Page 49 of Monsters of Desire and Nightmares of Passion

“You got it, now take it into the house. I’ll take care of the body.”

Ivy

I wake up in the middle of the night feeling slightly confused and hungry. My dreams are empty without the guys in them. Then I open my eyes and see Khal sleeping next to me in the bed and I smile. He’d never leave my side. I know it deep in my soul. He looks so handsome, with his strong muscles and the tattoos covering his dark skin. I was tempted to wake him up with a kiss, but my stomach growls. Hunger nags at me.

I push the cover slowly to the side and step out of the bed, The cool air makes me shiver slightly. It’s cold but not unpleasant. The hardwood floor releases a soft creek as I step on it. Khal moves his head, then wraps three of his arms over my pillow, mumbling something. He’s so cute.

Cute?

Is it even possible for a monster to be considered cute? I know the guys in all their forms, but I always prefer their true faces. Now that I think about it, I ask myself if maybe, just maybe, I would have reacted better to them if they had looked human when I woke up at the hospital. Would I have been more inclined to believe three handsome men? Again, appearances can be deceiving.

I stand up slowly, carefully, so as not to disturb Khal, make my way to the door, and turn the knob as gently as I can. I hope I don’t wake him up as I sneak out of the room. I need some time to myself after everything that has gone on in the last twenty-four hours.

The house feels strangely familiar. I know it’s my home, but it doesn’t feel that way yet. If I close my eyes, the scent lingering inside gives me a warm, cosy feeling. Yet I can’t remember what art hangs on the wall behind me. It’s like a test. I close my eyes before turning to the wall and try to imagine the painting in my mind but am not able to. As I open my eyes, I see this lively picture of a woman with long black hair dancing. Her body and the way the artist captures her movement fills my heart with joy. I feel what she is experiencing during that unique moment trapped on canvas. Her life is complicated and complex, yet still beautiful. She lives every moment to the fullest. It’s difficult to leave the painting behind. I’m tempted to study it longer. Maybe she and I are relatives. I’ll find out. The woman in the painting intrigues me to no end.

My stomach growls again, pulling me away. I make my way down the hallway and toward the stairs. I need a snack to help me cope with everything.

The furry touch on my leg is familiar. “Powder, join me for a midnight snack, baby?”

Meow.

“Good, let’s go raid the fridge.”

I scoop up Powder from the floor and walk down the stone steps. Holding my cat feels nice. I need him. He reminds me of everything that’s real and good in my life. Over the past few years, my life had felt like a feverish dream and yet, somehow, it was real. Now that it has crashed against the memories of my former life, it’s difficult to see myself as these two different women. The young fighter, the girl who knew ancient history, who spoke Aramaic, and who engaged in daily combat training versus Ivy the basket case, Ivy the nurse.

“You love me, don’t you?” I ask Powder.

My fingers slip through his fur and stroke it until my Powder purrs.

We walk to the kitchen. I open the fridge but realize I’m not hungry anymore, so I give up on my plans of eating. Instead, I pull the top off a can of cat food for Powder and place it on the counter. As he wolves down his food, I put on a kettle of water and rummage through the cabinets for tea.

A noise catches my attention. At first, I think it’s the water boiling. I’m wrong. Very soft footsteps sound on the hardwood floor. I turn slowly, with a smile on my face, expecting Draw to be sneaking up behind me for some late-night delight. Suddenly, Powder hisses. I race around the other side of the counter for safety. Powder stands in front of me, protecting me and hissing at the intruder.

My mind has trouble understanding what exactly I’m seeing.

A young woman with blood on her neck and wrists stand in front of me. Her image flickers frequently, like ghosts in those old movies. If I squint, she seems transparent. Her hair hangs in a weird way down her shoulders, The blood covering her looks fresh, though it doesn’t drip or flow.

“Stay away from me,” I call out in panic. My heart races. The knife block is next to my hand, so I grab the first one I can and hold it up to the specter coming closer and closer. “What do you want from me?”

My mind seeks out things I can use against a ghost, and all I can come up with is a priest. Where will I find a damn priest? A cross, yeah. Wait. I don’t have one. Fuck.

“Chill, Ivy. I come in peace.”

I try to focus on the face of the young woman. She seems familiar. Somehow, her voice is ingrained in my memory.

“Walk a little closer,” I tell her. “Slowly.”

“Well, I can’t really walk. I can float, though. But you get the idea.”

The apparition moves closer. When it reaches the other side of kitchen counter, I raise my knife. “Stop.”

“You can put the knife away. Someone already used one on me. I don’t think it works twice.” She sounds snarky and sarcastic, but a hint of sadness fills her voice.

Then it strikes me. “Lisa?”

“That’s me,” she responds with a smile.

“You’re the girl from the hospital, the one that knew my name. How are you here? Why are you this way?”

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