“In each of us, two natures are at war – the good and the evil. All our lives the fight goes on between them, and one of them must conquer. But in our own hands lies the power to choose – what we want most to be, we are.”
Extract from Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde by Robert Louis Stevenson, 1931.
PERRI
I follow Stellan to the truck, leaving Alastair on the dark sand by the water. I wanted to stay with him, but he obviously needed a moment to compose himself.
I already knew about his dark side, I’ve heard the rumors and seen it in his eyes on occasions. He’s a mutant, after all. Part manand part old god. Helios told me that Griffin had a monstrous side, too. A dragon sleeping under his skin.
“I’m not scared of you,” I wanted to say to him, but Stellan was running away, and I felt the urge to catch up with him.
Both men are so fucking stubborn. If only they could sit and talk. They’re obviously hot for each other—if not molten. Stellan is a control freak, and the King represents giving away that control in all aspects, so he’s fighting it.
I glare at his sand-covered butt cheeks as he walks in front of me. I’m sporting a raging erection, too. Seeing the both of them on the beach, getting it on… I shiver. I was seconds away from jumping into the fray. But Stellan had to be all “Wait…” and Alastair had to go “Shit, I’m sorry… blah blah blah”. I roll my eyes.
How dumb do we look, stark naked, erections dangling between our legs as we run away? I snort.
Stellan stops by the truck and grabs a water bottle from the passenger’s seat. “Fuck it,” he mumbles before pouring the entirety of it on his face.
We refill the bottle twice with the large water tank in the cell, and wash the salt from our hair and faces. This would be considered wasting drinking water by most survivors, but we have gallons left since Griffin refilled our tanks and promised to give us more when we see them again in a few days. Their filtration system is top notch, and they know the locations of all the best water sources.
We dry off and get rid of the sand with a towel.
My erection has finally gone down, but I grin when I realize Stellan’s, in fact, hasn’t. He’s fully hard and ready to shoot.
“Not a word,” he threatens when he notices my grin.
“Looks like you’re hungry for monster cock.”
“Perri, I swear to god…”
I snort and kiss the corner of his mouth.
We put some clothes on and get ready to make dinner. Stellan looks about to burst from his skin, but I resist the impulse to help him relax. It won’t hurt to let him stew in his unresolved issues and desires.
Alastair is nowhere to be found and I worry. Not for his life, the man is a force of nature, but for his feelings. He looked so broken when we left him on the sand.
He was thorough when he made camp, and all we have to do is prepare dinner. I pull out the large tarp and set it on the sand—I fucking hate sand, and I’d rather not feel it on my legs as I eat. When the food is ready, we wait.
After half an hour, Alastair appears from the darkness like an apparition, his eyes glowing uncannily. His clothes are still covered in sand.
“Go change. No sand on the tarp, please. Food is ready,” I say.
His pale eyes fall on the bowls filled with food in front of us. “You shouldn’t have waited for me.”
“Yes. We should have. Come on, I’m hungry.”
Alastair walks obediently to the truck, and Stellan keeps his eyes on the food as he changes into clean clothes. He has placed a blanket over his lap and I know he’s trying to hide the erection he’s still having. I want to grab him by the shoulders and shake some sense into his pea brain.
As if sensing my trail of thoughts, he looks up and glares at me. I stick my tongue out at him, and he tries to bite it off before kissing me.
Alastair comes back a moment later, wearing clean sweatpants and a dark tank top hugging his muscular chest. He sits in front of us reluctantly, where I placed his bowl and cutlery. There’s no denying he’s uncomfortable and defeated. I never thought I would ever see the King of Merchants like this. I hate it.
“Bon appétit,” I say in an horrendous French accent.
Both men nod and use the act of eating like a lifeline in a storm. I chatter on for a few minutes, talking about what’s inside theBeetleand what we could improve at the Traveling Market when we get back. Stellan and Alastair grunt in agreement from time to time. They’re driving me crazy. But this tension makes everything fragile, and I doubt I can use my usual straightforwardness to make things better. What they need is tenderness, especially the King.
A moth is flying around the solar lamp, its restless shadow dancing at our feet.
