Page 136 of A Grave Not Made For Mourning
A burning need, a desire not of its own creation,forcingthis monster to want blood.
Similar to the longing in the kapha.
The moonaro rises to its hind legs, standing three heads taller than me—and four heads taller than Calista.
The sword in her hand has never looked so small.
Blood coats the beast, chin to chest, from the animal it was feasting on. The blue glow beneath its ribs pulses, the source of its magic—but also something else. Just like the kapha, I know someone is controlling this beast.
The same way I’m sure the Royals controlled the pernipe that killed my mother.
This poor beast.
It charges toward us.
Calista raises a hand, a gust of wind pushing against the monster—but it does not send it back. The wind only holds it still. It does not last long, either.
With a small amount of effort, the monster breaks through her barrier.
Needles prick beneath my skin as roots push through the soil. They grow around the moonaro’s hind legs. As it tries to step forward, it falls onto its stomach. The crash shakes the ground beneath the beast.
“Now!” I scream.
Calista charges, raising the sword. But as she approaches, the monster flips its head up. The sharp, ice-cold antlers catch Calista’s ankles, flipping her back several feet.
She lands harshly, the blue glow of the moonaro’s ribs giving out.
Then, the moon above stops shining.
The world darkens, nearly pitch black.
I turn to Calista silently, making sure she’s okay. She’s barely visible in the darkness, and as she begins to groan, I put a finger to my lips.
We cannot give the moonaro the upperhand of sound.
It seems the moonaro understands this, too. It’s nowhere to be found, shrouded in the dim silence.
I steady myself, turning from side to side, searching.
Then I’m run off my feet. I fall to the ground, my back hitting harshly. A sharp pain dulls my senses.
For the first time in my life, all my focus is not on anything else. It’s on me.
The warmth that trickles from my ribcage.
I touch a hand to the gaping hole beneath my breast, lifting it before my face. Dark liquid clings to my fingers.
I fear it’s red.
As the light slowly fills the sky again, I spot the monster behind Calista. It raises its long claws to her throat—desperate for the kill, even against its better judgement.
I press my hands into the ground, praying I can stand. That my body will not give out from beneath me.
There’s a terrible taste at the back of my throat. It tastes like death.
The pain of power pulses against my ribcage as I run to Calista. Every step takes me closer to toppling. But I manage to reach her, to unbutton my gloves, and set a bare hand on the monster.
For the first time, I use my power the way I was meant to but was never allowed to.
