Page 118 of City of Secrets and Shadows
As I turned to leave, Sirrax made a low sound in his throat, almost like a word. I paused, looking back at him curiously. His golden eyes seemed to glow from within as they met mine, and for a heartbeat, I had the strangest sensation that he was trying to tell me something important.
But the moment passed, and I had more pressing concerns. I made my way to the academy baths, thankfully deserted at this hour. I stripped off my bloodied clothes and submerged myself in the tepid water, scrubbing my skin until it was raw. The water around me turned pink, then clear again as the evidence of my night's work drifted away.
Yet even as I washed away Arilius’s blood, I could still feel Sirrax’s presence in my mind — a warm, steady connection that somehow made the burden of what I had done a little easier to bear. Whatever path I chose in the days ahead, I knew with absolute certainty that I would not walk it alone.
30
Icouldn’t sleep. Again.
The memory of Tarshi’s hands on me kept replaying in my mind — his strength as he pushed me against the rough stone wall, the way he’d forced my submission with terrifying ease. I’d fought him, of course — violently at first, thrashing and cursing, spitting hatred into his face. But then something inside me had fractured and given way, a wall crumbling that I’d spent my entire life building, and my resistance had diminished until it was nothing more than a pretence, a lie I told myself even as my body betrayed me.
“You hate what I am,” he’d whispered against my ear, his breath hot on my skin, sending unwanted shivers down my spine, “but you want what I can do to you.”
And Gods help me, he was right. That was the poison eating me from within — the knowledge that burned like acid through my veins. I wanted it. Wanted him. The enemy. The demon-spawn. The Talfen.
I threw off the thin blanket and sat up, my skin slick with cold sweat despite the mild night. I ran trembling hands through myhair, gripping the strands until pain gave me something to focus on besides the memories. Dawn was still hours away. In the main chamber, Livia slept soundly. Marcus was at his apartment and Tarshi — I didn’t know where Tarshi had gone.
It was better that way. Better that he wasn’t here, with his knowing eyes that seemed to see straight through me, with his half-smile that mocked my pretence of hatred.
Standing, I moved into the main chamber and stood at the window, staring out at the Imperial City sprawled below our modest dwelling. The moonlight silvered the grand temples and boulevards, casting the rest in shadow. Somewhere in those shadows lurked the truth of what I was becoming.
My hand drifted to my throat, where bruises still lurked beneath my collar — his fingerprints branded into my skin. I’d told Livia and Marcus they were from a tavern fight. Another lie atop the mountain of deceptions I’d built.
The memory surged back, unbidden and unwanted. Tarshi’s fingers digging into my hips, pinning me against the wall. The low growl in his throat as he’d pressed his body against mine, letting me feel his hardness. The way his eyes had seemed to glow in the darkness of that alley — inhuman, predatory. Talfen. Half-demon, as the Imperial propaganda claimed. In that moment, I’d believed it.
He’d laughed, wiped it away, and then — Gods forgive me — he’d forced his knee between my legs, found me hard and wanting, and laughed again, softer this time, triumphant.
“See?” he’d whispered. “Your body knows the truth even if your mind refuses it.”
And then his mouth had crushed against mine, stealing my breath, my resistance, my very sense of self. I’d expected violence, had been prepared for it, had almost wanted it — the clean, purifying pain of a fight. But what I hadn’t been prepared for was the hunger. The way my body had responded to hisdominance, the way something deep inside me had uncoiled and surrendered.
I pressed my forehead against the cool glass of the window, trying to banish the memory. But it clung to me, tenacious as a shadow.
What kind of man was I, to desire what I had been taught all my life to despise? To crave the submission I’d spent years fighting against? When I closed my eyes, I saw Tarshi’s face above mine, felt the weight of his body pinning me down, and heard his voice commanding me to yield. And worse — far worse — I imagined yielding. Completely. Surrendering everything I was to his hands, his mouth, his will.
The thoughts sickened me. And aroused me. And sickened me further because of my arousal.
We’d been raised on stories of Talfen demons — half-human abominations who could seduce the mind as well as the body. Who could turn a loyal citizen against the Empire with their unnatural powers. Dark powers that could bind you with the shadows themselves. As a child, I’d believed those tales without question. As a man, I’d seen enough to convince me — Talfen were abominations.
Now with Tarshi’s touch still burning on my skin, I knew for certain the stories were true. What else could explain this madness? This compulsion to submit to the very thing I’d been taught to hate? This craving that woke me in the night, sweating and hard, the echo of his commands still ringing in my ears?
On your knees.
The worst part was how naturally those words had come to him. On your knees. As if he’d known exactly what I needed — what I feared — what I wanted. And damn me to Inferi, I’d complied right there in that filthy alley. I’d knelt in front of that half-breed and let him push that fucking enormous cock down my throat, and I’d fucking loved it.
I slammed my fist against the windowsill, welcoming the sharp pain that shot through my knuckles. Blood smeared across the weathered wood. Good. Physical pain was better than this... this other thing.
The sound of approaching footsteps on the stairs interrupted my thoughts. Not Tarshi’s near-silent tread or Marcus’s heavy stride. These were quick, light steps I recognized immediately. Livia. But that was impossible — she was asleep in her bed.
Or was supposed to be.
I turned just as the door eased open. Livia slipped in, then froze when she saw me standing by the window.
“Septimus,” she whispered, the shock plain on her face. “I thought you were asleep.”
The room was dark, but moonlight from the window illuminated her enough to see something was wrong. Her clothes were different from what she’d worn to bed. Her hair was damp. And her eyes — her eyes held a haunted look I hadn’t seen since our early days at the ludus.
“Where have you been?” I asked, keeping my voice low.
