Page 5 of Fate & Monsters
And no one challenged me without consequence.
Something had clawed at the veil between worlds with such force, it had left scars on the earth and blood in the wind.
I raked a hand through my hair, claws scraping scalp, and growled low in my throat. There was no peace anymore. Not in the land. Not in my subjects. Not in me.
Never in me.
The fire cracked as I crossed the room, throwing my weight into the heavy chair at my desk. It groaned beneath me, worn from centuries of enduring my temper and that of my forefathers. I pressed my knuckles against the desk’s edge, staring down at the torn maps and forgotten scrolls, barely seeing them. My breath came hot and uneven. Rage simmered beneath my ribs, coiling tight, looking for something to devour.
Hungry. Always so hungry.
Infernus had always been harsh, but I had made it mine. I had conquered rival Inferni and upstart demonic wizards. I had silenced uprisings and provided for the people in my charge, despite the stain on my bloodline. I had become the beastthat monsters feared.
And still, I was restless.
Still, I hungered.
Something inside me had begun to rot. A part of me—the unwanted part, maybe—had gone too long without light. Without warmth. I had forged a stable kingdom from volatile chaos and ruled it well, but what did I have to show for it?
Domovoy materialized near the window in a ripple of smoke and candlelight, his feline form stretched out along the sill like he owned it. His eyes gleamed and his bottlebrush tail flicked.
“You’re brooding again,” he observed, entirely unimpressed.
I didn’t look at him. “I’m thinking.”
“Loudly,” he drawled.
I glanced at the silver goblet near the edge of the table. Full and untouched from the night before. The thought of drinking it made my stomach turn. “Two portals within the same week are an ill omen. The first had no trace of danger. A magical blip, if anything, but this second one… Whatever tried to come through had power. And purpose.”
“It smelled like madness,” Domovoy murmured, arching his back in a slow stretch. The candles on his head sputtered.
I turned to face the hearth, where the fire crackled as if echoing my thoughts. “It was... hunger. Desperation.”
I would know.
The air tasted strange now. Charged. Like the brittle moment before lightning struck, or the hitched breath before a scream.
I shifted and glanced out the window behind my desk. The world below was a shadow compared to what I’d read other realms were. Forests of bone and bark stretched into the haze. Wraith-like trees dripped black sap. Strange creatures with too many legs crawled in the burrows and skittered through the brush.
Ordinary to those raised in Infernus, monstrous to anyone else. To me, this was just life. Just home. Even beasts knew home meant nothing without peace.
And peace was a lie.
I had no companions, only servants. No rest, only vigilance. Even my throne felt like a cage. I ruled because I was stronger. Because I could kill faster. Because no one else dared try. Because I had to be. I had power, but nothing to soften it. Rage, but no reason to quiet it. I was a monster forged by necessity. A creature born by accident then whipped into shape for war.
Domovoy yawned, utterly unbothered by my silence. “You need a distraction. A fresh enemy. Perhaps a lover. Would you like me to summon a harpy?”
I shot him a warning glare, but before I could speak, something in the air shifted.
It was sudden. Subtle. But unmistakable.
A captivating scent curling through the hazeof moldering dust. I turned from the window, nostrils flaring. The aroma was faint but distinct, drifting up from the lower halls. My heart thumped hard.
Sweet. Alive. Like the first lavender breath of spring. Like crushed petals underfoot and golden fruit juice dripping from plump lips, and early morning rain on wild grass. It didn’t belong here—nothing that pure could ever belong in Infernus.
My mouth went dry. Every muscle in my body tensed. Heat churned low in my stomach.
Domovoy changed his shape in a puff of shadow, but I didn’t spare him another glance.
