“I wrap it in a long cloth.” One produced by her kanaf.
“That sounds so convenient. Come on, we’re doing this.” She seized Ryn’s arm.
“I— Naomi, I’m not—” Terror filled her.
“This is not like the heels. This is the thin line that separates us from the Hobbesian jungle. You will wear underwear on our date.”
That sentence perked up heads in the shop, Naomi’s face pinking in response. She tucked her head down while dragging the deva through aisles, finding a saleswoman who took them to a stall. She was tall, emaciated, with prominent cheekbones—much like the malnourished prisoners in the store’s advertisements. Do they make her wear the perfume? It made Ryn’s head throb.
The saleswoman led her into the stall alone and uncoiled a tape measure. “Take your shirt off, sweetie, we’ll get a better measurement that way.”
Ryn backed out, growling.
“I’ll… come back later.” The saleswoman breezed away, causing Naomi to glance up from her phone and register that it hadn’t gone well.
“I want nothing here,” Ryn said firmly.
“You don’t want a bra, or you don’t want to take your shirt off in front of a stranger?” Naomi asked.
“Both.”
Her expression softened. “Will you at least try it if I help instead?”
“I don’t want it touching me.”
“It’s fabric. The only one who will touch you is me. And only if you let me. I— I know that’s a big deal for you.”
Everything in Ryn despised the idea of human artifice constricting her body’s most intimate regions, and yet something in the auburn-haired girl undid her. It was that she seemed to understand her, and while Ryn had been many things—despised, worshiped, most of all feared—she’d never been understood.
“And listen, you know this is just for the date, right?” Naomi glanced sheepishly down at her own clasped hands dangling past her waist. “Forget what I said about Hobbesian jungles. I have these plans in my head. I just— I want that TV thing where we come downstairs dressed to the nines and the boys’ faces light up. I’ve always wanted that.”
But in her moment of uncertainty, biting her lip, she was already gorgeous; Ryn had known beauty before as a kind of symmetry in form, but the familiar and kind lines of Naomi’s face tightened the monster’s heart, made her lungs draw shallower breaths, and everything in her craved to touch her friend’s cheek and promise her whatever she wanted. That was the power of her. Unable to look her in the eye, Ryn bowed her head. “As you like it.”
“Thank you for this.” Naomi cleared her throat. “Go into the changing room and take off what’s wrapping your chest. I’ll be right back.”
Once inside the stall, Ryn unfurled the slip holding her bust, the cloth dissolving and untangling from beneath her shirt with ease. It rewove in her grip and she wound it nervously around one fist.
A knock sounded. “Just me,” Naomi said.
Unlocking the door and letting her friend into the cramped space, she shied at the tape measure.
“We’ll do it over your shirt and keep the weirdness to a minimum,” she assured.
Ryn felt ticklish in the confines of the stall—it might be the absence of the slip over her breasts, feeling exposed even through the hoodie. She wanted more than usual to look away from Naomi.
“Take off your jacket and turn around.”
Remove your armor and present your back. A more submissive thing could not be requested, and yet Ryn shed the jacket. She couldn’t shed the lump pinching off her voice, though, nor conceal her loud heart. Hanging her coat, she rewound the loose slip of kanaf around her opposite hand.
“Is that what you wrap your chest with?” Her voice sounded close to Ryn’s ear.
“Yes.”
“It’s pretty.”
Ryn kept the black slip as soft and smooth as her magic could make it, and when Naomi reached to stroke it, she marveled.
“What is this? It feels like a cloud.”
She wanted to yell, See? My ways are fine.
Sensing her chagrin, Naomi giggled. “Yes, you are wise and I’m a fool. But I like that you humor me. Put your hands up, you doink.”
Lifting her arms intensified the exposure, Naomi’s tickling breath at the nape of her vulnerable neck setting every fine hair straight as a razor. It should have evoked a warning growl, but instead, she shut her eyes and her breath stilled. The measuring tape smoothed around her ribs—she tensed.
“Relax,” Naomi whispered, extending the word, saying it in some magical way that made Ryn’s body obey. Just one word—one little word—and the monster exhaled, the coiled predator inside lounging like a cat. She felt as safe as she’d ever been, and so didn’t understand why her heart galloped, why her blood pumped hot, why her knees threatened to buckle.
The tape measure tightened beneath her bust, unlooped, and constricted twice more at mid-bust and above. It felt good in a way that embarrassed Ryn, electrified her flesh, sharpened her senses to the point she felt Naomi’s body heat and scent wrap her up, the fragrance having developed her favorite spicy-sweet edge.
“All right. I’ve got your size,” Naomi said. “The good news is you won’t need an underwire.”
“Underwire?” Ryn crinkled her nose.
“You don’t want to know. Arms down.”
Ryn folded her arms around her middle.
“You can turn around. We’re done.”
No, she couldn’t. It would mean looking at Naomi.
“Are you okay? Oh no. I pushed too far, didn’t I?”
Ryn shook her head and turned, but there was nowhere to look that wasn’t her friend, so she ended up looking into Naomi’s eyes. A current seemed to pass between them, and Naomi’s eyes dilated even as her face softened. She bit her lower lip, which seemed as full as it had ever been, and Ryn suppressed a wild desire to taste it.
“You did great.” Naomi’s voice broke and she glanced to one side, rubbing the back of her own hand with her thumb. The edges of her ears went pink. “I’ll, uh, go get you some bras to try on.”
She left the stall and Ryn stood in silence, listening to her own quick heart, and then to Naomi’s. Her friend paused outside the closed door, relaxed against the wall a moment, breathed out, and wandered off.
Their hearts were both beating normally when Naomi finally returned with an armful of bras. Though she’d chosen every color, Ryn knew her preference immediately and pointed. “That one.”
“Black. This is my surprised face.” Naomi presented the bra. “And look: no frills, no lace. Do I know you or what?”
Ryn studied the satisfaction in her friend’s smile as she picked through the rest of her selections, and realized something: several were too large. It dawned that they’d fit Naomi just fine. “What are those for?” she blurted, though she knew.
“For me. I do like lace,” she teased.
For the first time, Ryn imagined the undergarment on her friend instead, and was so flustered she bolted for the exit, worming past the auburn-haired girl.
“Where are you going?” she laughed.
To hide. Her flight was wholly instinct.
Naomi fortunately let her go, shutting the door to try on her choices, but it did the deva’s imagination no favors. “You should at least try yours on,” she called.
Hearing her friend talk while presumably in a state of undress was frighteningly intimate.
It did do a small amount to alter her appreciation for the undergarment, and when Naomi purchased a red one, she couldn’t look at her for the last hour of their excursion.
Together they left the mall, and their footsteps echoed through the parking deck. They passed beneath a broken light and a pungent fear odor wafted from Naomi’s pores. Alerted, Ryn’s senses scraped through the shadows for danger, but there was none. It was a reaction to the parking deck itself.
“Your tormenters aren’t here,” Ryn said.
“I know.”
&
nbsp; “Only us.”
“I know.” Naomi walked faster, outpacing her.
“Wait.” Ryn stopped, forcing Naomi to do so.
“What? What’s wrong?” Turning, Naomi glanced around the cavernous space, large eyes centering on the plink, plink of water drops into a distant puddle.
“Look into the shadows,” Ryn whispered.
“I know! They’re empty. Can we just go?”
“This matters. Look at them.”
“I don’t care. I want to go. This is— Seriously.” Naomi shook and there was no color in her face. “Please.”
Tucking their bags against a pillar, Ryn advanced—Naomi retreating step for step, until the deva closed the space in a startling instant, hand extended between them. “Take it.”
“I don’t want to do this.”
“As you told me before… the only one who will touch you is me.”
Her eyes tensed with indecision, bright with building tears, hands cupping around mouth and nose as she wrestled her fears, seeming again to bob her head in a silent count. At last, she took Ryn’s hand, her fingers trembling like leaves in a high wind. “What now?” she asked.
Ryn pointed to the darkest corner. “Look there.”
Setting her jaw, she followed Ryn’s finger with her eyes. “Can we please go now?”
“Soon.” Ryn led her friend into the shadows a halting step at a time.
Naomi’s pulse hammered through their connected palms, fear-scent bleaching her palate and burning her eyes. On such bright-souled skin, the smell was obscene.
“You see?” Ryn asked once they stood in the pool of darkness. “It’s empty.”
“I see.” Her voice wasn’t quite as high or thin as before. “But how do you know before you’re in it?”
“Because I’m from places where shadows aren’t empty. I know the difference.” Ryn guided her deeper, to the blackest part of the deck. “What do you see from here?”
“The garage.” The reckless tempo of her heart had steadied.
“There is no shadow here darker than ours.”
“I guess.”
“I like it,” she whispered.
Naomi licked her dry lips. “Why?” Shadows had a way of tugging voices lower, lower, until they were carried on small currents of air.
“Because nothing is cleaner than the heart of a shadow. It washes away their staring eyes and leaves nothing but me.” Us, she realized. Nothing but us.
Naomi’s heart relaxed to a normal rhythm. “You like that?”
“You asked once to see my home.” She gestured. “Here it is.”
“I’m afraid of the dark,” she admitted, eyes shutting. “I never was until that night.” Glancing sidelong at Ryn, her pulse spiked—an explosion of fear rolled through her and she jerked, trying to escape. Her mouth widened in a frozen scream.
Snapping a look over her shoulder for the threat, Ryn realized then—
I’m it.
Naomi squirmed her hand from the deva’s grip, flailing out of the corner and into the brightness of the deck lighting. Covering her mouth, she gaped into the pool of black, fixed on the gleam of Ryn’s sunglasses.
“I won’t hurt you,” the monster whispered from her hideaway.
The words startled Naomi to her senses. With more control, she said, “I— I know, but please come out.”
Stepping into the light, the monster bowed her head. A cold reality had dawned.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to freak out. It’s just—”
“It’s the thing you saw that night,” she said.
A nod. “Not Banich, either.” Naomi folded herself in her arms, as though a chill had crept over her. “No one would believe me if I told them.”
“I would.”
Nodding, she whispered, “Banich wasn’t the only monster in the parking garage. There was something else. Something that came from Hell. Sometimes when I walk through my house at night, I know it’s close. I can feel it out there, creeping between shadows. I sleep with my lights on because even though it can’t be, I know it’s there, and I— I don’t know if I’m crazy.”
Ryn tried to breathe, to inhale around the skewer through her center, more painful than knives, bullets, and tent spikes, more painful by far. Every beat of her own heart cut her.
Naomi rushed forward, throwing her arms around the monster, holding her tighter than Ryn had ever been held—and yet she couldn’t feel it. She could only listen as her friend, her victim, whispered, “I’m so sorry. For a second, I saw you in the darkness and the way you blended into it, I thought you were it.” Her laugh was too manic. “Thank God you’re here. You’re probably the only thing that makes it go away.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN: Those Who Fight Monsters
Her friend’s nightmares had never hurt Ryn as completely as after she’d learned she caused them. Once being close to Naomi had been electric; what remained was a crippling hole in the deva’s center, one that introduced her to a unique torture every time the girl whimpered in her sleep.
Ryn guarded her still.
On Friday, date night, Ryn brought her new clothing to the Bradford home.
“You didn’t even wash anything?” Naomi gasped, incredulous the tags were still in place.
“No,” she snapped. How was she supposed to know that? Her wings required no laundering—how was she supposed to know any of this?
“Not a problem. I’ll throw them in the wash. Are you okay?”
No. Every glance and word was a reminder she was alien and unwelcome in the warm halo of her friend’s bedroom lamp. “All is well.”
“It’s not.” Naomi reached to touch her shoulder. “You don’t have to—”
Ryn flinched from it—and hissed. She didn’t mean to.
Startled, the auburn-haired girl froze, confusion knitting her brow.
What the deva wouldn’t give to explain. I have quills. She stared into Naomi’s eyes, willed her to understand. They’re on my inside. Every little brush massages them deeper. She locked onto that image and tried her best: “Inside-out porcupine.”
Maybe it somehow clicked, because Naomi eased back a step and said, “Go clean up. I’ll try not to prick you again.”
That she understood made this worse—she could reach into Ryn in ways no one else could, but whenever the monster reached back, she infected her friend’s life with some new horror.
She retreated to the bathroom, where soon cold water needled her body and soaked her hair. She stood beneath the water, regaining her composure. My world poisons her. From now on, I am only her guardian; never her friend. But she couldn’t bring herself to vow it.
Water sleeked down her kanaf as she unwove it, retracting the countless fibers into six slits on her back, which closed and appeared only as thin scars. She donned a bathrobe, still naked without her wings, and padded to Naomi’s room with arms around her middle.
“Your clothes are in the dryer. Let me braid your hair and I won’t say a word about makeup. Promise.” She started to cross her heart.
Ryn seized her hand before she could.
Naomi arched an eyebrow.
“Do not vow. Unless you mean it.” She despised when mortals made vows so lightly. It reminded her that humans were capable of breaking them.
“Your hand is freezing.” She ushered Ryn in, shutting the bedroom door.
“I showered.”
“In cold water?”
Why wouldn’t I?
“No one explained hot showers to you?”
No one had, and no one needed to. Because when this task is done, and you are no longer around to ask, I will take them cold as the mountain stream and no one will care. She eased onto Naomi’s bed, wishing to make her face a placid mask and let time skitter ahead to their date.
But she couldn’t, because Naomi slammed a chair down opposite her, sat to face her, and Naomi’s face always made time stretch out. “I’m going to guess what’s wrong,” she said with steely determination. “I’ll guess until I
’m right, and I’ll know I’m right because the only way you can lie is by not saying anything.”
She was right, and her stare and her rightness only made Ryn more naked.
“It gets worse.” Naomi frowned. “My guesses are going to be super embarrassing. For us both. I don’t want to do it this way, but there’s something you need to tell me; something you won’t. Plus, not sure if you realized, I’m sorta nosy.”
Even though this mortal girl made Ryn feel small, she also made her smile some.
“The more badass I figure out you are, the cuter your smiles get ,” Naomi beamed. Then her expression became more severe and she added, “Last chance to come clean.”
No words came. What was there to say? I’m a monster. I’m the shadow you fear. I have memories from before the quickening of history.
Naomi hesitated, nibbling her lip. “You’re not ready to go on this date.”
Of course not.
“It’s because of what someone did to you,” Naomi said. “Bad things.”
She bristled. “What things?”
For once, Naomi floundered. “You’re just… angry, and you know a lot about sexual violence.” More quietly: “Has someone hurt you?”
Ryn’s ire rose, heating her limbs and face. “As when they raped me?”
The auburn-haired girl had no words, gaze sinking to the floor.
She’d lied once to Ms. Cross, but the truth was out now. It was less horrid said than it was unsaid. “That means nothing.”
Naomi tried to cut in.
“It means nothing,” Ryn growled. “You think my quills are because beasts did wicked things to me? They’re not. It’s because I am the wicked thing, and I happen to them.”
The human girl stared, perhaps sensing for the first time she was talking to something old and cruel. “You don’t have to hide,” she said at last, dispelling her worry with a shake of the head. “I won’t hate you for your past. There’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
The answers came too easily. “You understand nothing.” Only thin lenses concealing Ryn’s eyes separated Naomi from a world of gods and monsters.
The One Who Eats Monsters (Wind and Shadow Book 1) Page 26