Among Monsters Read online

  Still, knowing all of that doesn't change my mind. It might flood me with ice-cold fear and batter my heart against my chest, but I wouldn’t turn around and run back to the Capital even if I could. Because the fate that lurks for me there is one I’ll never surrender to.

  This is worth the risk, if only to live the final few pieces of my life as a free woman.

  I’m pulled out of my thoughts as something runs over the skin of my neck. Goosepimples erupt there and I tilt my head up to see Silver, his hand reached down for my, his fingertips grazing my neck. As our gazes lock, he turns his hand to hold it outright, palm-up.

  I take his hand and let him guide me up from the steps. He brings me to stand at his side, looking out to the sea. I trace his gaze out far to the horizon, where black fin-like shapes bob over the water, then disappear.

  “What is that?” I wonder aloud and lean closer as though an inch or two forward will let me see the water-creature better.

  He pushes from the barrier of the ship, then slips behind me. I feel the run of his breath disturb my hair and a faint tickle prickles the nape of my neck. My breath hitches. Just as I make to look over my shoulder, he comes up closer behind me and rests his hands on the barrier on either side of mine, caging me.

  His head dips and he rests his chin on my shoulder where Koal bit into me. The skin there is naked from the tears of my shirt.

  I’m stiff in his loose hold, the cage of his body that he’s moulded around me.

  “Daemon Ocris,” he tells me, his tone soft and low. “They come in pairs. Mates for life. And they kill for entertainment.”

  I turn slightly and look down at the wooden floorboards, forever damp with the mist of the sea. The toe of his polished boot borders the edge of mine. He stands so close.

  “The Ocris grab who and what they can with their fanged mouths,” he says and, slowly, his hand grazes along the barrier, closer to mine. “And they drag them deep into the depths of the sea to drown them. Sometimes they will even bring their victims back up to the water-level to breathe, then drag them back down again.”

  My breath catches in my throat as his fingers find mine. I watch his hand run up my arm to my bicep, where it stays.

  “Torture,” I whisper. “They torture their victims.”

  He hums. “There is a reason they were named after the Daemons. Brutality and mateship. That’s the life you are fleeing.”

  I nod, a sense of assurance lifting up in my chest. That is what I am doing. Escaping, fleeing—leaving that fate behind me, and never to return to it. The day I do step foot back in the Capital, I will be a free woman.

  I suck in a sharp breath—

  Silver dips his head and brushes a warm kiss over the side of my neck. “You are braver than I imagined,” he murmurs against my skin, and my heart does a flip. “Determined. I admire that in a vilas with a poor fate.”

  Something deep in my belly spreads, growing hot and heavy. The tickling of his skin near mine, his breath on my skin, fills me with an odd, unfamiliar sensation.

  He draws back, his breath rustling my hair. He adds, “And that might be what saves you in the end.”

  My muscles relax and I slump as he pulls away from me. He strides to the barrier of the stairs and leans against them before he lights himself a cigarette. His gaze doesn’t meet mine—it’s as though he has forgotten all about me already.

  2.

  “Kee.” Silver’s distant voice snares into my sleep. “It is time to wake.”

  I stir from my rest.

  I expect raw daylight to beam down on me, but the light has given way to dusky pinks and oranges that bounce off the freshly mopped deck. I must have been resting for a while. Hours, at least.

  As I push from the ship wall, I rub my balled-up hands over my eyes and fight back an improper yawn. I might sit improperly on this pirate ship, and fall into light naps on the steps, but something about yawning in front of Silver fills me with an uncomfortable sensation. It’s like I don’t want him to see me as mortal as I am.

  Perhaps I’m a tad ashamed of all the vilas things I must do in front of him; sleep, excuse myself for the chamber pot, blow my nose into a rag, and down my remedy after faint and sickly spells. If I can keep one vilas thing like yawning from him, then I will.

  I drop my balled-up hands to my lap and lift my tired, hooded gaze to him. He stands beside me, tall and shrouded in late-evening shadows, like a silhouette that runs familiar tendrils of fear down my spine, flooding my mind with echoes of Koal standing in my doorway before he attacked me.

  I shake the image from my mind.

  Silver turns his face to the sea. “We are here,” he tells me, and my tired heart skips a beat. “Look out to the horizon.”

  A jolt of alertness spears me and, suddenly awake, I scramble up from the steps. I clutch onto the edge of the ship, feeling the icy winds hit my face. My cheeks burn cold with the lashings.

  I trace Silver’s gaze ahead to the farthest part of the world that I can see. Land rises up on the shimmer of sea and reflects off the dark water. The mossy-green horizon stands tall and wide. Even from this distance, it’s easy to tell that it’s a wood, but less easy to see that it’s magickal.

  Disappointment slumps my shoulders and my grip on the ship’s edge loosens. Perhaps it was silly of me, but I expected something a little more ... magickal. Bright blue trees, blackened land, crystal-white waters. Something to distinguish it from the shores of the Capital I’m all too familiar with.

  Maybe the Wild Woods aren’t as magickal as I’d hoped they would be. Maybe they are ordinary, and will offer me no more help than the rest of Scocie.

  As if sensing my doubts, Silver’s hand slides along the barrier for mine. His fingertips lazily graze over my hand. My skin suddenly feels alight, as though a dozen miniature starbursts erupt inside my hand.

  “You will feel it when we are in the Woods,” he tells me, voice low like a whisper, ready to be carried away on the prickling winds that beat us. “It must accept you for you to see it as it truly is.”

  I slide my hand away and flex it, clenching out the tingling sensation that grips there. Silver doesn't appear bothered at all that I pulled away. His hands stay on the barrier, holding on loosely, and he watches the horizon sway closer at an agonisingly slow pace.

  The nearer we draw to the land ahead, the more aware I am of the tangled ball of nerves building inside of me, like tumbleweed, growing bigger and bigger as it rolls. Soon, I can feel it rising up into my throat where it chokes me.

  I turn my back on the horizon and lean against the barrier.

  Most of the pirates are hard at work now. Ropes are being pulled all over, black sails are being lifted up onto the mast, and metal poles are being spun around and around. Some, however, seem to be enjoying some rest; sprawled out over the tops of barrels, eating from seaweed leaves while perched on wooden posts, and crowded around wooden boardgames that I recognise from father’s parlour room.

  I watch the pirates for a while, until shirts and vests and hats and breeches are deposited on the wood deck, and some pirates climb into tubs of seawater to bathe. My cheeks burn hot at the sight of so many naked bodies. And it does nothing to entice me. Uglier than I expected.

  I turn to face the horizon, an uncomfortable twisting sensation filling my chest. Who would have thought that the first time I ever saw a man’s naked body—not in a painting—would be on a pirate ship? At least on the Capital’s shores, men wore their long-johns and women wore their slips.

  Can’t help but let my face crinkle as the images stick to my mind. Hairy chests, scratch marks, bruises, red pimples marking the places where the muscles should be. At least, I think there should be muscles. All my knowledge of man’s naked form comes from the paintings of the Gods in the Divine Museum. Perhaps it’s not the best reference for vilas bodies.

  Silver turns to look at me, and there is an unavoidable smirk on his wickedly full lips. His eyes spark at me, mocking me, as he looks over my redd
ened face. “I forget how naive some of your kind is.”

  I sniff and raise my chin. “Proper is the word you are looking for.”

  His smirk cracks into a crooked smile. “A word invented by your people to decide how your kind should behave. You confine yourselves, then turn hot-faced when others don’t conform.”

  I think of the two pirates canoodling earlier, and decide I can’t argue with his point. Who are the mortals to say anything about how we should behave and who can fumble with who? I should only be able to speak for myself, my own life and my own body, no one else’s.

  But then again—

  “Isn’t that what this whole mate business is about?” I turn my stare up at him. His smile is missing, replaced by a hollow look that spans centuries. “A word, a meaning, made up by those who shouldn’t be able to decide anything for me?”

  Silver arches an eyebrow. “Are the Originals not allowed to decide your fate when they are so much greater and more than you will ever be?”

  I blink at him. “Is it them who tied me to Koal?”

  Looking back to the waters, he shrugs and somehow manages to make the gesture look graceful and yet detached. “If any being did, it would be the Three Sisters.”

  “Huh.”

  My face slackens as I process that. Images spring to mind of three crooked and hunched sisters draped in grey cloaks, pushing pieces on a game-board together, just because they can.

  It’s a bizarre thought and wholly ridiculous, and it’s quickly broken as the shout of a pirate snatches my attention.

  I look over my shoulder as the tanned pirate—who was kissing another earlier—calls out across the deck and points to the ship’s edge. Then he strides towards us and another pirate joins him, the one he was calling out to, with sunset-orange hair and amber eyes that gleam like gems in the evening light.

  I step back as they approach, making for the barrier. But my foot catches on the step and I stumble back into Silver. He reaches out to catch me, his hands loose on my hips, and I suck in a sharp breath. My hips tingle with a man’s touch—even if that ‘man’ is an aniel—and my cheeks flood with fire.

  Clearing my throat, I step away from him, down the stairs, and his hands slip from my hips.

  I watch the two pirates.

  The tanned one leaps over the edge of the ship and lands in a small boat, fastened to the ship’s side with spools of rope. He attacks the ropes with his bare hands, untying knots, while the other pirate does the same on deck.

  Slowly, the small boat is lowered to the gentle waters.

  I look back at Silver, a question on my frowning face. “They won’t take us closer by ship?”

  The land on the horizon is still a good distance away from us. On that little boat, I imagine it would take maybe an hour to get there.

  Silver turns to look at me, but it’s the red-headed pirate who answers me; “We don’t get close to them Woods, miss,” he calls out, looping rope around and around his arm. “It ain’t all that welcomin’ to everyone. If a ship gets too close, it ain’t ever seen again.” He levels his stare with me. “Dependin’ on who you ask. Some say they can see the old ships wandering the coastline at dusk.”

  I throw Silver a dubious look, but his face is as serious as a handful of daggers. He nods slightly, and that familiar lump of fear balls in my throat.

  These Wild Woods literally turn ships into ghosts and I’m expecting to simply waltz into the treeline?

  My heart hammers in my chest and, slowly, I sink down the wall to sit on my bag. Slumping over, I bury my head in my hands and try to steady my choppy breaths. Neither the pirates nor Silver pay my panic any mind. I’m left alone to wallow in a pit of wretched bouts of fear until the red-headed pirate whistles loud enough to make me wince, and he gestures us over to him.

  I force myself to stand and look over the edge.

  Now, the boat is attached to the ship with only a flimsy ladder. The sight of it spins me with a woozy wave, and I shake my head mutely.

  Silver sweeps over to my side. He dips his head and mutters into my ear, “Come now, Kee. This is what you wanted.” His tone is as devious as his nature, and alarms ring inside of me, all through my body.

  What the hell am I doing? What have I done?

  I’m about to be all alone with this wicked aniel, and will have no one to shield me from him. Even worse, I’ll only have him to shield me from the Wild Woods.

  In this moment, I despise myself. But it’s too late to turn back now.

  Silver has already snatched up our bags and, throwing them over his shoulder, he descends the ladder with only one hand. The red-headed pirate ushers me over and helps me climb the edge of the ship.

  Can’t change my mind now. No turning back.

  I just hope I won’t want to.

  3.

  The tanned pirate rows us out closer to the coastline, but even he only takes us so far. We’re a long swim away from the shore when he stops rowing and rests the oars on his lap.

  From this distance, I can make out the thick, bloated trunks of the trees and the faint lime-green shade of the grass that swallows up the white-sanded beach.

  The tanned pirate stares me down—avoiding the gaze of Silver—and says, “This is as far as I go.”

  Panic flitters in my chest.

  Gripping the material of my breeches, I glance at Silver. “I can’t swim very well.”

  His quartz eyes land on me. “You live by the sea.”

  I shrug, my muscles balled into tense balls beneath my skin. “It isn’t proper for ladies to swim in the sea,” I murmur words to him that my father once spoke to me when I was a child, knee-deep in the waters by the Capital.

  Silver’s face slackens with exhaustion as he throws a withering look at me. As he lets out a quiet sigh, he runs his hand along the sharpness of his jaw and falls out of his stiff stance—his shoulders slump slightly and he kicks out a leg. He looks just as any gentleman does but at the end of a long weary day and he’s just in the door to his home.

  I grip my breeches tighter, unease quick to climb up me.

  We have barely started our journey, and already he is tiring of me. But I can’t help that I was restricted in my upbringing. And even if I did learn how to swim in my younger years, it would not help me now—not against the strong tide of the sea, or the sickness that forever clings to my bones. I’m not cut out for long-distance swims.

  Silver adjusts the bag straps that loop over his chest. At the back of his shoulder, he hooks his thumb through a strap and angles it towards me. “Hold onto this,” he tells me.

  I shift forward in the rickety boat and it sways with my movements. I hold onto the strap so tightly that my knuckles are soon kissed with white freckles.

  The pirate watches us. He says nothing, no words of farewell or good luck, as Silver throws his legs over the side of the boat, and sinks into the sea.

  Above water, only his shoulders, head and arms stay afloat. I lean over the edge of the boat, hand clasped around the strap, and freeze. Maybe it’s the late hour, or that the sun is starting to whisk away on the far sky, or that the sea this far up Scocie looks ice-cold, but I hesitate.

  Silver loses patience, fast. He snatches my arm and yanks me overboard. With a shout, I go tumbling over the edge and splash into the water.

  It’s just as it looked. Freezing.

  I bob above water, clutching onto the strap, and already my teeth are clenched, prepared to start chattering the cold away. My hand stings with the icy spray of the sea rolling under us. We bob with the waves.

  Silver wastes not a moment before he lunges forward into an expert swimming position, and spears us onward. I kick my legs and flap my free arm in the water, if only to aid him a little. But we both know I’m utterly useless, and he carries both our weight through the sea.

  I spit out a spray of water that catches in my mouth, then throw a look back at the pirate ship. I don’t see it. Maybe we have swum too far, but I can’t even find a glimpse of
the small rowing boat that took us further out. Looks like we’re all alone now.

  As we inch closer to the shore, the waves seem to become more unforgiving. We bob higher and jerk to the side as the water rolls around us.

  Silver remains determined. His brisk pace never falters, and his head stays bowed beneath the water. It brings a thought to mind, since he never comes up for air—does he even need to breathe to live? It’s not a ridiculous thought. He did tell me he doesn’t require food or drink to survive.

  Still, it clings to me with a veil of wonder as he swims us out closer to shore. Never needing to breathe, eat, sleep, or drink must make life all the easier.

  Fleetingly, I wonder what it would be like for me to have been born an aniel. No sickness to kill me too young, no family to restrict me in my life. I would answer only to my parent God, and live a free and long life. Unless I was born one of the unlucky ones thrown into that rumoured prison.

  My thoughts stay on that slaughterhouse-prison as Silver starts to slow his pace. I flap my free arm to push myself above water some more, and look over the waves to the shore ahead. It’s much closer now. So close that I even loosen my grip on the strap and test out the seabed beneath me. I stretch down my legs, feeling the sandy bottom brush over the soles of my boots.

  I let go of the bag and force myself to stand in the water. Silver is quick to mimic me, and we both wade through the sea for the rest of the way.

  I watch him closely as the water creeps down to our waists. Water clings his pale hair to his temples, droplets of it gleams on his parted lips, but he doesn't look the least bit out of breath.

  Before we are fully out of the water and onto the white-sandy shore, Silver pauses and looks back at me. He unhooks the straps from his chest and lets our bags float on the water.

  “We will wash ourselves here,” he says then, before I can speak, he reaches over his back, grabs a fistful of his black silk vest, and pulls it over his head.