Taking Light {Sequel: "For Love of Evil"}

-19-

Lyra sat nervously, staring across the kitchen table at Roman. Although Peter and Destiny were there, Roman was the only person Lyra saw. He sat in silence; one eye seemingly larger than the other, his expression filled with worry. There was a line in his forehead; a wrinkle of fret to fit with his brooding appearance.

"Are you sure you want to go through with this?" Destiny asked, looking in Roman's direction. His lids went wide—his large eyes becoming rounder as he looked to Destiny; seeming as though he had not caught what all she had said.

He cleared his throat, glancing across the table at Lyra before shifting his eyes back to Destiny with a nod. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm sure."

"Lyra?" Destiny asked, her head turning to Lyra this time.

Lyra nodded without saying a word; she continued to stare across the way at Roman.

She could feel his hesitation; Roman didn't want to go through with it either—he was being stubborn. Lyra, on the other hand, had made up her mind the moment Roman had threatened to kill her. She was tired of being a prisoner of his love—his prideful, arrogant ways had pushed Lyra over the edge. She no longer wanted him in her life.

"Okay." Destiny said to herself, aligning the odd collection of objects in the center of the table: a glass mason jar, rubbing alcohol, a book of matches, scissors and nail clippers. "Give me your left hand." Destiny demanded, holding Lyra's hand in hers.

Lyra watched as Destiny picked up the nail clippers, holding her ring finger between her middle finger and thumb. She clipped the nail, then dropped it into the mason jar; the broken nail clinking against the glass.

Roman watched skeptically, unsure of what Destiny was doing. "Why the left hand? And why the ring finger?" Roman asked, licking his lips with narrowed eyes.

Destiny smiled, "The ancient Greeks  and Romans believed that your ring finger on your left hand was the only vein that connected directly to your heart. It's called Vena Amoris, it's Latin for vein of love. It's not true, of course... it's a myth."

"Then what does it have to do with anything?" Roman recanted; his eyes cautiously wavering to Lyra.

Destiny grimaced, her eyes filled with irritation. "Because, Roman... it's an old Latin spell, which means we have to abide by their customs." Destiny spat; her tone drenched in annoyance due to Roman's ignorance.

She did the same to Roman's finger, discarding the nail into the glass jar along with Lyra's. She plucked a strand of Lyra's hair from the root, then Roman's, dropping it into the jar.

"Okay, now's the worst part." Destiny pursed her lips, looking to Peter with a cringe. Peter smirked, already knowing what was next.

Rubbing his scalp melodramatically, Roman stared daggers across the way at Destiny. "You've gotta be fucking kidding me."

"Relax, you big baby. It was one strand." Destiny snorted, "To be an Upir, you have a seriously low pain threshold."

"Destiny." Peter said, shaking his head at his cousin disapprovingly.

Destiny rolled her eyes with a huff. "Alright then, I take it the fuck demon wants to go first." Destiny grabbed Lyra's left hand, picking up the scissors from the table.

"Watch your mouth." Roman hissed; his thumb muffling his words as he chewed on his nail.

Lyra's eyes quickly wavered to Roman, seeing nothing but hatred brewing in his pale eyes. She wanted to smile—Roman had taken up for her; for something she could not change. Roman knew what it was like to hate ones self for something they didn't want to be—for Roman, it was being Upir.