by Mason, V. F.
But this man, this personality trapped inside the body of the man I love?
He is a ruthless devil who came from hell to bring chaos and destruction to those around him with sadistic pleasure that only highlights his dark desires.
Unknown
She sags in my arms. I throw the leather on the ground before picking her up gently while my eyes scan her features, assessing her condition.
Her lips are blue from the cold, goose bumps spreading on her skin.
My hands fist when I notice the red wound on her forehead dripping blood on her porcelain skin, reminding me there are other people who still have the power to hurt Arianna.
Familiar rage comes back, fueling the blood in my veins so much I can almost taste the bitterness of destruction. It takes my exceptional control, learned through the years, to not drop her here and dart toward the enemies, sinking my knives into them. I’d torture them for days before killing them so they would know what it is like to hurt something that belongs to the twins.
I might have hurt her in the church, creating a fear inside her for me, but I had no other choice.
The true monster was watching, and I always have to protect Cassandra, no matter the cost.
She is Eudard’s most prized possession, and in this, mine also, even if I don’t like or understand her much.
Arianna Griffin, aka Cassandra Scott, is the one thing that keeps Eudard sane in this world, and I’ll die before letting anything happen to her.
After all, I vowed my absolute devotion to her a long time ago.
The tapping on the roof of my car brings me back to the situation at hand. The rain is falling so fast it slaps against the concrete and brings with it so many memories I can never wash away.
My eyes land on the man on the opposite side of the car, leaning on it with a huge grin on his face while he studies us. “Well, you go all in when you do something, don’t you?”
He chuckles when I flip him off, gently placing Arianna on the backseat, barking, “Help me from the other side.” He opens the door there and I throw a pillow to him. “Prop her head on it.” He does as I say while I put a blanket over her, hoping to warm her up.
I don’t want her to get sick.
“So she hates you now, I gather?” he asks, flipping his lighter between his fingers while I shut the door, mentally counting to ten so I won’t walk around my car and snap his neck, because the amusement lacing his tone grates on my nerves. “You almost choked her to death.” He shakes his head, tsking. “Shouldn’t have done that.”
“Is there a point to this conversation, Santiago?” The fucker might be Eudard’s friend, but he is a nobody to me. I might be grateful for what he had done for the twins, but that’s where any kind of emotional attachment ended for me. “I’m not in the mood for it.”
He wiggles the keychain on his finger and tells me, “Get in the car. I’m going to take you to the dungeon.”
“I’m capable of doing it myself,” I snarl at him, but he just lifts his brows, unfazed by my outburst.
“And who is going to explain to Eudard what’s going on?” He holds his hand high when I open my mouth. “Spare the journal talk. He’ll need a bit more explanation than your confession. And besides, what if the switch happens sooner?” Since I can’t argue with this point, I get into the car, resisting the urge to slam the door loudly, so Arianna won’t wake up. Santiago follows suit, glancing at her, but he stops when my growls echo in the space.
“Don’t even look at her.”
I’m not attracted to Arianna, but I’m still possessive of her, because she belongs to us.
He chuckles again—sometimes I think everything is fucking hilarious to him—and turns on soft jazz music. “You are such a psycho, whoever you are.” He waits a beat before asking, “Still no name?” As he pulls the car away from the church, some of the tension slips from me, because we are away from the surveillance cameras he put all over the place to watch the result of his creation.
After all, he enjoys nothing but the twins’ misery.
Bonus puerum.
Good boy.
These words spoken to me in Latin are forever imprinted in my brain, reminding me why normal life is impossible for the likes of me.
The sound of cracking fills the car and it takes me a second to realize it’s my hands fisting the car door, leaving a small dent on the handle.
Santiago whistles. “Easy there, amigo.” Then once fucking again, he asks, “So do you have a name or not?”
“No.” What’s the point of having a name if I don’t exist for people around me unless I rise to protect the twins? An attachment of that kind is not something I seek or want—a personality outside them.
My one purpose in life is to be near the twins, surviving through anything no matter the cost.
Santiago sighs dramatically, pressing the back of his hand to his forehead. “Ah, too bad. I thought it might have been the beginning of a new friendship.” The minute the word slips past his mouth, he bursts out laughing like finding it truly hilarious, and in a way it is.
In moments like this, I wonder who the bigger psycho between us is; last I heard, Santiago is one mean fucker no one ever wants to cross, and I can’t say I blame him much, considering the hell he has gone through.
Hell he thinks no one knows about.
Friendship.
What a funny and useless concept anyway.
Once upon a time, I trusted someone to keep my twins safe, hoping he could soothe the monster reigning over us.
But that person?
He turned his back on us and sent us into the pit of hell from where one of us didn’t get out.
I’m no one’s amigo.
But I was born in Eudard’s misery while thousands of monsters feasted on his flesh, biting it bit by bit and enjoying the screams of agony slipping from his throat.
I’m a protector.
And this time around…
This time around, I won’t rest until he is punished for what he has done.
And I don’t care how many people Eudard has to kill on his way to achieve that.
Chapter Two
“Oh, my fair lady.
Your fear is shining in your eyes.
No need to give it so much power.
Your dark knight is here to save the night.”
Eudard
Eudard, 6 years old
Placing three bars of chocolate inside the pink box, I cover it with a lid, ready to glue the red bow on it, when Eachann rushes inside the bedroom, slamming into my back.
Grunting, I look back when he puts his hands on my shoulders, leaning over me to check what I’m doing. “Nanny bought it for us!” he exclaims, guessing about my gift, not that I tried to hid it.
Arianna always gets dibs on all the things I have. How can she not?
She’s my best friend in the whole wide world.
He sighs. “You do everything for Arianna.” He shakes his head at me but then steps back, jumping on the bed, bouncing on it a little and giggling like crazy.
Grinning at him, I attach the bow and muse, “I hope she’ll like it.” Last time I saw her, she mentioned milk chocolate is her favorite, but Matilda, her mother and my father’s secretary, doesn’t let her eat it much, claiming it’s bad for her health.
Instead, she feeds her dark chocolate, and Arianna told me that she hates the taste.
Eachann snorts from the bed, picking up the football ball Daddy bought for us, and throws it up in the air, but he doesn’t catch it, so it lands on his nose.
He bursts into tears, covering his nose with his palm, and I exhale heavily, dragging my feet toward him. “You shouldn’t play with it.” Perching on the edge of the bed, I slap his hand away to look at his nose and see it’s slightly red. “You are clumsy with the ball.” And with a lot of other things, but I don’t mention them.
Eachann is too sensitive for this kind of truth.
“It hurts,” he mumbles.
I shrug and t
hrow the ball in the air, catching it easily then twisting it in my hands. “Why do you want to play with it anyway?” Lately, he has been picking it up here and there, trying to throw it around the mansion or the yard, begging Daddy to take us outside to practice.
Each of those times ended in disaster, either with him bleeding or bruised because he couldn’t run fast enough, catch it in time, or understand what he was supposed to do.
He glances down, rubbing his nose, and he shifts on the bed as if wanting to roll away to avoid this conversation, but my stare doesn’t let him.
We are twins; he can’t hide from me, even if on most days he wishes so. He mumbles something again, but I can barely understand it, so I nudge him a little. Removing his palm, he finally says it clearly. “Daddy likes it.” Oh no. “It’s his favorite sport.”
It should be, considering Daddy once had been the best quarterbacks our town had ever seen, according to Matilda.
“Eachann,” I say, wanting to reassure him, hating that he has been sick over this, but he is in no mood to listen to me.
He closes his eyes, releasing small tears that slide down his cheeks, before burrowing his face in the pillow. “He is so proud when you are on the field and catch all those balls. I can’t even memorize the rules!” He shouts the last part, rolling onto his other side, waving his hand at me. “Go to your bed.”
That’s what has him so twisted in knots?
What a silly thing!
Lying beside him on the bed, I throw my arm over him, but he stays immovable. “Daddy just needs one son on the field, because it’s a founding five tradition.” Among many others, like having lots of nannies and teachers who taught us from an early age how to talk, what books to read—even if they were too complicated for us—and to watch world-famous classics with them.
In Daddy’s mind, his sons should have the best of everything and never shame him in front of anyone. But unlike Ethan’s father who always pulls his ears and screams at him for little things, Daddy hugs us close and explains his thoughts.
And when we are hurt or get low scores, he tells us we will do better next time.
“He never smiles when he looks at me,” Eachann whispers. “There is just a scowl. And he never mentions me to other people, just you.”
Groaning inwardly at this stupidity, I grip his hip and forcefully pull him back so he has no choice but to shift around and face me. “Remember when Nanny Rose made us read that Voltaire poem?” I ask, and he nods, frowning, probably confused with my change of subject. “Daddy clapped the most and beamed and puffed out his chest when Ralph’s father complimented you.” His green eyes, just like mine, brighten up as a small smile starts to appear on his face. “Or when you solved that math equation? He told everyone you’ll be the future of his company and this town.” Now Eachann’s cheeks heat up and he sighs in wonder, grinning brightly at me. “You don’t need football to make Daddy proud of you. He already is.”
Eachann nods and then hugs me closer, burying his head into my neck, squeezing me tightly in his embrace. “I love you, Eudard. Thank you for being here,” he whispers.
I rest my head atop his, and pat him. “Love you too, baby bro.” Even though I’m older by only three minutes, somehow it always feels like he is much younger than that.
Maybe because Eachann is always so gentle and the smallest of things have the power to upset him.
I’m upset only when he or Mommy is.
Shaking my head from those thoughts, I slide away from Eachann and get up, snatching the box from the table and examining it one last time before picking up the rose I grabbed from Mom’s garden.
I’ve heard Arianna loves those, and based on all the sports channel coverage of ice skating, that’s what all ladies get when they win an award.
Someday, I’ll give her a bucketful of different flowers while she’s holding a gold medal, happiness shining from her.
She has the brightest of smiles when she’s on the ice, probably experiencing the same emotions as me on the field.
Eachann snorts. “Eudard is in love with Arianna.” He sighs, and I throw him a glare, but he only bursts out laughing. “You are so funny.” He props his head on one of his hands, whistling and chanting, “Eudard and Arianna are in love. Eudard and Arianna are in love.”
“Watch it,” I tell him without much heat in my words and walk to the door, ready to deliver this present now, since we have to leave for our summer vacation in a couple hours.
I take only one step before the door flies open, bouncing off the wall with a loud thud. Mommy rushes inside, her cheeks smeared in something black, her white dress torn, and she is barefoot, small scratches marking her skin.
“Mom?” I prompt, rushing to her, and so does Eachann as we share a worried look.
Did she have one of those incidents again?
She exhales in relief and then kneels in front of us, hugging us close, and my nose twitches at the smell of flowers surrounding her. She must have been among the bushes, working on her latest plant, when she ran to us. “My darlings!” she exclaims and then leans back, franticly running her fingers over our faces while we stand still, afraid to breathe.
This is not a normal Mommy… but a nervous Mommy.
Daddy says never to engage in conversations with her when she’s like this. Because she doesn’t understand what she’s saying and mumbles nonsense.
“You’re here. Oh thank God!” She wraps her hands around Eachann, rocking him in her arms while I shift nervously, wondering why no one is here yet. “We must go,” she announces, catching my eyes, holding so tightly to Eachann he doesn’t even have room to wiggle. “Before they send you to him.” Fear coats her voice, and my brows furrow at this, not understanding her at all.
Leather shoes thumping against the marble floor echo in the hallway, and then Daddy enters the room, scanning our appearance before he places his hands on Mom’s shoulders and gently pulls her away from Eachann. “Eudard, take care of your brother,” he orders, and I obey, tugging on Eachann’s hand so Mommy can finally let go, while Daddy presses himself against her.
Desperately, she chants, “No, no, no,” and then slaps his hands away, but he doesn’t budge. Her eyes now are so wild and… crazy. I don’t know how else to describe it.
“They can’t go there.”
“Adelaide,” Dad says harshly, and she freezes in his arms, albeit still extending her hands toward us, as if wanting to keep us close at all costs. “Stop this.”
“You can’t send them to him. You can’t.” She turns around in his arms, palming his face and then whispering, “He is evil. Don’t do this.” Eachann cries silently next to me, occasionally wiping away his tears. I watch Daddy exhale heavily, and then he rests his head against Mom’s forehead while she trembles.
Finally, he replies, “It’s not true, darling.”
“Ridge, please. Don’t do this to our boys. They are too pretty. The evil one won’t be able to resist. He is bad,” she begs again. But when he doesn’t listen, she screeches loudly and hits his chest, trying to get away from him, but he doesn’t let her. “You are just like him! Get your hands off me.” She digs her nails into his face, scratching it and leaving red marks, but Daddy just holds her, never hitting her back.
He once said she is the safest in his embrace. Why? She usually cries in them, because he never does as she asks.
By this point, Melanie, our housekeeper, is in the room too with an injection in her hand. Quickly, she inserts it into Mommy’s arm, and in seconds, she almost falls to her knees, but Daddy catches her.
He picks her up in his arms and barks at Melanie, “You were supposed to watch her.”
“I’m sorry, sir.” She hangs her head low, and she has good reason to.
Daddy doesn’t like when people don’t take care of Mommy. He once called her his greatest love. I’m not sure what love is, but it must be true, because when Mommy has these incidents, he always is there to calm her down and soothe her worries.
&
nbsp; Until she comes back to being regular Mommy who sings us songs, strolls with us in the garden, and laughs so warmly Eachann and I never feel cold.
Mommy usually gets like this though when she is very worried. Why is she like that now when we are just going to Grandfather’s for a vacation?
Daddy must notice our expressions, because he soothes us. “It’s all right, boys. Mommy is just tired. Are you packed?” he asks, and we nod. “Good. You leave first thing in the morning. You’ll have fun there just like every summer.” He smiles at us, but I see how his eyes stay cold. Daddy rarely smiles these days.
Maybe because Mommy keeps having those episodes more often; only before, she usually cried, telling everyone she wishes we would never turn six.
No one ever understood what that meant either.
Eachann wipes his nose with his sleeve and then nudges my shoulder, pointing at the box in my hands. “Go give it to her quickly. Melanie will be here soon to take us to bed.” He doesn’t hide his disappointment that it won’t be Mommy, but we both know it’s impossible now.
Nodding, I pat him one last time and rush outside, sneaking out the back door to meet Arianna in the garden, because she promised me she’d come.
Or rather, I asked her mom to bring her here while she gave Daddy his weekly reports from his office. Although she laughed for a long time, she promised to do that and ruffled my hair.
Arianna’s mom is the sweetest lady I’ve ever known, and she bakes the most delicious food. Even though Melanie always reminds her that she is not a cook in this house, Matilda brushes it off, claiming she loves baking treats for us.
I secretly think she does it because she knows about Mommy’s condition and they used to be friends once. Since Mommy is not allowed inside the kitchen after the time she kept throwing knives at Daddy, Matilda occasionally spoils us with the cakes and cookies Mom used to make.
Quickly making it outside, I dart toward the rosebushes that are several feet away, close to the gate but so deep into the garden that no one can see us. I push away the branches trying to slap my face and jerk my head to the side when one of them almost gets me.