Invisible Monsters

by H L Macfarlane

  Poppy raised one of her hands to try and grab at Dorian’s hair but met the twisted, intricate pattern of horns that encircled his head instead. Her fingers brushed against a pointed, elongated ear and grabbed it with what little strength she had left.

  She couldn’t have known how sensitive Dorian’s ears were. But it was more than enough sensation for him to break away in surprise from the bleeding mess of her neck in order to pull her hand away. Poppy turned her head around just enough to stare at him with colourless eyes that were rapidly slipping into unconsciousness.

  “Stop,” was all she said. It came out as barely a whisper against her lips; Dorian had to fight an insatiable urge to kiss the word away. Instead, he bent back down to Poppy’s neck and gently licked clean the wound he had made, sucking away any blood that continued to trickle out.

  Just as Franco began to devour what was left of Ross from the feet-up, Poppy passed out.

  Dorian smiled in satisfaction as he tucked her in against his chest with a tenderness he had never shown her whilst she was conscious, his adrenaline-taut body slowly returning to its human form as he left room number three for his own bedroom. He placed Poppy on top of the duvet, settling her head against a pillow with the utmost care. With the wound at her neck concealed, one could almost believe that she had merely fallen into an exhausted sleep.

  “Time to take you out of commission for a few days,” he muttered, lying beside the unconscious woman in order to examine her closely. Poppy’s chest barely rose and fell with the laboured breaths she was taking. Her lashes fluttered slightly as her eyes roved beneath their lids in response to the terror Dorian had forced on her. It was only now that he noticed the dust and dirt that covered Poppy’s clothes from the caves she had been exploring mere minutes ago. He thought somewhat excitedly about changing her into something clean as he pushed a few, stray strands of silver hair away from Poppy’s deathly pale face.

  Dorian didn’t understand the overwhelming possessiveness that he felt for her, but he didn’t need to.

  Poppy was his until the end of time. Everyone else could die for all he cared.

  MEGAN LO

  Poppy

  She had no idea how long she’d been asleep, but when Poppy regained consciousness it was immediate, and panicked, and so dizzying that she almost fainted from the mere action of sitting up.

  Spots of red and white attacked her vision; it took a few seconds of blinking them away before Poppy adjusted to the light in the room. She didn’t recognise where she was at first. The large bed with its dark blue sheets was unfamiliar, as was the well-made, coordinated furniture that she could see. It was only because one of the walls was entirely made of glass that Poppy finally realised where she was.

  Dorian.

  Her last, lucid memories washed over her so brutally that Poppy was almost sick. She clenched at the gnawing, painful feeling in her stomach until it subsided somewhat; she was in too much shock to realise she only felt this way because she was starving.

  Swinging shaking legs over the side of the bed, Poppy located the door and made an attempt to escape. But something gave her pause.

  Where are my clothes? she panicked, picking at the fabric of the over-sized, grey t-shirt that she was now wearing. She was still wearing her underwear, which settled Poppy’s heart rate somewhat, but other than that her clothes were nowhere to be seen.

  The smell of tea tree wafted into her nose. Poppy frowned, pulling her hair over her shoulder in order to sniff it. She glanced in the direction of Dorian’s en suite bathroom.

  Did he wash me?

  Poppy didn’t waste any more time trying to work out what the hell was going on, or what Dorian may or may not have done to her whilst she was unconscious. She simply wanted to get the hell out of his bedroom. But no sooner had she taken a single step towards the door than she collapsed onto the carpet, legs devoid of enough strength to support her weight.

  “Fuck’s sake,” she muttered, her voice hoarse and dry from disuse. “How long was I out?”

  The door opened, then, and Dorian stepped through holding a tray laden with food. Upon spying Poppy lying in a crumpled heap on the floor he put down the tray and quirked an eyebrow.

  “Get back in bed, Poppy.”

  She didn’t respond. Seeing him as a smiling, gentle human once more was deeply unsettling. She looked at the floor but otherwise didn’t move. When Dorian knelt down beside her she recoiled against the side of the bed.

  “Don’t touch me!” she protested. “Don’t come near me.”

  “Then get back in bed,” he said mildly. “You need to eat. And rest.”

  “Hell if I’m spending even one more second unconscious with you around.”

  “Oh, so now you’re going to wear yourself out through lack of sleep instead of lack of food? Sounds like a great plan.”

  Poppy glared at him, but eventually she struggled to her feet and collapsed back onto the bed, slamming her head against the pillows in frustration.

  Dorian watched her in amusement as he brought the tray of food over.

  She narrowed her eyes at the soup, sandwich and orange juice he proffered her. “How did you know I was awake?”

  “I didn’t; I was going to wake you up. You’ve been asleep for three days.”

  “Three – three days?”

  He nodded. “Clearly you needed it.”

  “You made me need it!”

  “That was deliberate. Now eat, unless you really don’t care about the welfare of the rest of your club anymore.”

  Poppy flinched at the comment, then begrudgingly took the tray of food that Dorian slid onto her lap. She ate in silence, decidedly not looking at him as she did so. He didn’t seem to mind whatsoever, content to steal Poppy’s crusts when she left them on the plate and dip them into her soup.

  “You eat human food no problem,” she said before she could stop herself.

  Dorian swallowed the bread in his mouth. “What of it?”

  “If you – if your kind can eat what we eat then why eat humans?”

  He thought about it for a moment. “A cat can eat plant-based food as part of its diet, but if you don’t feed it meat then it’ll die. It’s an obligate carnivore.”

  “So humans are cat food.”

  “I guess so,” he chuckled. “But ‘human food’ doesn’t give us any physical or mental advantages, either. If I were to eat a good-quality human I wouldn’t really have to eat for about five or six years…longer if they’re particularly exceptional.”

  “That was more information than I wanted.”

  “Liar. You can’t pretend like you’re not interested.”

  Poppy glowered at him. “Stop telling me what I do or don’t want, Dorian. All I want is to get as many people away from your god damn slaughterhouse as possible. I don’t care about the biology of a monster.”

  Dorian sobered. He took the now-empty tray away and placed it on a bedside table, before sitting upon the bed to stare at Poppy.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “How do you think?” she snarled. She ran a hand across the back of her neck, feeling the slightly raised indentations that were the only remains of Dorian’s attack. “What you put me through was…sick. Psychotic.”

  “I know. You had to see it, though.”

  “No I didn’t! Never in a million years did I have to –”

  “They’ll do worse to you if they ever realise you have immortal blood, Poppy,” he cut in seriously. “You have to understand that. And if literally watching one of your club members get eaten alive is enough to force some sense into you then so be it.”

  Poppy couldn’t help but shiver. She glanced at Dorian through a curtain of hair; with his appearance broken up by strands of brown and silver, she could almost see his other form.

  His true form.

  Poppy had always been a fan of Greek mythology growing up. She was an only child, and with no siblings to play with she had thrown herself into the stories and encyclopaed
ias her parents bought to entertain her. Dorian reminded her of the god Pan, she supposed, though she never remembered Pan’s nails and teeth being so sharp and sinister. And Dorian didn’t have two horns, like a goat – rather, he seemed to have what could only be described as some kind of complicated, delicate crown of bone woven around his hair.

  He had the ears, though. Pointed, elongated, inhuman ears. And the legs. The furred, bandied legs that raised Dorian far higher off the ground than most any human; the hooves which would likely crumple a person’s skull with barely a kick.

  He was a monster through and through, yet beneath the terror of it all he was still beautiful. Perhaps even more so than his human form in a twisted, fairy tale kind of way. The angles of Dorian’s face – previously broken nose and all – fit the image of a satyr more than anything Poppy could have thought possible. And his blue eyes took on an edge she couldn’t describe.

  And that damn voice. Poppy didn’t know if Dorian looked and sounded the way he did because honest-to-goodness, real-life monster versions of satyrs were naturally as appealing as he was, or whether he moulded himself to the image humans had created of the lustful, mischievous Pan.

  Either way, Poppy couldn’t help but concede, at least he doesn’t look like the thing that killed Ross.

  “Do you seriously think I can’t see you looking at me if you hide behind your hair?” Dorian asked as he reached out to tuck several strands of it behind her ear. She pulled away immediately.

  “I told you not to touch me.”

  “That’ll be pretty difficult to abide by, considering I have to touch you to take your blood. Speaking of, biting the back of your neck is probably a much better way of doing it that cutting your arm open again and again. Certain people are beginning to get suspicious.”

  By ‘certain people’ he meant Fred, Poppy knew.

  She made a face. “It hurt like hell. I don’t want you to do it like that again.”

  To Poppy’s surprise, Dorian’s expression was rather apologetic. “It only hurt because I made it hurt. I could have been much gentler.”

  “…and that’s supposed to make me feel better? Having me watch another human being get dismembered before my very eyes wasn’t enough, you had to put me through physical agony, too?”

  He looked away. “I was…in a mood.”

  “Are you a child?!” Poppy fired back, eyes flashing in anger. “You put me through all that because you were in a mood? How am I supposed to put up with you for the rest of my life?” She lowered her head, resting it on top of her knees as she willed the world to disappear. “You’re an overgrown, monstrous child…”

  Dorian laughed humourlessly as he shifted on the bed, lowering himself against the pillows until he was right beside Poppy. She didn’t have it in her to push him away.

  “I’m sorry, Poppy. I won’t do it again.”

  “Like hell you won’t.”

  “Okay, I’ll endeavour to try my best not to do it again.”

  Poppy didn’t say anything. Of course she wanted to know why Dorian had been upset and angry, but part of her knew it was somehow to do with Nate. She wanted to avoid talking to Dorian about her friends as much as possible, so she kept silent on the matter.

  But then she remembered something else she wanted to ask about, and popped her head up immediately to frown at Dorian.

  “What did you do to me whilst I was unconscious?”

  “Well, it’s not like I could leave you in a dusty, bloody mess on my bed, could I?”

  “Dorian –”

  “Hey, I left your underwear on,” he replied off-handedly, though he was smirking as if he couldn’t help himself.

  “You washed my hair.”

  “You say that like it’s a terrible thing to do.”

  “It’s creepy as hell!”

  He looked at her innocently. “I wasn’t aware. Guess I know for next time.”

  Poppy felt like screaming. She dragged a hand over her face. “I can’t believe you. I honestly can’t believe you. You’re a shitty monster and a shitty human. Fucking great.”

  Dorian seemed rather affronted by this. “How am I a shitty monster? I’d rather say I’m an excellent one.”

  “You’re a capitalistic son of a bitch. You make a fortune from what’s basically slave-trading. You’re scum.”

  He burst out laughing. Poppy suppressed the urge to slap him, if only because she didn’t want to get any closer to Dorian than she already was.

  “God, you’re something else, aren’t you?” he said, incredulous. “Tell me, Poppy, which situation is better: allowing my kind to roam through your streets picking off people as and when they want to, or controlling the situation by only making excellent-quality humans available that diminish the requirement for my kind to eat as frequently?”

  Poppy didn’t reply. Dorian’s logic was infuriatingly solid.

  “Look, Poppy,” he continued, “you eat cattle and pigs and chicken and fruits and vegetables because they’re your food source. Ours is humans. There’s nothing inherently wrong with that.”

  Poppy knew this, of course. It didn’t make it any easier to swallow. Discovering that humans weren’t the apex predator they’d always prided themselves on being was difficult to comprehend, even though the proof of it was staring Poppy in the face.

  “Making money off something essential for living still makes you a shitty monster,” she eventually muttered.

  Poppy let out a yelp when Dorian grabbed her arm and pulled her onto his lap. She struggled against his grasp but his lean, well-muscled arms kept her in place. He rested his chin on top of her head.

  “What are you doing?” Poppy seethed, digging her nails into Dorian’s arms in the vain hope that he would let go.

  He didn’t.

  “I won’t take blood from you this week,” he said simply, ignoring Poppy’s question entirely.

  “Is that supposed to be some kind of half-assed apology for what you did to me?”

  “Sort of. Maybe. I guess I just think you deserve a break. You still have to sacrifice and save a person, though.”

  Poppy let out a noise of disgust. “Of course I do. Let me go, you over-sized fucking goat.”

  “Low blow, King.”

  “Now you sound like Fred.”

  Dorian squeezed Poppy slightly in response. “Are you ever going to sacrifice him?”

  “Why should I tell you?”

  “Because I’m curious. And I won’t let you go if you don’t.”

  She sighed heavily, thinking about how to answer. “…no. He’s too good a person.”

  “Oh, so we’re back to being unbiased after saving Nate, are we?”

  “Will you just shut up about Nate?” Poppy bit out testily. “He’s a good guy. Even you have to admit that. He should get to live.”

  “If you say so.”

  Poppy struggled against Dorian’s iron arms once more but to no avail. Eventually she gave up completely, turning soft against his chest. She glanced up to see him looking down at her.

  “What?” Dorian asked curiously. Poppy watched as his gaze lowered to take in her very much indecent state of undress; her face grew red as she realised she was in no position to do anything about it.

  “Do you like me?” she asked, feeling her heart hammer sickeningly against her ribcage. She didn’t know which answer would be worse.

  “Of course I like you. You’re an attractive idiot.”

  Poppy narrowed her eyes. “That wasn’t the answer I was expecting.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Typically one doesn’t show a person they like a live demonstration of a person getting eaten.”

  He chuckled. “I suppose not. But that was for your own good.”

  “You’re so twisted.”

  “Thank you.”

  Poppy bashed the back of her head against Dorian’s chest in resignation. “Sometimes I think it would have been easier if I just let you lock me up in an abandoned room somewhere so I neve
r had to interact with you.”

  He dug his hands into Poppy’s waist in disapproval. “Now who’s the twisted one? That’s completely fucked up.”

  “Nothing about my situation isn’t fucked up.”

  “I guess so.”

  “What did you tell the rest of the club about what happened to me? I don’t imagine my friends would accept ‘Poppy’s sleeping in my bed’ as an excuse.”

  Dorian chuckled into Poppy’s hair; the sound tickled her scalp. “That’s exactly what I told them, actually. Rachelle and Casey even came up to see you whilst you were sleeping. I told them I was staying in another room, of course.”

  “…but you weren’t, were you?”

  “Of course not.”

  “That’s even creepier than washing my hair.”

  “Debatable. I do need to sleep, you know. It’s not like I lay there and watched you constantly for three days.”

  “No, only sometimes, which is a million percent creepier than not doing it at all.”

  Dorian sighed in an exaggerated fashion. “Must everything you say be a curse, a sarcastic quip or an insult?”

  “To you? Yes.”

  “I suppose I deserve that. Do you think you can stand now?”

  “If you let go of me.”

  He loosened his grip on Poppy somewhat reluctantly, then she moved off the bed as she smoothed out the t-shirt she was wearing. It barely covered her.

  “Where are my clothes, Dorian?” she murmured, feeling herself growing embarrassed once more.

  He waved a hand dismissively. “I gave them to Rachelle. I think she washed them and put them back in your room.”

  “So…what am I supposed to wear back to the east wing?”

  “Just wear what you have on.”

  Poppy turned on him. “You can’t be serious. I’m assuming this t-shirt’s yours?”

  He merely smiled in response.

  “People are going to think we’re – that we’re –”