Page 15 of Beauty and the Grendel

I slumped back, chest heaving. Griiq groaned and rolled onto his side, wincing.

“Are you alright?” I asked, crawling over to him.

He nodded, pushing himself up on his elbows. “I think so. That was too close.”

“Agreed.” I helped him to his feet, my arms trembling from exertion and adrenaline. “What now?”

Griiq surveyed the carnage, his expression grim. “We need to warn the others. That thing is still out there, and it won’t stop until it gets what it wants.”

I swallowed hard, the gravity of our situation sinking in. We had escaped this battle, but the war was far from over. With a shared look of determination, Griiq and I set off into the gathering dusk, ready to face whatever horrors lay ahead.

I ripped a strip of fabric from my shirt and wrapped it tightly around Griiq’s bleeding arm. The gashes were deep, but thankfully not life-threatening. He grimaced as I tied off the makeshift bandage, his breath hissing through clenched teeth.

“We need to come up with a better plan,” Griiq said, his voice strained. “The Camazotz is a lot more powerful than I first thought.”

I nodded, my wounds throbbing in agreement. We had underestimated the creature, and it had nearly cost us our lives. My mind raced with the implications of our failed confrontation. If we couldn’t defeat the Camazotz, what hope did the community have?

Griiq must have sensed my fear, because he reached out and squeezed my hand. “We’ll figure something out. Together.”

His touch sent a jolt through me, and I stared into his eyes. In that moment, everything else faded away - the pain, the fear, the uncertainty. All that mattered was the connection between us, the unspoken bond that had grown stronger with each passing day. I loved him. Fiercely, deeply, with every fiber of my being.

Our relationship blossomed like a whirlwind, so fast and so strong. When did my fascination turn to affection, my curiosity to devotion? I couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment, but I knew with absolute certainty that my heart belonged to Griiq.

He must have seen the shock on my face, because his brow furrowed with concern. “Harlow? Are you alright?”

I blinked, snapping out of my daze. “Y-yes, I’m fine. Just... just a little shaken up.”

Griiq nodded, his expression softening. “We should get back to the castle. Can you walk?”

I tested my weight on my injured leg and winced. “I think so, but I might need some help.”

Without hesitation, Griiq slipped his arm around my waist, offering his support. I leaned into him, grateful for his strength and warmth. We limped back through the forest. The castle loomed ahead like a beacon of safety in the gathering darkness.

As we walked, I couldn’t help but marvel at the irony of our situation. I had come to the castle seeking inspiration for my novel, never dreaming that I would find something far more precious - love, in the most unlikely of places. And a true life tale I could spin into my novel.

But our journey was far from over. The Camazotz was still out there, waiting, watching. We would need to be stronger, smarter, and more united than ever before if we hoped to defeat it and protect the community.

Chapter 12

Griiq

The pain seared through my arm as I stumbled into the small clinic, Harlow supporting my weight. Blood dripped from the deep gashes, staining the white-tiled floor.

“Please, he needs help,” Harlow pleaded with Dr. Elms, who took a hesitant step back at the sight of me.

I gritted my teeth, trying to ignore the throbbing agony. Dr. Elms’s eyes widened as he took in my inhuman features - the charcoal gray skin, the horns protruding from my head.

“I...I don’t treat monsters,” he stammered, backing away further.

Harlow’s eyes flashed with anger. “If you don’t help him, I’ll bring in the media. I’ll tell them all about the discrimination in this town, how you refused to treat a patient in need.”

The doctor paled, glancing nervously at the door. After a long moment, he sighed in resignation. “Fine. Bring him to the exam room.”

As Harlow helped me onto the table, the doctor gathered his supplies, his hands shivering. He cleaned the wounds, his touch clinical and detached.

“There’s something you should know,” he said, and he began stitching the gashes. “A farm was attacked last night, about a mile from here. All the chickens were killed, and there was a trail of blood leading into the forest. Toward your castle.”

I shook my head vehemently, wincing as the movement pulled at my wounds. “It wasn’t me. I swear it.”

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