Nicolas DeSilva Watches Allyra Like She Is Already His
She moves through the corridors like she owns them, her scales catching the candlelight, her eyes that impossible green-black that pulls at something deep in my gut. Allyra. My Immoless. My vessel. My everything. I watch from the shadows, the Long-Faced Demon stirring in my reflection, his grin wider than mine. She does not see me, not yet, but she feels it. That prickle on her neck, the way her step falters just a fraction. Good. Let her feel owned.
The asylum hums around us, clocks ticking in discord, mirrors whispering secrets only I understand. Chives shuffles past with his stapled ear flopping, carrying some tribute’s arm for Ball. Kane lurks in the corner, machete idle, his one good eye fixed on her too. Even he knows. She belongs here. With us. To us.
Yesterday she thought she could defy me, chaining Chester and me like some theatrical jest. Bold. Reckless. Delicious. I let her run, let her taste freedom for a breath, just to remind her how sweet the cage tastes after. Now she glides past the cells, inmates pressing against bars, their eyes hungry for her blood. They sense it, the sovereign mosaic in her veins. Lilith’s essence, my blood, Chester’s fire. She is perfection, and perfection is mine.
I step from the alcove, cane tapping stone. She turns, that sardonic curl to her lip. “Nic,” she says, voice low, teasing. My name on her tongue, always that diminutive that twists me inside out. Chester would laugh, but he is off polishing his flute in Ard Quahila. Let him. She is here. With me.
“Lyra,” I reply, circling her slow. Her scales shimmer, Orochi peeking through. Beautiful. Deadly. Ours. “You look restless.”
She tilts her head, eyes narrowing. “And you look possessive.”
I smile, fangs lengthening just enough. “I am possessive. You are mine. Body, soul, blood. Remember the contract?”
Her laugh is sharp, cutting. “Contracts can be challenged, Nic. Consideration, capacity, misrepresentation.”
She tests me still. After everything. The bone marrow I gave her, the nights I held her through the pain, the world I reshaped for her. I grip her chin, force her gaze to mine. Green eyes lock, and I will her submission, that sweet haze where she yields. She fights it, always does, but softens. Good girl.
“You signed it freely,” I whisper, thumb tracing her lip. “Irkalla sealed it. You are mine eternally.”
Orochi stirs beneath her skin, scales rippling. Threatening. I tighten my hold. “Even her.”
She pulls back, eyes flashing. “Orochi is me. We are one.”
“And I am many.” I release her, step back. Let her think she has space. She does not. The mirrors watch. The clocks tick. My alters whisper. Chester feels her even now, his grin splitting wide wherever he prowls.
She straightens her jacket, my jacket, the one I laid out for her. “What do you want, Nicolas?”
Everything. Her blood. Her will. Her forever. But I say, “To remind you. Run if you like. Test me. But you always return.”
Her gaze hardens, that fire I crave. “Maybe one day I won’t.”
I laugh, low and dark. “Try, Lyra. Try.”
She turns, walks away, hips swaying just enough to taunt. I watch until she vanishes around the corner. My cane taps once. Twice. The Long-Faced Demon grins in the nearest mirror. She is already mine. Always was.
Immortalis Book One August 2026