Page 31 of Sidhe (The Incubus Saga #3)

When Nathan first surfaced from the Veil, he had spent days trying to shake off the feeling that he had never actually left. He’d been pushed to the brink, until finally he’d nearly been consumed by Malak right in the backseat of his car.

But then there was a diner, a place to rest, and mourn, and free his soul of the plague Malak had left him with.

There was Dave, and even though Nathan hadn’t known at first to think of the man as anything but a kind ear, that man/Spirit Guide/ God , whatever he was, was what finally reached inside of him to pluck the darkness out.

Nathan hadn’t thought his peace would last forever, but he had thought he would at least be free of the crippling pain and grief that had made it so impossible to live.

Normal pain, physical, passing, expected pain, he could handle that.

But the kind that shook him to the core and clung so tight he couldn’t feel anything else, he’d prayed he would never have to feel that again.

Apparently, Dave wasn’t listening.

Moments after Malak’s hand pressed tighter to Nathan’s chest, pain and darkness searing through him, Nathan opened his eyes—hadn’t even been aware they were closed—and was no longer in the Gatehouse.

He was in a house, large, maybe one of those old homes that had been renovated into a law office.

Only it wasn’t so nice anymore, but in disrepair, dark and dusty.

Nathan recognized it. He focused on the building, on the large entryway by a spiral staircase just in front of him, before he noticed more about himself.

He wasn’t standing but was sort of crumbled on his knees.

He had fallen, he remembered falling, forced down by…

something. Weight, he thought, something heavy and struggling that he’d had to silence.

As soon as Nathan had a solid feel for his own body and could better focus, he looked down to see what the weight was.

The darkness and pain carried in Malak’s touch surged through Nathan again, refreshed and piercing as he saw Leven , the boy he had killed with his own hands when he was in the Veil, believing twistedly that he was doing him a favor.

He had asked for Nathan’s help, pleaded, clung to him, crying.

Nathan had feigned soothing words, feigned comfort he no longer understood or could feel himself, and when the boy was safely trusting of him, Nathan had slipped out the knife and slid it cleanly into his chest.

Somehow, Nathan was right there again, the knife in his hand, soaked with blood, Leven’s fragile body shivering against him as he died. But he wasn’t dead yet, still alive enough that he stared right up at Nathan with his warm, dark eyes.

“No…” Nathan choked, beginning to tremble, remembering this moment as clear as any memory from his real life.

He remembered how it had felt, how Leven had taken so long to die, longer than Nathan expected, and how, horribly, Nathan had justified it.

Seen good in it. Felt pride in that he had at least managed to save someone .

Malak hadn’t made Nathan a monster in the Veil. Nathan had become a monster all on his own, through his own choices. How could he be a warrior for good when he had done things willingly that no one should ever be forgiven for?

Nathan was weighed down by so much more than just the young man in his lap, slowly dying. He shouldn’t be here. Malak couldn’t do this. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t real .

Nathan shoved the boy from his lap, sneering at the pleading face he wouldn’t believe, couldn’t believe was really there.

He stood, the knife still clutched in his hand.

Shakily, he walked towards the stairs, stepping over Leven’s body as though it were nothing, had to believe it was nothing or he wouldn’t be able to take his eyes off of it.

“You can’t do this,” Nathan growled, clinging to anger first, anger because fear and grief would surely consume him. “You can’t have me!” he called, even though there was no one else visible but him and Leven.

He spun around, looking back toward the front double doors. They were open, he had left them open when he came inside, he remembered, just looking for a place to escape for a while when Leven had run full pelt into him.

No , Nathan shook his head, banishing the memories. It hadn’t been real then and it wasn’t real now.

“You hear me!?” he yelled again. “I’m not yours!

You can’t have me back! This isn’t real!

It isn’t…real…” Nathan turned his head away from the doors because even though he was struggling to believe none of this was anything but illusion, he couldn’t shake the awful sight of Leven, still alive, reaching out to him, gurgling because he couldn’t speak for all the fluid filling his lungs.

Nathan had done that to him. Nathan had driven his knife into Leven, killing him without mercy.

No . It was mercy. It was mercy…

“Stop…” Nathan clenched his eyes shut. He kept turning until he had to be facing the stairs again. Hot tears stung his eyes, his pulse racing with the edge of fear overtaking his anger. He wanted to wake up now. He wanted to wake up.

“Nathan?”

That voice plunged daggers into Nathan’s heart, as if he had taken his own knife to his chest to end his misery.

He couldn’t bear for Malak to put him through this again.

But opening his eyes, Nathan couldn’t deny that the figure coming down the stairs was Sasha , twisted and deformed into that beast-like version Nathan had first seen in the cave in Colorado.

“What are you doing?” the incubus asked, looking at the knife in Nathan’s hand and beyond him as if it was all terribly pleasing.

Nathan’s hand tightened on the hilt of his weapon. “Don’t do this,” he said with a quake in his voice, “you can’t do this. Stop being him. You’re not him .” His voice shook but he held fast, steadily standing in place, still hearing the damn gurgling from Leven behind him.

The incubus tilted his head as if he couldn’t possibly understand what Nathan meant.

“What are you talking about?” he said, grin twitching at the corners of his mouth, the doubled fangs prominent and glistening.

“You know I’m me, Nathan. Who else would I be?

” Slowly, Sasha continued down the steps toward him.

Nathan knew where Malak would take this, knew what the bastard would do with Sasha’s image, and he was not going to let that happen.

He tested his hold on the knife, felt the weight of it in his hand. It made him sick to think of what he had done with the knife already, to think of Leven, real or not, but if he gave into those feelings then he would be trapped all over again.

This time he would show Malak he didn’t believe in illusions.

“Nathan?” Sasha said again, almost down the steps now, close enough to reach out and grab Nathan forcibly.

“What’s wrong? Are you alright? Why do you have your knife out?

” He almost spoke with true concern, but Nathan could see through it, see that awful version of Sasha and the way he sneered instead of smiled.

“You can’t have me anymore,” Nathan said, eyes narrowed and knife ready. “I am not yours . Stop trying to be what I want. You are not what I want!”

The figure of Sasha stopped, right there on the last step, his body monstrous, his wings so large they took up the entire staircase. “Nathan?” he said again. His face wasn’t beautiful; nothing about him was beautiful when he looked like this.

It made it almost easy, even though Nathan’s stomach clenched, even though his hand trembled.

He hadn’t been able to do it before, when he was in the Veil the first time and Jim and Sasha had tortured him in ways he would never forget, because he hadn’t known it wasn’t really them.

Now that he did, now that he was certain, Nathan lunged forward, plowing into Sasha’s large form and knocking them both back onto the steps.

“I hate you,” he sneered as he stabbed the knife into the imposter’s chest.

As soon as he stabbed Sasha, the illusion began to fade, just as he’d believed and hoped it would. He was on the Gatehouse stairs, not one from that nameless house. He wasn’t in the Veil. But that was just the thing. He had been here all along.

The knife was real. The stairs. The ability to do harm now that the Gatehouse wards were useless. And although the image had been glossed over to paint a horrifying picture, Nathan saw with sick realization that Sasha was real too.

“No, no, no…” he chanted, pushing himself up, his knee twinging with pain from colliding with the stairs.

He was half on top of Sasha— Sasha —who was already convulsing, seizing painfully as the ghost of blue veins shimmered beneath his skin.

He could barely focus on Nathan, his blue eyes wide, his mouth moving like he wanted to say something, anything, but couldn’t.

Laughter from behind Nathan reminded him that they were not alone. Malak was still there. But Nathan couldn’t deal with Malak now. He tried to ignore that laughter too close behind him, and focused on Sasha shaking uncontrollably as the poison of the iron worked quickly through his body.

Nathan knew he had some antidote on him, always carried some just in case the worst happened.

He found two vials in his pants pocket, shifted off of Sasha to give the incubus space, and readied himself to pull the knife free.

His mouth was already open, ready to tell Sasha that it would be okay, everything would be okay, when the hand reaching for the hilt of the knife was snatched up and pulled back behind him.

“Of course I can’t take you back to the Veil, Nathan,” Malak said, snatching up Nathan’s other hand as well so that the vials clattered onto the steps, “but I can certainly make this world feel like it.” He pulled Nathan back against him with just that hold on his wrists, so unfairly strong and immovable that Nathan couldn’t even struggle, could only jerk vainly forward trying to get to Sasha.