Chapter 42 Slipping On New Skin
Slipping On New Skin
I’m not sure I’m human anymore.
When Shadow comes to me, at least once a week, out of his mind with an animalistic fervor from eating too many monster hearts that taint his humanity, I change my clothes, grab my coat, and have him follow me to different dive bars or clubs.
I’m not sure if it’s my nature, my history, or the company I keep, but every time I go out, I’m able to key in on the human monsters in the room. The ones with parts of their souls broken off, leaving jagged edges that are likely to cut others.
As I frequent seedy bars and dive deeper into the underworld, I uncover drug deals and witness men violating women in dark corners they think are hidden.
The stench of cheap liquor and stale cigarettes, the sticky floors and hollow laughter, become the familiar backdrop of my life. This is where I belong now, amid the filth and depravity of humanity's lowest depths. This is where my new purpose thrives.
As I lead these predators out into the night, Shadow waits in the darkness, hungry and desperate. He trusts me to bring him what he needs, keeping a distance from the rest so that no one else gets hurt.
Each time I bring him a deserving meal, I wait for the wave of conflicting emotions to wash over me. I expect a part of me to recoil at the thought of being complicit in the death of another person, yet I only ever feel a twisted satisfaction in fulfilling Shadow’s desires.
More than providing for him, I no longer live in constant fear I’ll end up homeless. The money I skim from these dangerous characters stretches even farther than the basics.
Gradually, my wardrobe is changing. Gone are the tattered, threadbare jeans and tops riddled with holes. I can shop at regular department stores whenever I please instead of the sparing visits to Goodwill I am always reluctant to splurge on.
I relish every new thick sweater and often find myself running my hands over the soft material. They all have a fresh, clean scent to them, unlike the musty and worn smell of the secondhand clothes I used to get.
My furry black visitor now gets big cans of tuna instead of the little ones. He comes by more often. I haven’t allowed myself to name the cat, but I did finally note the sex of my feline friend.
While I’ve been enjoying the delights of my soft, new comforts, more of my attire has transformed into a sleeker, sexier look.
Next to a set of impossibly comfortable sweatpants are tight dresses that wrap around me like a second skin.
My closet has become cramped with pleather pants I pair with silky tops that make me feel like a panther on the prowl.
My shoes, once practical, are now high heels that click authoritatively against the pavement, piercing through the ice, stabilizing me.
It took me weeks of practice, teetering around my apartment like a newborn calf on wobbly legs before I finally mastered the art of walking on "danger stilts," as I call them.
The transformation isn't just physical. With each encounter, each heart I lead to Shadow, I feel myself becoming something else, something more akin to the creatures I hunt. Which makes them all the easier to spot.
The scent of cologne and sweat mixes with the lies they speak in sweet nothings. Their eyes sparkle with a glint of danger as they barely restrain their hope of taking advantage of me. I taste their anticipation as the pulse of the nightlife throbs beneath my skin.
I have nothing to fear. I am the hunter, luring in my unsuspecting prey with exposed flesh, big innocent eyes shining with false innocence, and plump glossy lips.
My sheer tops and dresses showcase the outlines of my nipples I've intentionally drawn to points with ice cubes. Night after night I bait the predatory, lecherous beasts with my wiles and they come, like moths to a flame. And by the time they realize they've been ensnared in my trap, it's too late.
In between acts of playing the dark siren, I find myself with some extra time to enjoy things I couldn’t before. Grocery shopping has become a favorite activity.
What used to be a necessary chore that would have sweat popping on the back of my neck as I stretched every dollar and penny is now a pleasure.
I got some cookbooks from the library, and I have the time and energy to experiment with more than boiled eggs and ramen cups.
So far, I’ve mastered stir-fry, a hazelnut-encrusted salmon, and beef stroganoff.
My attempt at coq au vin ended up with a very smoky kitchen and a purple chicken, but it didn’t taste too bad.
In this new life I've carved out, a strange, dark domesticity has settled over Shadow and me.
It's a life far removed from the ordinary, but it has its own rhythm, its own peculiar sense of normalcy.
There are visits to the library, time to cook new meals, going out to lure people to their death, and then more often than not, a fast, furious fuck in the alley after Shadow has eaten. What more could a girl want?
Tonight, I'm dressed in one of my new outfits—a tight dress with cutouts at my sides to show even more bare skin. The emerald material creates a striking contrast with my dark hair that’s down in a glossy waterfall.
I was drawn to the way it also brought out the deep tones of my green eyes.
The fabric clings to every curve, cutting high on the thigh and scooping low at the neck.
My danger stilts add a swagger to my step.
I'll be ready to play the bait and get Shadow another human heart the next time he shows up.
As if hearing my thoughts, Shadow slides out from under the bed, filling the room, and darkening the lamp I have on to view my new dress.
He’s not here with the crazed fervor of a beast glutted on monster hearts, but with a calmness that's rare and unsettling.
His dark form materializes from the shadows, his presence enveloping the room with an intensity that makes my heart skip a beat.
I turn around to face him. His horns are longer than they used to be, but they aren’t spiraled out of control. His eyes are a familiar misty white. He hovers there, watching me. My skin heats under his intense gaze.
Normally he comes and it’s a fury and fervor to get him a human heart before he loses himself altogether. But tonight, it’s just... Shadow.
"Hi." Suddenly, I’m nervous.
"Evie," he says, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through the air. "Tonight, I don't want to hunt."
Hard to believe, considering the way he scans my body with hunger.
"No?" I ask, tugging the dress down and gaining a scant half-inch of thigh coverage.
His tentacles reach out, caressing my exposed shoulders and collarbones before sweeping up my neck and burrowing into my hair. I let out a soft sigh, enjoying his touch.
"I want to take you somewhere you want to go," he rumbles.
I'm caught off guard. The offer is so out of character that I need a moment to process. "Really? Anywhere?"
He nods and a thrill of excitement courses through me. An idea sparks to life, something I haven't allowed myself to think about in what feels like forever. "The beach," I say. "I want to see the ocean."
There’s a smile in his voice. "Then the ocean it is."
I change out of my club attire into something more comfortable—soft, worn jeans and a cozy sweater that feels like a warm hug. My boots are practical, made for walking rather than allure. As I dress, Shadow doesn’t look away. Nervousness prickles under my skin as butterflies flap in my tummy.
Just two beings ready for a night out together. Almost like any other couple.
Wow, I really have lost my mind.
I hope I never find it.
We venture out into the night. Shadow stays close, his form a mere wisp of darkness at my side, unseen by passersby.
We make our way to the bus stop, the city lights casting long shadows on the pavement.
The bus ride is a surreal experience—me, wrapped in my thoughts, and Shadow, a silent, unseen guardian accompanying me across town.
How long have I wanted to see the ocean? Forever.
The journey is a symphony of mundane sounds—the hum of the bus engine, the murmur of late-night travelers, the rhythmic thumping of tires on the road—all underscored by the steady beat of my own heart.
We’re going to see the ocean!
I almost hope we never arrive, and I stay suspended in this excited anticipation forever. Is knowing your dream is about to come true even better than the actual manifestation itself?
I’ve always been drawn to the vastness of the ocean, though I’ve never been fully able to comprehend what that means.
I long to know the scent of saltwater on the breeze, the deafening roar of crashing waves filling my ears.
It is a sensation beyond my comprehension, one that I have desired with every fiber of my being.
This would be the first time I’ve even come close to having a dream come true.
Is this what other people get? How regularly?
Do they feel this amount of excitement and peace before something lovely is about to happen?
Or do other people take these moments for granted?
Maybe if I had human friends, I could ask.
But right now, I don’t need anyone but the bus driver and Shadow.
When we arrive at the beach two hours later, my eyes blur with tears as I take in the wild beauty before me.
It’s so much more than I’ve ever even imagined.
The moonlit ocean spreads out before me in shades of blue and silver.
The waves crash in a relentless, rhythm against the shore, stealing my breath with each beat.
The salty tang of the sea air fills my lungs, and the cool breeze caresses my skin.
My skin shrinks and expands. I am infinitesimal compared to the majestic expanse in front of me, yet also completely alive and connected to it all.
My vision blurs as my breath is stolen by the enormity of it.