Chapter 38
THIRTY-EIGHT
ABADDON
I tell myself I’m hunting as I soar through the darkening sky, seeking the male who dared clothe my Hannah-consort in their garments. But the lie tastes bitter on my tongue.
The truth? I’m fleeing. From words sharper than any claw she could have grown. From the way her voice cracked when she spoke of my brothers’ suffering—our suffering. From the realization that everything I believed about strength and protection might be as twisted as the scars across my back.
“You’ve got him locked up in the dark. It’s atrocious.”
Her words echo in my skull, each repetition driving my wings harder against the wind. She called me a monster—not for my appearance, but for my actions. The distinction cuts deeper than Creator-Father’s whip ever did.
I roar my frustration to the empty mountains, the sound echoing off stone faces that have witnessed centuries of my anguish. How many times did I dream of someone who might understand? Someone who could see past these cursed features to whatever remained of my soul?
And when such a miracle finally arrived—brave, fierce, magnificent Hannah—I responded exactly as he trained me. With dominance. With force. With the crushing weight of possession disguised as protection.
Only cowards use force, she’d said once. Had she been preparing me for this revelation even then?
My flight becomes erratic as memories surface unbidden. Creator-Father’s voice, silk-smooth and venomous: “You cannot even win a fight against your brothers, even though you are the superior destroyer.”
He had pitted us against each other constantly, three tortured souls clawing for scraps of approval that never came.
When we fought too long without a victor, his bullwhip would separate us with scientific precision.
Then came the aftermath—extra lashes for each of us, chained and helpless, while he cataloged our failures.
“The new monsters won’t have your flaws. They will be truly superior.”
But his newest creation, our youngest brother, writhed in endless hunger that no amount of feeding could satisfy. Beauty wrapped around madness—Creator-Father’s greatest achievement and most damning failure.
Did that make him grateful for those of us who came before? Did he recognize our desperate attempts to be worthy?
No.
He despised us more with each passing year. His disappointment grew heavier and his punishments more creative. His whip became an extension of his will, teaching us that love was earned through submission, that protection required domination.
I had sworn I would be different. I would create the family he never could. I would—
Gods of the Great Hall. I torpedo through the air, my chest tight with horrified understanding. I sound exactly like him. Every thought of breeding Hannah, of keeping her contained for her own good, of using strength to solve problems she could handle with wisdom...
I am my father’s son in all the ways that matter.
The realization should shatter me. Instead, something else rises in its place—a desperate, aching need to prove that I can be the male Hannah-consort deserves rather than the monster I was made to be.
I bank sharply toward home, no longer fleeing but returning with purpose crystallizing in my chest. Hannah has given me something I never dared hope for: a chance to choose who I become.
But first, I must face what I’ve done. What I’ve allowed to continue in the darkness below our home. If I am to win back her trust—to become worthy of the gift she represents—I must start with the truth she showed me.
My brothers are not my prisoners to keep. They are my family to heal.
As I approach the castle, my enhanced hearing catches something that makes my heart clench with both dread and desperate hope: singing. Hannah’s voice, clear and pure, rising from the depths I forbade her to enter.
She went back. Despite my commands, despite my threats, she returned to show my brothers the same mercy she’s been showing me.
Fear and fury battle in my chest, but underneath both emotions again runs something new—admiration. My fierce, stubborn, perfect Hannah, teaching me about courage even when I’m not there to witness it.
I land on the window ledge with more care than I’ve ever shown these stones, my claws finding purchase without the usual scraping destruction. Even my approach must change. Hannah has made it clear that force will never again be my first response.
The singing grows clearer as I make my way down the stairs, each note a dagger of beauty in the darkness I’ve allowed to fester. My fur stands on end, not with rage but with the terrible knowledge of what I might find.
When I reach the dungeon entrance, the sight before me stops my heart entirely.
Hannah sits within the circle of Thing’s many arms, wearing one of Creator-Father’s kitchen coverings as a makeshift dress.
But she’s not cowering or trapped; she’s chosen to be there.
Thing’s claws, which have drawn my blood countless times, rest gently against her shoulders as she sings.
His hair, once matted with filth, gleams clean and combed in the torchlight.
She bathed him. Groomed him. Treated him with the dignity I denied him for centuries.
“Here we go,” Remus observes from his corner, alerting them to my presence.
Hannah looks up with a smile so bright it could illuminate every shadow in this cursed place. “Abaddon! Look, Thing and I—”
The old patterns surge through me like muscle memory—reach out, grab, dominate, control. My hand moves toward her throat, lifting her away from what I perceive as danger.
But the moment her feet leave the ground, the moment I see shock and betrayal flood her beautiful features, everything changes.
This is not protection.
This is exactly what he did to me.
Remus’s tail whips around my throat, jerking me backward with shocking strength. I stumble, releasing Hannah, who drops to the floor and scrambles away from me.
Away. From. Me.
The look in her eyes—gods, the look in her eyes. Not fear of Thing or Remus, but of me.
I am still the monster she needs protection from.
Thing’s claws emerge all at once, seeking every piece of vulnerable skin he can reach.
For the first time in our violent history, I don’t fight back. I deserve every drop of blood he draws.
“No!” Hannah cries out, and I realize with distant amazement that she’s protecting me now. Even after what I just did, she’s shielding me from the consequences of my own actions.
“Why no?” Thing’s voice seethes against my ear, his claws still embedded in my flesh.
Hannah positions herself between us, one small hand on Thing’s massive shoulder. The tender gesture breaks something in my chest. She touches him with kindness and offers him comfort. She’s treating him like the brother he is, instead of the beast I made him believe himself to be.
“Why protect him?” Thing demands, his rough voice carrying decades of justified rage. “He hurt you. You bear his kit. He deserves death.”
Kit? The word hits me like a physical blow. I fall to my knees as my enhanced senses finally catch what I missed in all my fury—the subtle but unmistakable scent change that marks the beginning of new life. Thing’s sense of scent has always been better than mine, so he knew before I—
She’s pregnant.
With my child. The future I dreamed, the family I yearned to create... and I nearly destroyed it all with the same brutality that created us.
Remus releases my throat, and shackles fall from my eyes, and oh gods of the Great Hall, do I see.
Thing is clean—truly clean—for the first time since Creator-Father chained him in this place.
His skin is cleaned of filth, and even his claws have been cleansed and trimmed. He not only allowed her to touch him but to bathe, groom, and cover his nakedness. He, who attacks if I ever come within feet of him.
Though I am on my knees now, he has reared up on his legs, all six arms and thirty claws bared and ready should I attack.
He, who has always had a more wickedly acute sense of smell than I, protects my consort from me.
And I, like my father before me, am the only true monster here.