Page 4 of Forgotten Monsters
Barron pats her shoulder. “Aint’ personal. I didn’t know ye.”
She skirts away like she’s been stung and kneels next to me. “Are you okay?”
I nod, but a mix of blood and rain sloshes on the fiberglass, creating a pink, wet trail from where I sit “I need to lie down.”
In a daze of pain and adrenaline, my vision blurs, and the wild crashes of the waves flip my stomach.
I’d never heard the termhollowbefore Trent mentioned their existence, but I’d seen one before. In Oz’s cabin, the upside-down spell had allowed me to see the one that was preying on Beth’s soul. Lydia had seen it, too.
A hollow. A nether being. A soul-sucker.
With the manor behind us in pieces, and a throng of hollows guarding the ruins, how the fuck are we supposed to get back home?
2
WITHOUT A KILT
Red, blue, and gold scarves hang from the ceiling of the ship’s cabin. The interior offers a nice refuge from the cold, but a collection of treasures and trinkets—both magic and fake, if my instincts are right—clutter the space. Three jeweled skulls glare from one corner, an array of parchments and maps tucked underneath them. A tiny bed stretches over the bow, with a bigger one tucked in a nook behind the three stairs leading back to the bridge. Both mattresses hold a collection of colorful pillows and rolled fabrics.
A galley kitchen with a tiny gas stove and a small sink stands across from a table with blue cushions and two narrow benches. Oddly-shaped boxes litter the table and counter.
“What a junkyard,” I say with a wince. A vicious wave rocks the yacht, and I brace myself on the carpeted fiberglass wall.
Jules sits on the blue bench and grips the table not to plummet to the floor. “Be nice.”
“We should dress your wound,” I say as I search the space for a clean towel.
She waves my concerns away. “It should heal itself soon.”
I cross my arms. “About that—”
“Need any help?” Barron asks from the top step that leads to the bridge, his arm braced above his head.
“We’re fine,” I clip, needing him to leave us alone so Jules can explain what the fuck is going on with her.
He flashes me an easy, innocent smile. “I’ll just grab some clean clothes, then.”
I know better than to smile back. “I’m surprised you can find something clean in that dump.”
He pulls his cotton t-shirt over his short, brown hair and throws it into a hamper. Celtic knots snake along his arms and chest, along with Norse runes. The black ink gleams in the faint light, but I quickly look away from his torso. The narrow space puts him barely a few inches away as he changes, and it unnerves me to say the least, but despite his height and hockey-player build, I don’tfearhim.
I clear my throat to disperse the searing heat in my chest. “Do you have matches so we can dry ourselves?” He’s a spell caster of some kind, so the request shouldn’t surprise him.
“Under the sink.” He reaches for a drawer below his bed and strips, flashing me his bare ass.
Holy hell!
He yanks a pair of pants past the kink of his knees. The faded-blue jeans fall low on his hips, below his shredded abs, but the sight knocks the wind out of me for a very non-sexual reason.
“You’ve been to Earth. Recently.” The Earth-made Catalina sailing boat was clue enough that our host was an earthling—or at least shopped there—but it could have been a remnant of his old life, whereas the jeans still have tags on them.
“Aye. The Underworld ain’t what it used to be. Earth’s nice. Safe. Where else does a lad go for fine wine and women?”
“Ugh. I don’t need to know what gets your dick hard, Jock.”
He stretches a black t-shirt over his defined pecs. “You asked.”
“Can you take us back there?” A wave propels me straight into the Scot, and I collide with his chest.
