Page 66 of Snatched By the Sandman

Tapping her lower lip, the Goddess muses before parting her lips to ask, “Why now?”

Beastie takes her time. I must say I find the contrast fascinating. Zenya is laid back, and carefree when eating. She is a voracious eater, probably a pattern due to her active lifestyle. She is extremes with her penchant for sweet or bitter, highs or lows. Beastie is far more…balanced.

After finishing her bite of pasta and a drink of black coffee, she responds, “Zenya is…strong. I’ve subtly fronted for her here and there. Many times, she never notices. Or she writes it off. Whenever she couldn’t seem to find a strong foothold…or if an overlyfriendlyhunter crossed her path, we would be far less friendly. Her subconscious denial has made it difficult to communicate with her. But she cannot control said subconscious when she is truly terrified. Not fear. Not anger. Nor wrath. True terror as she felt tonight…more than ever.”

Ahh, that is why she did not rise during her encounters with Nyxion. As Zenya had shared with me, he frightened—as only Phobeter the Frightener could—but in the type of chills and thrills an adrenaline junkie craves. An addictive fear. Like climbing a mountain.

She followed him into his fortress of her own free will. If she had truly longed to escape, she would have walked through the walls far earlier than Ivy gave her the secret. In some ways, I wonder if Zenya considered him a challenge as much as she sought the pleasure he gave her.

“Will you sharewhatyou are?”

Hecate grins, intentionally showing her sharpened teeth. More flirting than taunting.

Circling the rim of her coffee mug with one fingertip, Beastie offers her a twisted smile. “Angel to some, demon to others.”

“Fallen angel,” Hecate deduces, her eyes gleaming with delight as she sips her wine.

Beastie says nothing but does not lose her smile. In some ways, it’s macabre but still beautiful. The left side of her body seems to pulse, the tattoos blacker as they playfully shift upon Zenya’s skin.

“Does Zenya know?” I dare to ask the third question, hoping the lovely little monster will allow it. My feathers tighten, my wings stiffening close to my spine.

She turns to me, her gaze unshaken. That fingertip pauses in its journey around the rim of the mug. I imagine the spider of this alter’s mind spinning a cunning web of a battle, debating whether to acknowledge me.

Not once does she blink.

When she parts her lips, I don’t move one feather.

“She’s sensed me.” A faint smile crosses her lips. “I haven’t cared to engage too much with her. Nor has she. I’d occasionally come out when she’d read or play her LitRPG games. She’d lose track of time, five minutes here, an hour there. But she’d dismiss it.”She’d dismiss me, I imagine she would have silently commented.

Beastie taps a tattoo on her left arm, a steady rhythm never missing a beat. A tattoo of an eclipse, but I don’t remember blood drops weeping from it before now.

One of Hecate’s dogs approaches the alter, composure calm. The canine doesn’t invade or try to nudge Beastie. It merely offers its presence.

Hecate smiles softly as Beastie reaches down to scratch the dog’s head and muses, “Sometimes, she’d leave a scribble of a sketch of her inner monster in hotel rooms. They were cute, really. The ones she drew with horns and fangs were my favorites.”

She has given us far more than we asked. It sobers me, humbles me to another degree. My feathers settle, calming from the nature of the conversation.

“When she returns, she’s probably going to be overwhelmed. But…” Beastie opens her palms, and I tilt my head, admiring how her dream weaving force differs from Zenya’s. Zenya curls her fingers, her weaving like threads of a tapestry to form an object. Beastie’s is like a dark fog billowing into a silhouette, then a faint shape, and finally…

“Soon, she will be fully aware. And this will help…a little.” She sets the journal on the table with a case-bound cover of obsidian and amethyst. “I need—” She pauses, swallowing a knot in her throat before correcting herself, “I want her to stop shoving me away. In a strange and twisted way, I think this place has been good for her. She’s always loved trying new things, but she’s breaking down her boundaries and stumbling blocks in her mind. If she’s willing, we can do…more here.”

Curiosity and gratitude spreads heat through my chest at how much this dark protector has shared. I imagine Zenya will have many questions and emotions when she returns.

Beastie opens the journal, sweeps her finger across it, and a sentence in gold cursive begins to form. She quickly covers her work with the cover, hunching over. Whatever she is writing or scribbling, I understand it’s something only Beastie and Zenya will know.

Just as she closes the book, I groan from the sudden chill sweeping the room before my brother manifests with nothing more than a skull for a face—dressed in one of his sharp three-piece suits as usual.

Beastie stiffens, brows flattening as he approaches her from behind, his breaths heavy with the echo of a rumble.There’s my little monster who threw me to the wraiths.

I twist my lips into a side smirk since the alter does not turn to face him, causing him to seethe more.

“If you wish me to set my dogs upon him, I will, my dark queen,” Hecate offers with a curling of her hand before she samples the mushroom risotto. Her dogs growl softly.

Beastie shakes her head, tapping her arm once again. “Not necessary.”

She takes a deep breath, stilling for a moment. Her eyes dart to each corner before wandering across the buffet. She touches the table, then the fork, and the mug of coffee. After a pause and a momentary glimpse at the dog at her side, Beastie inhales the coffee, her lips silently mouthing the number ‘Two”.

Ahh, I recognize the grounding exercise meant to dispel anxiety. At least Nyxion doesn’t interrupt her for those fleeting moments, though he does observe her with riveted attention.

---