21. Aliana
ALIANA
Creep falls asleep in bed shortly after mind-blowing oral, not even climbing beneath the sheets because he claimed he was too hot. His normal breathing is silent, but his second head? Um…it’s currently snoring where it’s snuggled up against his thigh.
Unlike a man, I can’t sleep after sex. It leaves me wired. This time more than any other because I just had sex with a freakin’ tongue. A literal tongue, but also, like, a tongue! A monster!
“God, Aliana, what were you thinking?” I murmur.
While I stare down at Creep in the soft morning light diffused through the stained-glass windows, I realize he doesn’t look dangerous.
He definitely still looks monstrous. No human would call him handsome, I’m sure—they’d probably take one look at his tree-bark skin and run for the hills. I would have too, once upon a time.
But now, there’s something sweet about the brush of his eyelashes against his cheeks, something endearing about the tiny curl of his lips—as if he’s smiling in his sleep. I wonder if he’s thinking about me.
I wonder why I want him to be thinking about me.
“Shit. What is wrong with me?” Monsters destroyed this planet. They terrorize humans. They eat us! I mean, Zeelof was putting fingers into his goddamned soup like it was no big deal! Loneliness is making me forget who I am and where I came from.
Creep might be a good monster. But one good apple surrounded by bad ones will end up spoiling.
I slide out of bed, wringing my hands.
What do I do when Creep wakes up? What do I say? I doubt a Terror like him will accept an awkward one-night-stand brush-off. I release a bitter chuckle before clamping my lips shut because I’m definitely not at all ready to deal with the consequences of waking him.
I trudge over to the closet and grab a green bathrobe, then wrap it around my shoulders on top of the silky lingerie dress I’m still wearing.
My panties—I’m not exactly sure where those went, but there are no replacements on the ground here.
I dig through the clothes, looking for a belt to close the robe.
I don’t find a match, so I find a fancy leather belt that looks like it pairs with a man’s suit.
I slide it through the fluffy loops to close it up, cinching it tight.
I probably look like a crazy woman right now. I know I feel like one.
Glancing around the pile again, I wish the closet had more clothes that would fit me, but other than some black combat boots, most items in here are a bust. I throw on mismatched socks and the boots just because the stone floor in this place sucks the warmth right out of my toes.
Then I tiptoe over to my door, glancing back once to see Creep turn onto his side, the snoring sound doubling as his lower face compresses further.
I shouldn’t feel a twinge of regret as I turn my door handle, but I do.
A foolish part of me doesn’t want to leave him, wants to continue to lie there at his side and let him hold me and tell me everything will be all right.
I know he’d do it gently too, so softly and sweetly that I’d believe him.
But a lie whispered in sweet tones is still a lie.
I’m a human.
He’s a monster.
We’re enemies. Always have been. Always will be.
It’s not until I’m about five steps down the arched hallway that I even realize my bedroom door was unlocked.
Did Filia unlock it? Or one of the others?
I glance back and see the chains and padlock lying on the floor next to the handle.
Did Creep do it before he came back in to see me?
Was he going to give me a little taste of freedom anyway, even though I lost our game?
No. Nope. Not going to acknowledge the way that thought makes my chest dance.
I highly doubt the Devourer gave the order to release me… He’s such a bastard. He’s a typical monster. A brute. He’s who I need to focus on, because that’s what monsters are truly like. Violent and volatile. Cruel.
Last night with Creep was an aberration. It was a mistake.
It was, I tell my stomach, which curls into a disgruntled ball at my insistence. Despite my feelings, last night was a lapse in judgment. I can’t afford any more of those if I’m going to survive here.
I sigh, realizing that last night also probably put me on the hit list of that monster, Geova, or whatever his name is. And maybe even that female who was with him.
I need weapons.
Resolve settles through me as I open a door down the hall and see the room full of silver statues that Filia led me through the first night she brought me here.
Seeking weapons gives me a sense of purpose and hardens my resolve, making me feel more like my old self than I have in days.
Maybe that’s what I’ve been missing. A crossbow in my hands.
I doubt there’s a crossbow here. But I’ll take whatever I can get.
The silver statue room quickly proves a bust. There’s nothing but the statues themselves and little placards explaining them. I cross to a door on the opposite side of the room and pull it open.
I huff out a breath of surprise when I find a studio room.
I’ve never seen an artist’s studio in real life, only in books we scavenged from various libraries.
Most of the fiction books ultimately end up getting burned for heat in the winter, but non-fiction books have useful tidbits, so we keep those around.
There is a book on artists that the general kept in his house, even though it wasn’t strictly useful.
When I’d asked, he’d told me his mother was a painter and it made him think of her.
He’d let me flip through it, and that’s how I know what a studio looks like. What an easel and canvas are.
There are buckets with dirty water and paintbrushes scattered around the room. Paper towels striped with used colors are crumpled all over the floor like oversized flowers.
When I spot a pair of scissors gleaming on a table, I make a beeline for them. I tuck them into the pocket of my robe, keeping my fingers clenched around their base. The cool metal surges confidence into me as I continue exploring.
I find duct tape, a utility knife, and a nice screwdriver to add to my collection.
I end up keeping the utility knife in my hand, blade open and at the ready as I flip through stacks of canvases, searching for any other little tidbits that might be useful.
Maybe there’s some wire or something I can use.
I don’t pay much attention to the art itself at first. That’s not what I’m here for, and pretty picture landscapes of trees and seasons don’t entice me. It’s not until I flick to an unpainted canvas with a charcoal drawing of my face that I freeze, stricken.
An ice-cold glacier slides over my chest and compresses it so I can’t breathe.
What the fuck?
It’s me, at the auction, naked. Even though there isn’t a fleck of paint on the canvas, I can tell I’m in a spotlight because of the rough shading and shadowing.
My face is defiant.
The rest of me—is just so, there. Naked.
I quickly flip that canvas aside, hoping the next one has a wire attached.
But I find my face again. This time, it’s a close-up of me screaming.
My lips parted, red paint covering them—the only part of the canvas that’s been touched with paint at all.
The rest of my face is gray and black, full of shadows and hatches, but my full lips are red, luscious. The focal point.
I’m left off-balance by that, but I quickly let sarcasm take the wheel and drive my thoughts. Obviously, I was right. The Devourer does love arguing, if the focus on my smart mouth is any indication. It gets him off.
When I flick to the next canvas though, I stop dead—a cold snap frosting my veins.
This canvas is the only one that’s fully painted.
In it, I’m standing by the fountain in the courtyard, wearing that white gown.
The skirt flows out, caught by the wind, painted like a living river of silk.
But all around the edges of the canvas, and all in front of me, are evenly spaced black bars.
The Devourer painted me caged.
Imprisoned.
With savage ferocity, I pull the canvas from the pile and use my utility knife to cut myself out, leaving a gaping hole in the middle of the picture.
I won’t let that bastard incarcerate me—not even in his own mind.
Fuck him.
I shove the strip of painted canvas into my pocket.
I’m done with this place. With him.
I leave the studio and trudge back through the room full of silver statues, retracing the steps Filia took when she first led me in here.
Why is it so quiet? Where is everyone?
It’s almost as if…
It’s almost as if the Devourer wants me to escape, is purposely baiting me. What else would explain the broken lock and empty halls? Just what is the crazy bastard up to?
It’s a trap, a sly voice rumbles in my head, but I shush it with a defiant growl.
Trap or not, it’s still my chance at escape. Quite possibly my only chance.
Even the strange pang in my chest urging me to turn around, to crawl beneath the covers and snuggle up with Creep, isn’t loud enough to speak over the mounting courage expanding inside me. That courage is prompting me to run, to fight, to leave .
I emerge from the building and find myself facing a low wall. I scale it easily, dropping down on the other side and immediately brandishing my weapon and searching for threats. I don’t see any.
Of course, I’m still inside that ring of black mist. I chew my lower lip as I skirt the edge of the wall, heading for a tree that will provide me cover from people looking out the windows of the Cloisters.
How the hell am I going to get around that mist?
Even after years fighting the Ebony Kingdom, our intel on magic and its properties is nearly non-existent. Most monster magic is deadly, so that doesn’t leave a ton of room for experimentation.
So, when I make it under the cover of the tree canopy, I end up staring at that black mist for far longer than I should. I don’t even begin to have a theory for how it might work or how I could disarm it.
I scoop up a pebble from the ground and toss it at the mist just to see what will happen. Will it bounce back? Disintegrate?
I hold my breath as the smooth little stone goes sailing through the sky. It reaches the black mist, which flickers and then disappears.
Wait.
What?
I turn my head, scanning side to side, only to find that the black mist has completely dissolved. The entire ring is gone. Suspicion spikes in my stomach.
This feels too fucking good to be true. I look back up at the Cloisters, my eyes studying the windows.
Is there a monster up there controlling a switch, making me think I can run free only to fuck things up again at the last moment?
Do they wish to watch my skin fall off my bones until I’m a screaming, crying, writhing mess on the grass?
Is this some sort of sick foreplay for the Devourer? A game of hide-and-seek?
I don’t spy any spikes or tentacles in the windows, and I definitely don’t see that furry bastard’s head. Adrenaline nips at my heels as my gaze double-checks to ensure I didn’t miss anything.
What if there’s, like, a grocery delivery or something happening? What if I’m wasting time? What if I miss my opportunity because I’m being too paranoid?
Fuck it.
I turn and sprint for the road. My legs stretch as far as they can, my arms pump, my heart gallops. I don’t even know where I am in this godforsaken city, but I swear, I’ll find my way through the mess and back to the forest…
And then—without any aplomb or pizzazz or pomp and circumstance—I’m through.
I pass the barrier that surrounds the Devourer’s house, my feet skirting over loose asphalt.
I’m free.
Holy shit.
I’m free.
I clap my hands over my mouth to stop a sob that spontaneously erupts. No. No time to be overwhelmed. If I want to be free for more than five seconds, I need to be smart. Careful.
I look around, realizing I’m on a ruined road. None of the rest of the buildings on this street have been spared the effects of the war between monsters and humanity. This street has been ravaged by monsters. Just like me.
Because inside, right now, I feel just as off-kilter as any one of these buildings. My foundation is cracked, and all the fragile parts of me are shattered—lost somewhere in that bed next to the Creeper.
But I refuse to let them topple me.
Monsters won’t bring me down.
I quickly duck into the first semi-upright brick building I see so I can try to gain my bearings.
That’s a mistake.
Because there, in the shadowy corner of the building, is a thick monster with four tentacles and glowing purple eyes.
And it comes right for me.