Page 22 of Grotesque

G olden light cracked through the gap in the curtains, casting a calming glow over the bedroom.

It might have been a relaxing scene had the entire room not reeked of sex, and had my body not been sore and aching with proof of it.

I laid there for the longest time, mind spinning over everything that had happened the night before.

I was for sure going to Hell. Because if it wasn’t the Devil himself I was sleeping with, it was most certainly some kind of demon.

I shoved the sheets and cum-stained clothes into the wash and showered.

As messed up as it was, I couldn’t help but admire the new bruising on my hips as I scrubbed myself.

My throat was raw, and lips still swollen, but otherwise my upper body – aside from the wounds at my neck – was unmarred from Corban’s touch. At least he was a considerate monster.

I checked the house to make sure he wasn’t lurking somewhere and pulled Rosaline’s diary from where I’d hidden it in the library.

I set it on the middle of the table and began pulling out the rest of the books lining the shelves, flipping through them in hopes of…

what? I wasn’t sure. Maybe Macky had stashed something important away somewhere.

Mom had found money behind picture frames in the house she inherited, but since Glamis Manor came with nothing but money, I hadn’t thought to look for a secret stash.

There were at least six hundred books I needed to get through.

As I pulled each from its nook, I half hoped one would be a secret lever, leading me to Macky’s treasure or Corban’s secret lair.

After sorting through at least half of the books, I gave up and flopped onto the couch with Rosaline’s diary. If I was lucky, Rosaline would have all the answers I needed.

December 2, 1812 It has been some time since I’ve written but so much has been happening, that I simply cannot wrap my mind around it all.

My angel returned to me some nights ago, which is why I have not had the opportunity to write.

Where darkness once left him trapped, he can now walk in the sunlight like any man.

So, he can be out in the day? I glanced around, half expecting to find Corban lurking in a shadow, before pulling the diary closer to me.

I felt like a guilty child, with my hands on something I wasn’t supposed to have, something I’d be punished for should anyone find out.

To be safe, I locked the library door and moved to sit on the floor in the corner, where I was pretty sure I’d be out of sight of the windows.

He has been joining me in the mornings and through most of the days. Well, whenever Gerald is not at home, or is busy in his study. His name is Corban, a good strong name for someone as beautiful as he.

Even though I’d suspected the mystery man in Rosaline’s diary to be the same one that haunted me, I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy when his name confirmed it. It was a stupid reaction, but one I felt nonetheless. I turned to the next page aggressively.

He is a prince! Can you believe that? And the best part is he wants to take me to his kingdom when he returns. He is from ‘Undaland’, a place for the divine. He says there are more like him and that is something I can hardly wrap my head around. How can there be more than one creation so divine?

He says there are three things I must do before he can take me to his world.

The first is I must give my body to him, the second is that I must give my heart to him, and the third is I must give my will over to him.

I was offended by this because does he not already know that he already possesses all of these things?

That I would go anywhere with him, should he just ask?

I know you are thinking I am terrible to betray Gerald like this, but I cannot help it.

He is dull in comparison. Corban breathes life into me.

He makes me feel things I never knew could exist. I thought I knew what love was until I met him.

The pleasure he gives me, the devotion he shows, Gerald could never equal it.

I frowned. Corban didn’t strike me as the princely type. With that thought came a gut-wrenching realization. Rosaline had killed her husband and then herself. What had triggered her to do it? Or was the story just a story and Corban had killed them both?

I read through a few more pages but Rosaline’s line of thought turned repetitive. The next month was nothing but entries where she gushed over Corban and how kindly he treated her. One excerpt even mentioned that he had fed her sweets by hand.

I snorted at the image. There was no way the man that had throat-fucked me stupid last night was the same one playing the gentleman in Rosaline’s story.

December 30, 1812 I’ve upset him. Corban caught me and Gerald the other night. Caught seems like a strange way to term it, he is my husband after all, but when Corban came to call on me and found me in bed with Gerald instead, he was livid. I’ve never been so terrified of my angel.

I cried out and Gerlad jumped up, but he was gone by the time Gerald lit a lantern.

The crunch of gravel brought me back to reality. I scrambled to my feet and leaned over the back of the couch to see Quint’s car rolling to a stop.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I seethed.

I marched out to meet him on the front porch, armed with my best “get the hell off my property” face.

Quint was leaning into his car, grabbing, oh for fuck’s sake, were those flowers? He jumped when he turned and saw me already waiting for him.

“Sorcha,” he started.

I held up my hand. “I don’t want to hear it. And honestly, it doesn’t even matter. We barely know each other so it’s better to not drag this out. Take that—” I motioned to the bouquet gripped in his hand, “—and leave.”

Dark circles framed his eyes and as his mouth dropped open, I noted how exhausted he looked. “Can I just say something?”

Annoyance rose like bile in my throat. I ran my tongue between my teeth as I tried to swallow my frustration.

On top of it all, was the growing awareness of something other dripping into the space between Quint and myself.

A prickling sensation crawled over the back of my neck, and I wondered if Corban was somewhere watching everything unfold.

I turned, looking for any sign of him. Rosaline’s last entry was far too fresh, and he’d already threatened to kill Quint once.

“I want to ask for a second chance. The flowers won’t fix what I said, I know that. I just wanted to apologize. To do something nice, and maybe sit down and talk. I’m not asking you out again or anything. I don’t expect that. I’m sorry, Sorcha.”

I was only half listening to Quint as I stepped off the porch to look at the balcony. As soon as my foot landed on the gravel the strange dark pressure hit me with twice the intensity. I faltered at the same time Quint did.

“It was all bullshit,” he said slowly. He took a hesitant step back toward his car. “What are you looking at?”

The gargoyles on the second floor looked hungrily from their posts, mouths gaping. He said he wasn’t, but Corban had to be a gargoyle. No, close he’d said. What was similar to a gargoyle?

“I think you should leave,” I said quietly.

My gaze moved slowly across roofline, and lingered on the stone dragon-like creature that lay coiled over the porch. Its long neck was twisted and curved, horns rising from its head in vicious points.

“Sorcha?”

I pointed to the creature. “Do you know what that is?”

I felt Quint’s presence beside me. “A dragon?”

“But it doesn’t look like a regular dragon.” It was shaped wrong, its body morphed and hulking. Dread’s cool hand pressed into my gut. I flicked my gaze to the rest of the house. Were there more of these things?

“No,” he said slowly. Quint stepped in front of me, his back now to the house. If he felt the same presence I did, he was doing a better job of ignoring it than I was. “I just came by to see if you were ok. Those bruises looked really serious.”

I tried not to let those words affect me as I walked down the side of the house, Quint trailing behind me.

“Are you ok?” he pressed.

I was getting more agitated by the second, and if this rising feeling was a clue to anything, so was Corban, wherever he was. Chills burst across my skin when I finally turned to face Quint. I looked up into what appeared to be genuine concern reflected in his soft eyes.

That wasn’t an easy question to answer. Of course I wasn’t fine, but I couldn’t tell him the truth and give him more fuel to add to the ‘Sorcha’s crazy’ fire. “I am,” I said.

“Has he come back?”

“It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“Sorcha.”

“Quint. It’s fine. I’m fine. Let’s just forget any of this ever happened.” I spread my hands out in front of me. “I’ve got a couple of things I need to catch up on inside.”

“If someone is harassing you, you need to call the cops.”

“Because that worked out so well last time.” I cut him a sharp look. “And presently the only person harassing me is you.”

His brows furrowed and a mean scowl tore across his face. “Note taken,” he said, though he didn’t sound as bitter as he looked. “I have to be on this side of town again tomorrow. Can I stop by?”

Now it was my turn to be exasperated. I chuckled as I walked past him, making my way back to the front porch. The dark, simmering rage fanning the back of my neck had lessened, but was still very present as its owner and myself tracked Quint to the bottom of the steps.

“You want to get into my pants that bad?”

“I’d settle for another night on your couch.” There was a playful lilt in his voice. Men like Quint were hard to stay mad at, and that’s what made them dangerous. Or rather, what made my current situation dangerous.

At the end of the day, it didn’t matter how Quint really felt about me or that I’d maybe had a little crush on him.

It all boiled down to Corban and I, and whatever twisted thing he had in store for me.

For us. I thought about the jealousy he’d exhibited with Rosaline…

. I doubted his nature had changed, especially given the threats he’d already dished out so easily.

I couldn’t put Quint in harm’s way, no matter how pissed off at him I was.

I forced myself to give him a closed-lipped smile. “I’ll text you if anything changes.”

The corner of Quint’s mouth quirked. “Sure. If you change your mind, there’s another party at the end of the week. It’d be cool if you came.”

This time, I did smile. Persistent this one. “It’d be cool, huh?”

“Yeah,” he said, his smile fluttering wider. “Just think about it. Oh!” He stepped forward and passed me the flowers. “Here, um, yeah.” He rubbed his hand on the back of his neck as he made for his car. “I hope to hear from you.”

I held the flowers close to my chest and nodded.

It wasn’t until I was inside the house with the sound of his car retreating that I lifted them to my face to smell them. I really did love flowers, and it would be a shame to let them go to waste just because I was angry at Quint.

I pulled a vase down from the top shelf in the kitchen, playing with the stems until the arrangement was to my liking. The pinks and reds were a welcome burst of color in the otherwise neutral-colored kitchen. Pleased, I returned to the library and cracked open Rosaline’s diary again.

January 3, 1812 Gerald knows. He does not know of Corban exactly, but he suspects something is amiss.

Ever since my outburst the other night he has kept a close eye on me and comments repeatedly on how I have withdrawn from him.

The nerve! As if he was not locking himself away for months on end with his work.

January 4, 1812 Gerald has become suffocating while Corban becomes ever distant. I cannot take this much longer.

January 9, 1812 Last night I demanded that Corban take me to his kingdom.

He said he could not, because I had failed to commit myself to him, body and soul, by still accepting Gerald’s affections.

I screamed at him that I had ! Had I not allowed him to touch me, kiss me in the most intimate ways?

Was my unfaithfulness to Gerald not enough?

But Corban only grew more angry with each protest that fell from my lips.

A fire leapt in his eyes that I had not seen before, and he dragged me to the door that would take us to his kingdom.

He told me to try and open it, but it would not budge.

“See?” His voice was like poison, and the way he looked at me, it was as if he were disgusted with me. “My world rejects you because you reject me . You have to give up everything !”

I think I know what I have to do. May God forgive me, but surely this is God’s will if the instruction comes from an angel.

January 10, 1812 Tonight will be my last entry. I have prepared a nice meal for Gerald and I. A last supper where I will tell him the truth before leaving him forever. I can’t go on like this a moment longer. I have tasted the divine and know now I cannot bear to live without it.