Page 62 of Xantera
My skin prickles, all too aware that it could be pierced at any moment.
Finally, it’s the First Guardian—the eldest-looking one with his hair tied back in a braid—who breaks the nauseating silence swelling throughout the room.
“Eat.”
We all glance at each other, more confused than ever. Another Chosen One across from me catches my eye, eyebrows high in silent question. I wish I could say something back, but the Third Guardian is breathing clouds of icy vapor down the back of my neck, watching my every movement.
They’re nourishing you before they take your blood,Lucan says in disgust, and he doesn’t have to finish the thought for me to fill in the dots myself:like pigs before a slaughter.
“Eat,” the First Guardian says again, this time more forcefully.
Jolting, we all reach out and grab our silverware.
Try to get something down,Lucan encourages me, his tone morphing back into something soft, as if he forgot his manners.You’ll need your strength. Besides, this is real food. Not the cardboard they regularly feed you.
I’d prefer to not ever look at food again, not as the dead woman’s Guardian finally begins to drag her deflated sack of skin and bones out the door, the sound hissing across the floor. But I don’t want to join her, so I shakily grab a bowl of pudding and take a bite.
A wretched sweetness coats my tongue. Maybe in another lifetime it would be enjoyable, but now I’m forcing myself to take tiny spoonfuls even though I can hear each of my swallows. The chewing, the lip smacking from an older Chosen One to my left, the scraping of knives and forks—it grates on my eardrums even worse than my lonely dinners with Malcolm.
Maybe some sounds have always bothered me because of what they represent. With Malcolm, it was endless, meaningless routine. With this, it’s the false promise that our Guardians are giving rather than taking.
Did I ever tell you about the first time I turned into a Monster?Lucan asks conversationally.
I cling to the distraction as I swallow the slimy, too-sweet pudding.No, Lucan. You’re not really the mushy-tell-childhood-stories type.
He chuckles for my benefit.You know me so well.
Apparently not well enough, because curiosity is sprouting amid all my fear and anger and grief for the life that was just lost right in front of my eyes.What happened? How old were you? Did you freak out?
I was eighteen, and I only freaked out because I didn’t know where my balls had gone for a moment.A cough travels up into my stomach from where the necklace touches me.Sorry. Bad table manners.
On the contrary, thinking about Lucan’s balls rather than the blood to my right or the vampire at my back is helping me get all this food down better. I swallow another bite and say,Did you find them? Your balls, I mean?
Yes. They’d just moved slightly in comparison to my… well, we don’t have to go into detail.I halfway want to tell him to go into as much detail as he can conjure up so that I can picture his male anatomy after I take the necklace off tonight, but that would bereallybad table manners, and he’s already hurrying on.As soon as I had settled into my new body, it’s like all my senses just exploded. There was this energy in the air that I could taste. And I just started running before anyone could stop me.
I allow my eyes to close for a second, getting a bite of roasted meat down but imagining that I’m far away, running through the mist of the woods with Lucan.
I didn’t stop for three whole days, just ran and ran and ran—around the perimeter of the Wall until I’d memorized every part of it and just aboutcollapsed from exhaustion.
My eyes flash open.You ran for three days straight without stopping for food or sleep?The healer in me is both mortified and awed. What kind of body does he even have if he’s able to do such a thing?
And what wouldn’t I give to possess that same kind of strength? I could have stopped that Guardian from snapping his Chosen One’s neck. I would run right through all the vampires holding us hostage and free every Chosen One who’s still alive in this palace.
Tell me more,I plead Lucan before more tears can prick the corners of my eyes.More sweet, sentimental childhood stories.
I prefer the adjectives gruff and grizzly. There’s nothing sweet or sentimental about me.
You’re the sweetest Monster I’ve ever met,I argue.
He growls in response, one that feels so real that I almost yelp and shift in my seat.
The Third Guardian’s voice slithers over my shoulder. “Is something the matter?”
“No,” I gulp, reality slamming back into me as I shovel in another bite of something much too flavorful. I wish I could glare at Lucan, but the best I can do is clench my thighs together.
I’m sorry,he says immediately.Sweet, sentimental stories coming right up.
And he follows through, giving me tidbits of his life that he never has before until I’ve completely gorged myself, so consumed by his voice that I’m able to block out all the other scraping, sucking, chewing noise.
