Page 3 of Forgotten Monsters
A sharp intake of breath resonates behind me, and I raise the dagger I just dug out of my side into the air as I spin around to face the source of the strange gasp. Where Onyx laid a minute ago, a naked girl crouches on all fours. Her limbs shake, and she stares at her hands, rolling them at the wrist a few times.
Black ink runs over her deep bronze skin, and thick brown waves shield her breasts from view, leaving the curve of her ass on full display.
I scoot closer to the girl. “Onyx?”
“I’m Mallory, but…” Ice-blue eyes fly to the ground, and she crosses her arms over her chest. “Yes.”
“You’re a girl,” Allie breathes.
“Was. Am. I don’t—” She presses her lids shut, her forehead wrinkled. “Everything is a blur.”
Allie growls at the open sea, hands on her hips. “The Scot left us for dead. I’ll try and stop him.”
Mallory’s head snaps up. “A Scot?” Her gaze latches on the pier, and she crawls to her feet, her knees wobbling. “Where?”
Allie points at the sailing boat in the distance.
“I know him.” The girl tiptoes to the arch and leans on one side to hold herself up. “Barron, come back here!” she roars at the night with a melodic, powerful pitch.
I stretch to a standing position, happy to find my legs steady, and brush the sore patch of flesh below my rib cage.
Allie gapes. “Is it because you have the horn on you?” She eyes my clothes suspiciously.
Dust poofs out of the vaulted ceiling, and the vibrations intensify.
“We’ve got to go.” I raise my open palm to the empty spot where the portal vanished. Magic trembles through the air, the power harder to access here than it was over Dark Falls’ juiced-up battery. Short breaths quake my chest, and a sting in my stomach forces me to stop.
Blood trickles down my thigh, and I wince. The wound itches, like I’ve just torn it open again.
“Watch out!” Allie screams.
A massive chunk of the ceiling detaches from the roof above us and careens directly for me. A lightning bolt fractures the air, originating from Allie’s hand and dusts the rock into a million tiny pieces. Debris sprinkle my shoulders, and I choke on the dry, acrid taste of stone. Another part of the ceiling barrels to the ground, right where the portal had disappeared. The whiplash of the blast sends me flat to my ass, and the sharp pain in my side dizzies me.
I fail to scramble to my feet and press on the half-healed injury. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”
A high-pitched screech echoes from the stairwell just as the Scot and Mallory return, but a large crack now runs through the archway, and a loud, ominous whine scrapes through the building.
“By Hela, yer friends are dense. Hurry, or we’ll be hollow fodder.” The man packs me as luggage over his large shoulder, my curls cascading down his back. The torch in his other hand warms the skin of my arm. Allie closes the march behind Mallory, her bottom lip tucked between her teeth.
He hauls me to the narrow strip of rocks, toward the sailing boat. I glimpse behind us in time to see part of our refuge crumble. The half-destroyed manor towers against the stormy sky, and purple highlights glaze the thick black clouds.
A chilly wind blows toward the sea, where the dark expanse of water beckons and the torch hisses as it falls into the waves. Icy rain seeps inside my clothes until I’m drenched to the bones. The cold numbs my fingers and arms, though a hot, rash pulse pounds in my belly.
Smoke wafts out of the broken windows of the sailing boat, and the white veil slowly descends upon us. Barron climbs onto the boat, dumps me on the closest seat, and barrels ahead to the cockpit.
“Careful!” Allie shouts at his back.
I raise a hand up. “I’m alright.”
Mallory unties the yacht and throws the rope inside. Unbothered by her nakedness, she uses her entire weight to push us off the pier and jumps inside at the last possible moment. My teeth chatter as I shift my legs below me and sit, the white fiberglass under my palms sleek and slippery.
The Scottish sailor maneuvers the mainsail and guides us away from shore—and the hollow-infected manor. The white cloud of hollows hangs thick over the pier, but it doesn’t fly past it. Disappointed teeth snap through the air, and an eel-shaped puff of smoke pokes its monstrous skull-head out of the fog, glaring at us before it twists around and whips its tails to return to the fray.
A deep, cleansing breath escapes our new companion. “Hollows hate salted water.” He snatches a fist-sized vial from a hidden compartment and casts a spell over the base of the mast. A weather dome sizzles into existence and stretches a few feet out all around the boat. The bubble protects us from the storm, but it doesn’t steady the boat, and a vicious wave sends me rolling to the floor.
The Scot wipes his forehead and turns to Allie. “Yer lucky, lass.”
Thick with rain, her blond hair clings to her face and neck, almost bronze in the dim light. “You were going to let us die,” she says through tight teeth.
