Page 29 of Morsel

My entire world is about her.

By the time the designated evening comes, I’m ravenous. I show up slightly early and park my cargo van on the curb. A car is in her driveway, an electric model this time. A bunch of crates crowd the back seat, each container full of putties and paints. It must be Mona’s car too.

Under one of the boxes, two eyes seethe at me.

A replica of the classic Frankenstein’s monster is smashed under a cardboard box. It’s artistic, but it seems too predictable to be Mona’s project. Who owns the car: Mona or her friend?

I dismiss those thoughts, then heft my duffel bag up higher on my shoulder. Mona can create whatever she wants as long as I get to eat her.

I knock on the front door. It swings open.

A shirtless man with sinewy arms stands in the entryway. Jagged veins rope around his neck. His chest is gaunt, and his long hair is tied back in a low ponytail.

I squint. How do I know this man?

He offers his hand. “You must be the infamous Kent.”

His grip is shockingly strong, and his display of strength unsettles me. Then it clicks: the man from the art gallery. The one who tried to talk to me about Mona’s art. The idiot who wouldn’t stop trying to find meaning in a bunch of broken mirrors.

I force a smile, and I can feel it’s come out awkward, like I’ve got food stuck in my teeth.

“And you are?” I ask.

“Artemis. My friends call me Arty.”

I blink slowly, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. It sounds like a stage name used to impress a woman like Mona. He’s annoying. A fucking peacock.

“Isn’t that a girl’s name?” I ask.

“I renamed myself after the Greek goddess of the wilderness and hunting because I wanted to tap into that power. Take the goddess’s name and honor it.” He chuckles. “It’s fitting, isn’t it? Especially for tonight.”

A roiling heat churns my stomach. We aren’t hunting Mona tonight, and she’s not a wild animal.

He stretches his thin shoulders as if he’s bigger than me, and in response, I expand my frame, caging him in. He’s an ant compared to me, and I want him to know that.

He doesn’t flinch.

“Come!” he says eagerly. “We were just getting into the spa.”

I grit my teeth, then follow him through the house. He effortlessly weaves through the hallways, and that familiarity irritates me. He doesn’t understand Mona’s sexual needs, and somehow, he knows her house like this? I had to learn the layout of her house the hard way, without her help when she was out working. Why does he get more access to her than I do?

The glass doors to the backyard slide open.

A bonfire flickers, the flames licking the earthy night. Mona sits in the hot tub, her hair pulled back into a bun, tendrils streaming beside her face, similar to how she looked in the bathtub at the art gallery. She’s in a stew again, cooking until she’s tender for me. This time, her cheeks are red. She’s probably hot, and judging by the bottles around her, she’s probably a little drunk too. Her flesh is flavored with ale and wine, as if she’s seasoned herself for me.

“You’re here!” she squeals. She reaches for a champagne flute. “Here. I saved you some.”

Before I can grab the glass, Artemis drops his shorts, his cock plopping between his legs like a scrawny turkey wattle. I forget about the drink. My cock is bigger and thicker, but his confidence is yet another thing that pisses me off. It’s like he has nothing to hide.

A normal person doesn’t have anything to hide. They aren’t like us.

He takes the spa’s steps gingerly, hooting as his body acclimates to the hot water. Then he scoots along the bench and sidles up right next to Mona.

The two of them stare at me.

My skin prickles with nerves. It’s like they’re waiting for a show, and I’m the rare, endangered animal brought out in a cage. A vision appears in my mind: my bloody hands splitting that cage apart, my fists bashing Artemis into a pulp, my jaws latching onto Mona’s neck.

“There’s a guest bedroom through the second set of sliding glass doors,” Artemis says, like it’s his house, and he has the right to tell Mona’s guests where to go and what to do. “You can put your things in there and change your clothes.”

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