I trailed Ian out into the hall, wary that every step might be my last. Ian was already a few steps ahead, his stride confident and purposeful. He seemed insultingly nonchalant as every cell in my body screamed ‘danger’.

I had been too exhausted last night, too focused on Ian, to pay attention to my surroundings. Ian's hand pressed to the wall, activating a small circle of runes that glowed a sickly green. Lights came to life along the ceiling, giving off a faint sickening feel of magic as artificial as the false daylight they created, I was able to expand my senses. The short hall was sterile, with no decoration, no reason to believe this was somebody's living space. The doors were firmly closed, and it was only a few paces down the hall to a thin wooden door.

Ian didn't look back at me once as he pushed the door open- he trusted, or perhaps calculated, that I would follow. I stepped forward to follow him, only to freeze as the smell hit, something I hadn't noticed last night: sharp, medicinal, and underneath it something far less pleasant… like sweet rot. I braced myself, but even with my quick attempt at preparation, the sight of his lab in the light nearly turned me back the way I'd come.

I stood at the threshold, battered by the onslaught of acrid chemical tang and the sweet scent so wrong it made my teeth ache. The room was lit unnaturally bright by the rune-drive spotlights which dotted the ceiling, here making no attempt to appear like daylight. At a quick first glance, it looked almost like a normal chemistry- if it had the budget of a pharmaceutical cartel. Several long counters had been erected perpendicular to the long, solid wall across from the stairwell we had descended last night. They took up the space in the middle of the room,  littered with glass; beakers, pipettes, long-necked flasks, jars with labels in sharp calligraphy.

On its surface, the room seemed harmless- as harmless as Ian would have to any of the people I had hidden my face from on the street last night.

But a slightly more careful look easily revealed the horrors just below the surface. Every jar of shimmering liquid or black ichor gave off the nauseating feel of artificial magic. There were rusty stains across many of the counters, my stomach churning as I wondered who had bled on those marble surfaces. The worst of it was on those perfectly organized shelves, everything categorized and labelled so neatly. If I didn't look closely, I wouldn't have noticed the contents of that jar.

I slammed my eyes shut, a hand flashing out to the wall to support me as my stomach roiled and my knees weakened. It was too late to block out the image; it was pasted on the back of my eyelids. I didn't recognize every carefully preserved specimen- biology hadn’t been my strong suit in my brief years in school. But even I knew what eyeballs looked like after they'd been plucked from an augmenter's sockets, what tongues and fingers and ears looked like floating in jars of faintly shimmering liquid. All of them in perfect condition, the sick magic of alchemists keeping them as pristine as they had been the day they'd been carved from one of my people.

Bitter fluid filled the back of my throat, my mouth watering as I desperately swallowed over and over, trying to keep it at bay. I could feel Ian's gaze on me, no doubt waiting to see me look sick- to show a sign of weakness and crumble at the horrible sight in front of me.

It was rage that rose from my disgust and horror. Not simple anger, but a soul-crippling fury that felt like liquid fire in my veins. This was the reason I fought so hard, the driving force behind every terrible thing I had done in the last decade. This was what justified the amount of blood I had on my hands. 

And it was what threatened to consume me in my weakest moments.

Something crawled out of my throat- a growl so low it was almost animal- as my nails scored my palms, my knuckles aching from how tightly my fists were clenched. I blinked my gaze open to find a familiar swimming darkness at the edges of my vision; shadows curled, sinister and seething, around the jars and vials full of the remains of my kind.

[[Hurts…]]

My teeth ground together, my hand slamming in the wall to keep me propped up as my mind was assaulted by the poor, twisted things that rose from Ian's spoils.

[[He hurt me… hate him… hurt him…]]

The words formed in my mind like they were my own thoughts, my breath quickening. My gaze locked on the angry spirits as they reached toward me, the shadows of people who had died in agony straining to reach for somebody who could get their revenge for their suffering. Twisted, unnatural shapes began to take form among the swirling darkness, things with too many eyes and limbs. Fear curdled in my stomach, but it wasn’t enough to overpower the deep, searching draw I felt from the spirits that whispered for me.

My feet moved without conscious direction, taking me a step forward, as my hand reached up. Ian said something, his voice low and urgent, but it didn't make it past the rush of my pulse in my ear- or the voices clamoring for me to make the alchemist suffer.

[[MINE.]]

My whole body stiffened as the long, spindly leg of one of the spirits’ twisted forms made contact with my flesh. There was no barrier now; my defenses had been overwhelmed by fury and hatred. I could feel the spirit pass into me, a chill that hooked into my very essence.

Memories that weren't mine flashed through me. Cold metal against my back made my blood feel scalding as it ran over my skin. My voice was a ragged shriek as my eye was ripped from its socket. My whole body thrashed, desperately trying to get away from the burning, clawing pain that spread under my skin from the needle that had been inserted in my arm.

I was a hundred different people, all of them furious and thirsty for the blood of the man who stood in that room with me.

In a split moment, everything snapped- I lost myself, and any sense of control, driven by the spirits that had been drawn out by my presence. I turned toward Ian, seeing the moment like I was watching a film, distant and unattached from the body that lunged forward with a snarl. The sensations were muted as I slammed into Ian, his soft gray-blue eyes widening with shock as the force of the impact took him to the ground.

My teeth were bared as my hands wrapped around his throat. I could feel his pulse beat against my fingers, wild and fluttering, his chest heaving under me as I straddled him. Pain flared like a blade across my throat, the leash that extended between us glowing a bright, sickly red as it reacted to my attack on my master. It replicated the pressure of my hands- I could feel them like they were wrapped around my own throat, squeezing tighter until my breaths became shallow and ragged. 

Ian’s periwinkle eyes were wide as he stared up at me, but there wasn’t even a shadow of fear in them. It made the fury in me surge, my fingers tightening until I whimpered with the mirrored pain. The agony didn’t reach past the bloodlust of the spirits that had me wound in their web, the shadows curled around me- the legs that crawled over my skin, making the hair prickle at the back of my neck. 

Ian reached up, his hands circling my wrists, and I expected him to fight. His sick magic collared my neck- I was sure if he wanted, he could kill me with a mere thought. The red glow of the chain pulsed, casting Ian’s face in ominous light. But he didn’t try to pry me off, his lips parting as he sucked in desperate gulps of air around my squeezing grip.

He just held me, his long fingers wrapped over my skin- creating small spaces where I didn’t feel the crawling touch of the spirits that wanted him dead. “Christopher.” I heard his voice like he was underwater, a whisper against the rising tide of dark, angry voices in my mind.

I snarled in response, my knee digging into his chest; the satisfaction that filled my thoughts didn’t belong to me, and it made my stomach churn. 

His jaw trembled, but his grip remained solid and gentle- steady, but not leaving bruises. I was the one who wanted to leave marks, to squeeze until his confidence shattered and he finally showed human fear or despair- or until his breath stopped, and the spirits inside and around me were finally satisfied, whichever came first. I dug my fingers into his flesh, my own pulse ringing in my ears as the leash burned against my throat. It wasn’t enough- it could never be enough to push past the fury and hunger of the spirits Ian had wronged.

“Christopher,” Ian rasped my name again. This time he caught my eyes, his pale gaze burning into mine. Impossibly, as his fingers slid up my skin to grip my forearms, I felt something shift. His attention pulled at me in the same way the spirits had, dragging at me as if to pull me into an undertow.

The spirits rioted, clattering a thousand broken teeth in the back of my skull. Tears built in my eyes, scalding against the chill that filled me, but I couldn’t move an inch- frozen, caught between Ian and the spirits that bayed for his blood.

Ian’s hands slid up further, brushing over my shoulders before they found my face, curving over my trembling jaw. “You’re better than this, you know that. Fight them off-”

“Fuck you!” My voice rang with the echo of a hundred more, suffused with the anguish of so many lost lives.

“Be quiet!” Ian’s words were sharp, even, and they pulled. My whole nervous system jolted, my fingers twitching as my grip loosened slightly. Ian’s eyes narrowed slightly, and his fingers bit into my jaw. His voice was almost a growl, so deep that it vibrated in my chest as he said, “Listen to me.”

Something in me, a feeling- a craving- I had buried for a decade reared its ugly head. I shuddered, my breath coming out in a low rush… and I nodded, my body responding before my mind could catch up to try to stop it.

“Good.” The simple word sent a feeling of warmth surging through my body that forced back the chill of the spirits. They screamed in response, an infernal cacophony- but Ian’s voice split through them, a steady rock splitting the river of their thoughts. “Breathe, Christopher.”

The order shivered through me, and my breath panted out. When I sucked in air, it rasped in my throat like sandpaper, but the thunder of my pulse calmed slightly. Ian’s thumbs stroked my jaw, murmuring soft praise as I took another breath.

“That’s it,” he purred, his gaze intense on mine as he held my face to keep me from looking away. 

I didn’t fight it. My own consciousness was surging against the grip of the spirits, fighting for control enough to eke out, “I don’t… want…”

“I know,” he hushed, something close to sorrow in his light eyes. Our breaths came easier as the pressure of my fingers eased slightly, and Ian pressed, “It’s okay. You can let go now.” His voice was hoarse, but steady- a direct order, not a plea.

I should have raged against him, but I didn’t have the will. Despite the shriek of the spirits, I wanted nothing more than to follow his order. My hands fell away on their own, shaking and white from the pressure, my strength dissipating as I sat back on his hips. My chest heaved, tears streaming down my cheeks, angry and involuntary.

Ian gulped in air, a new ring of bruising forming where my hands had circled his throat. Guilt tore at me, forcing the rage of the spirits further back; they raged harder in response, a clamor of voices all berating me for letting go of the monster we had pinned down.

He should have run, or taken advantage of the moment to repay me for my actions. Ian could have taken control of the leash, or punished me for my attack- returned the violence in kind. Instead he sat up slowly, his voice still gentle. “I didn’t think the medication would have faded this fast. How strong are you…” There was a quiet wonder in the words, and I hated the awe behind it.  Ian’s hands didn’t drop from my face, just moved so they held more of me, grounding me with the strength of his large hands.

With every breath, the cold burned a little less, and the spirits grew quieter. I could still see them writhing in the edges of my vision, but their forms became less solid, their voices like static as they jumbled together. They hated me for letting him live, still baying for blood, but all of my being had focused on the man holding me together.

A man who had, infuriatingly, exploited the weakness I had spent my entire life running from… and I hated the part of me that loved it.

I wanted to tell them to go to hell. I wanted to spit in his face and bare my teeth, and pretend it was hatred instead of self-loating. But when I swallowed and found my voice, all that came out was a hoarse, “Don’t touch me.” It sounded wounded, not furious like I desperately wanted.

His hands didn’t drop away, and his gaze didn’t shift from mine. Ian’s voice came again, the calm command that stole my senses as he murmured, “It’s okay. You don’t belong to them- you never will.” Ian pressed his palms against my skin. “I’ve got you. Let them go.”

I closed my eyes, not wanting to face that silvery stare, but his words had already crept inside me. My breath left on a shuddering sigh, my head dropping forward, and the tension drained out of me. The spirits melted away, the skittering touch sliding across my skin with sharp pangs before it finally disappeared. It left me shivering, my chest aching even as my pulse finally calmed, my hands trembling where they had fallen into my lap.

I had spent so many years running from this, numbing myself, trying to make myself small enough to escape the notice of the spirits that flocked like moths to flame. And not just the spirits; I had been hiding from the part of me that had purred in pleasure when Ian’s deep voice commanded me to listen. All of that effort, all of those years, was lost in a moment- thanks to the man who still held me, carefully, like he expected me to shatter.

And I wasn’t sure who I hated more, Ian for dragging me into this place and tearing open all the things I had tried to hide… or myself, for being as weak as I had always feared, and becoming the monster I had been designed to be.