Bereft: Demise

39 | Of an Encroaching Demise

The Sin of Pride sighed as the click of the door shutting pervaded the quiet afternoon.

The window was wide open, allowing the cold air and frosty raindrops to patter upon the warped floorboards. Darius threw a disapproving glance toward the open window but did nothing to seal out the weather. It mattered little. The cold didn't bother him.

He leaned upon the door with his shoulders hunched and his body rendered listless by sheer, uncompromising exhaustion. Darius considered sinking to his haunches where he stood, falling asleep without bothering to situate himself in his chair—but he forced himself to drift forward into the room's recesses. The Sin needed rest the floor wouldn't provide. He rounded the chair and blinked. 

His shadeborn was in his chair, slumped on the arm with her chin to her chest as she snored with a vengeance.

Darius quirked a brow as he lifted the girl's arm from her lap. A slender bottle slipped from her limp fingers, and the Sin caught it mid-fall. He spun the bottle, studying the opaque glass, sniffing the open mouth. The smell of wheat and salt met his inspection, dull thrums of static beating beneath his fingertips. 

Ether. An ether infusion. Where did she get this? 

The creature paused and sifted through his inflamed mind, his features hardening as he came to the only conceivable conclusion. 

"The Vytian." 

The bottle's sides crumpled in his fist. Glass shattered joined the rain on the floor—but his host didn't wake. She continued to sleep, unbothered by Darius's presence or the biting frost claiming the room's warmth. 

Shadows gathered. The Sin placed a hand on either arm of the chair and leaned forward, bending his tall frame until his lithic face was very near her own. 

"I think you like aggravating me, host," he hissed in Gehen, feeling the words crack and fizzle with potent energy upon his tongue. The diluted effulgence of his power roving inside his flesh lit her skin as well, providing color to her sallow, drawn complexion as the shadows shrank in deference. "I think you seek danger comparable to your own, my little blood-soaked hellion. Why else would you test me so? Why taunt the monster?"

Sara stirred. Her eyelids fluttered—but just before she could ascend through the final league of slumber's pull, she fell under once more with a heavy exhalation.

Her lips parted as she breathed out, issuing a single word. "Darius...."

The creature stared and listened to her heartbeat slow. As he watched, the rain continued to pour and the frost crawling upon the sill began to thaw. Darius lifted a hand from the armchair and, bringing it to her throat, traced a finger along the line of her jaw.

Her skin was cold. 

Grunting, the Sin shook himself and lowered his hand, rubbing his fingertips to dispel the lingering sensation. He crouched and hooked her arm around his shoulders, hoisting the thin mortal out of the chair and into his arms. Sara distantly protested his less than delicate treatment, but Darius was already moving, his footsteps thumping unhappily upon the hollow floor.

"Idiot," the Sin muttered as he carried his host into the bedroom. He turned his face to her neck, inhaling the scent of orchids and the humid, brackish smell of the moor clinging to her damp hair. She'd been outside again. It would explain why her skin was so cold. 

Darius lowered Sara onto the mattress and yanked the blankets over her. She immediately rolled, nuzzling the pillow as she began to snore again with her dark hair contrasting against the white of the sheets.