I’m a monster. Who would welcome me into their home? They’d sooner mount my head above their mantles than invite me to break bread with them.
I prefer it that way. I always will.
From the crack in the window, a delicious spring breeze rolls in. The cool night air chases away the lingering heat from the day. The scent is richer than normal.
It is sweeter than the honeycombs I collected earlier and more fragrant than the wildflowers slumbering under the moon.
Another smell bathes my face and raises my hackles. The metallic scent is familiar. It conjures up buried memories of that fateful day. The faint stain of it still remains on the pale wood floor.
Blood.
I don’t get long to consider the source of the smell when a soft whimper echoes from the other side of my door. A delicate rapt follows. Lavender and blood seep from beneath the crack of the threshold. A cold sweat breaks out along my skin.
Someone is here. Human by the scent of them and bleeding.
The knocking sounds again, and I lurch to my feet. Who dares disturb my peace? I have left them alone for decades. Why have they come seeking me out?
If it is another angry mob demanding answers to questions I don’t understand, I know just how to send them running back to the safety of their beds.
Stomping towards the door, the old floor creaks under my weight. Anger burns me alive as I yank open the door. A floral breeze invades my nostrils as I glare into the darkening night.
I nearly slam right into her.
An angry mob has not come seeking my head, but rather a single human woman stands at my threshold. I rear back as I meet her enchanting face. Hair the color of midnight, eyes the shade of rich flowing honey. She is beautiful. The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life.
Apprehension trickles into my stomach.
Why has she come here? Seemingly alone and in the dark. I trace over her round cheeks. Pain creases her smooth brow as she leans against the doorjamb, favoring one foot over the other.
The sight of her steals the fight from me.
My blood cools as she blinks large eyes up at me. Fear isn’t tainting her lovely scent. She has not stepped back at the sight of me, nor has she turned and run. Though I suppose the obvious limp she’s trying to support would hinder any quick getaway.
It’s obvious she’s been through some sort of trauma before reaching my front porch.
The signs are clear as I really take stock of her. Shards of a wicker basket hang limply from her wrist. Her pale yellow dress with green threading in the pattern of flowers is torn. Green and brown stains mar the fabric. Her boots are scuffed, and there are blades of grass threading through her long hair. My fingers ache to remove them.
It’s a ridiculous want. I don’t know this woman—have no idea why she’s come. Touching her is out of the question. Whatever her purpose here is can’t be good. The moment I drop my guard, she could strike.
I refuse to succumb to the same fate as my father.
“Hello,” she whispers, her voice softer than spring rain. “Are you Lord Rhydian?”
I fall back as if she has physically struck me. My jaw clenches as I stare at her expectant face. Is she mocking me?
My cottage is comfortable, but it is not the dwelling of a lord. I live off of what I can pilfer from the land. My wares are decades old, having been mended countless times to the point of being barely functional.
The human releases a shuddering breath. Color leaches from her tan skin.
“That was a ridiculous question.” Her eyes trail from my horns down my bare chest and unfocus. “Of course you are.”
She says the words quietly. I don’t know if she’s speaking to herself or me.
“Who are you?” My voice sounds rough from disuse.
When was the last time I spoke to another?
“Why have you come here?” I press, harsher than I intend to.
