Page 21 of Land of Monsters

“What does that mean?”

“Full of fun surprises.” He nudged me into the bathroom. “Go. I’ll find both of you some extra clothes.” Maestro closed the door.

In the quiet bathroom, the music and chatter far below, I stared numbly at my reflection in the mirror. I almost didn’t recognize who was looking back. Void of makeup, bruised, flushed, and exhausted, I no longer had the sheen of wealth, the glow of a girl who thought she was confident and put together.

She was the illusion, while the girl who had survived the last month stared wisely back. I couldn’t say what it was, but I appeared older. Grounded. With a confidence my younger self thought I had, but didn’t. Though I respected this girl now, part of me longed to go back. To be satisfied with designer clothes, clubbing, and lunching with my friends.

It all sounded so trivial. Like I had lived in a tiny box. I had seen and done too much now. Whatever happened, I could never go back to her.

The door squeaked open, and my eyes flicked up to the mirror, imagining Maestro stepping in with clothes, but mossy green eyes found mine instead, hitching my breath.

“I haven’t gotten in yet,” I protested, a strange nervousness jumbling my words. “But if you want to go first.” Ash closed the door, twisting me around to him. In one hand, he carried a cloth and an unlabeled container. “What are you—”

“Take your jacket off.” His low tone was demanding.

“What?”

“Where Nyx got you.” He nodded at my shoulder. “I need to clean it.”

Fae healed quickly, but we were still susceptible to infections, and the way my shoulder ached, I wouldn’t be surprised if she dipped her talons in poison beforehand. She had cut into a nerve, and I could barely move my arm, cradling it most of the trek here.

I bit down on my lip, trying to lift the bag from my body with my good arm.

Ash stepped in, placing the towel and antiseptic down. He grabbed the handle, pulled it over, and set the bag down on a stool. His hands returned to me, curling around the collar of my jacket, his knuckles brushing my neck. With care, he peeled it off my body, letting the torn item drop to the floor in a heap. His fingers reached up, trailing over the holes in my sweater, the dried blood caking the fabric.

“I need yourpulóveroff.” He cleared his throat, not looking at me.

“I need help.” My voice came out quiet and wobbly, like I was asking for more than him to assist me.

His eyes rose to stare at mine in the mirror. We had been naked around each other before. I knew the sounds he made in pleasure. He knew how I tasted. But something about him undressing me, his eyes locked on mine in the mirror, felt far more intimate.

He coiled his fingers into the hem and slowly pulled off my shirt, my hair falling back down around me. The cheap, see-through sports bra did nothing to cover my breasts. His eyes stayed on me in the reflection, his throat bobbing. Under his scrutiny, my nipples hardened, my skin flushing in places.

He swallowed again, tearing his gaze away, snatching up the antiseptic.

“It’s starting to close up. I will need to reopen it and clean it out properly. You can jump in the shower, and then I’ll bandage it up after you get out. Okay?”

I nodded.

“It’s gonna hurt. You ready?”

I bobbed my head again, my teeth cut into my bottom lip. When Ash pulled my healing skin apart, a whimper-hiss watered my eyes, and fresh blood oozed down my side from the reopened wound. “Fuck!”

“Sorry.” He wiped up the blood, dipping the other end of the cloth into the sterilizer and swiping it over the gash.

“Holy shit squared, multiplied, and divided!” I yelped.

“Whaatt?” Ash started laughing, a small snort coming from his nose, making me chuckle.

“It’s something my mother always says,” I replied, a stab hitting my heart at the thought of my mom. Gods, I missed her. She was busy a lot while Rook and I grew up, but I understood. I was proud my mother was out there trying to make the world better. She was the best mom. Kind, compassionate, and so loving. More the rule follower, while my father broke them all. They were the perfect balance.

“Your mother.” His humor died away, and his demeanor shifted instantly at the mention of her. “You mean the queen.”

“To me, she’s just Mom.”

He let out a scoff, continuing to clean my wound. Whatever was there just a moment ago was gone, distance weaving between us. I hated that any mention of my family reminded him of who I was, changing his view of me. I was no longer the girl his tongue had slid through. The person he had treated like an equal. But a princess. Someone untouchable.

“Hey?” I said roughly, regaining his focus back on me in the mirror. “I’m still me, no matter what label I have or who my parents are.”

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