Page 10 of Our Monstrous Hearts

“Izcacus, please.”

I’ve never whined in bed or begged for more. It is always the opposite––praying it would end. It is a strange feeling, getting to experience this, and I tremble as he trails his finger down my pussy. I could become addicted to this. To him.

“Patience,” Izcacus rasps before he slips a finger inside. The talon causes me to wince, but as he begins to pump slowly, the sharpness turns into relief.

My eyes flutter shut on a heady groan. The slickness of my blood allows him to insert another finger soon after the first, and I tremor with the intensity of it.

“It feels so good,” I whisper. I revel in the tenderness of the moment––how slow, how gentle he is with me. My sweet monster.

I don’t know when I claimed Izcacus as mine. It was likely when I realized I feel safe with him, and it might not be very smart to want him, but I’m starting to crave everything he offers regardless. The darkness, the pleasure, the freedom from my chains. If this is what life will be like bound to him, then I don’t think it will be so bad.

“Izcacus,” I plead as I reach above my head, trying to find something to ground me in the brewing storm of pleasure.

There is warmth against my clit. Too quickly for me to anticipate his next move, he sweeps his tongue over my pussy, greedily lapping at my menstrual blood, fingers thrusting in and out as my cries grow louder.

He rumbles his own pleasure, preventing me from feeling embarrassed or shy. With him, there’s no chance to overthink. Only feel.

“Oh, oh…Izcacus.”

When I raise my head, needing to see him, I find my period blood streaks his chin and cheeks. He looks at me like a feral beast, eyes wild. “Repeat it,” he growls, before diving back between my legs.

“Izcacus, Izcacus, Izcacus,” I chant like a prayer. Each word is punctuated by thrusts of his fingers in time with his tongue against my clit.

Another breathless moan leaves me as I writhe under his touch and my back arches with need.

His tongue swirls around my clit, hungry as he devours me, the room filling with the obscene sounds of my bloody arousal. My cries intensify, chronicling the evolution of my descent into insanity.

When he sucks hard, I cry out. Everything shatters inside of me as I come undone beneath his mouth, my body shaking with an immense and wholly new pleasure.

All while he fulfills his promise of bringing me to ruination.

Chapter VII

The Monster

Cassandra sleeps so beautifully here, like an ethereal goddess. When she is at her own home––though, prison is the better term—she thrashes and screams in her sleep, tormented by her abuser. Some nights, Cassandra is unable to sleep at all.

It is comforting to see her at peace after even just the short time we have spent together. Maybe there is a possibility she will want to stay with me. I would worship the ground upon which she walks. I would bleed for her, sacrifice my life for her…no ask from her is too much. If she desires that I die for her—I will.

As I watch her from beside the bed, I admire the smoothness of her porcelain skin. Her long eyelashes flutter as her chest softly rises with each breath. And…just there––I never noticed them before, the ash-colored freckles that smatter her nose. Wonder consumes me. How could someone be this delicate and perfect? I want to bundle Cassandra up in my arms and keep her there, safe, forever.

A weighty sadness dawns upon my soul, heavy like the pressure of deep water dragging me down to meet the ocean floor. Water fills my lungs, and everything burns, igniting my chest with horror. How could someone hurt her? How could someone hurt her? That they would choose to do terrible things and not love her the way she deserves wounds me greatly. The townspeople call me the monster, but the real monsters stand by someone so violently horrible, like her husband, and do nothing about it.

Guilt gnaws at my bones. Perhaps I should have done more, or done something sooner. I will spend the remainder of my life, however long that may be, atoning for my failures to Cassandra.

She is mine. Neither the town nor her husband can have her back.

Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine.

Under the cover of darkness, there I lurk within Deadwood Forest, blending into the shadows.

With a narrowed gaze I spy on the diminutive town of Rose Falls from above, speckles of golden light that glow beneath me. The one entrance to this town is also the only exit. Nestled securely in a ravine, they built their houses into the rocky cliffs, and rickety wooden bridges connect one side to the other.

Rose Falls exists in its own universe. The laws of the outside world do not apply.

Above the ravine lies Deadwood Forest, which surrounds the mini-canyon and renders Rose Falls invisible from above. If you are not looking for this place, then you will never know it exists, and even then, you might not make it to the town alive.

Alarms ring through Rose Falls, louder than anything usually heard at this late hour. Shouts rise like smoke, thick with panic, and at the center of this chaos is Cassandra’s dutiful husband. Clayton.