Page 109 of Mated to Monsters

With the first sweep of my gaze, the room appears empty. The bed, though slightly rumpled, is still as I left it. She’s not in the chair in the corner, and the light to the attached washroom is off with the door wide open.

I blink, confused.

I even turn to peek behind the door I just opened to see if she is hiding behind it, but no, she’s not there, either. What in the Seven…

Slowing my heartbeat–and my short temper with it–I take a second to assess the energy of the room, and that’s when it washes over me. Her presence is here, but she’s under the bed. Is she really just an animal that scurries under the nearest furniture?

I can’t stop a scowl from forming. My mouth twists down, and I know that my magic burns in my eyes. It’s a telltale sign of my true emotions that has always given me away. I do manage to keep my voice muted, if not gentle.

“What are you doing down there?” I tap my foot, trying not to terrify her again in hopes that she will answer. A soft scuffle alerts me to her shifting farther back from me, and I stifle a sigh. “Is the bed not comfortable?”

The only answer I get is silence. I’m starting to wonder if she’s a mute. Is she a defect and the King was unaware? Maybe we picked a bad batch, though, I know firsthand how thorough the search was. I thought this group of human females were a viable set.

Not this one, I think bitterly.

Taking two steps forward, she skitters opposite of me, and I growl in frustration. I brought her to a fine manor, away from those vulgar trolvor demons. Is this bed not better than whatever accommodations she had before?

At least here she has privacy, and her own washroom! She was so filthy when I first saw her I wondered if she’d seen a drop of water since the attack on Protheka, but when I saw her in the hall, it didn’t look like she had taken advantage of my hospitable provisions.

I rub my jaw.

Is it not normal for humans to be given a washroom and a bed? Are they to be treated like beasts, to be kept in stables and hosed down by their owners? I was under the impression that she was at least sentient enough to care for herself, but that doesn’t seem to be the case.

No matter the reason, I won’t have her in my house covered in filth. She’s disgusting, and I cannot have that. If she won’t take care of it herself, then I will have to do it myself.

Crouching down, I peer under the bed. It’s difficult to make out her shape with the grime helping her blend into the shadows, but I can see glimpses of her. She’s staring at me with wide eyes, and I try again to show her that I am not like her previous wardens.

“Didn’t you see there’s an adjoined washroom? Wouldn’t you prefer to be clean?”

There is no indication on her face that she even understands me, and despite all my postulating, this is the first time that I genuinely wonder if she is simply a beast, a pet on Protheka. Did the King really find us a group of creatures that can’t even converse with us to bed? Is this some cruel joke that I just don’t get? Maybe he’s trying to see who would go so far as to actually take one of them.

I shake my head. None of this makes sense. I’ve always been more of a creature of action, and so, instead of staring at this creature who seems to understand less than a ur’gin, I decide to do what I’m best at.

Take action.

I lurch forward, and a soft yelp escapes her as she tries to flee my reach. She’s pressed herself to the wall already, though, and there is nowhere else to go. I grab her forearm, and it hits me–not for the first time–how little she weighs as I drag her out from under the bed.

No matter how she squirms, I pull her up before me, taking her in again. I’ve been this close to her twice now, but the dirt has made me cringe. Now, I take in her matted hair and grime covered face with an eye of scrutiny. It’s going to take all the hot water in the house to scrape her skin clean, and internally, I recoil at the thought of having to do it.

But if I do not, who will?

She pushes at my hand, still trying to get free, and I want to snap at her. Does she not want to be clean? She’d really prefer to be dirty?

Huffing, I mutter under my breath, “I always have to do everything myself.” First the triplets, then the mess of the house, and now this.

All the burdens fall to me.

I almost consider lifting her up, but I don’t want her filthy little body pressed to mine. Instead, I drag her toward the washroom, wondering if I’m going to have to tie her up just to keep her from leaping from the bath.

“I don’t want to do this anymore than you do,” I tell her, yanking her over the threshold, and the dirt that crumbles off her makes me nearly lose my grip as I recoil.

What a miserable task, I think, reconsidering the King’s intentions.

66

NATALIE

I stand trembling in the washroom, the demon holding fast to my arm, and all I can do is curse myself as I try to pull away from him. Water is running in the bath, and I’m terrified of him trying to bathe me, himself.