You Can't Run From The Dark

{Part 4}

~Zaire~

Zaire finally  felt the girl's eyes drag away from him, so he allowed himself to look up from his book as she stood to grab her platter of barely-eaten food. For some goddamn reason, the second that she stepped away from his vicinity, his shadows literally jumped  off of his skin to lurch toward her retreating form. What the fuck?  He forcibly drew them back in place, and they writhed in protest. It was like a magnetic pull had jerked them out of him to follow that girl. He shook his head in disbelief. It must have happened because his shadows were in need of exercise. He had too much energy in his reserves right now. But shadows had no need for chasing, only he did. They could have been reacting to his own craving for a chase, but the girl had walked away slowly. It shouldn't have triggered a reflex for him. It felt like something else - like his shadows wanted that mortal girl for their own reasons, more than anything or anyone he had ever come across. He had them under control for the most part, but it was exhausting to constantly curb their desires to do as they wished. Shadows were inclined to do some stretching every once in awhile, and perhaps he kept them cramped up inside far too much, and they were getting antsy. It didn't have anything to do with that girl specifically, he told himself. But as Zaire watched her back, he had the strange urge to follow her himself, and he didn't understand why. It couldn't be the potency of her emotions earlier - he was full from them. Didn't need more. So what was it? 

The girl turned around at that moment, and he finally saw her face. She was beautiful for a mortal girl. She had dainty features and big doe eyes that were a color that resembled citrine. He had never seen a mortal with eyes that color before. He supposed that she looked a bit like a little doll. She would have looked more like a doll if she didn't have a slightly hollow look to her cheeks that belied her starvation. He imagined that if she were to eat enough to fill them out, she would be quite chase-worthy. Not that he was interested in hunting her, or anyone.

Zaire had been abstaining from his bloodthirst, as well as his lust, for the last few years. Perhaps that was another reason his shadows were restless, and edging on recklessness. But they would need to make do. He had spent far too long bending to the whims of his shadows - it was high time for them to bend to him. He was the one in charge, after all, not them.

The girl's gaze was searching the table she had been sitting at moments before, looking confused. Then her eyes drifted to meet Zaire's and they widened when he allowed her to see him looking at her. Her face flushed into a warm pink color, and he lifted one eyebrow at her. She spun around with her long hair fanning out from the movement, and continued down the hallway.

Sure, she had a certain appeal,  but he didn't agree with the impulse to follow a weak little mortal. Especially if he wasn't willing to give her a good chase. She was clearly malnourished, so it would hardly be a challenge, and Zaire wasn't interested in easy pickings. So why was he still watching the hallway for too long a moment, after she had already disappeared from view? He gritted his teeth and snapped the book shut, standing abruptly. He stalked over to the library area to return the book to its rightful place, and stormed out of The Den.

Zaire needed to vent his frustrations, before he took them out on some innocent pedestrian. Fae were loitering all through the streets and sidewalks - some wearing glamours, most not. This district was a popular hang-out for the Dark Fae, but a few Light Fae and Solitaries were straggling about as well. He scanned his surroundings as he stomped down the street. He dropped his glamour as he rounded a corner and cut through an alleyway. He didn't need it outside The Den. Glamourless, mortals saw right through his form like he was invisible, though as he breezed past them, they shivered. He summoned his shadows to shroud him, to obscure himself from other Fae. At the end of the alleyway, he saw what he was searching for on the street it opened up to. A Solitary Fae was poking and prodding a mortal child who lagged behind their parents. Without a glamour, the Solitary was like a mischievous imaginary friend, relentlessly toying with the little boy. The kid yelped when he was pinched by the Fae male, and started to run to catch up to his family members. Wrong choice. The kid didn't know what he was afraid of - what he was running from. He couldn't see the being that was tormenting him, but Zaire could. And that Fae male was about to regret his decision to provoke the kid into a chase. Zaire didn't care what he had planned to do with the kid once he had caught him. He just needed someone to unleash his shadows on, and a pesky, lascivious Solitary was a prime candidate for his afflictions. Before the Fae had a chance to run after the kid, or notice Zaire watching him, his shadows unfurled eagerly and the tendrils shot out at lightning speed. They twisted and turned as they rushed at the male, and once they coiled around him, he was done for. The shadows wound around his limbs, wriggled around his neck, and the wispy fingers of pure darkness gouged his eyes. The Fae male's garbled scream of horror was choked out by the tendrils that had sharpened and stabbed down his throat like daggers. His body seized once, twice - before it went limp. Zaire's shadows vibrated and stretched with delight as the male's flesh disintegrated into ash. When there was nothing left of the mongrel, his shadows danced with glee before they languidly slithered back in his direction.

"Happy now?" Zaire grumbled as they swirled around his body like ribbons in the wind, before he drew them back under his skin, with much less effort than he usually had to implement.

When the last smoky wisp was back in place, his shadows settled calmly inside of him, clearly content. Zaire, however, was not. He thought he would feel better after giving his shadows some freedom to romp, to expend some of the pent-up energy, but he didn't. He felt a tugging sensation inside that seemed to say follow that girl,  and he didn't appreciate it. He wanted nothing to do with her - he had no reason to follow her. He had his fill of her distasteful emotions and unwanted attention already. She was a nuisance, at best.

That's what Zaire told himself, at least, as he forced himself to step through his usual seam in the Veil - taking him from the mortal city street, and spitting him back out in his home in the Dark Realm of Faerie. He lived in the Outskirts of the Dark, far from the palace and the majority of the Dark Fae. No one bothered him out here, except the Pestilence. The Pests were once Dark Nymphs, but they had evolved over time to become rather annoying little creatures. They don't typically even speak in full sentences anymore, they just parrot phrases and rhymes, and bite and hiss if a Fae tries to approach their horde. For whatever reason, the Pestilence were drawn to Zaire, and they swarmed him after an absence as if they missed him. It was like having hundreds of tiny pets that he hadn't asked for. He would swat at them and curse at them when they swarmed him, but they never seemed to let it bother them. Luckily, they stayed outside where they belonged, so as long as he seamed his way right into his living room, he could avoid the "family reunion." 

The Fae who live around the palace think that they've eradicated the cursed things, but they linger still, in the Outskirts. Zaire peeked through the curtains to see if they knew he was home already. He didn't see any, so he guessed that they weren't aware yet, or they would be tapping at the windows as a hello. He wasn't in the mood for it, even if he could use a distraction. Zaire moved away from the window to draw a bath. Once he had done so, he disrobed and sank into the claw-foot tub, determined to finally relax. He let his shadows seep out and ooze over the sides of the tub, heaving out a deep sigh.

"I expect you to behave next time . . . " Zaire murmured with exasperation.

Shadows didn't need  to kill - they could inflict terror instead, and delight in that. He could have stopped them from vanquishing the Solitary Fae in the city, but he hadn't. Whether it was because he felt guilty for caging them inside most of the time like kenneled animals, or because he was frustrated from the situation in The Den, he wasn't sure. Regardless, his shadows ran with it, and he needed them to know that killing would not be acceptable every time he allowed them the freedom to stretch. It was gluttonous and gratuitous, and fear was enough of a treat on its own. Aside from that, if anyone was doing the killing, it should be him. He couldn't even remember his last chase. A Fae chase was never for sport alone - Fae chased for the taste of blood (and for the more depraved ones, the taste of flesh as well) or to satisfy their lust. He was doing neither of those things these days, so causing death and wreaking havoc was fairly unnecessary at this point. If anything, death just agitated him, reminding him too much of the pleasures he was denying himself to partake in.

His shadows were partially at fault for that. If they had not become this powerful, he wouldn't be so busy trying to keep them docile and contained. He wouldn't worry about them ruining a good chase by interfering and getting overzealous. He missed his younger days when his shadows were more infantile and submissive, but those days were long gone, and he spent most of every day working on his self-control, as well as his control over them. 

When would he  get to have a little fun again? Zaire wondered bitterly.