Page 28 of Monster’s Obsessive Hunger

THORRIN

T he wait is a new kind of hell, a torture of stillness and silence that grates against every fiber of my being.

Three days have passed since I carried Lyssa to this place.

Three days of pacing a trench in the snow outside the unyielding stone walls, of listening to the wind sigh through the pines and imagining it is her final, fading breath.

My guilt is a physical weight, a shroud of cold ash that smothers the burning core within, leaving only a dim, sick green.

Kaerith keeps his own vigil, a silent, menacing shadow at the far end of the gate, his presence a constant, burning judgment.

We do not speak. There is nothing to say.

We are two ancient beasts, bound to this place by the fragile life of a single human.

The quiet of the outpost is what unnerves me most. It is an unnatural calm, a civilized silence that feels more menacing than the honest, brutal quiet of the deep woods.

Civilized creatures have civilized cruelties, and I have just delivered Lyssa into their hands.

My trust in Elira is a thin, fraying thread, the only thing keeping me from tearing these gates from their hinges and razing this entire settlement to the ground.

But the fear that my own monstrous intervention would doom Lyssa keeps my claws in check.

I am helpless. A predator forced to be patient.

It is the most profound agony I have ever known.

Then I hear it. The sound is faint at first, muffled by stone and snow, but my senses, honed by centuries of listening for the heartbeat of prey, catch it instantly. A scream. Sharp, terrified, and unmistakably Lyssa’s.

Every promise I made to Kaerith, every shred of hard-won restraint, evaporates in a single, violent instant.

The green light explodes into a supernova of pure, protective fury.

A roar rips from my throat,it is not a warning, but a declaration of war.

I do not hesitate. I do not plan. I charge.

The ancient wood of the gate splinters under the impact of my shoulder, the iron hinges screaming in protest before they are torn from the stone.

The elven guards on the other side have only a moment to register my presence, their violet eyes wide with shock, before I am upon them.

One goes down with a shattered breastplate, another’s throat is torn out before he can draw his blade.

I am a force of nature, a storm of bone and wrath, and my only purpose is to get to her.

I burst into the healing chamber, and the scene that greets me is one not of mending, but of violation.

There is a scent of ozone and a cold, clinical malice.

The elven magus and two of his acolytes are not tending to Lyssa.

They are restraining her on the stone table, along with Elira, who fights against them with a fierce, desperate strength.

Lyssa is conscious, her eyes wide with terror, her body trembling.

Glowing, ethereal tendrils of magic snake from the healers’ hands, not to knit bone, but to probe, to sample.

“The essence is remarkable,” the magus is murmuring, his face alight with a cold, scientific zeal. “A true Keeper’s Balm. The research will be invaluable.”

Research. They are not healers. They are scholars of a cruel and terrible kind, and my Lyssa is their specimen.

The roar that erupts from my chest is a physical force, shaking the crystals from the ceiling.

I slam into the closest acolyte, my claws finding the soft flesh of his throat, and the sterile chamber is suddenly painted in the warm, honest color of blood.

The other two turn on me, their faces masks of cold fury.

Enchanted blades, shimmering with a purple, corrupting light, materialize in their hands.

Wards of pure force spring into existence between us, designed to repel and contain my violence.

I crash against the first ward, the impact sending a jarring shock through my bones, but the barrier holds.

Just as the magus raises his hand to unleash another, more powerful spell, a silent, deadly shadow detaches itself from the doorway behind me.

Kaerith. He moves with a liquid, terrifying grace, his own heart-light a furious, blazing white.

He is no longer my rival, my judge. He is an ally.

He is bone and wrath incarnate. He hits the wards from the side, his raw power shattering them like spun glass.

We are a terrifying, impossible alliance—two rival kings, two ancient monsters, fighting side-by-side to protect what is ours.

Magic lashes at us, enchanted steel scrapes against our bones, but we are relentless.

We are the primal fury of the mountain unleashed, and this cold, sterile room cannot contain us.

The battle is a chaotic symphony of screaming elves, shattering magic, and the guttural roars of two Waira united in a singular, violent purpose.

But through it all, my focus is absolute.

Lyssa. I see nothing else. I fight my way through the press of bodies and the crackle of arcane energy, my every movement aimed at closing the distance to her.

I see an acolyte reach for her with a glowing, needle-like instrument, and with a final, desperate surge of strength, I am there.

I bat him aside, the elf flying across the room to crash against the far wall with a sickening crunch.

I reach her side, my claws, still slick with elven blood, moving with impossible gentleness as I tear away the magical restraints that bind her.

She is sobbing, her body trembling with shock and terror, but the moment she is free, she throws her arms around my neck, clinging to me as if I am the only solid thing in a world that has just tried to tear her apart.

I cradle her against my chest, a low, rumbling sound of comfort vibrating in my ribs, my massive form a living shield around her.

Across the room, Kaerith has reached Elira.

He hauls her close, his fury now a cold, lethal thing.

He turns his blazing white gaze on the last surviving elf, the magus, who cowers in the corner, his robes stained with the blood of his acolytes.

Kaerith’s voice is a low, deadly whisper that promises an eternity of pain.

“Touch her again,” he snarls, the words a final, absolute sentence, “and I’ll salt your entire bloodline.”

The threat is a promise of a vengeance so complete it will echo through generations.

The magus simply stares, his mind broken by the primal, terrifying force of two monsters who have just reclaimed their mates.

We stand there, the four of us, a strange and terrible family forged in the crucible of this battle.

Two broken humans, and the two monsters who love them enough to burn the world down to keep them safe. The fight is over. The outpost is ours.