Page 20 of Our Little Monster
I lay there stewing, my sorrow nothing but rage now.I’m a survivor…I thought to myself. Sam didn’t say anything, just let the truth settle between us as all the emotions ate me alive.
The damp earth of the forest floor yielded beneath my boots as I stood there surrounded by towering trees that seemed to touch the sky. The scent of pine needles and moss mingled with the heavier, acrid smell of petrol that had been doused over the pyre.
Beside me, Sam's presence was a silent pillar of shared sorrow, her eyes clouded with grief. And Uncle Theo, the stoic rock of our family, so similar to my dad in so many ways, had lines of unspoken sadness etching deeper grooves into his weathered face.
They both knew better than to try and comfort me with words. In our world, words were futile against the kind of loss we faced.
My heart was a battleground of emotions. Sorrow gnawed at me, an insidious worm that left hollow spaces where warmth used to be. Grief was the heavy cloak that settled on my shoulders, relentless in its weight.
And anger, oh, it burned through my veins like wildfire, igniting a fierce need for revenge that threatened to consume me, and I’d let it.
Each emotion demanded my attention, but I couldn't give in. Not yet.
I moved forward, my legs carrying me toward the pyre with a resolve I didn't feel. Dad lay there, peaceful as if he were merely asleep, and not stolen from us by monsters.
In one hand, the flame danced atop the torch, casting flickering shadows across the clearing. My fingers clenched around it, the wood rough against my skin.
This was the last thing I could do for him as his daughter, the last rite for a hunter whose life had been cut tragically short.
With a motion that felt both final and freeing, I tossed the torch onto the pyre. Flames erupted, greedily consuming the kindling before licking their way up to the heavens. Heat blasted my face, and I took a few steps back, the fire illuminating the tears that dared to escape down my cheeks.
Sam and Uncle Theo remained a respectful distance away, their silhouettes cast against the glow of the blaze. They understood the importance of this moment, leaving me to stand vigil as the embodiment of my father—his strength, his love, his legacy—was reduced to nothing but ashes and memories.
“Goodbye, Dad,” I whispered into the fire's roar, letting the words carry away into the night sky. “I promise I will avenge you.”
The pyre crackled and popped, an undersong to accompany the war of emotions within me. As I watched the flames reach skyward, something settled in my chest—a mixture of determination and raw fucking rage.
6
Serina
Eight Months Later…
Theheavinessofthesilver dagger in my hand felt reassuring, a solid weight that grounded me in the chaos that had become my life.
It was different from the wooden stakes I'd been clutching in recent nights, the ones I'd driven into the hearts of countless vampires. Their dust hadn't settled with the morning sun before I was on to the next, and here I was, pressing the cold, sharp edge against the jugular of a werewolf who whimpered beneath me.
With every shallow breath he took, the blade nicked his skin, adding to the network of cuts and burns the silver inflicted on him. The abandoned house creaked around us, groaning like a dying beast, but it was this creature—this werewolf—who bore the brunt of its pain.
My father's voice, once a guiding light of fairness and hope, even with monsters, was drowned out in my mind by the roar of blood in my ears.
He wasn't here now, couldn't be here after what those monsters did to him, and no rule-following werewolf was going to change that.
“Please,” the creature gasped, his eyes reflecting the moonlight that dared to seep through the boarded windows of this decrepit space. “I haven’t done anything wrong.”
My grip tightened, the leather of the hilt biting into my palm. They all said something like that, didn't they? Every monster cornered by me pleaded innocence before their end. I was only here because my last kill gave me this dog’s name but nothing else.
Who knew? Maybe they had only provided it because they had a grudge.
Because this one, as far as I knew, had a record as clean as the lies were filthy, never crossing the lines we drew in our fragile truce.
Yet here I was, ready to redraw those lines with his blood.
The rage that filled me left no room for doubt or mercy. It was a wildfire, consuming the tender memories of what my father taught me about kindness and justice.
It was simple, really. The monsters took him from me, so I'd take them from the world.
“I don't know anything,” he whimpered, the words barely escaping his torn throat. “Your father wouldn’t want this,Serina.” He growled then. Damn, he knew who I was. He must have recognized the resemblance or perhaps my scent. “I don’t know anything, I swear it.”
