Page 206 of Monsters in Love: Lost in the Underworld

Thorne turns his gaze back to the fields, inhaling in frustration. “So the imps who came to speak about the fields were real?”

“Yes, of course they were. The imps and souls here know I’m their master. I maintain the fields, the casinos and all the various things a city needs to flourish. I may appear cruel, and the souls may suffer here, but they know I do this only because it is part of their atonement. As strange as this may sound to you, I’m never unnecessarily cruel.”

The temptation to stare at Thorne tugs at me relentlessly, but I keep my eyes on the fields and beyond, in the trees. This city is mine to govern, and I genuinely care about the people who live here. I wish for nothing more than for them to flourish and grow. Often, the sinners here don’t learn from their mistakes and continue their own destructive cycle, but many become members of society here just as the imps are.

“What do you gain from my help?” Thorne asks, his voice a whisper.

A small smile tugs at the corner of my lips as he questions and probes deeper into my motivations. Perhaps he has an internal struggle, but there is an allure in using his magic to aid others. It was, after all, why he created this pact between us. He is altruistic to his very core.

“Perhaps there is nothing I gain but to help feed my people. Maybe there is also a satisfaction in knowing that your new power is harnessed effectively.” The smile on my lips grows, and a warmth overtakes my chest. “Regardless, the outcome is the same. These people will benefit from the help you give them. You benefit from learning to harness your new skills, and I am forever grateful to you for it.”

The moment stretches for far too long until I give in, glancing at Thorne from the corner of my eye. The moment he notices, hesteps forward to the crest, peering down among the people with resolve. “I’ll help.”

That warmth in my chest grows once more, though I refuse to name it. I lead him then from the hill down into the valley from an old stone stairwell. Once we’re next to one of the dying fields, I finally speak again.

“Take off your shoes,” I instruct him, watching as he does as ordered. He closes his eyes once the soil comes into contact with his toes. I sense it must feel comforting to him, as the tension in his shoulders melts away.

“Now what?” he asks, though he maintains eye contact upon the dying crops instead of me or any of the workers.

This is entirely out of my purview as a Goetia. My skillset has very little to do with growing anything, though necromancy may have similarities. That helps me understand how I may best instruct him. “Focus on the threads of life within the soil, the nutrients and its potential.”

Thick eyelashes close again. This time, a furrow etches across his brow in concentration, and a frown turns down his lips.

“Let your magic flow into the earth and allow it to respond to your emotional state.”

As he exhales a breath, I sense his hesitancy across our bond, so I step closer to him, placing a hand upon his shoulder as an anchor. “You can do this, Thorne,” I say tenderly against the shell of his ear.

Soft green magic surges from his fingertips into the ground. Slowly, the roots beneath us creak, groan, and the crops begin to sway in an unknown wind. The workers pause, their workentirely forgotten as they stare in awe at Thorne. Inch by inch the plants lengthen, their vines strengthening with new vitality. The fruits begin to grow plumper instead of shriveled, dried husks.

“Open your eyes, Thorne,” I say in approval. “You’ve done so well.”

He does so immediately, opening them to the sight of a verdant green field with imps and souls alike standing around awestruck. They all erupt into cheers, whistles and applause at the work done to their fields. As I peek at Thorne’s face I notice a blush inching across his cheeks at the acclaim, embarrassed by the attention he rightly deserves.

An urge to call him a good boy tingles on my tongue. I swallow it down along with the desire that churns beneath my skin, aching to kiss him.

“It feels so strange to help these people.” Thorne’s expression is thoughtful, and lurking beneath it is an air of disbelief that he alone managed such a feat.

“Why, because they are undeserving?”

Shifting to face me, he smiles softly, shaking his head from side to side in disagreement. “No, it’s only that I’ve always felt unable to give aid to anyone prior to this. I often felt a burden to my grandmother. I was relegated to the greenhouse more often than not.”

Scooping my arm around his waist, I jerk him closer to my side, peering down at him with pride. “You are never a burden, and I will never allow you to forget that.”

Even with all my workers’ eyes on me, I sweep him into my arms in a bridal carry. Thorne immediately gasps, but a hint of laughter twinkles behind his eyes. “Set me down!” He pathetically swats against my chest, and I immediately recognize it for the act it is.

“We have more I want to do today, and your tiny mortal legs aren’t quick enough.”

As we leave the fields behind, I finally know the name of the feeling inside my chest. I was enamored with Thorne, and I wanted him for more than just his body, or the mana we could exchange. What I desire is his companionship for who I truly am and not the persona I previously displayed.

Hawthorne

The restof the afternoon blurs together. There is no way to mark the passage of time in the underworld, even if it has suns, moons and stars just like my realm does. Berkley skitters about with purpose, and to my relief, there are other servants who work the kitchens. Most of all, what I have noticed is the constant presence of Aamon.

I am a mortal in a realm where mortals shouldn’t exist, and Aamon was less than the terrifying authority figure I imagined.As time has passed this afternoon, I feel something stir between us.

It began with little moments.

I caught Aamon watching me from across the room, his golden eyes softened, as if lost in thought. As my gaze met his, he glanced away and continued his work on a machine that clicked. Subtle moments when our fingers grazed one another or his wings tickling against my side—each touch and glance was brief, but it left behind a warmth that lingered long after the moment passed.

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