Page 51 of Monsters Like Us
She lies on the metal table, pale and still, the last flicker of light gone from her eyes.
“Katana,” I scream. The monster I buried snaps back to full voice. Vale was the lock; Katana the key. With her gone, nothing holds it in.
The monster wakes. It wants blood.
Vale turns at the otherworldly growl that rumbles through my chest. The sound explodes from my throat—demonic, full of rage and pain. His eyes widen as I race toward him, unleashed.
But it’s too late for him.
I lunge. The broken pipe swings from my shackle, heavy as a club. The syringe finds his neck in one brutal motion—no theatrics, just the sting of plastic biting skin, the wet pop, a stunned sound ripping from his lips. He claws at the wound, and blood slicks his fingers. His smile vanishes, replaced by something small and terrified.
He tries to curse, but the word dies before it leaves his mouth. He staggers back. I don’t give him space to recover. The pipe becomes an extension of my arm. I swing.
Metal meets flesh with a sound I’ll carry like a verdict. He crumples against the console, clutching his throat, his eyes blazing with a fury that’s already fading. He flings a handful of blood at me, a last wasted motion, and topples.
He doesn’t rise.
I’m not done with him.
I straddle him and bludgeon him—over and over—until his face is ruined and the machine’s dying whine fills my skull. I punish him for the shocks, for the cruelty, for killing the only person I ever loved. He’ll never touch anyone again. I’ll make sure of it.
Corinne’s scream—sharp and animalistic—echoes through the room. Everything becomes noise: my breathing, the pipe’s echo, the syringe skittering across concrete. Instinct takes over.
“No! You sick?—”
That’s all she gets out before I’m on my feet, my hand closing around her throat. I lift her into the air. She flails, nails scraping uselessly against my skin.
“You’re going to untie her,” I growl. “And you’re going to fix her. Make her well.”
I squeeze until she nods, then drop her hard. “Remove my cuffs. Then fix her. NOW!” I release her just enough to let her breathe.
Her professional mask has shattered. She’s pale, body shaking. She scrabbles in the tray for the vial I’d already spotted—the one labeled in neat, clinical script: the reversal agent.
“Please—” she gasps. “You can’t?—”
My fingers crush her throat until the room narrows to the single sound of Vale’s ragged breathing on the floor.
Katana lies motionless beneath the light. There’s no rise of her chest. No whisper of air from her lungs.
Panic claws bright and hot at my ribs. If her eyes remain closed and her heart refuses to beat, I’ll become the monster they always feared.
Corinne whimpers, choking out, “Okay.”
I ease my grip so she can move. She unlocks the cuffs, metal clatters to the floor. With shaking hands, she plunges the syringe into Katana’s neck and pushes the plunger.
Katana convulses once, like a struck animal, then shudders. Color crawls back into her face as if the room itself exhales. She coughs—a small, ragged sound—then drags in a lurching breath that evens out. Her lashes flutter, then her eyes open, unfocused, before finding mine.
Relief tastes like acid in my mouth. I shove Corinne aside and collapse over the table, hauling Katana into my arms. I hold her tight, feeling the fragile rise and fall of her chest.
She tenses, then gasps. “Micah.”
I lift my head, following her eyes.
Corinne snatches a scalpel from the tray and lunges, slashing my forearm in a desperate arc. Pain flares, and warm blood beads on the cut.
“You killed my husband,” she spits, venom braided with grief. “Now I’m going to kill her.”
I don’t hesitate. My hand clamps her wrist while the other crushes her throat. The scalpel skitters away. There is a single, cracking sound as I end the threat. Her eyes go empty before I toss her on the floor beside her husband.
