Page 15 of Their Pretty Little Monster

My mouth drops open, and I yank my hand back as if the wall itself was a burning flame. “What in the world? We need to get out of here.”

“Not possible,” he replies, just as a deep, menacing growl echoes from somewhere closer to the entrance to the cave.

My stomach drops, and a cold dread washes over me. The sound isn’t just threatening; it’s a promise of danger or something sinister waiting in the shadows.

“Please tell me it’s not that creature out there following us?” Shaking, I hold myself still, not trusting myself not to fall against the walls.

His silence tells me everything.

He has the light orb pointed back on the curved passage of the cave that leads to the entrance, and I’m behind him in the dark again. Around me, the poisonous points on the walls sparkle like a starry night.

It’s always the prettiest things that are the deadliest.

“What kind of world is this? Why would anyone live here?” I scan the floor for anything I can use as a weapon, but all I see are small rocks, and I don’t want to touch them.

“Shh,” he says, heading back toward the entrance. The light from his grip drops to the ground, then clicks off, plunging us into suffocating darkness.

Oh, hell, did he do that on purpose or…?

Surrounded by danger, now robbed of my sight, I feel every shadow might hide the lizard-like creature. And who in the world is the Viscount, really?

Then, a large hiss slices through the silence, closer this time. I stiffen, the panic chewing its way up from the pit of my stomach. I hate how vulnerable I am, how exposed. The fear is like acid, eating me alive. The cave erupts with an explosion of more hisses and growls, a cacophony of threats converging into a thunderous boom.

A small cry falls from my lips, and I back away.

A deafening sound from outside suddenly shakes the cave. Footsteps, fast and heavy, echo through the corridor of the tunnel, and I hear Viscount shouting something indistinct.

Is he in danger?

The sound of a fierce scuffle floods the air next—punching, thumping, growls of pain.

I hug myself tighter.

Is the Viscount fighting the creature? The noise is horrifying, and I can’t exactly sit back and hide. What if he needs my help? Because if he loses, I’m a sitting snack for that two-tongued beast.

A maelstrom of violence intensifies through the cave, and I can’t see a single thing. Clenching my fists, I fight the urge to panic and run.

The cave seems to hold its breath with me as I decide at the last minute to find the dropped light orb, hoping that gives him an upper hand.

Deciding that seeing is better than trembling in the dark, I start creeping forward, painfully aware that I can’t touch the walls for fear of getting poisoned. The fighting noises—snarls, snapping of teeth, and a strange whistling sound like something slicing through the air—continue to echo around me.

“Please tell me you’re winning!” I ask, my words quivering.

All I get back is a grunt—a deep, menacing sound that I desperately hope belongs to the Viscount.

On my hands and knees, I slowly move forward, patting the ground in search of the light. My fingers are tentative, and I’m worried about what else they might find in the darkness. Dread weighs heavily on me as I inch to where I last saw the Viscount drop the light.

Finally, my fingers close around the warmth of the orb, the exterior feeling squishy to the touch. I exhale a sigh of relief, a small victory in the suffocating darkness.

Giving it a small squeeze out of curiosity, its light flicks on, and just as I do, a monstrous gaping mouth with strings of drool comes flying right at me.

I scream, flinching backward, the edges of my vision blurring as if I’m about to pass out.

The creature is suddenly wrenched backward by a figure both immense and daunting. Pale blue skin, marred with scratches and etched markings, stretches tightly over bulging muscles. The same ones that strain the seams of the clothes he wears—clothes that, moments earlier, the Viscount wore. Now, they are ripped to fit his larger, more formidable form.

Long white hair flows halfway down his back, and his arms, visibly more muscular, flex under the skin as he tightens his grip on the twin swords he wields.

Standing tall, his head nearly brushes the ceiling.

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