Page 2 of Monstrous Grave

Like a dangerous shadow, he pauses on the threshold with a reluctance that makes his shoulders tense. He knows this is wrong—entering my room at night when everyone is none the wiser.

None of that deters my brother, though, as he takes another step, the balcony door left open behind him. It allows the wind to graze its chilling touch over my bare arms, freezing me underneath the blanket. My breath hitches as he comes forward.

Closer.

Even closer.

Until he stands right by the side of the bed, his brown eyes filled with so much intensity and depth as he takes in my appearance, curling my short hair between his fingertips. It’s as if the darkness of the room obscures the color, making them look all black. One eye is swollen, yet another bruise forming that has me swallowing a lump in my throat, especially as it colors him purple and black.

It’s a strange combination of hues, and I despise seeing him hurt, nausea churning inside me.

I observe his chest rising and falling, compelled to reach out and touch his cheek, an irresistible urge to draw closer to him. Worry glazes over me as I notice his slight wince before my hand even makes contact. He’s quicker than me, capturing my wrist in his large palm and holding it in a tight grip.

The firm shake of his head causes his hair to fall over his eyes, and a look of warning crosses his face.

“Don’t touch me,” he mouths.

I inhale sharply, tension building in my throat as I fixate on his eyes, nearly covered by long, black lashes that used to make me jealous while growing up. All the girls in school were prettier than me, though my brother always told me I was the prettiest. He never looked at them the way he looked at me, with equal amounts of adoration and a need to protect.

We were each other’s, and no one else had the chance to even get close to us.

Now, all I wish is for him to let me touch him because I can tell that something is wrong, and not only is it the bruise forming on his eye. There’s an urgency in his voice, one that jolts through my body in an electric current and causes goosebumps to skitter across my skin.

I allow my gaze to shift to where his hand grips my wrist, still as tightly as before, and then I meet his eyes again, evidently darkening with intensity.

“A game, remember?” he whispers, his voice piercing through the silence that has descended over the room.

An odd sensation overtakes me, like a vise gripping my heart in its hold before squeezing the life out of me. Confusion laces my actions and makes me unable to utter a word. I merely stare at him while he waits for my reply.

I know he’s always loved hearing me talk, wanting me to read him bedtime stories even when he’s the older one, but now I won’t give him the satisfaction of it. He doesn’t deserve to hear the sound of my voice when he won’t elaborate on what’s going on.

It feels like minutes pass when the only thing occupying the room is an intense and uncomfortable silence full of emotions I cannot put into words.

The grip on my wrist hardens, and I do my best not to let out a yelp from the slight burn of pain. That would only make him even more satisfied. Eventually, I’m forced to obey him when the grip never relents, his nails only digging deeper into my skin.

“What kind of game?”

With defiance, I stare into his eyes, although I don’t feel nearly as daring as I try to sound. My voice is a hoarse whisper after a night of sleeping, and I’m not as composed as he is.

His demeanor is always posed with a lethal calm that could make the strongest enemy relent, a trait I’m sure he acquired once we were adopted into the Grimaldi family.

The corners of his thick lips twitch into a cryptic smile that gives way for nothing else. “A game of survival.”

My eyebrows must be scrunching in confusion because his lips curl further. He stares down at me with a look that has me shuddering, not knowing if I should be afraid or feel safe in his presence.

“You will see, devangel. But it’s a game that requires you to be observant. Trust no one but yourself and always keep an eye on your surroundings.” His voice is low and demanding, making chills dance across my body while I listen intently, clinging to every word he utters. Especially the nickname he has given me. “Don’t crash into the waves.”

His last sentence rings out in my head like an echo, words I’ve heard many times before when I’ve needed reassurance from the cruel world we live in.

“Trust no one but you, right?”

An audible sigh slips from his lips as he looks down at me, and I observe the subtle tightening of his jaw, a habitual gesture he often displays.

His head tilts to the side, but I cannot tell what it’s for. Every action he makes stirs confusion within me, creating a vortex of uncertainty and leaving me slightly rattled. A creeping sense of terror slowly comes into my subconscious, telling me that something might be amiss yet again.

“Can you do that for me?” His serious words take me aback, but despite that, I nod, still unsure of what his intentions are, as my mind races with apprehension.

He has always been a mystery, a puzzle to be solved where I was the only one who had the key to open up the puzzle pieces. Yet, at this moment, it’s as if I’ve lost that key temporarily, unable to understand him.

---