Page 100 of Their Pretty Little Monster

Wolf rubs my arms, and I glance back around to him standing behind me, at the way he studies me. Sometimes, I can’t always tell what mood he’s in. Mostly because of the constant brooding expression he wears.

“Are you all right?” he asks.

“For sure.”

Just then, a soft snore interrupts us, and we both turn to see Nyko, his head tilted back against the pillow, fast asleep again. Wolfe and I exchange a smile, and he gestures toward the door.

As he shuts the door gently behind us, he says, “I’m going to make you a soothing velary tea. It’s from a local plant that brings relaxation. The same drink I’ve been giving Nyko to help him sleep more soundly.” He moves to the door to chat with Grimm, his personal assistant, who seems to be just hovering outside the door. I still struggle not to feel unease at his spindly legs that remind me of spiders.

In moments, Wolfe’s shutting the door on him and returning to me.

“Grimm’s going to bring us tea. It’ll help you sleep through this storm.”

“I might need it.” And as if on cue, everything beneath me shifts, and I stumble into a couch.

Wolfe’s at my side. “Tell me about your day.” He asks such a normal question when being on Howler is anything but ordinary. I appreciate him trying to instill some normality into my life, so I rattle off the events of the day.

There’s something about this moment—the ease of being with Wolfe, with all of them. There’s no awkwardness, only comfort and the excitement teeming in my stomach, loving the way he stares at me… as though I belong here.

Chapter

Twenty-Seven

SAGE

As I stride down the dimly lit corridor after dinner, the echo of my footsteps mingles with the soft thuds of the monstrous bodyguard trailing behind me. His presence, a massive hound-like creature with scraggly fur and long legs, sends a shiver down my spine. Wolfe’s insistence on assigning his personal guard to me should be reassuring, but the beast’s fierce eyes and hulking form leave me uneasy.

Killian and Wolfe are tied up in a lengthy meeting with the captain, but they didn’t go into details. I feel a tiny bit abandoned, even though I know they’re not far.

Nyko, on the other hand, is finally showing signs of full recovery. It’s been three days since I almost killed him with my power, and today’s the first time I saw him walking around his room with ease. I’m relieved, though when I went to check on him earlier, he’d been asleep. I didn’t want to wake him, so I left him to rest.

Over dinner, I was going over Clay’s words from a couple of nights ago. Along with the idea that I need to do something about my father first, Clay had implied that I should take action before it’s too late and he comes for me. The idea scares me, but the longer I entertain the notion, the more it feels like the right thing to do. I just need to discuss it with Wolfe.

Sighing, I keep strolling down the hallway, when I notice movement in one of the art pieces on the wall.

Pausing to examine one, I realize that the scenes in them are not static. Closer inspection reveals the frames are actually glass-covered enclosures, each a miniature world with half a dozen tiny, fluttering bugs. Their wings, half the size of the butterflies in the village, glimmer with washed-out cream and burnt gold edges. They have no antennae but small round heads, beady eyes, and large mouths. Curiously, one creature flutters closer to the glass as I lean in, its movements eerily slow.

“Why are you in there?” I murmur.

I touch one of the framed displays, lifting it from its hooks. It’s surprisingly thick, but it’s still a cage nonetheless. A latch on the back suggests it can be opened. When I turn it around to the glass front, the little bugs inside gaze up at me, their eyes large and round.

I contemplate freeing them, feeling awful for them being stuck in there as ornaments, fiddling with the latch.

“I wouldn’t recommend that,” the bodyguard groans from a few steps away. “Those are Shadowwings, critters whose golden dust carries hallucinogenic toxins. Enough exposure can be lethal.”

“Then why keep them locked up like this where anyone can open them up… if it’s so dangerous?”

“They are unharmed in these confines. In their natural habitat, they dwell in dense burrows, far more cramped than this. But most of their habitat no longer exists, so we offer them refuge with us. Here, they are fed and kept safe from predators—and from causing harm. Besides, there are far more dangerous monsters who walk freely on this vessel to worry about than the Shadowwings.” He makes a strange, choking sound that might be a laugh.

It’s almost ominous and raises the hairs on my arms. Seems the bodyguard has a dark sense of humor.

I reluctantly return the frame to the wall. “Let’s not poison ourselves tonight,” I mutter under my breath, half joking, partially truthful.

Once inside my room, I quickly lock the door, turning just in time to see the guard assume his post outside. A bit paranoid, maybe, but you can’t be too careful on a ship full of monsters. To make myself feel more secure, I wedge a chair under the door handle—old habits die hard. I often did this back home when I noticed the Barons in the village paying me a bit too much attention during the day.

Feeling jittery from the day’s events, I decide a hot shower might help calm my nerves. I’m in the bathroom in no time, the steamy water washing away the tension.

Wrapped in a towel, with another turbaned around my hair, I step out feeling refreshed. I flick off the main lights, leaving only the soft glow of the starlike lights embedded in the ceiling and the moon carving on the wall that spills light across the room in a gentle, candle-like glow.

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