Page 11 of Our Monstrous Hearts

Clayton realizes she’s missing, given the way he points and makes demands of those around him. You would think he cared, was desperate to get her back at any cost. Even from here, I see the flush in his cheeks and the furious throb of a vein in his neck. He is desperate to get her back, but only because he cannot stand the thought that someone has taken what he thinks is his.

My nose wrinkles in disgust, a snarl forming as I watch my prey.

The very sight of him, with greasy, slicked-back hair and a stained shirt pulled taut across an overhanging belly, makes me wish that I could tear his limbs from his body while he is alive and screaming. I would pluck out his eyes and feed them to the birds. The devastation that I would deliver upon Clayton would not stop there—no, I would sever his flaccid cock with a blunt serrated knife and then shove it down his throat deep enough to make him choke.

If I could I would resurrect Clayton each time he died, ensuring that he suffered eternally. That is what he deserves for the crimes he committed against my Cassandra.

But I can’t go down there and end his rotten bloodline, as much as I would like to. Unfortunately, Mayor Clayton is too protected and too loved within Rose Falls to ever be vulnerable, and he is too smart and too lazy to go wandering through the woods in which I hunt.

He knows people go missing when they near my castle. My hunger for the vile includes finding a particular satisfaction in flinging their remains for Rose Falls to see. It serves as a reminder to fear what lurks in the dark, for I am there, haunting. Hunting.

I expect that Rose Falls will be looking to Deadwood Forest and my castle, Gloomstone, for answers on Cassandra’s whereabouts.

No one in the town would dare touch her or aid her in escaping, not unless they wanted to feel the anger of the mayor and the vermin he employs.

No, they would be looking at me—the monster in the dark. They would anticipate finding Cassandra’s body viciously mauled as if by a beast, ruined and defiled.

They would not imagine that Cassandra is safe within the walls of my home, sprawled out in my bed, her chestnut hair fanned out against the silk pillow, body flushed from my tongue.

The castle is where she belongs, where I can worship her like the goddess she is.

My tongue flicks out, salivating for my soon-to-be queen. The taste of Cassandra is still on my lips. She is heaven, and when I feed from her, I forget myself, my own name.

My wicked angel.

This malevolent town wants to steal her away and return her to her chains. That will not happen. I will not let that happen, as long as I draw breath. If they come for her, I will peel the skin from their bones and boil them alive. When it comes to Cassandra and keeping her safe, I will not be a good man or even a good monster. I will become the very worst thing that could ever exist for Rose Falls, because I finally have someone worth living for.

Chapter VIII

Cassandra

It’s a strange feeling to wake peacefully, with no one yanking me out of bed or screaming at me in the middle of the night. Instead a calm, quiet stillness fills the room, so serene that the dust has settled into all the cracks along the decrepit walls.

As I further awaken, my eyes adjusting to the dimly lit room, candles crackling as they burn, I realize that my mind holds no thoughts. No fantasies of wanting to commit panicked suicide. Instead, there’s just…silence. My heart is no longer in an immediate state of anxiety; my body recognizes that this place, unfamiliar as it is, is safe. It’s like I’m floating in the middle of the ocean, and there’s no one else around me.

It might be the closest I’ve come to feeling peace.

Stretching my arms wide across the bed, I sigh, my fingers twisting into the silky sheets. Luxury clings to them, caressing my skin so that I feel I’m resting on clouds. I have never touched anything so soft. For a moment, I want to pretend that this is my life, before the bubble inevitably bursts and the world reverts to shades of despair.

I sit up and take in the room now that panic no longer clouds my mind. The bedroom is beautiful, despite the decay that lingers. The bedposts are intricately carved with roses and vines, though some spots of the wood have been worn down by time. The sheer fabric of the canopy dances down in strips, eaten through, but still magical. The damage doesn’t mean that it’s lost its mystique.

Earlier, the air in the room felt evil and old. Now there’s a softness, as if I’ve misunderstood everything about this space, and underneath the crumbling grandeur is a lingering presence. It’s a faint sweetness with grief shrouding the edges; the energy feels different from my own emotions.

The flowers beside the bed pull my gaze, and my fingers trace the vibrant-yellow petals of daffodils as I rise. Bringing my nose closer to the vase, I inhale the honey-sweet fragrance. The scent alone tells me they must be fresh, and the thought of the monster––my monster––picking such delicate flowers with such large hands makes me smile. It would take intentional care not to crush them under his grip. I blush thinking of how he used that care when touching me.

I feel every ache in my body while I move towards a large wardrobe settled in the corner of the room. It creaks open with a groan, what must be a century’s worth of dust flooding out. Some of the gowns, once fit for a queen, have faded, and are now laced with moth-eaten holes. My hands skim over an emerald-green velvet dress, and I gasp as I pull it towards me.

It’s beautiful. I hold it against my body, picturing myself in it, imagining how I would feel like a princess wearing it. Spinning around, I clutch the dress to my chest. It’s mine now; my inner child, who was never safe enough or loved enough to long for such things, wants it desperately.

I leave the wardrobe to continue my exploration of the room. A fireless hearth sits in the center, stone stained with soot and infested with cobwebs, and a forgotten music box rests on top. Beside the fireplace is a slightly ajar door.

Crossing towards it, I push through, a giggle of wonder leaving my mouth. A single chair sits beside what I can now see is a bathroom. Carefully, I drape the gown over its back before turning to admire the ornate tub standing in the center of the room, adorned with golden lion feet. An iron candelabra rests beside the tub, the lit candles dripping wax down onto the marble tile. Rose petals float in the water, and I dip my hand, then gasp—it’s still warm.

Wasting no time, I undress, discarding the bloody nightgown, and moan as I sink into the water. This bathroom is heaven. My hands rub gently against my skin, relieving the aches and washing the dried blood that has crusted on my inner thighs. I slowly reach up between my legs, remembering the way the monster—Izcacus—was there. I can’t believe that I let him feast upon me despite the necrosis rotting his face. His body resembles a cadaver more than anything alive, but I can’t bring myself to regret it. Or him.

I study the veins of black mold trailing like ivy up the marble walls as my head rests against the edge of the tub, but it’s not long before my mind returns to Izcacus. I can’t stop thinking about him, the giant, gentle monster that lurks within these walls. I debate for a moment before nodding my head once, decided.

After my bath, I will put on the pretty gown I’ve found and find him, because, for some reason, I don’t want to stay away.