Page 5 of Monsters we Crave

He swiped away a tear that threatened to fall. “Can you think about this a little longer? I can't imagine my life without you. And not just as a friend.”

At that moment, my resolve wavered. The emotional turmoil in front of me, coupled with my intrinsic urge to avoid conflict, pushed me into a corner. After sleeping together again, he’d fallen under the impression everything was okay.

“I don’t know what to do,” I sighed, my thoughts returning to the present.

“You do whatever is going to make you happy. Don’t stay with him if he doesn’t,” Ophelia replied, linking her arm through mine.

“Look at you being the voice of reason.”

“I have my moments of wisdom.”

We continued walking, heading back to where I’d parked. Amalthea padded alongside us silently, ears alert and her vigilant eyes scanning our surroundings. At the plaza's heart, the fountain's water cascaded in orchestrated patterns. The inviting aroma of freshly cooked delicacies wafted around us, FusionFire’s one of the most prominent.

It was a tantalizing blend of the familiar and the exotic. They boasted dishes from different parts of the world, but with a twist, merging flavors that traditionally wouldn't go together. The skewers emitted smoky fragrances and were drizzled with a luminescent sauce that sparkled. Pastas were upgraded with edible metallic glitters, and drinks bubbled and smoked with the addition of dry ice and flavored vapors. I could have gone for one of their combos myself, but if we didn’t get this sauce home soon so Mom could cook, there would be no dinner later.

I half listened to my sister tell me about some new store opening at AstraMall, mentally going over the list of things I still needed to do before my afternoon shift tomorrow. My thoughts were interrupted when Amalthea growled softly, her gaze fixed intently on a figure approaching us.

“Tykho,” I commanded quietly, stroking the top of her fluffy white head.

Ophelia shifted closer to me as an Emissary, dressed in a tailored black suit with a golden dragon pin—the Maelstrom family emblem—on his lapel, stepped into our path, blocking our advance with an air of authority.

“If you ladies would kindly follow me," he requested, his tone courteous but firm.

Ophelia, ever the protective one, replied before I could. “Is there some sort of problem, Sir?”

His gaze, sharp yet unreadable, assessed us for a moment. “Mr. Maelstrom would like a word.”

Ophelia and I exchanged a quick, worried glance.

“It won't take long,” the Emissary added.

Drawing a deep breath, I thought carefully about how to respond. Pissing one of these men off could have dire consequences. “Thank you for delivering the message, but we're in a bit of a hurry.”

There was a moment's pause, the silent weight of his gaze pressing on us. “Very well,” he said, stepping aside.

As we hurried away, the weight of the Emissary's gaze on my back was palpable. It felt like cold fingers tracing an invisible line down my spine.

I had encountered Emissaries before. They were the eyes and ears of the Triad Four that allowed themselves to be seen, unlike the leaders of the Cabals. They never let things go easily and were generally a pain in the ass, especially when they were on a mission. He’d allowed us to pass without any insistence.

I looked sideways at Ophelia, whose brows were furrowed in confusion, likely pondering the same anomaly. As we distanced ourselves, I couldn't help but sneak a glance back. I spotted him then, near a fleet of luxury vehicles on the far side of the plaza.

Riven Maelstrom.

A formidable figure in his own right, he stood surrounded by a small entourage. They were met by members of Antheia’s sector council, and even from a distance, the gravity of their conversation was clear, as was his aura of authority. He wasn’t paying us any attention now, but he’d clearly noticed our presence here.

Feeling a twist in my stomach, my mind raced back to that fateful night in the woods years ago.

I involuntarily scanned the group for any sign of his younger brother. To my relief, he wasn’t present. Even after all this time, the memory of our encounter and the revelations that followed were as clear as yesterday. I’d never told anyone about it except for Grandma, and she was no longer around to advise or give her thoughts on what just happened. There was no way a Maelstrom wanted to speak with us just for the hell of it. For that same reason, one wouldn’t have let us go if they felt the matter was urgent.

I kept my thoughts to myself, not wanting to alarm Ophelia, silently making a mental note to be on my guard. The Maelstroms and anyone associated with them were a web of intrigue and power plays. I had no intention of allowing me or my sister to be caught in their snares.

The gentle simmer of sauce mingled with the rhythmic chop of vegetables, filling the kitchen with a comforting cadence. As Ophelia finely grated a block of parmesan, I busied myself slicing fresh basil. Our mother expertly moved between the stove and the counter, layering sheets of pasta. Amid the culinary ballet, Amalthea lay in a corner, contentedly gnawing on a meaty bone, her ears perking up occasionally whenever Ophelia's voice rose in excitement.

“And then this Emissary came right up to us,” Ophelia explained, her tone hovering between amusement and incredulity. “But you know what was surprising? Riven himself was there and…” She trailed off and seemed to consider her words, “He’s gorgeous, to put it mildly. The screens do him no justice.”

“Riven Maelstrom?" Our mother stopped what she was doing, her gaze sharp and questioning. Her voice held an unmistakable edge, and her usually calm demeanor shifted to one of blatant unease.

Ophelia nodded slowly, picking up on our mother’s sudden change in mood. “Yeah, him.”

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