Page 32 of Monsters of Desire and Nightmares of Passion

“Hot damn, Ivy. You’re a bad girl,” I whisper to myself as I tiptoe out of the room as one of the Depps slips a very long tongue between my legs and flicks my clit with its tip.

A wave of heat fills me. Is it pervy to want to stay longer?

No, no. Whatever this is, I want out. I want to see my guys for real.

I walk inside another room. This time I don’t recognize the building I’m in. It looks like an abandoned factory.

“Can I scroll back this memory back?” I ask while chewing on my lower lip. Just as I verbalize the wish, the memory starts. It’s the same group of girls as in the classroom memory, only older. They… correction… we are at least seventeen or eighteen. Some hold swords but most have empty hands, ready for whatever is coming. It’s dark, a beautiful night with a clear sky and shining moon that spreads its light over the rusty pipes and old concrete blocks of the abandoned factory. The walls stand tall, stained by rain and time, gasping holes looking like mouths with rusty jagged teeth. A feeling of apprehension causes me to hold my breath.

It looked like a slumbering giant, broken by time and forgotten by everyone.

A middle-aged woman wearing a tight top that showed off her muscular arms stands in front of us.

“Red to the left, yellow to the right, and one team hunts the other.”

I’m wearing a yellow t-shirt. Okay, so I’m team yellow.

The middle-aged woman stands in front of us, covered in muscles and tattoos, though her eyes appear soft, gentle.

“Fight smarter, not harder. Use your powers. Everything goes. This is your final exercise. Not all of you will pass. Good luck.”

Damn, I looked like a badass warrior. At least, my younger self did. I want her outfit. My younger self holds a piece of pipe in one hand. Her best friend, Emily, stands beside her. My best friend. Our best friend. Emily is also on team yellow.

It hurts me that I haven’t remembered Emily for so long.

Emily could have been on the cover of a comic book. She has the action heroine image down to the tee. Her hair is up in a Princess Leia meet Manga duo. Wild makeup is spread over half her face. She’s wearing ripped stockings, high heeled killer boots, and a pair of jeans shorts. My younger self went with a black trousers and tight black top combo. I wasn’t much of a fashion icon then, either, but I was a badass and I like the energy I spread.

“Ready, call your Shadows.” The middle-aged woman called out. Emily and my younger self hold hands. Suddenly, three monster guys—my monsters—appear next to me and two equally scary dudes next to Emily. The connection and the energy is clear.

“We’re a team,” Emily says to my younger self.

“Always.”

I feel the love and friendship connecting them. It’s genuine.

The guys circle around us, ready, looking feral like the creatures of darkness that they are.

As I watch what I believed would be an informative show of what my younger self was capable off, all Hell breaks loose. We’re shot at. Bullets and arrows fill the night air with the promise of death. This is not a drill anymore. I notice the fear in Emily’s eyes as well as in the panicked glances the two girls exchange.

My younger self grabs Emily by her hand and pulls her. They run toward the factory with their Shadows, looking for cover.

Someone screams. The air burns, bursting with noise and the scent of blood and burnt gun powder.

“This is not a drill,” Draw calls out to my younger self while shielding her with his large body. Shiny arrows sail through the air, sent towards us by invisible marksmen. I can taste the bitter tang that accompany them. A Shadow is hit by a green-tipped arrow and dissolves into smoke with a feral roar. He’s gone, liquidated and never to come back. I feel everything my younger self did. Rage and fear fill my chest. I held on to my gun, aiming it toward the night. The shooting happens too fast, the bullets creating a wave of hail that covers us from all sides at the same time.

My attempt to land a few hits makes no difference.

Draw grabs me hard and pulls me close as we run. Other Shadows throw themselves on top of the women they have a connection with, just to get hit by arrows and dissolve, leaving the anchors defenseless. The hail of arrows and bullets ceases for a second and our attackers appear in our midst. Masked men with bows stand there, challenging us to do something against them. No one dares to move or breath. Large bodies covered in Kevlar armor hold threatening guns.

The instructor tries to yell over the chaos. Her own Shadows flank her and push her away just before an arrow strikes one in its chest, turning him into smoke then nothing.

I burned with the need to grab a weapon and throw myself into the fight, just to be reminded that I’m inside a memory and don’t hold any power. All I can do is watch how people I cared about died. The moment I saw them, memories sparked back to life. I would have gladly given my own blood to save them. Our instructor keeps on shouting.

“This is not a simulation. This is a real attack. Run. Shadows, protect the girls.”

As she calls out her command, her own Shadow steps in front of her, right when a man with a sword was about to slice her in two. The Shadow dissolves into smoke for a few seconds. Whatever killed or wounded the other Shadows did not work on him. He becomes material again, this time behind the attacker, grabs his head with two huge hands, rips it off, and throws it down in the dirt. The Shadow is half-physical, half-fluid, like thick smoke, wisps of darkness that pull and slice, killing its opponents. Our instructor leans her back against one of her Shadows and they fight like a mad, crazed, well-oiled fighting machine.

My eyes focus on my younger self and Emily.

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