Page 35 of Grotesque Love

Jas chuckles and jumps down from the tree, joining me. I know Sax has sent him to keep watch over me, afraid that I’ll suddenly go feral and turn into arealmonster.

Launching myself into the night air, I inhale deeply. Jas is right beside me as we fly back towards our tower.

It doesn’t work like that, it’s very much like magic that binds us to our stone forms. A vine. A chain, wrapped around my neck that gets tighter and tighter, until I can’t breathe.

She makes it easier. Gives me something to hold on to.

Jas’ wings occasionally brush against mine as we weave through the night air.

“Arianwen is strong. Stubborn. You should stop trying to spook her.”

Jas’ expression sours at my teasing. “You know that’s not what happened.”

I snort as we approach the tower windows, “So you didn’t frighten her by braiding her hair while she slept before chasing her through the dark, creepy woods?”

If he could blush right now, he would. Instead, he bites down nervously on his bottom lip and looks away.Obsessed fool.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

ARIANWEN

Fuck. Fuck.Fuck.

Monsters.

There aremonstersin the woods.

Fear coils in the pit of my stomach and my chest feels like it’s being compressed in a vise as I stumble through the dimly lit corridors, tumbling into furniture as I race for the safety of my room. Each step feels like an eternity, as every little noise makes me flinch and my muscles burn.

As I reach the top of the stairs, it's hard to tell whether my lungs ache more than my legs or if it’s the other way around.

Finally reaching my room, I dive beneath the covers like a hunted animal seeking refuge. The soft embrace of the blankets offers a fleeting sense of safety, but it’s shattered when a sharp knock echoes through the room.

Pulling the duvet tighter around my body, I sit up.

Please.Please don’t be monsters. Just be the groundskeeper. Please be Mr. Danvers.

I swallow, and it’s like there’s a rock lodged in my throat as the soft click of the door handle fills the room. The floorboardsgroan. The hinges of the old door creak. And finally…the groundskeeper pokes his head around the door.

My whole body trembles as I try not to crumple in on myself.

“I’ve got your medicine, Miss,” he says, his voice low and gravelly. He holds out a glass of water in one hand, and nods to the pills in his other.

“Th-thank you,” I stammer, still struggling to catch my breath. But the groundsman seems oblivious as he steps forward, placing the drink and the pills on my bedside table with detached efficiency.

My mind races, adrenaline still pumping through me as I try to come up with a new way to avoid taking the tablets. I reach for them, lifting them to my lips but a sudden crash reverberates from somewhere downstairs.

It’s them.

My blood turns to ice as I freeze, clutching my pills in sweaty palms. They’re inside the house.

The groundskeeper grumbles under his breath, sounding annoyed, before he heads for the door with heavy footsteps.

“What was that?” I say, my voice trembling with apprehension.

“Nothing for you to worry about, Miss,” he replies as he disappears into the darkness beyond.

Alone once more, tales of spirits and hauntings flood my mind. But why does the thought of ghosts frighten me more than the very real danger that lurks outside?

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