by Elena Monroe
Luna
E veryone thought I was protecting him and his very bad decision to... do what he did, knowing I had friends like mine.
Dorian sent me a text message after calling out of work for a week, saying that he was going out of town and would text me when he was back. In his silence, I texted him daily (good morning, I miss you, goodnight), in that order.
Giving up people wasn't in my wheelhouse of capabilities, even if they were bad for me.
Everyone was worth saving.
I kept the same routine, except Austin took me home most days. No one was willing to let me try to stand on my own. They were giving constant help and worrying that my soul was just too sensitive for the world.
Maybe I was, but I'd rather be the best damn sacrifice with a smile on my face, if it meant making the world right.
Another text sent with no response, and I decided to meet Austin outside. He was too quiet lately, even for him.
Waiting on the steps, Austin came up behind me, and I felt his fingertips graze my ribs as he whispered, “Boo.” I jumped in his hands, while he laughed at my easy reaction. What scared me was his quirky laugh.
He handed me his bike helmet, and I made my way to the bike he drove. It was a death trap, but the way the wind took my breath away was my element; it breathed life into me in a way nothing else did.
Flirting with death around every corner was just a sprinkled amount of danger that I wouldn't cop to liking.
Without me having to ask anymore, Austin dropped me off at Dorian’s and waited by the curb until I scheduled an Uber for later to take me home.
That’s what we’ve always had in common: making sure everyone was okay, but failing at doing it for ourselves. I could see something was eating at him and making the bags under his eyes worse.
Color me surprised that Kate didn’t offer up her expensive eye cream or concealer to help him look even more perfect.
I went to Dorian’s every afternoon—part habit and part worried that he had been missing in action. Something nagged at me that something wasn’t right, more so than the normal amount I had been carrying around.
I would read by the window, dust the surfaces, use the kitchen to bake… all in a state of pause, waiting for his return. He had almost two weeks of silence, and I blamed myself for not understanding how much he felt for me. I pushed him to a point of no return without even realizing it.
And now I drove him and his anger away.
I'd be here when he got back. He'd realize I wasn’t going anywhere; I take the bad with the good.
Austin made me show him my phone to prove I ordered a ride home. Squeezing his hand extra-long, I pulled out the fake rock from my purse and slid the bottom out to expose Dorian’s spare key.
It was truly all that was left of him... us.
??
I was vacuuming the upstairs hallway—cleaning calms me down—when I noticed the air vent’s screw was loose and it was hanging by a thread.
Turning the vacuum’s roar off, I kneeled down, pushing my knees into the wood floors, getting level with the problem. Using the flashlight on my phone to illuminate where the soft glow light bulbs didn't go, I moved the vent to find the missing screw, when I noticed a wood box tucked into the space.
Reaching into the space I immediately drew my hand back with a muttered “fuck,” as I watched the gold bloom on my palm close to my thumb.
Pushing my lips to my own palm, I sucked the small amount of gold blood off my skin to try to reach the box again. Shoving my hand in a different way, I was careful of the edges, finally feeling the smooth finish with the pads of my fingers.
Sitting on the floor, I yanked the box out with a fast pull, trying to avoid seeing more of liquid gold blood.
Once the box was secure on my lap, the curiosity felt unbearable, itching my veins and pushing me to open the secret box, all while wondering if Dorian knew it was here.
No one hides something this hard and doesn't know it's there.
Carefully, hands shaking, and the air in my lungs trapped, I opened the box slowly, only to find a leather bound journal inside with a rosary wrapped around it.
Dorian had never mentioned religion or politics. He was a safe bet, until the bruises showed up where his hands would.
Unwrapping the journal, I opened the pages carefully—not sure how old it was, like when I watched Arianna use a tender touch with Henry Jon’s journal. Old and fragile always demands preserving.
Once I opened the pages, I knew this wasn't an artifact. It wasn't old enough; the ink was smooth and legible. Henry Jon used ink and a feather pen to document his life, not paper-mate available pretty much everywhere.
Month after month, day after day, I saw the entries until my finger stopped at the blank pages. Backtracking, I saw my name over and over again, like a mantra. Upon closer inspection, it wasn’t a mantra of a sane man; no, this was a curse being spoken out loud.
A nightmare.
I found my way in, a tiny girl with big features and a willingness to please people.
Luna.
The power of false gods, the Devil’s children, yet her name sounded so sweet coming off my tongue.
I always did like the weakest links; they were easier to break, easier to bend, easier to get my way. It never took too much effort in the end.
Elmore will be happy; his plan he inherited will finally fall into place, and the sooner this is done, the sooner we can return to a normal routine.
I read more entries, while trying to keep the bile down that was crawling up my organs and making its way to my throat.
Dorian sought me out, and I didn’t even see the warning signs.
How do you silence the kind of bells and whistles meant to protect you? When did I go deaf to the mechanics keeping me alive?
I browsed the rest of entries, trying to understand if I was jumping to conclusions or fighting off feeling what I really should: really pissed off.
She’s distracted by a chiseled jaw and the faint scent of weed named Nyx.
Out of all her friends, the Devil’s children, he was the hardest to figure out. Elmore had theories, but he never met any of them face to face like I had. He was blinded by raising one like his own, too close to the temptation of their evil ways.
He was the most righteous of us all. He led with grace and power that no one was capable of. He continued the fight against evil passed down in our family.
All trained to spot evil, fight in the light, and rid the world of impurities, like the Devil’s children.
I could tell my weak link wasn’t just easy in the way I wanted, but easy in the most disappointing way: She was willing to spread her legs for the Devil’s son himself, Nyx.
Her cheeks would blush, and his eyes would pressure me to leave her side every time he entered a room.
I walked in the light, proud, with God’s blessing—a warrior of The Cloth. His harsh stares were worthless.
Having to mark my territory over some impure slut was taking every ounce of my commitment.
Dorian used me to infiltrate the circle, and I let him make me swoon with his grey eyes, his experience wrapped up in an older man, and his maturity in not engaging with Nyx, when all I admired was a lie.
Dorian looked so good, and I was so quick to let that rub off on me. I forced Nyx to be the bad guy in my story. I blamed him for all the bad brewing inside of me, and I let him be my excuse for bad behavior, when really he was just accepting me.
For me.
Good was no longer good. It was just good enough.
Everything was the opposite of how it was supposed to be.
Everything was convincing the bile up my throat even more, as my stomach twisted into tight knots.
Nyx was the good I rejected.
Dorian was the bad I let break me.
Throwing the journal, as the tears brimming my eyes spilled down in chunks, I swallowed a scream. My bottom lip trembled against my teeth, and nothing felt clear anymore.
The journal fell against the wall opposite of me with a thud, and a coin fell out of the binding. The sharp metal sound pierced my ears. Curious of what other lies hid in the pages, I crawled over to the coin, silver and with the ankh symbol stamped on the front—eternal life and power. I read the small writing circling the outer edge: Walk in the light, reject the dark, and feel the blessing of eternal power and life.
Caellum wasn’t being neurotic in his ways back home; he was staring at the truth and trying to make it make sense the same way I was. The Cloth was real, and they were closer to home than we knew.
All the goodness in me faded to the background as the dark stepped forward to deal with how angry I felt.
It tasted like cold metal in my mouth, sucking on pennies and not anymore lucky if I sucked on something else. Anger, anxiety, heartbreak, and the same feeling of disappointment all shook up together, making me feel stronger than I expected.
It was like electricity coursing through me after a natural disaster, how fitting.
I tucked the coin in the pocket of my jumper and snatched the journal up, texting Caellum immediately.
This was my “come to Zeus” moment. If Hades was lies and deceit, then Zeus was truth.
Me: I have some things you will want.
Caellum: I’m at Hades’ club with Nyx.
Hades has a club? Was my tunnel vision on Dorian really keeping me out of the loop this much?
Me: Club? Did I miss something?
Caellum: Nectar of the Gods, 43 South King Street. This isn’t your kind of place, so mentally prepare on the way, Luna.
Caellum didn’t know what my kind of place was in this state of mind. I was ready to find Dorian myself and do things I would never dare say out loud.
That was only for me to smirk about, when the bad spoke to me the way it did.
All my good had been turned off right now.
Canceling my first Uber, I ordered another one, but not to take me home, to take me to Hades’s club. The name wasn’t lost on me, Nectar of the Gods, that meant Oracle. The name alone shouted Oracle, our version of drugs, was accessible and probably problematic for mortals.
Hades didn’t play by the rules.
All the gods loved to lend a helping hand in mortal lives, but Hades just liked to provide the right tools to someone’s demise, but never Oracle. That was toxic for immortals; mortals would never survive it.
The whole way there, I stewed in my anger, feeling it motivate me, eat me whole, and spit out the good girl Dorian wanted me to be. The weak link. The easy in. The one he could break.
I mumbled under my breath, like he could hear me, “Congratulations, Dorian.” The rest I muttered to myself in my head so the driver wouldn’t think I had become unhinged: You broke me, but not in the way you hoped. No, you made me stronger, because you woke a beast only Nyx taunted to come out. Watch your back, Dorian. I’m coming for you.
Making a pitstop at my apartment, I suddenly felt uncomfortable in my own clothes—the pastels and sweaters. I wanted something that matched my new mood—black and angry.
Being bad felt good… The anger felt good, and I wanted to bathe in it until Dorian crumbled under my strength.
I pulled up the black thigh high stockings and slipped a silk black dress on over my head, with the thin straps barely covering my bra straps. The dress felt delicate, yet looking in the mirror, I saw danger looking back at me, teetering in heels strapped to my ankles.
I would blend in easily in a place Hades owned. In a jean jumper with a chunky pastel striped sweater, I was a walking target, sign, screaming weakling. Not anymore.
The Uber waited for me with the meter still running when I slipped back inside, and he punched in the new address on the bad side of town to a club I knew would feel comfortable with my anger hugging me close. I wondered if it would wear off, but the bad side of me kept whispering, Who else thinks I’m weak?
Holding the journal and coin close, I got out of the car and looked at the gothic letters hanging above the entrance, Nectar of the Gods, in neon ombre of blue and red. There was a bodyguard right outside the door on a bar stool, which made him look even bigger, reading a book, with a gun holstered to his side. He threw up a hand, halting me. “Closed club. Password?”
His eyes didn’t look up from his book once. I wanted to stammer, but to my surprise, my voice was steel and my spine straight: “I don’t need a password. Close and personal friend of Hades, your boss.”
He chuckled, still not granting me entry. “Hades has no friends. Nice try. Maybe next time, kid.”
I scoffed with my eyes wide, “Excuse me? I’m not a kid. Olympus? Oracle? Gold blood? What do you wanna know, because I’m more fucking godly in my little finger than you’ll ever dream of being.”
He finally looked up from his book and crossed his arms. “Godly, huh? Doesn’t mean you need to be a bitch too. Go in.”
If I’m the old me, I’m weak. If I’m the bad me, I’m a bitch. I was exhausted battling myself and taking how people saw me into consideration.
Fuck what people thought.
Fuck choosing.
Fuck it all. I’ll be a bad bitch then. I hoped the world was ready, because the old Luna just got buried by a fucking journal left by her ex-boyfriend, and the new Luna doesn’t give a damn what you think.
Save yourself. I did.
Inside the club was dark, and it resembled Hades house perfectly, with all the velvet, thick curtains, dark black wood, and lazy bodies everywhere, like they’d never known excitement. I pulled out my phone to text Caellum, after scanning the smoky room.
Caellum: Meet me upstairs. Quieter.
I didn’t bother responding. Instead, I found the staircase and stared another guard down until he looked almost scared of me. Another huge man… scared of me? It was a power I had never felt, and I wasn’t giving it back.
The upstairs was lined with private rooms all piquing my interests easily, as I walked by each black door, hearing bits and pieces of their nights.
When I got to the end of the hallway, I saw an open space with a long booth and tables, where Caellum was lazily kicking his boots up on the table. “You made it… Oh, shit! Luna?”
I stopped in front of him, noticing Nyx instantly with Cotton Candy. Damn… did I ever learn her name, or I just refused to learn it, because the tick of jealousy at my back made me?
She was straddling Nyx’s lap, and I had to paste a smirk on my face, while Caellum’s face erupted in shock at my new look. My hair was sleek and glimmering. The natural red braid swirled around my head, like a crown, and then hung to one side over my shoulder. The short dress stopped above my knee-highs, leaving space for my pale thighs to illuminate against the black silk. I never wore heels, and they just made me look more dainty than normal.
“You look… Wow!” was all Caellum could get out, and his eyes kept raking up and down me, like it was the first time he was seeing me.
I smirked even more, trying to sneak a peek at Nyx’s reaction, but Cotton Candy was busy distracting him with her own body. I sat down next to Caellum, putting the items on the table and crossing my legs slowly, still overwhelmed with watching them.
He so easily confessed his feelings for me, no regrets, yet here he was letting her grind her hips against his in public.
He even seemed to like it with his lips apart and his hands helping her hips move on top of him like he was daring me to make a counter move.
My hand landed on Caellum’s thigh. He didn’t dream I would be willing to play along, but I was. It was time for him to meet the beast he kept taunting to come out and play with him.
Caellum shifted his gaze from my hand to over his shoulder at Nyx, trying to communicate silently, but I heard nothing. Leaning into him, I told him I found the items at Dorian’s house. Waiting for him to reply, I let my hand rub the inside of his thigh, hoping to rub Nyx wrong.
I could feel Nyx’s eyes watching me without looking. It was a searing kind of gaze that made yo
u burn up instantly.
Caellum leaned into me, speaking into my neck, right below my ear: “I don’t want to be caught in the middle, Luna. He won’t take his anger out on you; it’ll be me.”
Licking my lips, I shifted my legs over Caellum’s lap, as his hand automatically went to the outside of my thigh to keep my short black dress down as modestly as could be.
“He won’t hurt you, promise. You’re his best friend.”
“You come before best friends, family, the circle to him, and you know that. Don’t let her bother you…” His breath against my neck made my head twist his direction and curl into him altogether. It tickled me in a way that made me think of Nyx. That’s how I wanted to think of him—not with Cotton Candy’s slipped moans ruining my memories.
“Stop being scared of him,” I snapped at Caellum, even though he did nothing wrong. I wanted him to stop lecturing me and get on to the part where we talked about hurting Dorian.
His hand ran up the outside of my thigh, fingertips disappearing under the hem of my dress, as he whispered, “Gods are only scared of true kings, Luna. I don’t see any of those here, do you?”
He didn’t, but I certainly did.
His lips grazed my neck, and I watched Nyx’s eyes glued to me, while Cotton Candy sucked his bottom lip into her mouth. It made me want to cringe against Caellum’s hand and Nyx’s steady gaze.
“Dorian is part of The Cloth; his journal confirms it. He used me to get to us.” I didn’t whisper that information, but I did say it quietly, as Caellum’s lips teased mine. He was so close I could feel him breathing into me.
Nyx got up, nearly letting Cotton Candy fall to the ground without any remorse.
She caught herself with her hands, and she scoffed loudly, hoping to get his attention. He strode over to Caellum and I. From the distance, his hands on me and his lips hovering over mine looked completely different.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
I bit back a smile, knowing I had annoyed the man who couldn’t be annoyed. Caellum and I exchanged a look, unsure of who he was talking to.
“Nothing. Hanging out, Nyx,” I said innocently—which I guess I could call on demand now, using it to my advantage.