My demons (book 1)

Claire

"Hello, brother."

Aisha looked up at a sound of a velvety female voice and felt her own throat going dry in an instant. She was, in a word, striking. Maybe that didn't even cover it. She wasn't sure there was a singular word that would cover it. She was walking towards them with a grin on her face, moving without hesitation, looking confident and fearless. Her porcelain skin was pale, almost colourless. She had hair so black against skin so white and it made a contrast that only served to make her look all the more ghostly, all the more haunting. Her silvery eyes had a reddish hue around them, barely visible to anyone who wasn't paying close attention. Aisha had to force herself to look away while simultaneously picking her jaw off the floor.

"Claire," Lucas nodded in her direction as she stopped right in front of them, causing Aisha's eyes to somewhat discreetly roam her toned body, her tight jeans and a button up giving leverage to her imagination. She possessed a presence about her despite just standing there, her posture on the verge of comfortable, her back straight and chin lifted up making her appear nearly snobbish.

"It's been 50 years, Lucius. Why are you here?" the beauty spoke and before the awe-struck brunette even registered her words, Lucas was answering in the same, slightly biting tone. "Could ask you the same thing."

She didn't dignify him with a response, instead turning her gaze to Aisha who suddenly felt entirely exposed. "And you are?" she asked but all Aisha could do was stare, her mouth slightly agape. Claire didn't seem to mind waiting for her to speak, the power of her presence alone knocking away the edge of the silence. Just as she was about to stutter out a semi-coherent reply, a sharp scream made them both turn towards Lucas.

His face grimaced in pain as his legs gave out and he collided with the cold ground beneath him, another scream of agony escaping his lungs.

Claire kneeled down next to him, putting her hand on his back. "They are calling you, Lucius. Just let them in."

He looked up at her, his eyes filled with nothing but pain of a tortured person. "How?" he breathed out before throwing up. Claire leaned down to him and started whispering in his ear while gently rubbing his back to soothe his ache.

Aisha felt weird observing what they were doing so she decided to occupy herself with trying to read their mothers' gravestone. She touched the cold marble and tried to brush off the dust of the past. Engraved letters had nearly worn off, but she was able to feel the carved in lines and reading out the simple message; "In the memory of a loving mother and a wife". Underneath the writing she could see the dates of birth and death; 21.3.1830-17.8.1857

She felt heavy hearted. Today was her birthday. And she didn't even have a name engraved on her own grave. The only thing that mattered was the role she had played in this world. She was fairly sure there was more to her than just a mother and a wife. It made her sad.

In the back she could hear that Lucas or Lucius or whatever the hell his name was had calmed down. She turned to face him and his sister, careful not to let her gaze linger on the latter but still noting the dark ink peeking out from beneath her sleeve. Feeling her mouth instantly drying, she turned her attention to Lucas. His face showed obvious signs of the pain he had just went through, cold sweat gleaming on his forehead and his sunken cheeks.

"You have some explaining to do," she deadpanned, not really bothered by his pain as much as she was bothered by his lies.

He looked at her and slowly shook his head. "Not now, sugar. Your friend, Alina, made contact with me, quite brutally, may I add. It appears that your lover boy, Jack or what's-his-face has finally snapped. In other words, his demon came out to play. He attacked Caleb. They don't think he will make it through the night, I'm sorry."

"Where is he?" she whispered, suddenly feeling dizzy, feeling herself swaying and struggling to stay up.

"I can take you to him," Lucas said softly holding her to make sure she didn't collapse.

The pain she felt unbearable. Every ounce of her wished she had the nerve to swing her body off the top of a building. To walk deep into the depths of the ocean and stay down under. To take a gun and place the cool metal down her throat, pulling the trigger, shooting away the pain, the pain she wasn't supposed to be feeling.