Page 9 of These Eternal Bones
Again.
Him
The putrid taste that fills my mouth is only second to the mind-numbing agony that buds in my fangs, radiating like shockwave after shockwave until it reaches every inch of my being. The small creature in my arms writhes and whimpers. It’s been three days since my little human has poked around my lighthouse, even now I can smell her lilac scent on the wind, beckoning me like a cosmic joke. One where I am ever the punchline as I drink from this wretched being. The Asrai’s tail whips harshly, its lungs deprived of substance as its hands cling to me. Like all creatures in the face of my bite, desperate for the release, even if it means certain death. A pained sound leaves my throat, growing agitated with its thrashing. Even the bite of my claw goes unnoticed as I open a vein on the pathetic creature's wrist. It’s a waste of blood, but the less of the rancid substance, the better. The very thing that sustains me brings me unfathomable agony, the sense of a soul-deep betrayal. The blood, like always, answers my call, in any form, anybeing. Itrecognizes my dominion. I’m its master, as I pullfrom the wound, twisting it into a rope and letting it harden as it binds around the fishlike tail of the Asrai, quieting its thrashing until I take my final pained gulp. My mind frayed by the agony that will persist for hours, a penance I pay honorably, knowing of all the things…this is perhaps the most deserved. I release its throat, filling my mouth with my bittersweet venom before spitting it on the ground to rid myself of the taste.
Like a gift or a curse, the smell of lilac hits me then, strong and pungent, her timid steps breaking the clearing as I wrap more tendrils around the fae creature, sending it over the edge of my balcony and out of sight, the thud of its body too faint to reach her. Stealing my jaw, I brace myself on the railing, wiping my mouth clean of blood as a riot of copper-colored hair fills my vision.
You need only look up, little syringa, to see me.
My tendrils snap wildly toward her before I release them, the blood misting as it dematerializes. I can feel it, every molecule in every single thing as it catches the wind. My breath halts in my chest as determined forest green eyes turn on me, her gasp dancing across my flesh as sheseesme. Her steps falter, my newest gift draped around her shoulders as the colder days set in. She takes a step back to the wood line, and my damned heart lurches at the sight of it as she turns and runs.
“It is much too late for that.” I breathe out, inhaling her deep into my lungs. “Tien!”
“You called.”
I don’t turn to glance at the Chimera. “Send one of the others into town, update everything she may need in the manor.”
“Very well.” He grumbles, blipping out of the room, an ability he retained from his original fae form, as well as his long cursed life. I jump off the balcony, my suit coat slapping out behind me from the fall. Calling forth my tendrils, I affix them across my stomach and chestin a morbid corset of armor as I set off after her. I am a patient man, with eons to show for it, but I can only watch her run so many times before I give chase.
It is no more my choice than my need for blood, no more my choice than it is for the sun to rise and set each day without falter. Such things are simply inevitable.
It’s late into the night when she braves the outside of her cottage, no doubt hiding from me now that she’s laid eyes on me without the fever to alleviate most of the shock. She’d murmured and whimpered, asking for another man for hours that night. I’d nearly decimated the cottage, jerking her filth-riddled body off the bed and forcing her into my manor. I could’ve washed her, doted on her, saved her from the cold before replacing it with my own.
I did none of those things.
My fangs elongate against my will, prodding my lower lip. I call on the blood that buds there, whisking it away with a flick of my wrist as she hugs herself tightly, heading toward the creek. My senses spike as she glances around, huffing in annoyance before roughly jerking at the buttons on the back of her dress. Even with her brow pinched, and her delicate features pulled into a frown she isutsukushi.
Beautiful.
My death grip on the branch I’m lounging on cracks through the wood, making her head swivel toward the sound. My breath halts, dismissing my tendrils as they spring away from my body. The moonlight rarely hits my woods, but of course, it would make an exception for her. Her copper hair is wild like flames as it frizzes away from her head,cascading down her back. I don’t risk so much as a blink when she lowers the stained garment, baring the smooth expanse of her back.
“I-If there is something out there, I would appreciate my dignity being left intact. If you could k-kindly look away.” Even trembling her words stuttered, she shows her claws.
I smirk, an odd and foreign use of the muscles as I look upward, averting my eyes just as the fabric hits the ground. Having an excellent sense of hearing has its pitfalls. Each step she takes…her toes curling around the grass, the break in the water as she steps in. The gasp as she dunks herself…each movement is a taunt. A tease.
It’s then that I decide this frustrating game of cat and mouse has reached its end. If my little human will not come to me, I will go to her.
7
Homesick Demons
Molly
This is maddening. I am almost certainly going mad.
Utterly and entirely mad.
I glare at the door, knowing any second now, another round of supplies will be dropped off just before the sun rises. Three times a week. Like clockwork. When I step out to grab them, the ever-pervasive eye of the woods will cloak around me, making my pulse quicken. Visions of dark eyes and sharp features, spice and cedar.
Even from a distance, my benefactor is…pulling.
Most days since I’ve journeyed to the inky lighthouse, my eyes dart time and time again to the balcony where he stands, a king ruling over his castle, and what a castle it is. As dark and foreboding as the jagged and sharp rocks below the cliffs and the lighthouse that lords above it all. He stands, watches, and I can nearly feel his hands, hearhim humming that strange, lovely song. One with a tune I can’t quite replicate.
That isn’t the part that maddens me.
That has me pacing the confines of my-hiscottage, refusing to step outside.
It’s his eyes.
