Monstrous Grave

Prologue

ARCANE

AGE 21

The night sky looms ominously overhead, shrouded in darkness and devoid of stars—a foreboding shadow cast over this sinister mansion.

I wonder if he has sensed it—the tug-of-war between the realms of good and evil, balancing on that line between right and wrong, knowing that one misstep could plunge him into a horror so profound, it threatens to corrupt him.

It’s there, isn’t it? That festering darkness staining his soul, tearing away at its flesh piece by piece. It’s why he seeks solace in my darkness. We’re two halves of a cracked mirror, bound by the agony of our shared existence. He slices into my skin with every glance, only to leave me bleeding in his aftermath.

Another sound shatters the stillness, and I snap to attention, the peaceful rhythm of my heart transforming into a wild cadence against the cage of my ribs—almost as if I can feel it beating outside my chest. With fists closing around the duvet, I wait, terror thrumming through my veins. My gaze fixates on the balcony perched on the second floor of this sprawling mansion.

Is it an intruder? If it is, the guards patrolling the perimeters would take care of it. But my foster parents have never cared, especially not my father.

Tonight, even the moon’s light fails to calm me, knowing that someone dangerous is waiting outside those doors. Like a warning alarm, every nerve ending in my body buzzes with apprehension.

I glimpse a shadowed figure standing motionless, a silent sentinel with a menacing aura. With wide-open eyes, I stare at him, afraid that if I blink, I’ll miss his actions. A force thrashes against the confines of my ribcage, desperate to break free, while I anticipate his strike.

I know it’s him; he’s always entering my room uninvited.

Yet his presence offers a sense of protection, knowing I’m secure in a world filled with predators. Even with how much I want to deny it, he makes me feel safe in a way no one else can, though we’re both corrupted. It’s sick, wrong, twisted—are siblings supposed to act like this?

Is it wrong to seek solace in each other after fourteen years of living under the same roof, even if he’s only my foster brother?

The shadowy presence observes me, his gaze piercing through the sheets surrounding my resting frame, and I instinctively pull the duvet tighter around me.

A silent presence in the night, he stands there, merely waiting, watching, observing.

He’s lingering outside, not only protecting me but also anticipating the moment when terror will strike me. Then, he will pounce without hesitation.

He wasn’t always like this—he used to be kind, with a smile that could shatter your heart with the beauty of it, like a rainbow splitting the sky. Now, his demeanor has grown colder, marked by broken bones and bruises. His once warm manners have been replaced by a chilling one, giving way to an unwavering intensity. He’s dangerous. Our father changed him with the family’s shady business—dealings I’m not privy to. But, in the dead of the night is where he thrives, and that’s when he can truly be himself.

He craves the fear he instills in me. His predatory smirk makes beastly insects fly around my stomach, highlighting the crush I can’t have on my fucking brother. I wish there were some way to cut the emotions out, bleeding me dry so I wouldn’t feel safe with this predator.

“We’re going to play a little game, you and I,” he had whispered earlier in the morning, his words laced with mystery.

He refused to elaborate more and left me both intrigued and hesitant, never knowing the true extent of his intentions.

Ever since we met at the orphanage when I was seven and he was nine, there has been an enigmatic force around him that slithered its way into my soul, gripping my heart and refusing to let go.

Our foster parents, who adopted us two years later, remain oblivious to the intricate threads that bind us together. They will never understand the connection we share, nor the despair of being homeless with no one to care for you or keep you safe. They simply see us as two children they took in, expecting our close bond to be severed now that we’re adults.

My brother’s warnings about our foster parents rang true the moment we first stepped foot into the manor and I saw everyone discreetly wearing guns for the first time. I instantly knew something was off. Our new father’s eyes glinted with malice, his jaw ticking with unrelenting anger. Within a month of our arrival, my brother’s demeanor shifted, and he became more lethal and aggressive—the hidden traits of his personality filtering through the fa?ade he constructed around me. Other times, he accompanied our father to the shooting range. I never understood the reason for it until years later.

They had shattered his innocence, replacing it with something far more lethal. Days would pass, and I’d catch glimpses of bruises littering his skin, serving as haunting reminders of how much my life had changed since living at the orphanage. We were thrust into a treacherous world, forced to navigate a place where enemies lurked in every corner we hid.

Now, as the years have unfolded, the opulent manor we inhabit is secured by a plethora of guards scattered across the perimeters of our lawn. I find myself sheltered, like a pawn in a game much bigger than I will ever be able to comprehend. All the while, my brother is condemned to endure all the horrors that come with living here.

My eyes land on the figure outside once more, his head tipped back, bathing half of his face in the glowing moonlight. His sharp cheekbones emerge, tracing a confident path against his face—a magnificent masculine elegance.

He observes me the same way I’ve observed him for the past few weeks, with a sense of foreboding hanging thick in the atmosphere, an intensity that could slice through the air like a knife, and a lethal curiosity.

He watches me with those deep brown eyes that see through the depths of my soul, able to tell my own emotions even when I cannot decipher them myself.

After what feels like an eternity, the balcony door eventually creaks open. The sound echoes within my mind, my heart a madman inside my chest. I can’t breathe; the anticipation of what’s going to happen wreaks havoc inside of me.

As the door opens all the way, he slips through the opening and steps into my room without making a sound.

Like a dangerous shadow, he pauses on the threshold with a reluctance that makes his shoulders tense. He knows this is wrong—entering my room at night when everyone is none the wiser.

None of that deters my brother, though, as he takes another step, the balcony door left open behind him. It allows the wind to graze its chilling touch over my bare arms, freezing me underneath the blanket. My breath hitches as he comes forward.

Closer.

Even closer.

Until he stands right by the side of the bed, his brown eyes filled with so much intensity and depth as he takes in my appearance, curling my short hair between his fingertips. It’s as if the darkness of the room obscures the color, making them look all black. One eye is swollen, yet another bruise forming that has me swallowing a lump in my throat, especially as it colors him purple and black.

It’s a strange combination of hues, and I despise seeing him hurt, nausea churning inside me.

I observe his chest rising and falling, compelled to reach out and touch his cheek, an irresistible urge to draw closer to him. Worry glazes over me as I notice his slight wince before my hand even makes contact. He’s quicker than me, capturing my wrist in his large palm and holding it in a tight grip.

The firm shake of his head causes his hair to fall over his eyes, and a look of warning crosses his face.

“Don’t touch me,” he mouths.

I inhale sharply, tension building in my throat as I fixate on his eyes, nearly covered by long, black lashes that used to make me jealous while growing up. All the girls in school were prettier than me, though my brother always told me I was the prettiest. He never looked at them the way he looked at me, with equal amounts of adoration and a need to protect.

We were each other’s, and no one else had the chance to even get close to us.

Now, all I wish is for him to let me touch him because I can tell that something is wrong, and not only is it the bruise forming on his eye. There’s an urgency in his voice, one that jolts through my body in an electric current and causes goosebumps to skitter across my skin.

I allow my gaze to shift to where his hand grips my wrist, still as tightly as before, and then I meet his eyes again, evidently darkening with intensity.

“A game, remember?” he whispers, his voice piercing through the silence that has descended over the room.

An odd sensation overtakes me, like a vise gripping my heart in its hold before squeezing the life out of me. Confusion laces my actions and makes me unable to utter a word. I merely stare at him while he waits for my reply.

I know he’s always loved hearing me talk, wanting me to read him bedtime stories even when he’s the older one, but now I won’t give him the satisfaction of it. He doesn’t deserve to hear the sound of my voice when he won’t elaborate on what’s going on.

It feels like minutes pass when the only thing occupying the room is an intense and uncomfortable silence full of emotions I cannot put into words.

The grip on my wrist hardens, and I do my best not to let out a yelp from the slight burn of pain. That would only make him even more satisfied. Eventually, I’m forced to obey him when the grip never relents, his nails only digging deeper into my skin.

“What kind of game?”

With defiance, I stare into his eyes, although I don’t feel nearly as daring as I try to sound. My voice is a hoarse whisper after a night of sleeping, and I’m not as composed as he is.

His demeanor is always posed with a lethal calm that could make the strongest enemy relent, a trait I’m sure he acquired once we were adopted into the Grimaldi family.

The corners of his thick lips twitch into a cryptic smile that gives way for nothing else. “A game of survival.”

My eyebrows must be scrunching in confusion because his lips curl further. He stares down at me with a look that has me shuddering, not knowing if I should be afraid or feel safe in his presence.

“You will see, devangel. But it’s a game that requires you to be observant. Trust no one but yourself and always keep an eye on your surroundings.” His voice is low and demanding, making chills dance across my body while I listen intently, clinging to every word he utters. Especially the nickname he has given me. “Don’t crash into the waves.”

His last sentence rings out in my head like an echo, words I’ve heard many times before when I’ve needed reassurance from the cruel world we live in.

“Trust no one but you, right?”

An audible sigh slips from his lips as he looks down at me, and I observe the subtle tightening of his jaw, a habitual gesture he often displays.

His head tilts to the side, but I cannot tell what it’s for. Every action he makes stirs confusion within me, creating a vortex of uncertainty and leaving me slightly rattled. A creeping sense of terror slowly comes into my subconscious, telling me that something might be amiss yet again.

“Can you do that for me?” His serious words take me aback, but despite that, I nod, still unsure of what his intentions are, as my mind races with apprehension.

He has always been a mystery, a puzzle to be solved where I was the only one who had the key to open up the puzzle pieces. Yet, at this moment, it’s as if I’ve lost that key temporarily, unable to understand him.

“Your words, please.”

It’s the first time I’ve heard him ask for something.

The sense of urgency emanating from him sparks a desperate impulse in me, an overwhelming desire to claw at his hand and keep him close to me forever. As if I could anchor him to my side by sheer force.

Somewhere deep within my subconscious is a voice telling me this is it.

This is goodbye.

And that makes me want to scream my throat out until there is nothing left within me to fight for.

This is all too cryptic. My throat is clogged with untold emotions that feel like a tumultuous sea, and I am a boat fighting to stay afloat against the lethal waves of death.

I swallow. “Yes.”

Nodding his head, he accepts my words for what they are while his fists clench. “Close your eyes.” His request is barely a whisper, yet it commands compliance, and I obey.

With my eyes closed tightly shut, my heart pounds hard within me, each thud mirroring the seconds that slowly pass. With a pulse spiking into unnatural heights, it’s as if I’m going to pass out at any moment from the anticipation alone. The unmistakable scent of his sandalwood cologne, along with leather—coming from the glove he uses to cover his scarred hand—permeates my nostrils.

My nerves taking over, I glance at the clock standing on my nightstand beside him, noticing that it’s 11:59 p.m.

In my periphery, I sense him drawing nearer, and my breath quickens at his closeness. The clock ticks, signaling the start of a new day—midnight.

“Happy birthday, Arcane,” he whispers in a hoarse voice that sends butterflies slicing up my insides.

It’s a strange concoction of emotions, one entirely unwelcome, with dread seeping through to my marrow and the other inciting a flutter of something visceral within me, akin to a teenage crush.

Without a second to comprehend what’s happening, the warmth of his minty breath brushes against my lips. My heart combusts when he presses his lips against mine, punishing in its hold. It’s intimate, stirring a storm deep within me.

I allow myself to get lost in the kiss as his tongue prods the seam of my lips, pushing inside, tangling with my own. He’s brutal in his kiss, demanding and pushing, never leaving me time to breathe. One hand slides to my throat, encircling it with a pressure that tightens with each passing second, silently demanding my submission. He restricts the air entering my lungs, and a whimper escapes me.

It’s a bruising kiss made of lies and deceit.

My eyes close automatically, wanting to savor the feel of his lips on mine. Then, he slips away, his hand leaving my throat and lips leaving mine, and I don’t open my eyes. Even long after I hear the balcony door closing and his fragrance subtly fading away from my room, I cannot bring myself to reopen them.

For a short moment after, I find myself smiling, until his strange composure comes back to me, and the weight of that small kiss sends a jolt of despair through my entire being, akin to what I imagine being infected with a flawed vaccine feels like.

It was a wordless and bittersweet farewell etched with tenderness and cruelty as he took my heart in his hold, along with my soul, shredding it apart with his bare hands.

And as dawn breaks, the painful truth hits hard like an unrelenting storm, mercilessly tearing through my fragile peace of mind. The word “dead” lingers in the air, heavy and suffocating coming from my foster parents’ mouths.

A train wreck.

He steered me away from an impending crash against the cliffs and the tempting waves that whispered promises of a tranquil descent. In doing so, he spared me from the suffocating yet alluring embrace that could have plunged everything into a serene silence. Ironically, he never followed his own path of advice.

Now, he is gone.