Page 13 of Monstrous Grave

Summoning what little resolve I have left, I push down the slick handle with my combat boot, refusing to touch it with my bare hands. The door reluctantly gives way to my efforts, its weight heavy against my shoulder as I push it open, not prepared for the horrors lying beyond.

There it is. A body nestled in a pool of blood with its skin retaining a warm hue reminiscent of life yet betraying the stillness of death. I zone in on his chest, searching in vain for the rise and fall of breath that animate the living.

What did I expect?

I stare at the body, unable to comprehend why it’s even there and how I could have missed it before. Unless it arrived moments ago, though if that were the case, wouldn’t I have noticed something amiss?

A freezing horror grips me as my gaze follows the blood leading up to his bare torso, revealing a gaping wound serving as a canvas made of human flesh. My nails dig into my palms when I see the initials carved into his body, tearing through his skin in jagged slashes. They’re raw, with initials unmistakably mine, made with cruelty hinting at malicious intentions.

A.V.

Shivers dance across my skin, leaving prickling sensations that make it feel as though the warehouse has been draped in a cold wind from the outside, despite being indoors. My teeth sink into my lip so fiercely that the familiar taste of metal floods my tongue. I scrutinize the body with my eyes, questions swirling like a tempest in my mind, wondering why the fuck my initials are carved into a corpse.

This is bad. Especially if the Grimaldis discover what the initials stand for, and who supposedly dared to carve them into one of their own. That the ‘V’ stands for Valenti—a name I was given by the family when the Grimaldis stripped me of theirs.

It could spell disaster, one I’m not ready to face all by myself.

I’m careful to avoid stepping into the crimson pools when I notice bold, red letters scrawled upon a crumbled piece of paper. It’s smeared with the same liquid that stains the scene, as if the man before me died clutching it in his hand. Queasiness rises within me as I reluctantly step closer, bending down to retrieve the note, careful not to get blood on my hands. The putrid stench emanating from the already decaying body is overwhelming, and I stifle a gag.

All color drains from my face, leaving me a ghostly shade reminiscent of the dead when I realize who the note is meant for. Pulse thudding hard in my ears along with the rushing blood, it’s hard to even concentrate on anything except that cryptic message.

Me.

Fucking hell.

“Arcane,

Your soul is as stained as mine, crumbling from the edges with the afterthought of decaying death. I’ve long awaited your return, hiding in the abyss of shadows. Keep your eyes open. The reaper will come for you, and he knows your name. Soon, you will enter a slow danse macabre.”

A frown mars my eyebrows as I read the letter over again, attempting to decipher its meaning. There’s no sender to indicate who wrote it, and the words are too puzzling. Yet, something is familiar about the handwriting, causing an eerie feeling to crawl over my skin.

With a pulsating headache tightening its grip on my skull, I unlock my phone with trembling hands the moment a sound shatters the silence. The phone nearly drops from my fingers, but I react just in time, grabbing it before realizing the sound came from the device in my hand.

With a sinking feeling in my stomach, I find that the surveillance camera program has been automatically launched, revealing a time stamp from twenty minutes ago, when I was still inside the office.

I’m rooted to the spot as I see a man in the video with an imposing frame that demands attention from any nearby soul, even through the screen. My breath quickens as I take in his overwhelming presence, and my gaze is drawn to the muscular posture on display beneath that leather jacket—broad shoulders accompanying it. His face is obscured by what appears to be a motorcycle helmet, shrouding his features in mystery.

He stares straight at the camera while a bloodied knife rests in his hand, tilting his head as his gaze seemingly pierces through the visor, through the screen, to lock onto mine.

Fear pulses through my veins like a drug, yet it all mingles with a tingling sensation deep within my core as I watch him. It’s a confusing concoction, both terrifying and arousing, making me inwardly curse myself.

With no forewarning, his voice cuts through the panicked silence, echoing all around me despite the source being my phone. Sweet words laced with an undertone of anger. I’m trapped, even if he’s not here—unable to move yet desperately needing to.

“Hello, little angel.”

Chapter 6

Arcane

His words are a relentless echo in my head, even now as I’m standing outside the warehouse, looking into the open space while checking if there are any stains left.

Turns out, disposing of a body is one fucking messy ordeal.

Blood littered the walls in every direction from the gruesome murder, not solely from the pools that formed around the body but also from the fresh trail left behind as I dragged it. Another telltale sign that could blow my cover and reveal someone has been here.

Two hours later, the blood has been bleached away, though the crimson stains my shirt and loose-fitting jeans. I’ll be forced to burn them as soon as I get home to rid myself of all evidence.

Dragging my bare hand through my hair—having discarded the gloves—I realize my fingers are prickled with blood as well. How did I even get blood in my hair?

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