The human husk is motionless in a pool of his own life force. The metallic aroma fills the surrounding air as I bend down next to his corpse. The smell of cheap beer still clings to him. Rigor mortis hasn’t set in yet, and if it wasn’t for all the blood, he’d look like he’s just drunk and asleep.
I led my meal away from the small roadhouse across the street by making myself appear as tiny lights out in the tree line of the woods. Fleshy tendons pull my jaw into a skeletal grin, remembering how fucking easy it was. Humans are so easily lured in by their curiosity. They’re so eager to follow blindly in the hope of something more than their meager existence. They’ve changed so little in the thousands of years I’ve walked through this world.
I used to limit myself to those who became lost in the woods, feeding off the energy released as they died of hunger or exposure, hunting only those who acknowledged my presence or gave me their name. There was no reason to wander among them, but the pure evil radiating from the world lately has drawn me out of the darkness of the trees. The depravity of their souls, already halfway driven to madness of their own doing, is a flashing neon sign to come and feast. Humans have become the real monsters.
I stare into the puddle of blood slowly leaking out towards me—my true form staring back at me. Shadow and mist envelop me as my bones twist and crack until a masculine face appears in the liquid. I’ve had to use a human form to come out of the shadows to do my hunting, an unfortunate drawback. I built a body with old magic, taking care to craft something appealing to their concept of beauty. Most humans wouldn’t recognize genuine beauty if I hit them in the head with it. If they knew what I truly was, the thought alone would be enough to pull on the fragile thread of their sanity and unravel it completely.
I’ve been called several names over time, over each rewrite of history. They’ve used so many words trying to describe what they can’t comprehend: old god, demon, forest spirit, Eldritch terror. Some legends even consider me a fae creature. Those are the most humorous. I’m much older than that, existing in a liminal space between life and death. Creation and destruction. Time for me only circles in on itself and then repeats infinitely. Creatures like me have no human need to be defined.
I walk out of the clearing and back through the soothing darkness of the trees until I’m back at the road. The sun’s deep orange and purple rays stream out across the dusk sky, just a few moments left in the day. Cars are filling the small parking lot of the roadhouse like moths to a flame. I inhale deeply to scent out what tonight’s contribution brings. A musky, yet sweet smell causes my nostrils to flare. It’sher.
My muscles constrict, tension vibrating through my bones. The scent, laced with a hint of magic I didn’t detect before, is impossible to ignore. It’s a familiar symphony playing only for me. Frenzy builds low in my abdomen, and my eyes scan furiously for who I know is the source. That’s when I see her—my girl from the water. My little angel of death, who called for me with the life she so graciously offered, has been dropped into my lap again.
She’s a tiny thing, climbing out of her strangely colored car. Her hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail, exposing her tiny neck—so easy to squeeze. Magic pools in my mouth like saliva, and I run my tongue over my lips. My body is already tightening with need as my eyes work their way down the rest of her.
Her black tank top hugs her small frame. I’m not close enough to tell for sure, but I’d bet there’s no bra holding her perky little tits. Her denim shorts are slung low on her hips, revealing a divine strip of golden skin around her middle. She slips inside the door of the roadhouse and disappears. It’s too late for her, though. My target has already locked in.
Her dark aura pulls me to her, causing my magic to strain and push against the bounds of my human body. I’m heading towards the little building before I realize my legs are moving. I struggle to organize my thoughts beyond this overwhelming new obsession. Who would drop this angel down into a backwoods hellhole like this? A prize—a gift wrapped up just for me.
I don’t normally seek females for victims or lust after them—or pay much attention to them at all. Most don’t have enough depravity, enough darkness, to draw me in. They don’t satiate me in any capacity, but this little bug might be the exception. Her scent is intoxicating, like life and death mixed with chaos. Her life, her soul, the very essence of her being, screams for me until I’m unable to hear the call of anything else. I need her to be mine.
I’m stuck between the planes of my existence, staring at her. My magic quarrels furiously within me. It pulses inside me at an unbearable tempo, sending liquid heat and human emotions through every vein, polluting my bloodstream. The feeling is foreign, and I struggle to regain control under her haze.
I am a machine fueled by rage and death, the darkness at the core of human nature. I burn through any and everything I touch. My only goal is to make each and every man I come across thankful for every breath they take. But this woman, this queen of death… She could unravel me completely because I know I can’t have her. I can’t consume her without snuffing out the light flickering inside her.
CHAPTER THREE
mattie
The Foxfire’s neon sign is a magnet for every mosquito within a hundred miles—and I don’t mean just the insect, either. Human scum seems to gravitate here as well, eager to feed off anyone who will let them. The whole place reeks of desperation and deceitful intent, but it’s easy money to sling drinks here. The owner doesn’t pay too much attention or ask too many questions, which makes it easy for someone with hobbies like mine. I can blend in and hunt without raising suspicion.
The place is the only stop for miles, nestled off to the side of a country highway that cuts through the backwoods of this holler. Aside from the owner, Wiley, it’s just me and one other bartender, Tallulah. Sometimes, during busier parts of the year, Wiley will hire someone part time to run the kitchen. He always says he’ll hire more staff one day, but it’s been a few years now, and the day has yet to come. It doesn’t bother me, though. The fewer people I’m around regularly, the fewer I have to keep secrets from.
If I were capable of friendship, Tally would be my best friend. Part of me feels a tinge of sadness every time I think about her, because I’ll never be able to share my true self. I can’t give her the type of honesty she deserves, not unless I want to see the inside of a padded room or jail cell. Her company is still welcome, though. I like to live vicariously through all her stories and pretend I’m capable of a social life.
I stare at my maroon Ford Pinto then over to the Foxfire and back again. “It’s not too late to just go back home,” I whisper to it hesitantly. I’ve already made the effort to get here, though, and it’s not worth the effort to come up with an excuse to leave now. My fingers mindlessly pick at the peeling chips of paint on the roof of the car. I sigh, pat the hood, and then head inside.
“Afternoon, darlin’,” Wiley welcomes me as I walk in as he dries off glasses behind the bar top. Deep lines crinkle around his eyes, the only imperfection in his smooth, copper skin as he smiles. “Wasn’t sure if you’d make it in tonight.”
“I need the distraction.” I laugh and roll my eyes as I give him a playful nudge. I’m so good at playing the part of a cheerful human it almost comes naturally now—almost. They’d never know I just brutally stabbed a man and let him take in his last breath as a lungful of lake water.
A few patrons already litter the dark and desolate booths that line the walls of the dining room. We have a few regulars that live nearby, but most people are just a stream of faces passing through. Aside from the dining room, the place has a small area stocked with snacks and travel essentials, but the bar takes up most of the space. There are a few TVs mounted on the walls, always playing whatever local news or game that’s on. People don’t come here to socialize, though. They come here to drown their demons. Figuratively instead of literally, like I do, but I’m still happy to help them do it. We all kill our pain in different ways, and I’m definitely not in a place to judge.
I’m quietly disassociating behind the bar when the bell rings above the door, jarring me back to reality. The air pulls from the room and my ears ring, filtering out the noisy bar around me. My heartbeat drums in my throat, and I struggle to swallow against it.
A tall man with his hoodie pulled up fills the doorway. His facial features are well defined, but not overly sharp. His skin is smooth, not even a five o’clock shadow to darken it. A few loose strands of raven hair peek out and skim the top of his eyes. His black hoodie hugs each muscle stacked on his frame but doesn’t make the fabric work too hard. Pools of icy blue stare out at me from his shadowed face. The intensity of them startles me out of my empty stream of consciousness. They seem to glow beneath the dark shadow of his hood, and they’re locked on to me.
My lips part, and a small gasp escapes. My insides melt into a molten fire that pools in my core. Heat radiates through my limbs, threatening to incinerate me. My muscles ache, and at any second, I might explode and jump over the bar towards him. He’s a planet, and I’m just a small moon stuck in his orbit. The foreign feeling churns inside me, and I shift uncomfortably, trying to manage this new reaction inside my body.
I barely blink, and he’s already sitting on a stool in front of me, elbows on the bar top. His lips pull up in a smirk that has me struggling to remember to breathe. Waves of pine and smoke, with a hint of earthiness, roll over me. His presence puts all my senses in a chokehold. I need to get a hold of myself. I need my body to move.
“Your mouth is open, little bug,” he purrs, raising an eyebrow. “You’re going to attract every mosquito in the state like that.”
My cheeks flush, my eyelids flutter rapidly, and I’ve forgotten every word in the English language. My brain is a train that has suddenly left the station. Not a single soul has ever had this effect on me, and my mind scrambles to not suffocate in him. My mouth is agape like a fish out of water, drowning on dry land. I need to say something, anything.
“What?” Words finally tumble out of my still open mouth. “What can I get you to drink?” Little beads of sweat form along my temple, and I’m hoping like hell he doesn’t see them. His gaze turns predatory as he sucks on his bottom lip, displaying his top row of pearly white teeth. It’s meant to be seductive, I think. Maybe it’s just a strange smile, but I’m in panic mode. I’m not great at reading other people’s emotions on a good day. Displaying teeth for any other species is a sign of aggression, yet something tells me I wouldn’t mind this man using those teeth to devour me whole.
“A whiskey on the rocks,” he answers, and his eyes narrow like he asked a question instead of telling me his order. His gaze roams every inch of me, and my skin heats as his eyes trail down and back up again. He’s a predator examining his prey, searching for weakness. They focus in on me, like he’s waiting for me to run—it’s the same look I give to my victims. The recognition breaks the spell.
