Page 20 of Monster's Obsessive Hunger
I have simply watched, a pathetic, useless ghost, while others have mended the damage I caused. I replay the moment in the clearing, the sound of her laughter, bright and pure, followed by her sharp cry of pain. The two sounds are now inextricably linked in my memory, a symphony of my own failure. I am a creature who breaks the very things that bring him a flicker of joy. The curse was meant to make me a monster, but it is my own weakness, my own lack of control, that has made me truly monstrous. A heavy presence settles beside me, silent as falling snow. Kaerith. He does not speak. He does not need to. He simply stands at my side, a massive, solid wall, and stares out at the frozen lake. We are two ancient rivals, two solitary kings, and we stand together in a shared, monstrous silence, our reflections two dark scars on the face of the moonlit ice.
The silence between us stretches, long and heavy. I expect a threat from him, a guttural command to leave his territory, to return to my own desolate lair and never trouble his world again. The fact that he says nothing is, in its own way, more unnerving. He is not treating me as a rival to be driven off. He is treating me as something else, something pitiable.
When he finally speaks, his voice is a low rumble, the sound of ancient stones shifting deep within the mountain. "You’re not the only one who’s afraid of what you want."
The words are a shock, a confession of a vulnerability I did not think a creature like Kaerith could possess. My skull-face snaps toward him, my empty sockets fixing on his unreadable form. He is the alpha of this territory, the Waira who has successfully claimed a mate, who has built a life. For him to admit to fear… it is a revelation that cracks the foundation of my own despair. It means I am not alone in this particular torment.
The shared vulnerability loosens something in my own chest, a knot of shame and self-hatred that I have held so tightly it has almost choked me. "I wanted her so much I almost broke her,"I mutter, the words a raw, scraped confession aimed at my own monstrous reflection in the ice. "Ididbreak her. I felt her ribs give way. I heard her cry out. And in that moment, all I could think was that I wanted more."
I expect him to recoil in disgust, to finally confirm that I am a beast beyond redemption. But he does not.
"Then learn to want herwithoutbreaking her," Kaerith replies. His voice is not sympathetic. It is hard, practical, a brutal command. "The hunger doesn’t go away. The desire only grows stronger. You cannot kill it. You cannot run from it. You can only learn to control it. You learn to be gentle when every instinct screams for violence. You learn to cherish what you could easily crush. Or you will lose her. Those are the only choices."
Learn to want her without breaking her.The words are a judgment. A challenge. An impossible standard set by a monster who has somehow, against all odds, succeeded. He makes it sound so simple, a matter of will, of choice. But he did not see the chaos in my chest, did not feel the storm that she ignites in me. My control is not a thing of stone like his; it is a thing of glass, and she has already shattered it once.
I look at this creature beside me, this rival king, and I see not an ally, but a mirror showing me everything I am not. He is the protector she deserves. I am the beast she must be protected from. To return to that warm, safe cave now would be a lie. I cannot sit by their fire and look Lyssa in the eye, her body still aching from my lack of control, and pretend that I have learned the lesson Kaerith speaks of. I have not. I do not know how. To be near her now is to endanger her.
Elira’s words return, sharp and clear.Walk away.It is the only choice left. It is the only act of true protection I can offer. To remove the monster from her life.
Without another word, I stand. Kaerith does not move, does not try to stop me. He simply watches, a silent, grim judge. Iturn my back on the frozen lake, on the impossible standard he represents, and I melt into the deep woods. I am not just leaving the lake. I am fleeing. I am fleeing from the unbearable weight of his wisdom, from the hope and the terror that Lyssa represents. I am choosing to walk away. I can’t bear to see her face again, to see the trust in her eyes that I know, with a sickening certainty, I will eventually betray. The chapter of my life that included her is over. A return to the silence. To the gray. It is the only mercy I have left to give.
32
LYSSA
Iwake to the soft crackle of a fire and the scent of brewing herbs. For a moment, I am adrift, unsure of where I am. This is not my cold, small room in the village, nor is it Thorrin’s desolate, bone-strewn lair. This place is warm. The air is filled with the comforting smells of a home. I push myself up, my muscles protesting, a deep, dull ache radiating from my side. The pain is a ghost of what it was, a pale echo of the agony that consumed me, but it is a potent reminder of everything that has happened.
My eyes adjust to the amber glow of the firelight. I am in Kaerith and Elira’s cave. I see the sturdy, hand-carved furniture, the thick furs laid out like rugs, the general, impossible domesticity of it all. Elira is near the hearth, grinding herbs with a stone pestle, her movements efficient and sure. My gaze sweeps the chamber, searching for the tall, skeletal figure that has become the sole anchor of my world.
He is gone. The space where he stood last night, a looming shadow of guilt and despair, is empty. A sharp, cold pang of abandonment pierces through the warmth of the cave. He left. After everything, he left me here.
Then I see him. Kaerith. He sits in the massive, fur-lined armchair that I teased him about, a silent, brooding king on his throne. He is not looking at the fire, not looking at his mate. He is looking at me. His heart-light is a low, steady crimson, the color of banked embers and restrained hunger. There is no warmth in his gaze, no welcome. The molten flicker in his sockets are cold, hard points of light, and they watch me with the flat, assessing stare of a predator whose territory has been invaded. He is tolerating my presence for Elira’s sake, but his posture, the tense set of his massive frame, the way his claws rest, unmoving, on the arms of his chair, all of it sends a clear, chilling message. I am a trespasser here. An unwelcome complication in his well-ordered world.
Elira brings me a cup of tea. It is hot and bitter, but the warmth spreads through my chest, chasing away some of the chill that has taken root there. She watches me as I drink, her expression unreadable.
“He’s gone,” I state, the words flat. It is not a question.
“He left before dawn,” she replies, her voice devoid of inflection. She offers no comfort, no explanation. Just the hard, unvarnished truth. My heart sinks, a heavy stone in my chest. He ran. He couldn’t face what he’d done, what we had become. He chose to flee back into his lonely, gray existence rather than face the messy, painful reality of what happened between us.
Elira sits on the edge of my fur-lined pallet, her presence a solid, grounding weight. “Being with a Waira will remake you,” she says. “And not always in ways you’ll like.” I look at her, at the hard lines of her face, at the old, faded scars that trace the line of her jaw. She is the living proof of her own words. “They are creatures of immense power and profound emptiness,” she continues, her gaze distant, lost in a memory of her own. “Their love, their obsession… it’s a force of nature, like a hurricane or a blizzard. You cannot stop it. You can only learn to live in the eyeof it. It will force you to become stronger, harder. It will scour away all your soft, human illusions and leave you with nothing but the bedrock of who you are. If you are not strong enough, it will simply erode you to nothing.”
I listen, my throat tight. Every word she speaks is a terrifying, resonant truth. She is describing the storm I have already felt, the power that both exhilarates and terrifies me. I am grateful for her honesty, for the brutal kindness of her warning. She is not trying to frighten me away from him. She is trying to arm me for the life I have chosen.
After our talk, after I have finished the bitter tea, Elira stands. She moves to a worn leather chest and retrieves something. She returns to my side and presses a small, weighted object into my hand. I look down. It is a knife. The blade is dark, forged from some unknown metal, its edge keen and sharp. The hilt is simple, wrapped in worn leather, perfectly balanced for my hand. It is a real weapon, not the pathetic paring knife I carried into the woods like a talisman.
“You don’t need it,” she says. “He will not harm you again. Not intentionally. He will spend the rest of his cursed existence ensuring it. But…” She pauses, her dark eyes locking onto mine, conveying the full weight of her meaning. “It helps tohaveit.”
The gesture is a profound one. It is not just a weapon. It is a symbol. It is an acknowledgment of my agency, a transfer of power. She is telling me that no matter how much I love him, no matter how much I trust him, I must never forget what he is. I must never become a willing victim. The weight of the knife in my palm is a solid, reassuring presence. It is a promise to myself.
Her gift, her hard-won wisdom, it does not frighten me away from Thorrin. It solidifies my resolve. He did not leave me because he is a coward. He left because he believes he is a monster who will destroy me. He left because he thinks walking away is the only way to keep me safe. He is wrong.
I look past the comforting fire, past the imposing form of Kaerith, to the cave’s entrance, a dark maw that leads back out into the wild, unforgiving snow. Elira has given me a weapon. She has given me the truth. And in doing so, she has given me the strength to make my own choice, not as a victim, but as an equal. I clench my fist around the hilt of the knife, the cool leather a perfect fit in my palm. My path is clear. My pain is a dull ache, my fear is a distant memory, and my love is a fierce, burning thing.He’s still out there,I think, my gaze fixed on the endless, white expanse of the forest.And I’m not done.
33
THORRIN
The journey back to my lair is a pilgrimage of shame. Each step takes me further from Lyssa, from the impossible warmth of Kaerith’s home, and deeper into the familiar, crushing silence of my own desolate world. My territory feels alien now, the ancient trees and stones mere witnesses to my failure. When I finally arrive at the mouth of my cave, the darkness within seems to mock me. It is not a sanctuary; it is a tomb, and I am its sole, undead inhabitant.
