The wind has died down, and the silence makes each sound louder. Every snapped tendon, every crunched bit of gristle, every wet gulp.
I catch sight of my true form’s shadow on the wall—high shoulders, arched back, spindly legs, a catlike head. But the neck and the sharp ears are far too long for any cat from this world. Instead of my usual shrunken belly, my stomach hangs low, distended with its fresh contents.
I never want Sybil to see me like this. If Fate is willing, I’ll stay in Beresford’s shape for the rest of my life. After tonight, I will never take my real form again.
Almost there. Just the lower legs and the meat on the back of the ribcage are left. I can do this.
Crunch. Rip. Slurp. Swallow. Lick.
At last, it’s done. All that remains of the original Beresford is a polished skeleton. Now I must dispose of the bones and clean up the mess.
I’ve already licked and scoured most of the blood with my matagot tongue, but large wet patches still remain on the table and the floor. They’ll need to be thoroughly scrubbed.
As I’m about to shift from Beresford into the matagot, my stomach gurgles, and a violent rush of nausea makes me groan.
If I vomit him up, I’ll have to eat it. Fuck.
My body is burning, but a cold sweat cloaks my skin. I’ve consumed too much flesh at once, and my body is struggling to absorb it.
Moaning, I stretch out on my back on the tiled floor. I’ll rest here for a moment until my stomach settles, and then I’ll clean everything up.
The cold tiles soothe my burning skin. I’m too full to breathe deeply, but I take shallow sips of air and focus on what I’ve achieved.
I took all of Beresford into myself. He is truly a part of me now, and his form is forever mine. Once he is absorbed, nothing can prevent me from assuming his shape whenever I want, for as long as I want.
Relief and peace flood my mind, and the nausea begins to recede.
16
I slept hard. Didn’t expect to, not after everything that happened last night, but I suppose my body overruled my brain and forced it to shut down. I wash up and dress quickly, both reluctant and eager to see my husband again and talk more about our situation.
Quietly I slip into the hall and hurry to the nearest guest room. He isn’t there, nor is he in any of the other spare rooms. Did he sleep downstairs? Did he leave me again? If he turned coward and fled the house to avoid further discussion, I swear I’m going to kill him.
I run down the stairs, no longer trying to be quiet. Daylight seeps between the cracks of the curtains, then gushes in as I run from room to room, pushing the drapes open wide. No Beresford anywhere.
Maybe he woke up early and was hungry. Maybe he’s fixing breakfast.
I head for the kitchen, surprised to find the door closed when I reach it. We never close the kitchen door.
I don’t smell any food cooking, nor do I hear the sound of pans or pots. Cautiously, I push the door open.
There’s a skeleton on the kitchen table. Big white bones and a skull, sitting on patches of drying blood.
Beside the table, lying on bloodstained tiles, is my husband, naked and sound asleep. His blue hair and his beard are saturated with blood, and his hands are gloved in dark red gore. Scarlet streaks mark his chest, his thighs, even his cock. His stomach is oddly distended.
Considering what I learned about his kind last night, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what he was up to. He ate the original Beresford. Physicallyatehim, until only bare bones were left.
Eating human flesh goes against his personal code. But he did it last night, and now Beresford’s form belongs to him permanently.
It’s sort of a relief. It’s also nauseating. The kitchen is a mess, and the servants will be coming to the house in a few hours to accomplish their daily duties. We need to get this cleaned up before they arrive.
I tiptoe around the streaks and smudges of blood on the floor until I reach Beresford’s side. Crouching, I hold my wrist over his crimson mouth until I’m sure he’s breathing. Then I rise and kick him lightly in the ribs with my bare toes.
“Beresford! Get up!”
He doesn’t budge.
“Get the fuck up!” I kick him again. “We have to clean this place, and I can’t do it by myself. Up! Now!”
