Page 26 of Monster's Obsessive Hunger
Life has settled into a pattern that is as strange as it is comforting. As the isolation of the long winter began to wear on both Elira and me, she proposed a new tradition, a treaty of sanity. Bi-monthly dinners. A time for the only two human women on this desolate stretch of mountain to speak to someone who understands. Our mates agreed with a series of reluctant, territorial grunts, and so the tradition was born.
Tonight is one such dinner. We are in Kaerith and Elira’s home, a place that has become a familiar, second sanctuary. The air is warm and filled with the scent of roasted meat and the sweet, spicy aroma of the warm cider Elira taught me how to make. We move around the hearth in an easy, companionabledance, adding herbs to the pot, our conversation a low, happy murmur.
On the other side of the fire, our mates are engaged in their own ritual. They sit on opposite sides of the hearth, two massive, silent kings on their thrones, and glare at each other. The tension that radiates from them is a low hum of ancient rivalry and monstrous pride. Kaerith’s heart-light is a steady, possessive crimson. Thorrin’s is a calm, protective gold. They are a study in contrasts, two apex predators forced into a state of temporary, grudging peace for the sake of the small, fragile humans they have claimed.
Elira glances over at them, a dry, amused smile on her lips. “You both look like you want to kill each other,” she says, cutting through the still.
Kaerith does not take his eyes off Thorrin. “We always look like that,” he rumbles, the sound a low vibration in the comfortable quiet. Despite the grumbling, there is a strange peace here. There is laughter as I tell a story, shared glances between Elira and me, a quiet moment when Thorrin’s hand finds mine under the cover of the table. It is almost normal. And in our world, almost normal is a miracle.
When the meal is over and the fire has burned low, it is time for us to leave. The unspoken rules of their territories are still a powerful force, and to overstay is an invitation to a conflict no one wants. Kaerith and Elira walk us to the edge of their lands, their massive forms two silent shadows under the light of a full moon. The easy warmth of the dinner party fades as we approach the border, the mood shifting to something more serious, more somber.
We stop at the line of bone markers, the familiar, invisible wall that separates our two small worlds. Kaerith turns, not to me, but to Thorrin. His voice, when he speaks, is a low, serious growl, stripped of all earlier pretense.
“You’ve fed on her now.” It is not a question.
Thorrin’s grip on my hand tightens, a silent acknowledgment. He simply nods, his skull-face unreadable in the moonlight.
Elira steps forward. Her hard-won wisdom is a tangible thing, a cloak of strength she wears as comfortably as her furs. Her gaze is not on Thorrin, but on me. It is soft, but sharp, the look of a veteran arming a soldier for a war she knows is coming.
“Just remember,” she says. “Waira hunger is never truly silenced.”
Kaerith adds his own grim wisdom, his gaze still locked on Thorrin, but his words are for both of us. “And love,” he says, “doesn’t tame it. It just gives you something to lose.”
The weight of their words settles in the cold night air. This is the truth of the life we have chosen. There is no magic cure, no fairytale ending where the beast is transformed into a prince. The monster is always there, sleeping just beneath the surface. Love is not a cage for the beast; it is simply the reason you fight to keep it chained.
I look at Thorrin. I see the steady, golden light of his heart, the quiet strength in his posture, the memory of the vow he made to me in the snow. I see the monster, and I see the man, and I understand that they are one and the same. I am not afraid.
A fierce, protective love surges through me, a tide that pushes back against the cold truth of Elira and Kaerith’s words. They are right. The hunger is not gone. The danger is not past. But they are wrong about one thing. Love is not just something to lose. It is something to fight for.
I squeeze Thorrin’s massive, clawed hand, a simple, defiant gesture in the face of their somber warnings. I meet Elira’s gaze, and then Kaerith’s, My voice firm with a conviction that has been forged in the heart of this monstrous, beautiful world.
“Then we’ll fight for it.”
The words are a vow, a promise to them, and to myself. I won’t be a victim. A casualty of his curse. I will be his partner, his anchor, his ally in the eternal war he wages with himself.
Thorrin’s hand tightens around mine, a silent echo of my own resolve. He turns his skull-face to me. I see not a monster, but my monster. My love. My home.
We turn and walk away from them, leaving the warmth and safety of their territory behind. We cross the border into our own lands, our joined hands a testament to the impossible bridge we have built between our two worlds. We disappear into the trees, our two forms, one small and human, one massive and monstrous, melting into the familiar, comforting darkness.
We are not just a monster and his mate. We are something new. And as we walk, I can almost feel it in the air, a subtle shift in the ancient rhythms of the mountain. A whisper on the wind. The slow, inexorable rise of something more. We are not the end of a story. We are just the beginning.
