Our Monstrous Hearts (Rose Falls #1)
Chapter I
The Monster
Seven years earlier…
Crack.
The femur bone snaps between my teeth, the sound penetrating the silence of Deadwood Forest as I gnaw at it.
I slurp the marrow out, a rumble of pleasure rattling my chest as my tongue molests the cavity, seeking out the almost beef-like flavor I crave.
I will not allow even one drop to escape me. It is a delicacy I savor.
After sucking the bone dry, I carelessly throw it behind me, setting my sights on the remainder of my victim.
Humans are useful for very little, but their meat and bones make the process of devouring them exquisite.
Consuming their remains does not sustain me nearly as much as drinking their blood, but hunger festers within my stomach regardless of my meal; my appetite cannot be sated, and I am weakened for it.
In my quest to satisfy the gluttony that ruins me, I acquired the taste for human flesh, as destroying them in the worst ways pleases me—an interest to keep me occupied through my eternal life.
The man below me is frozen mid-scream, his torso ripped open by my claws, cracked ribs protruding outwards like spikes. Crimson blood that I was too slow to imbibe soaks into the soil, leaving black knots.
My head snaps up, ears twitching as I listen carefully to the sound of leaves crunching. The forest whispers the disturbance of sinners, and then I hear them, faintly. Human voices.
How peculiar.
They must be from the nearby village. Rose Falls: a quaint name for a terrible place. They usually avoid entering my woods if they can for fear of what haunts the area.
Tales of my existence are whispered throughout the town like a folktale. Grandfathers and their great-grandfathers before them echo warnings to their children: Beware the nightwalker.
I am known as a monster that lurks and hunts, feasting on the bones of men, befouling women and abducting children. During the decades I spend in hibernation, my name becomes little more than a myth—a tale men use to teach their sons to kill and their daughters to obey.
Just beyond the edge of the forest they believe protects them, the melancholia of my castle looms heavy.
To see its terrifying splendor properly, the humans would need to come close, but a thick fog of uncanny disorientation surrounds the town, dissuading them from any such venture.
They tell one another about seeing and hearing strange things in the mist, of apparitions of loved ones long gone and gruesome beasts with three heads.
In another time, the castle would have been fit for kings and queens. Now the walls crumble, and it is believed to house a monster.
Me.
My hands thrust into the mangled ribcage before me, drowning in the warm intestines that slosh and squelch around.
With a deep breath, I revel in the heady aroma before cupping my palms together to create a bowl.
Bringing the slurry of offal and blood to my lips, I slurp it down with delirious abandon, groaning in ecstasy while slowly congealing fluids drip down my chin. Truly delectable.
The flutter of hurried steps through decaying leaves draws a frustrated sigh from my lips. The humans draw ever closer, deeper into the darkness, and unwittingly nearer my tableau of depravity. I will need to abandon my feast lest I be discovered, and that displeases me.
Their too-small lantern struggles to luminate the path ahead, shadows contorting into twisted portraits as the forest endeavors to devour them whole.
My head tilts as I assess them like the prey they are, the stench of blood on my hands and mouth urging me towards bloodlust. Years of surviving on the edge of starvation means that I can control these urges, but my nostrils flare at the thought of how indulgent, almost hedonistic, it would be to take them all.
With a sharp gaze I track their movements towards me. The townspeople seem ill-equipped, but they are making this journey anyway. They are bold to come here, which intrigues me. It is…odd.
“My, my. What little lambs wander into the wolf’s den,” I rumble quietly to myself.
My hand reaches out towards the darkness as I will tendrils of shadows to ascend my arms, twisting as they move to shroud my body.
These shadows are a part of me as vital as blood.
They are of my very essence, and allow me to travel between places or to skulk within corners of gloom.
My vision blurs before clearing, allowing me to see that which otherwise is hidden.
The tenebrous night embraces me and I settle within it, out of sight. The travelers come to stop a few feet away, prompting my body to go preternaturally still, a perfect statue designed to observe unnoticed.
“Here should be far enough,” announces a man’s voice, followed by the laughter of his friends.
I creep closer to see that the group is made of three middle-aged men and a young woman who looks barely of age.
As long as they remain in a group, they are safe from me, as I am not yet in my strongest state.
My stomach growls in anger at the thought of the fresh blood pumping through their veins being out of reach.
I could take my leave, dragging my feast back to my lair, but my feet stay planted, compelled to watch what happens—drawn to observe this moment, as though my body knows it will change everything.
“Please,” she whispers to one of them. I do not miss the sight of her torn clothes or the dried blood crusted under her nose.
My head tilts again as I study her. Her skin is the color of moonlight, which makes the bruises left by wandering hands bloom on her body like watercolor paint.
She is beautiful, an angel fallen from heaven itself.
“This is whatcha get for sayin’ no, Cassandra.” His words are quiet, but the threat is unmistakable. Something I do not recognize flares within me as my hands clench into fists, my talons slicing my palms.
He toys with her chestnut-brown hair as the others tie her to a tree.
Cassandra winces at the way the sisal fibers cut into her skin, and the man smirks, seeming to take pleasure from her pain.
I can see from here how tight the rope is, and knowing it must hurt stokes an unexpected anger in me. I want to rip out their throats.
“Five dollars that she don’t make it through the night, Clayton. You’ll need a new wife,” the second man says with a sneer.
The third slaps his shoulder, laughing. “Do we reckon a wolf or the monster will eat her?”
My eyes narrow. How dare they speak of me.
Face turned towards hers, Clayton ignores his friends in favor of jeering at the woman.
“If you make it through the night, we’ll come take you home in the morning.
” Clayton grips her throat, digging his fingers in to cut off her circulation, and her hazel eyes pop wide with panic.
“Next time, I won’t be so easy on you, little girl.
” Clayton hisses the words before he lets go, stepping back.
“Night, Cassie!”
“Sleep tight!”
Their vitriol follows them as they carve their way through the night, leaving Cassandra with only the eerie sounds of Deadwood Forest to keep her company.
And me.
Cassandra peers through the inky black of the forest that surrounds her, though I know her human eyes cannot see anything.
She does not yet know that she does not need to see, because I will keep watch until the sun rises. Cassandra is no longer alone.
An everlasting knowing settles within my bones—our souls were destined to collide. Inescapably, she is mine.