Page 49 of Monsters
The door swings open. A short man with a bowl cut smiles at us. He has stained teeth and a red nose, and his outfit is odd—like he’s reenacting something, wearing puffy shorts, a silk jacket, and white socks.
“Benedict, I’m so glad you decided to take me up on my offer,” he says, his accent pure Londoner—lightly lilting, formal, easy to understand.
“Well, my good friend, Evelyn is studying religion at Oxford. For her sake, I couldn’t pass up this opportunity.”
I look at him quizzically as I shake Lucas’s hand. “Ah, welcome, Evelyn.”
“Thank you,” I reply, giving him a genuine smile. “Benedict has kept me in the dark about all of this, so I’m curious to see what he’s up to today.”
Lucas invites us in, and I take in the odd room. It’s a small flat—an old kitchen, furnace, wooden table, and a few chairs, but it doesn’t look like anyone actually lives here. There are stairs leading up to the second story, and minimal decorations on the white walls.
“Lucas is one of my clients at the bank,” Benedict murmurs into my ear. “His family has done security for the Tower for hundreds of years, and the city of London hires him to ensure nothing nefarious goes on during the off hours when all of the workers go home.”
“Wow,” I answer, looking around.
“I get paid to sit around on my arse, is what he means,” he adds, chuckling. “I’ll leave you to it, then. I need to make my rounds,” Lucas adds.
“Perfect,” Benedict says, his voice smooth. He cocks a brow when I look at him suspiciously.
“I know I don’t have to ask that you be careful,” Lucas says as he slips into a pair of leather shoes. “I hope you find what you’re looking for.” He smiles and leaves us alone. Suddenly, it’s hard to breathe.
“Come on,” Benedict says, leading me to the back of the room. I follow him up the narrow, wooden stairs.
“What are you up to?” I hiss, staring at him as we climb upwards at a steep incline.
He grins, leaning against the door at the top and giving me a conspiratorial smile. “No one is supposed to know about this. In fact, most of these things were marked as destroyed, but Lucas’s family found a way to keep them.”
I raise my eyebrows and look at the door. “After you.”
“You’ll want to see this first,” he replies, something bright in his voice. I realize with a start that he’s excited. He’s tapping his foot impatiently and waiting for me to open the door, so I do.
Whatever I expected to be inside of this room couldn’t have prepared me for what I actually see. The room is small, but it is a literal heap of treasures. Paintings, books, manuscripts, sculptures, jewelry, clothing… it’s as if someone had a garage sale from 1550, and this room contains the leftovers. I amble over to the clothing rack, which is holding up three ornate gowns. I touch the aged, silk fabric—the colors much more muted than I would’ve expected, probably from age.
“One of those is Anne Boleyn’s dress—the one she was executed in.”
I gasp. “Really?”
He nods. “It was cleaned, of course. And her crown. Lucas’s ancestors saved everything. The royal family was infamous for greed and used to discard everything except their jewels. His family would save it all—anything of importance.”
“How do you know all of this?” I ask, turning to face him.
“Lucas and I spend a lot of time together at the bank. He has many assets, and he wants to protect them. His family has been grandfathered in. Old money,” he adds.
“What exactly do you do at the bank?” I ask, conspiratorially. His lips quirk to the side, but he doesn’t say anything. My breathing hitches as he moves closer. “Why are you being so secretive?” I ask, my voice a hushed whisper.
“Why are you whispering?” he whispers, his face closing in on mine.
“I’m not sure,” I answer, my voice barely audible.
Benedict’s eyes search mine, and I see a mix of desire, regret, and something else—something I can’t decipher. His hand comes up to my face and I close my eyes, unable to breath, unable to move, unable to do anything at all other than the feel of his hand on my cheek. His fingers grip my hair, and my eyes fly open as his lips part slightly. He’s so close that I can see the few grey beard hairs on his chin—the delicate wrinkles on the outside of his eyes. The tiny freckle under his right eye. He pulls me closer, and I close my eyes again, my body trembling.
His phone rings and we jump apart, startled at the sound. Benedict glances at the screen, but then his eyes rove up to my face, and he declines the call. We stare at each other for a second before he flies over to where I’m standing, gripping my waist with one hand, and fisting my hair with the other, his lips smashing against mine. We both groan, his hard body colliding with mine.
“Fuck, Evelyn,” he whispers, his voice desperate.
I don’t say anything—can’t. All I see is him—all I feel is him. My eyes squeeze shut, and I gasp, pulling away and exposing the curve of my neck. His teeth sink into me, and I grip the edge of the table as his lips and teeth work the sensitive skin near my collarbone, nibbling, licking, sucking. My mouth flies open as a low groan escapes. My knees weaken as the waves of heat shoot through me, my nerves going haywire. I reach back with my hand and pull him closer, which causes him to bite me, and I yelp out loud. He twists me around to face him.
“I need your consent, Evelyn,” he growls, looking desperate as he lowers his hand.
