15. Aliana
ALIANA
The Devourer doesn’t return to the courtyard after his meeting with the Grotesque.
Hell, he doesn’t even acknowledge me again as he storms around the house, throwing things at random and cursing in some foreign language I can’t comprehend.
At least, I’m assuming he’s cursing. It definitely doesn’t sound as if he’s offering up any compliments.
I watch him through a window, and he slams a chair against the wall, his chest heaving and his claws extending.
He’s so utterly feral in a way that makes both my throat and thighs clench.
He’s violent and borderline unhinged. But, just minutes ago, he was brushing my hair so gently.
The bizarre contrast sends shivers corkscrewing across my skin because I don’t know what it means—his monster side is on display for the rest of the world, but not for me.
Something tender kindles in my belly, and I quickly smother the feeling.
No.
When Filia grips my upper arm and leads me back towards my room—aka, my pretty prison—I don’t fight her.
Her lips are pressed into a tight line, and she doesn’t speak to me as she slams the door shut behind me.
I know I hurt her feelings, but I can’t find it within me to care.
Sure, she hasn’t been overly hostile to me like the rest of the monsters in this world, but I don’t know her from Eve.
And I definitely don’t know her intentions.
She could be friend or foe, and I won’t discover which one until the knife’s already in my back.
With nothing to do, I find myself pacing back and forth, back and forth, my gaze snagging on the unopened sarcophagus in the corner of the room.
I wonder how that fucker died and what made him important enough to warrant being displayed in a museum.
Perhaps he was a king. Or maybe even a queen—I’m sure I won’t be able to tell what gender the skeleton is from the bones, if that one still has bones inside and isn’t cleaned out like the other.
I’m going to assume it’s a he, though. History has proven time and time again that men are worshiped while women are demeaned.
Perhaps I’ll name him Skelly. I rather like that name…
Fuck, am I losing my mind?
I’ve only been trapped at the Cloisters for a day or two, and already, I fucked a ghost with a wine bottle—still mourning the death of that little tramp.
RIP Diana—and befriended a skeleton. Though honestly?
It wouldn’t surprise me if the skeleton was actually sentient and currently stalking me.
Stranger things have happened in this world.
Maybe that’s the ghost occasionally stalking—and fucking—me.
I shove aside the lid of the sarcophagus to find there are indeed some linen-wrapped bones resting on the bottom.
“You alive in there, Skelly?”
No answer.
Hours go by, and I find myself out of my mind with boredom.
What the hell did the Grotesque say to the Devourer to make him so upset? Not that I care that the Devourer is upset—I actually want to laugh out loud at the thought—but I’m losing brain cells trapped in here. I seriously doubt I could convince even Filia to let me out, not after what I did to her.
Though perhaps…
“Mr. Ghosty?” I tentatively venture a step towards my bed, as if I half expect to find him sprawled across the mattress like one of those old-fashioned French models I’ve seen in magazines. “You there, bud?”
Did I really just call the guy who brought me to orgasm, “bud”? Yes. Yes, I did, apparently.
And then, because I’m a fucking dumbass, I add, “Buddy?”
Yup. Buddy.
Facepalm.
Predictably, there’s no answer, just like before.
I don’t know what I expected—the lights to flicker or the ground to tremble or maybe for Diana’s long-lost sister to once again find her way inside of me.
When nothing happens, my shoulders droop as unexplainable pain pierces my chest like a javelin.
Alone.
Again.
“So you fuck me and leave me, is that it?” I call to the empty air, not expecting a reply.
So you can imagine my utter shock and horror when a salacious voice retorts, “Why, I’d never!” The three words are accompanied by a mocking gasp. “A lady should be treasured.”
I spin around, my fists lifting instinctively in front of my face, just as the closet door opens and a man steps out of it.
No, not a man.
A monster.
My breath catches as the most striking, ethereal monster I’ve ever seen walks gracefully towards me, a cocksure grin curling up one corner of his lips.
Long, black hair parted directly down the middle cascades around his shoulders in silky, miniscule waves.
Blue streaks are woven throughout, heightening the dark blue of his eyes.
He wears a pair of brown pants, but his chest is bare, revealing skin that may be made out of blue tree bark.
Of course, it’s impossible to tell from this distance, but it’s the strangest texture I’ve ever seen—rough almost, and scaly.
His hands are abnormally large, the fingers ending in claws that appear sharp enough to cut open my neck.
My gaze travels upwards, towards his chiseled features, including a strong jawline, sharp cheekbones, and proud nose.
Blue dots seem to form a line directly above his cheekbones, spanning from one side of his face to the other.
His ears are incredibly large and pointed, but they’re nothing compared to the horns curling out of his head.
No, not horns. Antlers. Unlike the Devourer’s tiny horns, this monster has tall, twisting ones—nearly the length of his head—that are covered in a variety of flowers and vines.
Who the fuck is he?
And why is he coming straight towards me with that perpetual smirk on his face?
“Stay back!” I bellow, desperately searching for something I can use as a weapon, despite knowing I won’t be able to find anything.
I still have my fists, however, which I suppose will have to be good enough.
I’ve trained with bows and arrows, swords and daggers, guns and grenades, so you can bet your ass I know how to take someone down with my hands and feet.
But a monster like him?
Tall, strong, and full of a lethal grace?
Eh. The verdict is still out on that one.
But maybe death wouldn’t be the worst thing that has happened to me…
The thought of not fighting, of willingly surrendering myself to this strange tongue, flits through my head. I actually drop my hands back to my sides before shoving the macabre thought away and raising them once more to fight.
Giving up might be the easiest option, but I refuse, fucking refuse, to go down without a fight.
“Easy, little warrior.” The monster’s voice is smooth as honey. Silky almost, like a glass of bourbon that slides down your throat and fills your belly with warmth.
It only serves to make me more uneasy.
He may have a pretty, soothing voice, but everything else about him screams danger. Even the way he moves—with feline agility—tightens my stomach muscles as fear lights a dozen bonfires inside of my body.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he croons, slowly approaching me the way one would a feral cat that was hissing and clawing at him.
Thinking about feral cats reminds me of the Devourer’s strange comparison a few hours earlier. He called me a kitty cat, a goddamn pussy.
If I’m any type of cat, I’d be a tiger, and I won’t hesitate to unsheathe my claws on all of these monsters.
“How did you get in my room?” I demand with a bravado I don’t truly feel.
I know for a fact that the Devourer has defenses in place to protect his home—and, I begrudgingly admit, me. It’s one of the many, many things he was ranting about before. I can still hear his voice echoing in my head…
“Is the smoke still in place, Filia?” he snapped at the tiny, black and orange monster.
“Yes, sir,” she practically squeaked, one of her chicken feet clawing nervously at the ground.
“No one is allowed inside! NO ONE!” he roared before throwing another plate at the wall and watching it shatter.
That had been just before Filia had taken me back to my room, but I can hear his voice as clearly as if he’s screaming directly into my ear.
So if he has all of these defenses in place…
Then how the fuck did this blue monster get into his home?
As a human, I can’t sense the power in him the way other tongues probably can, but I don’t need those senses to know he’s immensely powerful.
There’s something about the way he walks, with a swagger and confidence that suggests no one will stop him, and the cocksure grin tilting up his lips.
His larger-than-life personality practically fills every crevice of the cavernous room, permeating the air until I feel as if I’m choking on it.
“The closet, little warrior.” He jerks his thumb behind him towards where the closet door still hangs open, squeaking on slightly rusty hinges.
He winks a dark blue eye. “The Devourer allows me easy access in and out of his house.” A low, delicious chuckle escapes him.
“Believe it or not, I’m the ugly bastard’s best friend.
” He pauses, considering his words for a moment, before amending, “His only friend.”
“Why, shocker,” I drawl, countering his step forward with a step backwards. I want to keep as much distance between us as I can. Even the ten or so feet separating our bodies isn’t enough. Hell, I’m not sure an entire ocean would be enough.
And then his words penetrate my tired, slightly numb human brain, and I blink at him.
“The closet? Are you…?” I swallow heavily. “Are you the monster under the bed? The monster in the closet?” The one Filia practically drooled over? The Terror?
His grin broadens, revealing surprisingly white teeth. I don’t know why I’m so shocked. Perhaps I expected them to be covered in blood and guts, yellowing with decay. Do monsters even have dentists? Because his teeth are goddamn superb.