilings, torchlit corridors, the echo of my own footsteps—but every door I opened landed me back in this same small, airless cell.
Someone was coming. Nazaire… Cain… I didn’t know, but whoever it was meant to hurt me.
Goosebumps prickled my skin. I was running out of time. I had to escape. Panicked, I pounded on the thick, silver-reinforced door until my fists were raw. It didn’t budge.
I crumpled to the stone floor, breath ragged—and jolted awake to find myself huddled against the wall next to the cot.
The door banged open. Cain stood framed in the doorway, legs apart, hands fisted. “Nyx?” he asked hoarsely, his gaze sweeping the cell.
“Cain?” I squinted up at him. Was it really him—or was I still dreaming?
“What the—?” He scooped me up. Cool lips touched my forehead. He swore under his breath, saying, “Your fever’s up again.”
I shivered. “Cold,” I whispered through chattering teeth in case he was real. Too miserable to care if it made me appear weak.
“Get a fresh lantern,” he barked at someone in the hall, then tucked me into bed with a rough care.
After that, I drifted in and out of consciousness. His voice pierced the fog, ordering me to drink, and I swam to the surface to feel a metal cup against my lips. I turned my head, too listless to swallow whatever it held.
With a muttered curse, he put the cup down and got into the bed, pulling my shaking body against his. I pushed fretfully at his chest, trying to get away, but he murmured, “Hush. Relax.”
