Page 7 of Rescued By the Beast
The undead kappa...
Remembering that creature makes me clench my fists, my claws piercing my palms.
The monster was relatively small, similar in size to a twelve-year-old child, but its appearance was grotesque and its presence deadly. Despite its size, it was extremely strong. With green reptilian skin, cracked turtle shell and rotting flesh, its hands and feet, like those of a frog, had sharp claws at the ends, ready to tear apart anything they touched. He didn't just kill — he drowned his victims, draining their souls for more power. His glazed eyes exuded a deep malice, driven only by the desire for destruction and blood, his existence reduced to killing.
I am capable of dealing with monsters on my own; I have never needed reinforcements. But the kappa was a predator of the lake, a master at hiding in the depths and difficult to lure into a direct confrontation. Jack, in his alligator form, was the perfect bait — not only for luring the monster out of the water, but for his tough hide, capable of withstanding the attack long enough for me to finish off the creature the moment my claws reached it.
Jack managed to lure the kappa and escaped in time, with a few scrapes that healed in a matter of minutes.
Viklaus, an ancient vampire with powers of mental influence over humans, drove away anyone nearby, ensuring that no one would witness the fight, and if they did, they would forget everything.
When the kappa approached the shore, I went straight for it. The fight was brutal and quick. In my beast form, I tore its body apart with my bare hands in seconds. I ripped off its long, scaly arms before it had time to grab me and drag me into the depths. I didn't hesitate. I tore him apart piece by piece until I reached his rotten heart. When I crushed it between my fingers, his body disintegrated into a sticky substance, as if his decomposition had been accelerated, erasing any trace of his existence.
I shift my approving gaze from Jack to Viklaus and finally to Ted.
The bear has always been the strategic mind behind everything. While I lead the battlefield, he makes sure the rest of the operation runs smoothly. He's the one who keeps the lines of communication open, organises reinforcements and makes decisions behind the scenes. Without him, nothing would work with the same precision.
"You did a good job," I say to the team, my task force, letting a slight tone of approval slip through. I may be closed off and intimidating, but I always recognise a job well done.
"I think we deserve a celebration, then." Ted flashes that smirk he always has when he's pleased with himself. "Are you coming with us, boss?"
"No." My answer is curt, automatic. I'm not one for socialising, it's not my style. I've always been a recluse, and I see no need to change that now. "But go ahead, have fun."
"No way." Jack laughs. "You deserve to celebrate too."
The looks on the faces of the others in the room begin to align, creating a silent consensus that forces me to give in.
I rub my face, annoyed.
"Let's go to Pandemonium, you like it there," Ted comments.
Like is too strong a word. In fact, there's only one thing that makes me tolerate that place...
"Okay, just one round."
I see my crew smiling, trying to ease the tension of recent events. Danger still watches us, and there is much to do before we discover where these monsters come from. But everyone deserves a rest, and perhaps the tavern is the place for that.
However, as soon as we arrive, the tension only increases. The room falls silent, and all eyes are fixed on me. There is no way to hide the discomfort my presence causes.
That's exactly why I usually keep to myself.
I am a hybrid, the product of a union that produced a freak, as they often whisper behind my back. I don't belong to any werewolf clan, and the shape-shifters see me as something out of place. But what really makes them tremble is my power — a phenomenon that few dare to challenge. I have magic in my veins, with instant recovery abilities and a shield-like protective power that puts me on a level above shape-shifters and werewolves.
I am not like any of them, but they respect me.
In the end, that's what really matters.
Chapter 3
Sandra
Pandemonium pulsates like a living organism around me as I move between the tables, balancing the tray and dodging the glances — some curious, others invasive — that follow me accompanied by murmurs.
Rumours about me are still circulating strongly, it seems, but I make a point of ignoring them, wishing the room were darker to hide the persistent flush on my cheeks.
The lighting, consisting of torches fixed to the stone walls, casts an amber light that dances and flickers on the surfaces, casting irregular shadows across the hall.
I take a deep breath, trying to compose myself, my eyes wandering for a moment to the ceiling beams, solid and made of dark wood, adorned with artefacts such as amulets, swords and other ancient relics. For a moment, I allow myself to be distracted — a bad habit of mine, like a cat fascinated by the smallest curiosities.
