Atticus heard the voice of Siya, and he spun about. Some distance from where he stood he could see a single tiny hand, charred and mangled, rise above a mound of broken earth. The ember-like pupils of his eyes flashed, and he stretched his obsidian wings. With one mighty beat, Atticus jumped from the ground, flying in a long arc that carried him to where Siya lay.

He landed softly, falling to his knees beside the tiny vampire. Almost instantly his infernal eyes welled with unnatural tears. Liquid gold filled the bottom of his vision, and eventually ran in shimmering rivulets down the valleys of his face. 

“Oh Siya,” Atticus whispered to her, quiet with stunned disbelief. 

Trembling hands reached towards the blackened flesh that made the delicate vampire almost unrecognizable. The golden droplets of Atticus’ tears fell in stark contrast against Siya’s skin as he bent forward to carefully envelope her with his arms. Slowly, and with consummate care, Atticus lifted Siya towards him.

As he drew her ever closer, his body rocked with silent sobs. The gold was streaming from his eyes now, and Atticus buried his face in the ruined mass of Siya’s once blond hair. 

“Siya, you can’t go. Not like this. By all the gods, not like this. Not so soon.”

Though the world had been saved from the terrible will of the god-wolf, if this was the price, Atticus vowed to himself that it was too high. In that moment of sinking hope, regret was what he felt the most. A demon he was, and immortal at that. Born into the world of humanity like a giant among ants. Blessed with powers and with whit that had granted him dominion over a grand destiny, and a life of ill-gotten opportunities. 

His years had been spent among carnal pleasures, heroic adventures, and clandestine dealings. Life for Atticus had been a game of relentless self-appeasement. It was a calling that came naturally to him, and he had never fought it. Being an agent of Bain & Hoyle had given him a star to set his compass by, a trajectory to a purpose, but Atticus knew that he had followed it on a circuitous route that left many broken in his wake. 

[i]Just like Siya,[/i] he thought. 

Another sob wracked him, and Atticus lifted his head up. He blinked away the golden tears, and looked into the eyes of the only creature that had ever captured his heart. 

“Let me try and fix this,” he said to Siya. “Just don’t slip away, please don’t let go of this world.”

Without looking away, Atticus cradled Siya in his lap, and raised his left hand towards the black horns that sprouted from above his brow. A quick jab sent one of the sharp points through his left wrist, and as Atticus withdrew his hand, he could feel warm blood running down the length of his arm.

He brought his wrist to Siya’s cracked lips, and he pressed the bleeding wound gently to her mouth. 

“Please, take whatever you need. Take it all if it means you will be whole again.”