Page 81 of Marked By Feral Monsters
I know what he's going to do, maybe even before he does. I lean to one side just before his body collides with mine. An icy breeze brushes past, but before he can pivot and try again, I grip the back of his neck. "Bad dog," I hiss.
With a quick glance around the room, I find a chair in the corner. It's a soft, tall wingback with a vintage floral pattern and gold trim. Not ideal. I snatch a scarf hanging on Dina's dresser as I march him through the small bedroom and shove him down into the chair.
"Be a doll and get me more of these?" I wave the scarf in the air, but don't take my eyes off the wraith. He struggles against my hold, but his ghostly energy is weak. If I weren't here, he'd likely become completely non-corporeal, and the binds would fall right through him.
Fortunately, I am a master of death. And Eric is dead. Which means he is mine to control.
I'm going to force this little heathen back to the land of the living, and he'll either hate me for it, or get on his knees and swear fealty. I'm fine with either.
Dina gathers the scarves, but she hugs them close to her chest instead of handing them over. "Umm… I should probably ask… what are you doing with these?"
"Isn't it obvious?"
"No, not really. I can't see him at all. Just…" she waves at the scarf I already tied around Eric's wrists, keeping his hands at his back. It probably just looks like a floating knot to her.
"You're an asshole," Eric spits in a low, raspy whisper.
I wink and grab the scarves out of Dina's arms. I tie his ankles together, then his thighs, having to tie two of the scarves together to get it around his legs, but eventually, it does the trick, and he's secure.
Placing my hands on either side of his hips in the wide chair, I lean in close, and take a deep breath. He smells of roses. What is it with this house and fucking roses?
I get flashes of the woman who killed him. She was in her early thirties. She looks vaguely familiar, like Dina, with dark hair and nearly black eyes. Short, naturally curvy. Eric was inhis early-twenties, selling vacuum cleaners. He was cute. A small guy, maybe five eight. That's why she picked him.
He died scared. And when she was finished, Greta dragged his body out back in a wheelbarrow, dumped him in the gazebo, and cut him up before burying the pieces beneath her rose garden out front. I feel a pang of sympathy for the guy. But then again, he was ready to do the same thing to me not two minutes ago.
"She's not yours," I whisper.
"Mine!" he spits. "She'smine!"
I wrap my hands around his head, my palms over his ears, and call forth that burning ember, always smoldering inside me. I share some of my magic, letting it pour out of my hands. Feathers emerge in soft, downy rows along my fingers.
Dina gasps. "What did you—Eric?!"
I let go and lean back, cocking my head. He's trussed up like a fucking turkey. Dina can't tear her eyes away. She can see him as I did now. A black and purple shimmering silhouette.
"Dina," he whispers, desperate for her. Shit, maybe I fed him too much power. He's looking at her in awe. And I can tell because now I can see him a little more clearly, too. His expression is clearer. His eyes never stray from hers. Tears run down Dina's cheeks.
God dammit. This was supposed to be a punishment, and I'm getting all distracted and sentimental.
I stand abruptly and grab Dina by the back of her neck, same as I did Eric. "You are not innocent in this, my darling."
"What did you do?" She asks, following as I push her onto the bed, but unable to take her eyes off her boyfriend. It's getting annoying, actually.
"Eyes up here," I snap. Hers meet mine, a dark shade of brown, so dark her pupils look blown. I liked that look the othernight. Like she was so twisted up in me, she looked high on it, on us.
Her lips part, and again, I realize, no other woman could have done it for me. Because any other human in this situation would be freaking out.
She's in her bedroom with two monsters. One is a shimmering ghost, tied up in a chair. The other is clearly unhinged.
But she sucks in that fat bottom lip and drags her teeth across it, and I'm fucking done.
"Strip."
"What?"
"I. Said. Strip. Do you need me to help you?"
She's frozen, doesn't move an inch. So I lean closer, grab her from the middle of the bed where I'd tossed her, and tear her top clean off her body. She's not wearing anything underneath, and her tits bounce from the effort.
