Chapter Thirteen
I t has been three years since I have seen the Creatori.
After placing the beast in stasis, I sacrificed the remainder of my magicks to erect an extremely powerful set of wards. The wards meant that I never had to check on it to know that it was still in its prison.
I have changed a lot in the past three years.
I don’t know why I expected the Creatori to still be the same monster it had been then. Not just due to whatever the cultists had done to the monster to change its appetite and demeanor, but also because of my knowledge of what lurks beneath its surface.
A small part of me begins to wonder.
Is it possible that even a tiny bit of Euyriale Tynnan is still in there?
If she were, would that truly make a difference? Would that give me pause when that final strike comes?
I tell myself no, but the little girl inside of me that still feels the pain of her own mother’s death hesitates. When this is done, when the Creatori is put down, how will my mate fare?
I breathe evenly, as I let myself remember Blake’s recounting of his childhood and the horrible way the woman who was supposed to love him above all else treated him. How she made him feel so much less .
That reminder is all it takes to renew my resolve.
This foul thing tried to destroy my mate before it became the beast.
As my anger rises, the wind begins to pick up.
Heat unfurls from low in my belly as the Creatori emerges from the shadows. Watching us as we watch it.
While the tenor of the monster’s magick had certainly changed, its appearance had not.
It makes no sound as it stands before us. Observing us, much like we are with it.
The ground around the creature decays almost instantly. Rot spreads from the points of impact with its feet. A smell of decaying earth permeates the air around us, as its magickal essence slides across our skin like a thick, slimy oil, leaving goosebumps in its wake.
It stands at a height taller than my fae mate, but only by about a foot. Torn and stretched sections of sinewy skin extend across its body in various places. That, paired with its predominantly curvy figure, is the last remaining evidence of the feminine form the monster once inhabited.
The areas of its body not shrouded by the thinly stretched membranes, show a leathery surface covering bulging, rippling muscles.
Its face is barely visible behind a larger stretch of the opalescent former skin. The only features more easily seen are the pure black orbs that peer down at us, and the large jagged teeth inside a mouth spread far too wide, as it opens and closes its lipless maw.
When it’s closed you wouldn’t know it had a mouth at all.
Of this entire creature, I honestly think that feature has terrified me the most.
Its fingers and toes end in large black claws that seem to bleed the coloring back into the white surface of its arms. That same darkness mars its pallid skin in places where it has suffered damage and healed. Hideous scars that show the final moment of so many lives this monster has taken.
And it’s that final observation that has my blood turning to ice.
Lives lost not just by this monster’s hands, but also by those who once served it.
Words pulse through my mind.
No, not words.
Names.
Faces.
Each one sending a jolt of pain straight to my heart, and adding to the well of pressure building inside of me.
Elswyth Grimshaw
The mother I would give anything to talk with just one more time. To run my fingers through her wild mane of hair. To hear her sing me to sleep, or scold me for getting distracted from my chores. To have her hold me close and make me feel safe.
Her body engulfed in flames as she collapses to the ground.
A sharp pain hits me in the chest and brings tears to my eyes. Still, I keep my focus on the beast before me.
Orpheus Grimshaw
The uncle I never knew I had, but the familiar I would always cherish.
His body going limp in my arms because I was too weak to save him.
Another sharp pain hits my chest and I feel the tears roll down my cheeks. The monster still waits. Watches me.
Cordelia Coakley
The grandmother who loved me as if I truly were her own. Her smile and sass. Her hard determination and strength. Her unwavering faith in me. Her deep love for her grandson.
Her lifeless head dangling from the hand of the cultist ring leader.
This time the pain is so intense that it momentarily leaves me breathless and panting. From the corners of my vision, I see my mates clutch their chests for a brief moment. The creature continues to stare directly at me. Sneering.
Taryn Waller
That name alone is almost too much. I can see his proud smile when he is introduced as one of the most powerful fledglings in the village. I can see his joy as he runs around and plays with the other children. I can see his irritation when he lost our last game together. I can see…
His cold dead body cradled in my arms.
Glimpses of faces. Flashes of gruesome scenes. It floods my mind until I feel like I’m drowning.
“Your pain tastes delicious. Almost sweeter than the ones you see. The ones I took.”
The monster’s words slam around inside of my head and my ears begin to ring. The wind whips around us vigorously, carrying my screams of raw pain.
The creatori opens its mouth wider, and garbled words whisper in my ear.
“Your pain is mine. You are mine.”