Epilogue
Githany
I help all my monsters with their tasks.
When Madness is tormenting his prey, I’m close by to plant the seeds of doubt.
“He’s not real. There’s no one there. You have nothing to be afraid of.
” I say it with such conviction. Even as Madness’s eyes glow from right over their shoulders.
Teeth shining, mouths hinged wide. At some point the poor victim clings to me, begging me to make it stop.
In those final breaking moments, I acknowledge his existence.
By then, it’s far too late for them to escape.
It turns out I have a knack for driving people insane.
My act for Gator takes me to the water. A drowning woman is easy bait.
“Help me. It’s going to get me. I can’t swim.
” It doesn’t matter if they’re in a boat, on the shore, or hanging out of a balcony.
They always jump in the water. A man’s hero complex trumps his common sense every time.
Gator prefers men. Says they’re a meatier mouthful. The perfect fit for his elongated jaws.
The water is like a second home to me now. I swim in circles, swirling their blood through the wake. Tasting their deaths.
My monsters’ cocks never fit quite as perfectly as they do the moment they’ve finished gorging themselves on fear. It gets me wet every time, seeing remnants of victims in their teeth.
Assisting Hunt may be my favorite. Maybe it’s the trees. I often desire to grow roots. Bury myself deep in the dirt. Let the earth swallow me whole. Lying here, beneath the moon. The wind whispers through the trees. Without my soul, I can hear each word.
Tonight’s carefully chosen location is a closed trailhead in the Appalachian Mountains.
It was deemed too dangerous. The posted Do Not Enter sign is catnip for thrill-seekers.
The people who wander through here are strong, stubborn with the need to prove themselves.
It makes them fight harder and for longer.
I never intervene at the beginning of the night. Six to eight hours of wandering off the trail seems to put them in a desperate enough place to satisfy Hunt. Watching them trekking in circles, muttering to themselves, cursing their choices, brings a smile to my face.
Hunt observes it all. I stroke every tree as I pass.
The subtle shiver when I touch one of Hunt’s legs gives me a wicked satisfaction.
Of course I recognize his legs and how they differ from the real tree trunks.
I enjoy the feeling of frustration that builds in the air when I rub my fingers across the rough bark of every tree surrounding Hunt, intentionally passing him by.
When I do finally show him some physical affection, he almost always makes a sound.
My silent, perfect hunter, breaking protocol and centuries of refined skill all because he’s desperate for my touch.
I like having complete control over my monsters.
For all the souls I’ve consumed, you’d think I may have a shred of my own, but no.
Devouring souls doesn’t give me any trace of my former humanity.
Nothing from the person’s past or present sticks around.
I live for sensations now. Hungry, full, horny, satiated.
It’s pretty similar to most humans, minus the crying and somber bits of life.
At least I think it is. My affiliate marketing life is such a distant memory.
Hunt’s victim this evening is quick on his feet. I do love an athletic feast. He’s running so fast that the width of his gait nearly defies human logic. Hunt must have revealed his true form early. That look of sheer terror is my cue to join in.
“Hey! Over here!” I wave my arms.
The man skids to a stop, making a sharp left and tearing a path toward me.
The ground shudders with Hunt’s approach.
“Follow me. I can get us out of here,” I tell him.
The man doesn’t question a beautiful woman in the middle of the haunted woods.
He should, but they never do. Especially when I present myself as a petite, pale woman in a barely there nightdress.
The disguise is such fun to slip into. I look much like my old self but more innocent.
Even more human. Panic causes people to overlook common-sense things.
For example, common sense should have alerted him to the fact that we are running in a circle. The very path I’m carving leads us right back to the one we started on.
Ducking out of sight, I let the man sprint straight into the clearing. Hunt is waiting for him.
The hiker screams. His terror perfumes the night air. The blood drains from his face. I can barely hold myself back.
I’ve refined my skills over the past year.
Gone is the sloppy consumption of entire bodies.
It’s taken work and discipline to split the soul from the meat and tissue.
Eating a soul without the fatty, bony bits around it is genuinely orgasmic.
The soul usually starts to separate in times of great fear.
It’s preparing to flee upon the moment of a possible death.
If the person recovers, the soul fuses back inside. It can take a while, which is why people feel so disoriented after life-or-death experiences.
I’ve become exceptionally good at choosing the precise moment to wrench the soul from the skin. Today though, my control slips. There’s something about this hiker. He’s massive, with a brilliantly lit soul that’s begging to be tasted.
Hunt crouches over him, eliciting terrified howls from his lungs. My thighs clench, arousal pooling between them. Hunt is so hot when he’s working. The way he knows just how to make them scream and beg is true artistry.
The persona I’ve donned vanishes as my blue skin returns.
In soul-eater form, I’ve traded my green and black bob for chest-length obsidian locks.
Dark nails with razor-sharp tips elongate from bony fingertips.
Teeth terrible enough to shred through spines lengthen between my sapphire lips.
My sight grows clearer as I abandon my false brown irises and let the swirling, black voids flood my sockets.
My skin tingles. The soul of Hunt’s victim burns brighter.
I can’t stop myself.
Blue spits from his openings as I suck the soul from his body. He shrieks as I pull him inside out, taking his essence by force. Souls do not want to leave before their time. Even if a human could survive without one, the damage to their body once I rip the soul free is irreparable.
This one is massive. It pours into my widening jaws. Sweet and syrupy. I knew he would be a good one. It goes down thick and gelatinous. He’s a challenge to digest. My throat works overtime as it coaxes him inside.
The tail end slips past my tonsils. Pulses fire straight into my core. I moan. “Fuck that one was good.”
Opening my eyes brings a very pissed-off Hunt into view. Every eye on his angular face is glaring at me. Uh-oh.
That’s an unsatisfied fear demon. I took the soul so fast, Hunt wasn’t able to get his fill of terror.
I quickly backpedal. “That was an accident. His soul just popped right out. I couldn’t let it go to waste.” Not my best argument, but I’ve got to try something.
“Popped right out?” Hunt’s eyes narrow. My throat bobs when he moves toward me, his legs wrapping back around his body. He slithers forward, slow and silent.
I am so screwed.
A twinge of nervous energy buzzes across my overtight skin. “It was mostly an accident?”
He shakes his head. “You are in such big, big trouble.”
Hunt
Dragging Githany, clawing and cussing, back to our home in the demon realm gives me some manner of satisfaction. Still, the emptiness left behind by an unfulfilling fear-kill stokes my raging fire.
“I said I was sorry,” she whines.
Gator and Madness greet us in the dungeon. Madness senses the tension. He billows forward, his hands roving over Githany. “What’s happened now?”
“Githany decided to help herself to my mark before I finished eating.”
Madness immediately moves away from her. He knows as well as I do that her actions were unacceptable.
“That wasn’t very smart.” Gator tsks. “What’s your plan?”
I thought about this the entire way here. What could I do to get back at Githany? The answer was too delightful to ignore.
“Madness, a wheel.” He jumps at my command. “And chains. Heavy fucking chains.”
The swirling creation populates directly behind Githany.
“Perfect.” I stare at the massive wheel painted with a yellow and pink spiral. Madness shoots ahead, giving it a good spin.
“You like it?” Madness dances in place, cock visibly hardening.
“Get her up there.”
She’s barely looked over her shoulder before Madness hoists her backwards, strapping her into the chains. Both hands and each ankle, secured so that she’s spread wide.
“Kinky.” Githany smirks. “My punishment is the fuck wheel of torture?”
I smirk back. That smart little mouth of hers is her demise tonight. “You fought to be included in our work. We’ve allowed you to be present and involved. Since you broke the rules, your punishment will consist of the opposite.”
“Stop with the cryptic shit.” She glares at me.
“The three of us, together.” I step between Madness and Gator. “Without you. While you watch.”
There’s a stunned silence that satisfies a bit of the empty fear chamber within me.
“You fucking dick.” She rattles the chains.
Her outrage puts a massive grin on my face. “Give her a spin.”
Madness obliges. Githany releases a new string of curses as she spins. I do hope those chains are solid. As a soul-eater, Githany is incredibly physically strong.
The wheel comes to a stop with Githany upside down. She stares at us, those wide black eyes assessing every detail of her current predicament.
“Madness, you’ve got two mouths.”
He cackles wildly, dropping to his knees. Even Gator smiles as he steps closer.
Two mouths means twice the crazy talk spews from Madness in his nightmare form. It also means he can fit twice as many cocks in his double set of jaws.