Page 43 of Rogue Familiar

Even still, his magic drank from her on a subtle level beyond his conscious control, as so much of that ability of his seemed to work. He should be replete, but the hunger in him had no limits. He’d always sensed that, suspected that the monster within could and would consume anyone.

A flicker of memory came back to him, of a woman being carried away, her body limp, skin gray with lifelessness. He’d been lying on the floor of his cage, barely aware—indeed his keepers thought him asleep, but he’d been in that twilight state of emerging from deep injury, his body healing at an accelerated rate that left his awareness behind—but he’d watched through cracked lids as they carried her away. A naked woman whose scent still clung to him, a familiar whose magic ran through him like a cool winter wind. A woman he’d killed.

And she hadn’t been the first, or the last.

With a harsh cry of revulsion, Jadren thrust Seliah away, scrambling out of the bed as if she’d set fire to it.

“What?” Seliah asked, not angry, but concerned for him. For him. More the fool she. She sat up in the bed, the blankets falling away from her naked body, her long black hair framing her exquisitely sensual figure with loving contrast. Her amber eyes were fixed on him with compassion, with that love he’d sensed from her.

And it was wrong. So very wrong. He scrubbed his hands over his face, digging his fingertips into his eyes as if he could erase Seliah from his mind. Maybe if he could somehow not see her, he could manage to walk away. As if he could manage to again forget what he now remembered with horrifying clarity: all those familiars he’d drained to death over the years. So many dead at his hands, faceless, nameless, their magic forever a part of him now. They lived in him, part of the makeup of his fleshly form, incorporated into his blood and the smallest tissues.

As was Seliah. She was in there, too, devoured to make him whole.

That wasn’t love; it was predation. A gruesome form of parasitism.

Then she stood before him, prying his hands from his eyes, and he became aware of moisture streaming down his cheeks. Tears? No—blood. His vision was smeared with it, his eyes unfocused from the damage he’d done to them. He’d nearly clawed out his own eyes.

Seliah’s voice told the truth of it, crisp annoyance and fear. “Stop it, Jadren,” she commanded, her grip on his wrists firm. “Just because you can heal from any injury doesn’t justify this self-destructiveness. You have to stop this.”

He tugged away, but she held on with fierce tenacity. She always had been a surprisingly strong little thing. “Funny,” he drawled, layering on extra sarcasm, tasting blood on his lips, “I always thought the one upside of my monstrous condition was that I could inflict on myself at least some of the same punishment I dole out to others.”

“Who have you punished?” she asked with far more compassion than he deserved. “Not me. Not anyone I know of, not of your own accord. You aren’t responsible for what happens when—”

“Then who is responsible?” he snapped, breaking her grip on his wrists—if only it could be so easy with the non-physical hold she exerted over him—and striding away. His eyes were already healing, the plain little room coming into focus with its homey things of simple lives and loving comfort. A sudden rage possessed him to tear it all to shreds.

He turned his back on it, gazing out the little window to the unpretty garden beyond. He had no idea what was growing in it, but it seemed to be a mess of vegetables as well as flowers, which made no sense. Who planted those together? The inferior quality glass made it all look warped, so maybe that was the issue. Still, he hated the people living here even more for their stupid garden and bad windows.

“Sometimes things just are,” Seliah said. “You told me that about the magic, and so have others—it does its own thing. I didn’t want to be driven mad by mine, but it happened, and it wasn’t anyone’s fault.”

She was sorely mistaken there; it was absolutely the fault of those countrified idiots at her fallen house who’d had no idea what she was. He didn’t say so, however, as that argument would go nowhere. Besides, her point about magic applied, just not in his case. “You don’t understand what I’ve done,” he said, hearing the hopelessness in his voice and hating himself for it.

Maybe that terrible fall had broken him in more than body. He’d always been able to summon insouciance in the face of despair. He had no idea what was wrong with him. His body was whole again, but he was still falling to pieces.

“Then explain it to me,” Seliah said. Rustling sounds made it clear she was getting dressed. No doubt he’d blown any chance of another round of sex. Just as well. “Actually,” she continued, sounding absurdly cheerful, “I’m kind of disappointed that you didn’t trot out your usual old saw, ‘you have no idea.’” She lowered her voice as she said it, making the imitation of him sound extra gloomy.

He turned to scowl at her, meeting her impishly pleased smile. “It’s not funny, Seliah.”

Her smile faded and she faced him somberly. “All right. Then let’s talk about this. What are you responsible for that’s so terrible?”

“Murder,” he answered bleakly. “So many deaths. Believe me, you don’t want to know what I…” He trailed off unable to say more. With his back to the wall, he slid down until he was sitting, legs drawn up and face pressed to his knees. Might as well fully commit to a full losing of shit. Fetal position just made sense at this point.

The gentle tapping of her footfalls faded as she went into the other room. Maybe she was finally wising up and leaving him alone. Unable to motivate himself to… do anything at all, he sat there. Numb.

Soon enough, however, Seliah returned, seating herself beside him on the wooden floor. “Here.” She took his hand and wrapped it around a warm mug. “Drink it. You’ll feel better.”

He held the thing dully. It smelled weird. And it was a discomfiting yellow color, like old urine. “What is it?”

“Herbal tea. It’s good for you.”

Lifting his gaze from the dubious mixture, he scrutinized her apparently innocent and helpful expression. “Is this revenge?” he asked drily. “Drugging me as a bit of gotcha-back?”

“I considered it,” she answered seriously, drawing up her own knees and wrapping her arms around them. Tipping her head back until it met the wall, she gazed thoughtfully at the ceiling. “I entertained all kinds of fantasies of how I’d exact my revenge. How I’d puni—that is, make you pay for jilting me like that.”

She’d stopped herself from using the word “punish,” he realized, dancing around him so whatever she thought had set him off wouldn’t happen again. How demoralizing.

“But no, this is only herbal tea,” she continued, rolling her head to look at him, her scrutiny palpable on the side of his face. “A blend of soothing herbs.”

“I don’t need to be soothed like a fussy infant,” he said, tempted to fling the mug across the room, which would unfortunately only prove her point about his state of mind. “Besides, what do you know about herbs?” He’d tried for a sneer, but the question came out plaintive.

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