Friends With The Monsters

by Albany Walker

  Grim lifts his chin in the air an infinitesimal bit. “I am trying to explain our situation to you. Neither of these two seem to be willing to help, and you are interrupting me.” I watch as his light gray eyes swirl, until it looks as if he has tiny fissures of lava running through his irises.

  I stand up and take two quick steps closer to get a better look. “Now that’s what I’m talking about. This wouldn’t scare anyone,” I motion to his body, “unless they were afraid of dying of lust, but that,” I point to his eyes, “is freaky as fuck, especially if you were still wearing the robe.” I tilt my head, imagining those eyes glowing out from underneath the cowl.

  I plop back on the sofa. “You were saying?”

  Calix stops mid-stride and turns his head slowly to look at me. “She has no sense of self-preservation,” he announces to the room.

  I ignore him. I would only need self-preservation if I felt threatened, and I don’t.

  “Our bond formed the moment you were born,” Grim continues, undeterred by my comment or Calix’s.

  “So, you and I are bonded?” I eye him dubiously. Sure, I feel a connection to him; hell, he fed me for years. Not to mention he’s gorgeous, with a body to die for—quite literally.

  “Why are you smiling like that?” Gunnar scowls at me.

  I pat his leg. “Don’t worry, Kitten. I was just thinking.”

  “Stop calling me Kitten,” Gunnar grouses.

  “No,” I chirp back.

  “Yes, you and I are bonded, but…you are also bonded to the Nemean and the Berserker.” Grim is acting as if he has the patience of a saint, dealing with all of us.

  “Were you an angel?” I ask Grim.

  “Can you focus for like five minutes?” Gunnar tilts his head back, groaning.

  I glare at Gunnar. “I’m not sure if I even like you.” That earns me a scowl. “What’s a Nemean?” I purposefully turn my cheek to Gunnar.

  “I’m a Nemean, but I do have a name, Death,” Calix deadpans, calling out Grim.

  “And a Nemean is?” I wonder if there’s some book or something I was supposed to have.

  “A lion.” Calix stands a little taller, his chest puffs out a bit.

  “You!” I accuse. “You’re the lion from the woods? You ignored me.”

  Calix has the good sense to look contrite as his eyes bounce around the room. “I wasn’t supposed to make contact with you.”

  Gunnar snorts.

  “You watched me…” I cover my eyes with my hand, not wanting to look at him or think about what he seen me doing. Not because I’m embarrassed, but because the thought of him watching me masturbate is kind of hot. Yup. Kinky bitch—party of one.

  “Watched what?” Gunnar prods.

  “Nothing, never mind,” I rush out.

  “Then why is he smiling like that?” Gunnar doesn’t give up. I peek up at Calix from under my fingers, and he is, indeed, smiling. It’s lecherous.

  I groan. “Grim, what does the bond mean?” I try to focus on the important topic.

  “Quite simply, it means we’re all connected to you. Fated, if you will,” he answers.

  I drop my hand from my face and into my lap. “Fated for what?”

  Calix takes a few steps closer to our group. “Fated mates,” he announces.

  Chapter 14

  I burst out laughing. I can’t help myself. When no one else joins in, my laughter starts to die. “Wait, you can’t be serious.” I’m still chuckling.

  “Oh, he’s very fucking serious. What the hell is so funny?” Gunnar gives me another scowl.

  “I think I liked you better when you were eating ice cream, Kitten,” I state, dismissing him and rolling my eyes.

  “Yes, well, you can see why we decided it might be best to ignore the pull of the bond until a later time. We thought at some point you would seek us out and choose a mate.” Grim is once again speaking calmly.

  I look between all of them. “So, what? I’m supposed to choose between the three of you now?”

  “That would be for the best.” Grim nods slowly.

  I puff out my cheeks and blow out a raspberry. “There are a few issues with that.” I hold up a finger. “One, I don’t know what this mate thing really means. Two, I don’t know any of you. Three, why should I have to choose only one? I mean, if you’re all connected to me…” I shrug my shoulders. There’s no point in beating around the bush.

  If the mate thing means what I think it does, I wouldn’t mind all three of them in my bed. But I don’t know if I could ever really trust any of them, because they left me to fend for myself. Sure, Grim guaranteed I survived by feeding me, but that was only once in a while. And what did the other two do for me? Nothing, that’s what.

  I cross my arms over my chest and glare at them, once again mad that none of them stuck around to actually guide me and teach me who and what I am.

  “She looks pissed again,” Calix mutters, not answering my question about choosing.

  “You know what? I am pissed. At what point did you decide only one of you having me as your mate was more important than actually teaching me about what and who I was?” Grim looks down first, the embers in his eyes all but distinguished now. Calix follows suit.

  “Do you know what my first memory is?” When no one responds, I shout, “Well, do you?” I lurch to stand.

  “Starving, that’s what. Being so hungry all the time that all I did was wail and cry.” I scrunch up my face, hating that I’m admitting this. “My mother got to the point where she just left me in my room for hours so she wouldn’t have to listen to me,” I seethe.

  Focusing on Grim, I feel the air shift around me, and my hair lifts as a slight breeze surrounds me. “Do you know who came to me first?” I lower my tone and practice his calm demeanor.

  “It was the Will-o’-the-Wisps, then Uncle Skinny Legs,” I tell him, before he can answer. “Imagine being a child and longing for my mother to hold me, just so I could have some comfort while I was starving to death, and he comes slinking into my room.” My words are met with silence.

  I continue, “I didn’t have any room for fear. I was too lonely for that, too desperate.” I look down my nose at all three of them in a sneer.

  “You think I mean something to any of you, that you’re my mates? What a joke. Every one of you put yourselves before me.” My chest is heaving; I’m filled with indignant rage. “I needed you then, but I don’t need you now!”

  I don’t bother telling them to get out of my house. Instead, I walk out of the room with my head held high. I learned a long time ago that actions speak louder than words. Their actions prove that I don’t mean anything to them.

  I can thank my bitch of a mother for teaching me that lesson early on. In public, I was her beautiful little darling. She would dote on me and pretend to be the perfect mother. But the truth hid at home, where she constantly told me what a freak I was, threatened to lock me up if I didn’t stop talking about all my imaginary friends, and made neglect an art form.

  I slam my bedroom door so hard the pictures on the walls tremble. It was so satisfying, I’m almost tempted to do it again, but I don’t. I pace around my room, angry and lonely, instead. I want to punch my own teeth in for letting self-pity and loneliness bubble to the surface. Being lonely is better than being abandoned. I repeat those words over and over in my head, until I feel like I can believe them.

  “Everyone leaves, Dami. Better you leave them than they leave you.” That’s what I tell myself when I’ve finally exhausted enough energy so I feel like I can lie down without coming out of my own skin. I don’t bother stripping out of my clothes. I don’t have enough willpower to make the effort. I drag the comforter over my head and block out the world. Most people do this when they’re scared of what’s in the dark, but I find the light of day holds many more horrors.

  A noise down the hall has me turning over and placing the pillow over my head. The rattling is familiar, but I’m not ready to get up. I lie in bed for a long time,
wanting sleep to take me again. The brittle rattling comes once more, this time closer.

  I toss the pillow off my head and smooth my hair away from my face. “Dami,” the crooked man whispers, while his bones clink together as he makes his way across my room. I look over the side of the bed. He walks like a crab, his limbs all twisted and backwards.

  “What’s wrong?” My voice is smoky from sleep.

  “Death has come,” he announces in a whisper, his head twisting at an unnatural angle as he peers at my bedroom door.

  “You mean Grim?” I scrub my hands over my face.

  “Yes, and two others.” Crooked man’s fingers pop as if they’re breaking when he moves closer.

  I throw my legs over the side of the bed. “Why the fuck are they here again?”

  “You knew?” He scurries away as I stand, making an ungodly racket as he does. Does he even notice the way it sounds when he moves, like breaking bones and grinding cartilage?

  “I didn’t know they were here now. I thought I sent them packing last night.” I stretch and move my tongue around my mouth. I think something crawled in there and died last night—oh yeah, I just forgot to brush my teeth.

  I make my way over to the bathroom, leaving the door open. It’s not like I need privacy to pee or anything.

  “Why were you warning me that they’re here?” I inquire around a mouthful of toothpaste foam.

  “Death doesn’t make social calls.” The crooked man clatters a little closer.

  I let out an unladylike snort. “Yes, he does—he’s been visiting me for years. I didn’t know who he was until recently, but I assure you, he does make social calls.” I rinse my mouth out with water and head back into my bedroom.

  The crooked man hisses, “I just wanted you to know. I must go.”

  “Why? You just got here.” I bounce back onto my bed. I don’t want him to go yet. With him here, I have an excuse not to go downstairs and find out what the hell Grim and the others are doing here—again.

  “Be careful, Dami,” he warns, while rattling out the door to disappear.

  “Jeez, it’s like everyone is scared of him or something.”

  “Because they are.” Grim steps into the doorway that the crooked man just left through.

  “Eavesdropping is rude,” I chastise Grim.

  He lowers his head with a slight nod. “Forgive me. I didn’t know I was intruding.”

  “Why are you here?” I force myself to appear unaffected, but I’m not. Why does he have to be so damn beautiful and aloof? It’s a recipe for the perfect Dami man candy—totally not fair.

  “We had a bargain: no one would leave until all your questions are answered. May I?” Grim steps into the middle of the doorway, asking for entrance into my bedroom.

  It’s probably not the best idea, but I sigh and mutter, “Whatever.”

  Grim walks over to one of the chairs near the end of my bed, and I turn so I can keep an eye on him—not to notice how good he looks stalking into my bedroom. He’s still wearing the black t-shirt and dark jeans from last night. Maybe they really did stay here all day.

  “I’m pretty sure I said everything I needed to say yesterday.” I look down at my nails.

  “I think there’s much that still needs to be discussed. I understand you’re upset, Damiana, but that doesn’t make everything else irrelevant.” I ball up my fists. Grim still has that über calm demeanor. I want to scream in his face.

  “You understand I’m upset. How very magnanimous of you.” Even though I’m trying to remain calm, my words are clipped, and my tone is harsh. He’s making me feel as if someone else might have a different response, that maybe I’m being a brat.

  “Would you like some hot cocoa? I’ve been practicing your recipe.” I finally hear a note of something in Grim’s voice, something other than his quiet calm.

  I’m immediately on guard. Why would he practice my recipe? There must be something he wants from me. “Why, what else haven’t you told me?” I ask skeptically.

  “There is a lot we haven’t discussed.”

  “I knew it! You wanted to butter me up,” I accuse.

  “Butter you up?” Grim looks at me with his head tilted to the side.

  “Yeah, give me something in exchange for me giving you what you want.” I cross my arms over my chest.

  “The drink?” Grim’s brow furrows as his eyes scan from left to right quickly. “I thought it would make you happy. Does it not?”

  “I’m more concerned about what you’ll want from me in exchange.”

  Grim’s back goes ramrod straight. “And what did you expect in return when you offered it to me?”

  “Nothing.” I snort.

  “Yet you made it, shared it with me—why?” Grim’s questions come quickly.

  “Because I thought you were my friend,” I spit.

  “Damiana, I want nothing from you other than for you to listen to me…and the others.” Grim’s lip lifts in a sneer when he says the others.

  I focus on his words to see if I sense a lie, but he’s not easy to read. None of them are. “Why isn’t it obvious if you’re lying or telling the truth?”

  “I could speculate, but I don’t know for certain,” Grim tells me.

  I lift my hand in an invitation. “By all means, speculate away.”

  “Would you care to join the others downstairs?” Grim’s face is sedate again. At least I know he’s capable of emotions.

  “Fine, whatever, so long as it means you’ll answer me.” I rise, and Grim’s gaze tracks my movements, those tiny little lines of heat warming up his cold gray eyes. Interesting.

  He lifts his hand and motions for me to go ahead of him. I put a little extra sway in my steps, nothing wrong with working with what you got.

  I can hear the clang of pots and pans when I’m halfway down the stairs. “What the hell is going on down there?” I cast an accusatory glance at Grim behind me.

  He lifts his hands in the air as if to deny involvement. “I was with you,” is all he says.

  “My kitchen better not be a mess. Linda and her crew don’t come for another two days. I’m not cleaning up after them.” I stomp down the rest of the stairs, coming to a halt when I reach the kitchen.

  There are plastic bags all over the counters, each bulging with food. “Where did this all come from?” I note the name on the side of the bag isn’t from my usual delivery service.

  “I ordered it.” Calix pops his head up from around the backside of the island. “You didn’t have any real food, just a bunch of junk.”

  “And this is normal for you? You just go into someone’s home, insult them, and then take over like you live there?”

  Calix watches Grim. “I thought you were going to talk to her?”

  “I did; now we are here.” Grim comes up directly behind me. He’s close enough that I feel my hair stir as he breathes.

  Calix licks his lips. “So, she doesn’t know we’re not leaving?”

  “She did not,” Grim deadpans. “I thought we should ask her instead of tell her.”

  “What do you mean you’re not leaving?” I step to the side and turn so I can see both of them.

  “Well, it was your idea actually,” Calix coaxes. “Yesterday, when we made the deal to stick around until all your questions were answered.” He lifts his hands like that explains everything.

  “And that translates into an invitation for you to move in how?” I look around at the messy state of my kitchen. “You’re cleaning this up,” I demand. “Is that a fucking roast?”

  Gunnar comes out of the pantry. “Did you know you had a Nettle Rat living in there?” He pokes his thumb back toward the pantry.

  “That ‘had’ you just used, as in past tense, better not be your doing.” I glower at him. If he did anything to Dare, I’ll show him I can go fucking berserk on his ass.

  “I just saw a nest near the back. I didn’t touch it,” Gunnar defends.

  “You better not. That goes for all of you. I
f you do anything to my friends, I’ll make sure you regret it.” I walk over and slam the pantry door. Gunnar hops out of the way to avoid being hit by the door.

  “You know Nettle Rats sting, right? They’re venomous,” Calix informs me, as if I’m a fool.

  I turn to face him and give him a droll stare. “Dare couldn’t hurt me if she tried—not that she ever would.”

  “Dare? You gave it a name?” Gunnar looks around like someone might be playing a prank on him.

  “Her, and no, she told me her name.”

  “She talks to you?” Grim blinks several times, looking quite mystified.

  “Yes,” I answer slowly, thinking they might actually all be the slow ones.

  Calix purses his lips and gives a humph. “Who knew.” He turns around and starts putting the groceries away again.

  “Back to the business of you not leaving…” I may be easily distracted, but I’m not that bad.

  “Works out perfectly, really.” Gunnar lifts his lips in a mockery of a smile. “We can answer your questions, you can get to know us, and we can go from there.”

  Grim lets out a soft sigh.

  Several thoughts collide in my head at once. On one hand, it’s what I’ve always secretly longed for. Companions. On the other hand, I don’t trust them, and what’s to say they won’t just leave me whenever they feel like it. Sure, they say they’ll stay, but no one ever does. But that’s not true either. Uncle has been returning to visit me since I was a child and, when I think about it, so has Grim.

  I look over at him, searching past the perfect exterior of dark hair and the chiseled jaw, trying to see what’s beneath. Grim sucks in a breath of air, it whistles past his lips and his chest expands. I watch as he holds it, not taking his gray eyes off me. “You’ll answer my questions?”

  Grim exhales slowly. “To the best of my ability, yes.”

  I narrow my eyes on him. “What does that mean?”

  “It means we might not have all the answers, Damiana, but we’ll do our best,” Calix answers, before picking up a huge chunk of meat from the island, and holding it in his hands as if he’s waiting for my response.