I turn to find her hesitating at the threshold where only minimal light filters down.
Right. Mortal limitations.
“Yes, I have night vision.” I return to crank the large lever from down to up.
Harsh electric lights buzz to life overhead. I wince and squint. I despise artificial illumination.
Creator-Father needed it no more than I do, but he prized human innovations greatly when they were invented. The gas ranges, the electrical systems—he coveted mortal ingenuity while claiming it as stolen gifts from his divine Father.
He had Romulus, our engineer, modernize the castle with electricity and devices far beyond contemporary human technology. Over the years, when he’s lucid—meaning when Remus isn’t in control—I’ve allowed Romulus out to update our infrastructure so the fortress doesn’t crumble around us.
Hannah-consort gasps upon entering the kitchen, and suddenly, I’m grateful for Romulus’s projects. She seems particularly impressed by the modern appliances. I’ve never found much use for them, but Romulus occasionally prepares elaborate feasts with the strange devices.
“Holy hell! All this was down here, and you’re only showing me now?”
She swats my arm as she passes—the contact feels like a caress, making me want to pull her back against me. But she’s already exploring the expansive kitchen area.
Creator-Father rarely permitted me here when he lived. He claimed I was too large and clumsy for delicate implements. Though Romulus has upgraded everything far beyond Creator-Father’s era, and in all that time, I’ve never broken anything.
I did, however, destroy many of Creator-Father’s treasured human possessions after his death. The castle once overflowed with such objects. In celebration, rage, and grief, I destroyed everything and burned it all in the same pyre that consumed his body.
I approach cautiously, assuming Hannah-consort will also find me too ungainly for this space when my horns strike the numerous pots hanging from ceiling hooks.
Despite crouching uncomfortably, I still collide with cookware, setting off a cacophonous clanging. Frustrated, I drop the food bags onto the gleaming silver counter with more force than necessary.
“Careful!” Hannah-consort turns toward me with concern. “Are you hurt?”
I freeze, fury dying in my throat. Her expression. She looks worried about me, not the cookware. But this space feels suffocating—too many memories of Creator-Father flooding my mind?—
Monsters don’t belong here! You’ll never fit in anywhere. I don’t know what I was thinking, creating something like you. What use is a warrior who can’t move undetected among mortals? I should try again—create something that isn’t a revolting abomination!He’d paced while I hung my head in shame.You’re still here? Get out of my sight!
“Abaddon—” Hannah-consort begins, but I spin away, my horns striking more hanging pots in a discordant symphony.
I snarl in fury. If she won’t reveal where she went, I’ll discover it myself.
I head for the exit, anger blazing in my chest—a welcome emotion. Anger, I understand. Not these tender, confusing feelings that make me vulnerable.
I’ll hunt down the male who gave her those clothes and unleash my rage on him.
Then I’ll return to claim my properly fed Hannah-consort.
“Abaddon!” she calls, but I storm through the door, slamming it behind me.
But even as I stride away, her concerned voice echoes in my mind.
Are you hurt?
When was the last time anyone cared if I was harmed?
The thought stops me cold halfway up the stairs.
Perhaps... perhaps I’m the one who’s been wounded all along.
THIRTY-FOUR
HANNAH
My meal is absolutely delicious.The kitchen is impressively modern but clearly vintage—maybe forty or fifty years old? Barely used, though. Everything functions like it was installed yesterday once I relight the pilot light. I have no idea how all this sophisticated equipment reached this remote location—wherever we actually are—or how this ancient castle got wired with enough electricity to power it all.
