Friends With The Monsters

by Albany Walker

  I angle my chair so I can see Vanessa. She’s resumed a seat among her clique. The two goons beside her are still standing, appearing as if they might be more alert than before I sauntered into their little playdate.

  I snicker, remembering how shocked Vanessa was when I busted in on her soirée. She’s deep in conversation now with the woman who promised the wards were working fine. Maybe they were—against someone else—but after I felt the initial resistance, it was only a matter of pushing a little harder, like I was walking up a hill instead of on flat ground.

  And now that I know what to look or feel for, I don’t think I’ll ever be fooled by a similar ward again. I wonder how many times I’ve been near one and didn’t know.

  That thought sobers me a little. When did I become so unworried? I shake out my hair to hide the fact I was actually shaking my head at my ignorance.

  Remembering this isn’t just a game, I watch the hallway Gunnar disappeared into. If he doesn’t come out soon, I’m going to need a reason to go back and get him, or give him reason to come out to me.

  An idea starts to form. A devious smile lights up my face, enough that I look down to hide the grin. This might just be fun after all.

  Chapter 8

  “How are the feet?” The question takes me by surprise. I’ve been watching Vanessa’s crew like a hawk.

  “Good, yours?” I reply on instinct, before remembering I made my feet the excuse for needing to sit down.

  “A little sore, actually. I’ve been up almost twenty-four hours at this point.” The cutie glances down at a heavy watch on his right wrist. He’s pushed up his sleeves, baring his forearms: the sexy man equivalent of exposed cleavage.

  I reach for one of the other chairs and angle it out for him to take a seat. “Don’t let me stop you from taking a load off.”

  I peek back toward Vanessa. I haven’t seen Gunnar once since I’ve sat down, but I think her little meeting is about to wrap up. Two of the people already left the group a few minutes ago.

  “You waiting for someone?” He takes a draw from his beer.

  “Depends, what’s your name?” I prop my chin up on my hand.

  “Calix. Depends on what?” he responds, grabbing the back of the chair and spinning it on one leg swiftly, until it lands backwards, and then he takes a seat. He rests his forearms on the top of the chair, dangling his beer bottle from two fingertips.

  I raise my brow in appreciation. He’s quick and quite graceful.

  “Is that your real name?” I avoid his question. Fortunately, he’s taken the seat I offered, so I’m still able to see the area behind him and watch for Gunnar.

  He nods his head and confirms, “Sadly, it is.” He’s being truthful.

  “Why sadly? I think it’s a great name—unusual, but I have a strange name, too.”

  “I bet you have a beautiful name.” I watch Calix’s mouth move as if he’s licking his front teeth.

  “Most everyone calls me Dami, because no one pronounces it correctly.”

  “Try me.” He tips his chin.

  “Damiana,” I say slowly, and reach across the table to take the beer from his hands. With my eyes still on his, I bring it up to my mouth and take a long drink.

  “I usually don’t like to share, but I can’t say I mind so much right now.” Calix leans forward so his arms are now resting on the table.

  Just as I’m about to ask what else he’d be willing to give me, I see Gunnar stepping out of the hallway. My shoulders fall, I was actually liking where this was going. “Damn it,” I curse.

  “What’s wrong?” Calix’s voice changes, becoming harder as he looks over his shoulder like he knew I wasn’t focused on just him.

  “Just something I need to take care of.” I meet his eyes. “You got a number?” I’m not one to beat around the bush when I find something I want. And I want Calix.

  “How about we trade? I’ll give you mine, you give me yours?” He watches me closely. Normally, I wouldn’t, but there’s something about him that makes me want to.

  “I’ll make an exception for you,” I tell Calix, then peek over at Gunnar. He’s watching me with his arms crossed over his chest. He knows I can see past the ward, oh well.

  I wiggle my fingers, miming writing on a napkin, asking Calix if he has anything to write with. He pats his chest immediately, but he’s already shaking his head in denial. “You don’t have your phone with you?” He looks me over again, noting I don’t have anything with me like a purse, and I sure don’t have any pockets in this dress. “Hang on, I’ll get something. Don’t leave.” He leans in even closer to me.

  “I’ll wait as long as I can,” I tell him, and I will, but if Gunnar comes over here, I might need to go.

  Calix looks around. “Shit, I’ll be quick.”

  “Not what a girl likes to hear, Calix,” I quip, leaning back and eyeing him over his beer bottle before I drink the last gulp.

  His top lip curls back in what could be called a smile, but it’s much more like he’s baring his teeth at me. “Even when I’m quick, I’m effective,” he promises.

  Calix stands and taps one of the guys he was talking with earlier on the shoulder, asking for a pen.

  While he’s working through the group, I stand and look for someone who will help me with my plan to get Gunnar’s attention. There’s a drunk guy near the dance floor, he’s all clumsy hands and searching fingers. I’ve had my eye on him for most of the night—he’s seeping sins. He’ll work.

  “I need to go, Calix.” I tap his shoulder.

  He turns to face me. “No luck.” He spreads his hands, his eyes are wide like he’s telling me he really tried.

  “Maybe next time,” I offer, feeling pretty bummed too.

  “I have my phone.” He pulls it out of his front pocket and holds it out to me. “You can give me your number?” He licks over his lips like he’s worried I might say no.

  I take the cell from his hand and hit the phone icon. When the keypad pops up, I dial my own number before handing it back to him.

  “Thanks for the seat, Calix.” I lean up and press my lips to his. It’s not long or deep, but I do drag my tongue over his bottom lip before pulling back.

  I watch his mouth as his teeth scrape over the path my tongue just took. “Sure you can’t stay?” he questions, his voice a little deeper.

  “Wish I could.” It’s not even a little bit of a lie.

  “Is an hour long enough to wait before I call?”

  I throw my head back and laugh, he’s not any more patient than I am. “I’m not sure how long I’ll be tied up tonight,” I answer noncommittally.

  I trail my fingers over his chest as I pass. I was right, the shirt didn’t do the hard body beneath it any justice.

  Once I clear his group, I stomp over toward the drunk guy. I don’t have to pretend to be angry, I’m pissed at the missed opportunity with Calix. Probably angrier than I should be, considering I’ve never let a missed hookup bother me before.

  I get as close to the drunk as I can without actually forcing myself between him and the current girl he’s ogling. Taking a deep breath, I let the beat of the music settle me. I start to sway my hips slowly, imagining the feel of someone’s hands on my waist. I ignore the fact that it’s Calix’s hands I’m imagining.

  I lift my arms in the air, taking up some of my hair as I do. It falls back down over my back and shoulders in a pale wave.

  I know the drunk is going to touch me before he does. I can feel the slime oozing off him as his thoughts turn nefarious. Even though I hate the thought, I let him put his nasty hand on the swell of my hip.

  One touch, and I spin around and shove him backwards. He stumbles, but there are too many people standing around for him to fall on his ass like he should have. He gets bounced right back up. He’s so unsteady on his feet, he almost goes down again trying to regain his balance.

  “Hey,” he slurs, his eyes are all glassy, but his lips are lifted in a sneer.

  “Kee
p your fucking hands off me.” I thought this would be a good idea to get Gunnar’s attention, but I want to kick this guy in the balls so badly.

  The crowd shifts before he has a chance to respond. I feel a hand on my upper arm, and when I look over, Gunnar is standing next to me, glaring down at the drunk, who now has a security guy holding his shoulder, only the grip doesn’t seem nearly as gentle as the one Gunnar has on me.

  “Time to go,” Gunnar announces, and tugs on my arm a little. The anger is still simmering inside of me, and I want to tug my arm out of his hold, but this is exactly what I was hoping for.

  “I didn’t do shit,” the man spews. “That bitch pushed me.”

  I glare over my shoulder at him. The man grabs his chest and starts coughing violently. Even though I don’t want to, I release the hold I have on his soul. This man is riddled with sins so severe, he’s going to be dead within a few years anyway, and those years won’t be very pleasant. I can already feel the tar surrounding his organs.

  The first time I ripped out someone’s soul was by accident. I was young and hungry. There was a teacher at school whose aura was dirty, but not black, and I pulled too much from her. Before I realized it, she was on the floor, clutching her chest. The next day, the school announced she had a heart attack, and they even brought in grief counselors. But I knew what had really happened.

  I had eaten her soul instead of her sins. It was a very effective lesson on meal planning.

  “Shut up. I should have tossed you out an hour ago.” The security guy holding the drunk jerks his arm, causing the man to stumble again. He’s too busy trying to catch his breath to argue anymore, though. I made sure of that.

  Gunnar leads me in the opposite direction of the exit where the drunk is headed, his grip still loose on my upper arm. “If you wanted my attention, all you had to do was ask. Not almost get some idiot killed to get it.”

  I do pull away from him then. “I wasn’t even close to killing him,” I counter.

  “I didn’t say you were.” He leans down in my face. Gunnar’s eyes are wild, and there’s a thick vein pulsing at the side of his neck.

  I roll my eyes. If he thinks that’s going to intimidate me, he’s mistaken. “I’ve been watching that guy harass women all night. I was doing you a favor.”

  “Next time, just tell someone,” Gunnar grates out through his teeth.

  “Sure, I’ll do that.” I brace my hands on my hips when we reach a door that has ‘Authorized Personnel Only’ painted in bright yellow across the top.

  Gunnar waves a keycard in front of a square pad, and a small, green light blinks twice before he reaches for the door handle and yanks it open. He looks at me expectantly, waiting for me to go in ahead of him.

  “Tossing me out the back?” I strut through the door, not at all worried that he might be.

  “Last door on the left.” He motions for me to go forward without answering my question. The hall is lined with doors on either side, but the one Gunnar directed me to has another square pad next to the door. He swipes the same keycard near the box, then enters a six-digit code into a keypad. His fingers go too fast for me to follow, but it’s not like I plan to sneak back in here or anything.

  I hear the lock disengage this time, since most of the music from the club is drowned out behind the walls. The room is dark until Gunnar slaps his hand against the wall. I cross my arms under my chest. I figured with all that security, there would be something notable behind the door—not a boring-as-hell office with an old, metal desk that looks as if it’s been around for a decade, and a worn-out office chair that’s leaning to the left behind it.

  “Fancy,” I drawl.

  Gunnar tosses the keycard on the desk. “Wanna explain why you sauntered past Gina’s wards tonight?”

  “First of all, I don’t need to explain shit to you.” This isn’t going quite how I expected. I’m still feeling on edge. It can’t just be the Calix situation. I’m looking for a fight. The drunk didn’t provide nearly enough of a distraction.

  Gunnar pinches the bridge of his nose. In a much calmer tone, he tries again. “Will you please tell me how you were able to get past the wards?”

  That appeases the anger in me a little. I look around the office again. There’s a ratty old couch to the left of the desk. It looks as if it were pulled out of a dumpster behind a thrift shop, but I walk over and sit as daintily as possible on the arm of the sofa anyway.

  “It wasn’t intentional. I didn’t even know they were there until I was past them,” I answer honestly.

  “Y-You…What? You didn’t know they were there?” he stammers, like he can’t believe what I just said.

  “True story.” I peer at the desk. “Is this your office? Because I think you could do better.”

  “Wait, if you didn’t know the wards were there, why did you even go through them? That’s what the wards are designed to do: keep people away.” Gunnar flips a deadbolt on the door.

  I narrow my eyes on him and open my senses, but just like the day he woke up at my house, he’s somehow blocking me. Interesting.

  I lean my upper body toward him and whisper, “Do you really want to know?”

  He takes a slow step in my direction and his eyes dilate. I know I have his attention. “Yes.” He nods.

  “Then tell me what you are,” I demand in my normal tone, leaning back again.

  “You can’t tell yet?” He seems almost surprised. A small grin lifts one side of his mouth before he smothers it with a frown.

  “I thought you were human when you were all bloody.” I shrug my shoulders as I remind him that I’ve seen him when he was vulnerable. “But it’s obvious you’re not. You healed too fast.” I tap my finger on my chin thinking. “You don’t taste like one of my baddies.”

  “One of your baddies,” Gunnar repeats, dumbfounded. “What are your baddies, and how many do you have?” His voice is deeper.

  “Oh, lots. Tons,” I confirm.

  “Tons?” He swallows.

  “Well, not tons really.” I roll my eyes. “But lots.”

  “And what do those baddies taste like?” Gunnar lifts his chin and crosses his arms over his chest.

  “Like darkness and nightmares.” I smile.

  He blinks at me for several moments. Eventually, I frown. He seems really weirded out. “So…” I prompt, trying to encourage Gunnar to talk again.

  He shakes his head like he was lost in thought. “What do I taste like?” He turns his head to the side and waits for my response like he’s scared to hear it.

  “I can’t get a good read on you. When you were injured, you tasted like pain.” I purse my lips. “You must be blocking me somehow now.”

  He stands up a little taller. “Oh, well, okay then.” The middle of his forehead wrinkles over his nose. “And the baddies?” he asks again.

  “I already told you about my friends.”

  “Your friends,” he repeats slowly.

  I throw my hands in the air. “Why are we talking about this? It’s not like I go around tasting my friends for sins.”

  “You brought it up,” he defends.

  I glare over at Gunnar. Should I just ask him why he’s having someone watch me? No, this is entertaining. “What are you?” I inquire again, reminding him if he wants me to talk, he has to give me information first.

  “Human…mostly,” he hedges.

  “Liar,” I singsong. Even if I don’t know what he is, I still know a lie when I hear it.

  “I was… a long time ago.” Gunner opens and closes his fists several times.

  “That explains a little, but what are you now?” I tilt my head, examining him.

  “A Berserker,” he grumbles out quickly.

  Chapter 9

  “A Berserker?” I roll the word over my tongue. I’ve only heard that name once before, when Grim was talking to the man outside my house. I’ll have to ask Aeson for details, she’ll probably know. I’m sure not going to ask him.

  “Now, tell m
e more about your friends.” Gunnar walks over to the desk and pulls out the chair.

  “I thought you wanted to talk about the wards?” I remind him.

  He waves his hand as he sits and the chair squeaks in response. “I’m more interested in these baddies.”

  “Why do you want to know about them?” I narrow my eyes on him.

  “Just curious. I don’t call my friends ‘my baddies.’” Gunnar drags himself closer to the desk, his knees slamming into the underside. “Mother—” He tightens his mouth and adjusts his legs again. Not his desk then after all.

  “Do you not believe I have friends?” I lift my chin in the air. I may not have any human friends, but my friends are better than humans anyway. Humans scare way too easily.

  Gunnar holds his hands out defensively. “I was just curious. I was thinking they were your… never mind,” he concedes. “I got off track.” Gunnar makes a circle over his temple with his pointer finger.

  I nod my head and agree. He has. If I want to get more information out of him, I should probably be a little more cooperative, too. “I really didn’t know about the wards. I just felt a thickness in the air.” I run my fingers over my thumbs and palms, thinking about another way to describe it, but come up empty. “It made me curious.”

  Gunnar makes a sound between a snort and a huff. “Considering the wards are designed to do the exact opposite of making people curious, it’s no wonder they didn’t deter you.” He pinches the bridge of his nose.

  “What’s the big deal? I don’t care about Vanessa and her miscreants.” I eye the small sofa, this arm is starting to get uncomfortable, but I’ll be damned if I sit on that nasty thing. I’d probably get mange or herpes from the cursed thing. “This place is nasty.” I stand up.

  “The big deal,” Gunnar announces, while rising to his feet, “is you’ve made other people curious, and we both know what happens when people get curious.” He crosses his arms over his chest and looks down his nose at me.