Page 20 of Pareidolia

Do I? There’s a part of me that craves knowing. Not just fear, but all the emotions that feel dull in the back of my mind. Even a modicum of self-preservation to make me run would be good at this point. Instead, I’m still standing here as he unfurls those arms and holds them wide like he’s offering me a world I’ve never seen.

“No,” I answer.

“Liar.”

“No.” I say it again and wonder if he can tell that a part of me means it. “I write about it, I put it into books. That’s enough.”

Nox tilts his head, and the soft hum of his wings as they flicker quickly behind him spills through the air again. “How can you write what you don’t understand?” It’s not curiosity in the question, though, it’s a taunt. A taunt as his wings flick again and I find myself still frozen in place.

“I know what people look like when they’re afraid. I know how to write monsters.”

At least I manage to hold my tongue instead of accusing him of being a figment of my imagination again—my cooked brain finally completely giving out and letting go.

“Mmm, but you don’t know what they feel, do you?” He takes a slow step forward, and I’m surrounded by that humming, by the red and white flashes I saw in the forest when I killed Rory and that man earlier… by the glow of his eyes and the way his teeth flash again. “You want to know what fear tastes like, don’t you?”

Yes.

Yes, I want to know.

And wanting to know is exactly why I’ve fought my entire life to keep that part of me tucked away…

It would ruin me.

“No.” Even I can taste the lie in the air this time.

“I could show you.” The offer spills across the distance between us and wraps around me like gossamer strands.

Show me.

“Fuck.” I don’t mean to say it aloud, but I can’t help it. He’s literally offering me everything I’ve wanted, and everything I’ve done my damn best to avoid, on a platter.

And I’m so fucked up that instead of running away screaming from the giant monster the kids used to whisper about when I was younger, I’m staring at him.

I’m considering his offer.

“How?” I should have said no again.

Nox’s wings flare wide, slowly fanning behind him. A dance of eyes. That dangerous temptation whispered around the campfire…

“I know the taste of fear.” His voice is a low rumble to match the lure of his wings. “I know how to drink it down as someone dies. That man you tried to kill… I could feed you the taste of what he felt like as he was falling.”

Fuck.

Oh fuck.

“Fear,” I murmur, and he nods.

“I could feed it to you until you were drowning, until it’s all you could taste. I could show you everything.”

I sway where I stand, the offer almost too much to refuse, too much to walk away from. “What does fear taste like?” I can’t stop the question.

“Wet and hot and bitter.”

The way he describes it like a meal instead of an emotion is just jarring enough to bring me back to myself.

“And what would you want in return?”

Nox’s eyes flash again in a vicious burst of crimson danger. “To drink down your reaction when that fear meets your apathy and turns to smoke.”