Page 6 of My Brutal Beast

I move to the bathroom and wet a cloth when I hear her stir. She coughs once, then again, and it is only due to my inhuman speed that I am able to grab a trash can for her before she vomits. I help her settle back into the pillows. Her brown eyes are glazed over and disoriented, likely from the chemical substance I can smell on her breath.

I move the wet cloth over her mouth and chin, cleaning her, then brush my hand across her damp forehead. “I’ll be right back. I’m going to bring you some medicine.”

She tries to reply, but talking seems too difficult for her. Then, she attempts to smile. The gesture falls slightly short, as she’s only able to tip up one side of her mouth, but it fills me with warmth and settles me in a way I never thought possible.

I come back to her with one of the potions I was given from the members at the Central Otherworld Agency. While there are humans, witches, and every species of the Otherworld there, this potion was specifically made to heal my kind. I don’t know how it will work on my little star, but I have nothing else to give her. Although I have lived around humans for a long time, I do not know much about their illnesses. But I do know I don’t want her to be in pain.

I return to the bedroom where my little star rests and caress her cheek with the backs of my fingers. “I need you to open your mouth for me, little star. I have medicine that will make you feel better.”

She lets out a soft moan, but her eyes remain closed. After a moment her lips part slightly. I pour the potion into her mouth, then stroke her throat with my thumb to encourage her to swallow. She instinctively does, consuming the entire vial. I try to ignore what the feeling of her throat working under my palm does to me. If I were a lesser being, a darker one, I would take her right here—near unconsciousness—and fuck her in every way I possibly could.

I shove down the need to possess her and force myself to take a deep breath. I brush her hair from her face and murmur, “Sleep, little star.”

Though she doesn’t open her eyes or speak, the lines of pain in her face are already starting to smooth. The change gives me a sense of relief, but I will still call the Central Otherworld Agency and ensure there will be no side effects.

Before that, I must tend to her. I fill a large bowl with warm water and grab another small towel before returning to her side. I undo her shoes, and a smile spreads across my face as I clean her small feet. She’s a tiny thing, something that should be cared for and protected—a role I plan to fill from here on out. As I wash her calves and slowly travel up her legs, I let my mind wander. I have to. Touching her like this is my own twisted realm of heaven and hell, and I must stay strong and curb my desire—at least until she wakes.

It occurs to me that she may have someone out there looking after her, someone she might care for in the way I want her to care for me. The thought makes me clench the towel in my hand—not just at the possibility someone may already have my little star’s heart, but that they failed her tonight. I almost failed her tonight. Someone should have been with her. She should have never been alone.

No, I decide. If someone was with her at that bar and left her to fend for herself, they don’t deserve to be in her life. In fact—I snarl, baring my teeth at the thought—they don’t deserve to share the same air she breathes, to breathe at all.

Yes, if she tells me that is the case, I will gut that spineless fuck, disembowel them, and batter them until nothing is left. All in her honor, all for her.

My little star stirs slightly as I wipe the damp cloth along her upper thigh, my fingers grazing the hem of her gown. I hum to her, both in satisfaction of her nearness and my vengeance. Then I swallow hard at what will come next.

My heartbeat begins to race. I slowly roll her gown up, and she moves again and moans softly. I pause, not wanting to wake her. I want this chance to disrobe her, to clean her, to take care of her, and I know it could scare or anger her. I don’t want that, and I don’t want to stop touching her.

She settles, and I continue to raise her dress, letting my eyes trail over her skin. I take in every blemish, every mole, the stretch marks on her stomach, thighs, and hips. All of it is beautiful to me. I want to taste her everywhere. To lick her from top to bottom, feel the heat of her skin against mine. I want her to wrap her arms around me and welcome me into her body, mind, heart, and soul. It is selfish of me to want to bond with her that deeply when I’m tarnished with my own darkness, but I can’t stop the desire. I can’t let her go—I won’t.

Soon her dress is off, and I’m left in awe of her perfection. I run my finger over her arm and watch the small goosebumps that appear. The temptation she’s woken inside of me is too great, and I have to get away from her now, while I still can. Quickly I dress her in one of my shirts, cover her in a blanket, and then dash out of the bedroom.

I run, flying through the hallway until I am in another wing, one where I can’t hear her heartbeat or still smell her natural fragrance. But she haunts me all the same. I shove the window open and take a deep breath of fresh air, using each one to expel my need for the woman now in my home. The coolness of the night begins to calm my hot skin, and little by little I start to feel more in control.

Once I’m able to focus, I call the Central Otherworld Agency to make sure my little star will be alright. Each ring makes the nerves in my body jumble, spilling and running into one another like marbles until it feels like I can’t breathe. But by the second ring Daniella answers.

“You need to give me a name so I can stop calling you Creature 0205,” she says.

Her candor relieves some of my tension. Upon joining the Agency, each being receives a dedicated sponsor for a period of time. Daniella Novak, one of the founders of the Agency, is mine.

She may be right. After all, I do not know my little star’s name, and I do not truly have one to give her. The Agency assigned me a fake name, but to share that with my little star seems wrong. I want things to be real between us, not filled with lies.

I turn the thought over in my head. “Is it really that important?”

She huffs a laugh. “If you want proper identification, then yes. Eventually, someone’s going to question if John Smith is a fake name.” Her voice softens. “It’s also important if you want to make it in this world, not with other people, but with yourself. Your name is your identity. You have the ability to claim it, own it. There’s power in that.”

I pause at the pride in her voice. “I’ll come up with one.”

“Thank you. Now, why did you call me?”

“Can the healing potion you gave me be used on humans?”

“Technically, yes. For humans it would just act as a general healing tonic. Why do you ask?”

“I have a woman here—”

Her voice drops an octave as she speaks and I narrow my eyes. “What do you mean you have a woman?”

“She was being assaulted by two beings outside of a bar. I dealt with them and brought her back here. She was pale, fading in and out of consciousness from some sort of drug in her system. I believe they gave it to her. She threw up and I treated her with the potion afterward.” I repeat the details to her in a level tone and do my best to control the way my hand shakes with the need to strike out at something.

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