22. The Grotesque
THE GROTESQUE
I don’t know why I’m stalking the little human, keeping an eye on her from the shadowy forest that surrounds the Cloisters, but I am.
There didn’t used to be a forest here, but fifty years have seen the arrival of tall trees intermingling with the silver structures and buildings spouting from the ground. The land is now a juxtaposition of natural wildlife and man-made creations, gnarled branches and rusted, metal walls.
Of course, I can’t see Aliana from where I’m standing—not with her currently imprisoned inside of the surprisingly well-maintained museum—but I can picture her. Fuck, I can picture her.
Even now, when I close my eyes, her sweet face is etched behind my eyelids, indelibly tattooed on my skin and heart.
I can envision the curve of her plump, pink lips, the type of lips I yearn to see wrapped around my cock, and her smooth jawline.
White-black hair cascades around her shoulders in loose waves.
I half wonder how she developed such a strange, ethereal hair color.
Is her hair naturally black, but she dyed it white at some point?
Is it natural? What would it look like wrapped around my fist as I fucked that pouty mouth of hers?
Fuck…no.
No.
I shake my head vehemently, trying to violently dispel the thoughts, trying to purge them from my body.
I definitely don’t want to know a single thing about her, and the last thing I should be thinking about is how her mouth would feel on my skin.
I know the second she sees me, she’ll run in the opposite direction, crying and screaming.
Even with my mask obscuring my face, there’s no denying what I am.
Who I am. There’s a reason I was given the name of Grotesque when I grew into my power—and it isn’t because I inspire the warm fuzzies in people.
Rumor has spread far and wide that one glance into my eyes will kill both humans and monsters alike. I’ve fed that rumor like kindling in a fire, but that’s not the truth.
If it were, then thousands and thousands of monsters would be dead already.
However, it’s better if people believe that, because the alternative…
The alternative is something I despise—attention.
Women, both monsters and fangers, will start flocking to me, wanting a taste, wanting a tiny piece of my power.
Right now, they shield their gazes, duck their heads reverently, regard me with cool indifference…
and I don’t want that to change. I don’t want them looking into my hideous face, seeing the weathered, elephant-like texture of my skin, the dark pits of my eyes, the sunken appearance of my features.
I don’t want Aliana seeing those things.
So…I watch. Or at least, I try to.
A part of me desperately wishes that Aliana will step outside, show her face, breathe in the fresh air. The rest of me begs any god that’s listening that I won’t have to see her. Those two feelings war within me, intermingling with a tiny dash of “I need to free her from Dev.”
What has the crazy bastard done to her? Has he hurt her? Raped her?
Both thoughts close up my throat, making swallowing virtually impossible. Violence wages a vicious war within me. If he touched a single hair on her perfect head—
What the hell?
The thought dissolves like paper in fire when the black mist surrounding Dev’s home suddenly fades to nothing.
A familiar figure races in the direction opposite me, her tiny hand clutched around what appears to be a tiny utility knife.
It’s as if the gods summoned her against my wishes.
White-black hair blows behind her in disheveled waves.
She glances in both directions inconspicuously, as if ensuring the coast is clear, before stealthily ducking into one of the abandoned buildings lining the road.
Is that…?
Did she…?
Did Aliana escape?
The sheer incredulousness of that statement makes me blink after her in alarm. I know there’s no way in hell the Devourer would let her go. I’ve seen firsthand how possessive he is of her. So that means…
That means she must’ve found a way to escape.
Did she hurt him? Kill him?
The thought slips a cold smile across my face unbidden, before that smile immediately dissipates.
One thing becomes clear in the dissonant chaos of my mind—my little mate is running, and now I have to chase her. I bite down on my lower lip as lust percolates in my belly, shooting through my veins like errant fireworks until my cock is at half-mast.
I’ve always loved the chase.
The thought of finding her, of wrapping that silky hair around my wrist, of baring her throat to my fangs…
No! I growl sharply to myself, trying to smother my mounting arousal. I stomp on it, kick it, shove it into the corner of my mind, where, hopefully, it’ll collect spiderwebs and dust. I pray it’ll never see the light of day again.
My feet move me before my mind can even catch up, propelling me in the direction my little mate has disappeared. I have no idea what I plan to do to her—or with her—when we meet for the first time, but I’m not thinking that far ahead. I just have to find and stop her before she can leave.
Before she leaves me, a monster she doesn’t even know exists.
A snort leaves me then as I stalk forward like an avenging angel. Or…maybe not an angel. I’ll never be tall and beautiful, bursting to the seams with light and love. My appearance and mannerisms are more fitting of the other creatures, the ones located down below.
A demon.
And maybe that’s what I am—a gray-skinned devil clawing its way out of hell to destroy the world and everyone in it. To destroy her , the pale-faced angel who’s currently inhabiting every spare cell in my brain.
I think the building used to be an office complex, but it’s hard to tell for certain with almost the entire exterior vandalized and the interior covered in soot, dust, and shattered glass.
It’s bereft, not a piece of furniture to be seen, and I half wonder where she disappeared to.
I step through the crumbling doorway, the stones from the archway trickling down around me, when a startled yelp reverberates from a hallway to my left.
Instantly, the part of me that still holds on to a tiny sliver of compassion—the part of me that makes me closer to the humans than my brethren—explodes in a plume of brilliant red flames and smoke.
Anger like I’ve never felt before poisons my veins, settles onto my tongue, melts my bones.
My eyes narrow dangerously, something that is no doubt visible even with my mask in place, and I begin to charge in the direction I heard my mate’s cry.
If someone hurt her…
If she’s been injured…
The cold, insidious thoughts speed my pace until I’m practically sprinting down the corridor, dust rising in low puffs with every step I take.
Rooms line either side of the hallway, but I bypass them without a second glance. I can feel my connection to Aliana, pulling, tugging, dragging me to the room at the very end of the hall.
A tiny bit of fresh blood stains the floor at my feet. It appears as if the struggle has moved down the hall…though I have no idea who’s winning.
A roar tears through my lips, my face shifting beneath my mask, as I race into the room I feel my mate is in.
The door has been kicked open, though I have no idea if that happened during the battle or sometime before.
Either way, the distressed wood litters the ground in precarious shards, mold coating the vast majority of it.
It appears almost squishy to the touch, and I wonder how old it is.
Those thoughts trickle through my brain, barely registering, because my attention is consumed by the sight of my mate heaving out a breath in the center of the room.
My gaze roams over her face, checking her for injuries, as her attention remains riveted to the monster at her feet. The dead monster.
A screwdriver sticks out of the single eye in the center of his forehead, and I notice scissors stabbed into one of his tentacles. They glint in the dim light ironically—a monster brought down by household items.
What the fuck…?
That monster… I squeeze my eyelids shut, trying to place where I knew him from.
He was a Seven and a loyal supporter of Pietro, one of the Nines.
Why the fuck was a Seven lurking so close to Dev’s home?
Why did he attack Aliana, even knowing our claim on her?
And most importantly—how did Aliana defeat him?
Blood coats the edges of her bathrobe, but I have no idea if it belongs to her or the monster at her feet. Violet crescent moons that hint at her exhaustion mar the skin beneath both of her eyes, and she blinks rapidly, her attention never wavering from the dead monster.
How is that possible?
A human—a Zero on the power scale—shouldn’t have been able to defeat even a monster powered at Four on the scale, let alone a Seven. But it appears as if Aliana not only killed him, she destroyed him.
“Aliana.”
My rough, growly voice snaps her head up, shock rearranging her perfect features. Terror flashes in her blue eyes as she flicks them between my masked face and the monster at her feet. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.
It’s completely irrational, and probably insane, but I don’t like her attention on the dead monster. At all. I want it entirely on me.
“I can explain.” Her voice slurs as she takes an automatic step backwards, stumbling slightly, but there’s nowhere to go. I’m still standing in front of the only doorway into and out of the room.
I know why she’s afraid—she’s a human slave, and she just slaughtered a monster. She may not know who I am or even my power level, but her delicate human sensibilities can sense how powerful I am, how strong. My aura screams danger and violence; it practically ripples off of me in palpable waves.
I want to tell her I’m not going to hurt her, that I’m going to keep her safe, but I can’t get the words out. Instead, I simply clamp my lips together and glower at her.
Her shaking increases, violent trembles radiating through her petite body.
Fuck.
I hate the spark of fear in her eyes. And I hate even more that it’s directed at me.
There’s so much I want to ask her—how did she kill that Seven? Why is she here? Where’s Dev?—but like before, words fail me. Apparently, all I’m capable of around her presence are occasional growls and snarls.
What am I going to do with her now?
Return her to Dev? Fuck no.
Allow her to leave? Everything within me roars with denial at even the prospect.
So what—
Aliana suddenly jerks precariously to the right, her long lashes fluttering against her cheekbones. I take an automatic step forward, my heart thumping beneath my rib cage, as her cheeks turn an unnatural shade of white. Pasty. Sunken.
“Aliana?” I rasp, something akin to terror short-circuiting my brain and shooting spurts of electricity down my arms and legs.
But no. It can’t be terror. I’m not afraid of anything, and certainly not this slip of a female.
She continues to sway on her feet, her eyes repeatedly opening and closing, and I lunge forward, my arms outstretched, my claws carefully sheathed. Just as she jolts to the side, I wrap one huge arm beneath her knees and the other under her head, hoisting her up as if she’s a damn baby.
What the fuck happened?
I desperately scan my eyes over her pliant body, cursing under my breath when I see the tiny suction cup from one of the dead monster’s tentacles stuck to the skin on the back of her neck. A little bit of purple goo leaks out of it.
Poisoned.
She was goddamned poisoned.
I want to roar, punch, scream—I want to find a way to raise this fucker from the dead, just so I can kill him again.
But I can’t tear my attention away from Aliana’s sleeping face.
Without the ornery, combative glint I’ve come to expect in her striking blue gaze, she appears almost peaceful.
Serene. I wonder if this is how she looks most of the time, when she’s not in the company of vicious, savage monsters.
If we’re the ones who caused her to become so guarded and fearful.
The thought sends a pang shooting through my heart, igniting my veins in tumultuous flames.
And as I hold her close to my chest, debating what my next step is, I swear I feel wisps of power encircle my wrists like iron vises. It skates down my spine, and I shudder against the onslaught of it.
I dismiss it as my imagination, even as my eyes narrow on the unconscious, pale-faced female.
For a brief, brief moment, it almost felt…
It almost felt as if she were emanating power. As if she was a One, maybe even a Two, instead of a Zero.
But that’s impossible. Humans have no powers. They can kill thousands and thousands of monsters and still won’t level up, unlike the rest of us.
Still, my arms tighten around her almost inconspicuously, and I can’t keep the suspicion from clouding my gaze as I carry Aliana out of the crumbling, desolate building and into the blazing sunlight.