Page 189 of Mated to Monsters
Still, if I had to choose one, Volikan would win every time. Even if I miss the sun and warmth of Protheka, I’d never want to go back now without him. Besides, this is where The Mother has decreed that I belong.
It’s not like Protheka was paradise, either, I remind myself. Every day there, you could have died at any moment, and you know it. Life was hard, even if there was sunshine.
And with that thought, it feels as if something clicks into place. All I can do is make the best of our time together and stop letting my worries about the future dictate the present. There’s no telling how long either of us have in our current state – tomorrow is never promised, not here, not on Protheka, nowhere.
With that resolved, I paste a smile on my face, hoping it will boost my mood. Turning toward the door, I start across the house, seeking out Volikan.
I find him in the sitting room, in almost a mirror position of my own earlier. He’s staring out of a window, looking pensive. Wrapping my arms around his waist, I kiss the highest spot on his back that I can reach.
He relaxes against me, his stiff muscles loosening with my affection. It helps soothe me in turn, an assurance that there’s still hope everything can be all right.
That turns out to be an optimistically naive thought.
Several hours later, we’re still in the sitting room. We haven’t moved from here all day, not even for breakfast. Instead, we’ve made ourselves comfortable on the sofa, engaged in idle chatter.
We talk about everything, the way that lovers do. Topics of seemingly no importance seem like treasure when they come from his lips. I hang on his every word, fascinated by the mundane things that he chooses to share.
Though, to be honest, it would be more accurate to say we talk about almost everything. The one topic neither of us dares to broach is the tension, the dark metaphorical cloud that exists in the room with us. I don’t share my worries. And, though it’s clear he has some, he doesn’t share his own.
Maybe we both think that speaking them aloud will bring them to live. Give them power and make them real, when we’d both rather dismiss them as an intangible, inconsequential nothing. If we don’t acknowledge them, it’s easier to pretend that they don’t exist at all.
A loud crashing interrupts our easy conversation. We both stop abruptly, jumping to our feet. My heart leaps into my throat, anxiously waiting to see what could cause such a tremendous racket. I don’t know what’s happening, but I instinctively know that it’s nothing good.
My pulse is still racing, frantic, when Drir’gen stalks into the room. His large, heavy footsteps feel as if they are thundering into my very brain. I freeze, my panic growing, and look at Volikan as if searching for reassurance that everything is going to be okay.
He handled this demon last time, right? I’d prefer not to witness another scene like before, as I don’t care for the violence. But by now, I trust Volikan, and try to steady my nerves as I wait for him to do whatever needs done.
Volikan’s face hardens, watching Drir’gen intently. A few other demons flank him on either side. It’s clear, by Drir’gen’s posture, that this isn’t a polite social call.
I don’t know what’s coming, and I don’t think I want to. I slip out undetected, creeping into the kitchen discreetly as Drir’gen wheels to confront Volikan.
In the kitchen, I look around, trying to formulate an escape plan. Briefly, I consider hiding in the dungeon, but another part of me protests the suggestion. If I go down there and they find me, there’s no recourse left, and I’ll be trapped.
From the sitting room, I can hear Drir’gen talking harshly to Volikan. Volikan returns a comment of his own. His voice is flat, still trying to keep the peace, but I can’t make out what either of them is saying.
Then I hear noise as the group heads for the kitchen. I scurry out the back door into the dining room, rushing to cower under the table. Pulling a chair in front of me, I try to block myself from view.
In the kitchen, there’s a tumultuous commotion as it sounds like Drir’gen is pulling everything down off the shelves. I listen to the snide, off hand comments he makes to his friends, and picture him ransacking our home for food and ale.
My stomach turns as I hear the crashing of glass and wonder if he’s destroyed the jam that I worked so hard to preserve. I was so proud of it, sitting neatly there, four matching jars of sweet, dark success.
The idea makes me want to cry, but there’s no time for that now. Especially when everything in my body jerks to attention at Drir’gen’s next words.
“Where is the broodmare?” he snarls. One of his demon buddies lets out a short, harsh laugh, apparently amused by the label. “Be a good boy and go fetch her. It’s my turn.”
“You don’t get a turn,” Volikan snaps. His tone has been controlled until now, trying to avoid a confrontation. But I can begin to hear the agitation creeping into his words. “She’s mine.”
“What does it matter who breeds her?” Drir’gen demands. “The King wants her bred. You can let me have a turn. As long as she gets pregnant, he’s not going to care who the father is.”
“Then ask the King for a woman of your own,” Volikan growls, making it clear that he’s no longer playing around. Drir’gen has gone a step too far. “This one is already taken.”
There’s a long silence, and I hold my breath as I wait to hear what comes next. Drir’gen continues as if he didn’t hear Volikan at all, ignoring his words. “You two, spread out. We’re going to find her ourselves.”
My jaw clenches, panic racing through me at the idea. I can hardly breathe, feeling suddenly as if I might suffocate here under this table. There’s no air, and everything feels so tight and cramped.
Is this it? Volikan won’t let them get me, I think to myself. My stomach churns again, remembering that there are three of them and one of him.
I squeeze my eyes shut tight, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from screaming. I know that I have to stay quiet, or I’ll just make it easier for them to find me. But the urge is there, hard to tamp down. I bite until I taste blood in my mouth, but the sharp stinging pain serves its purpose as a distraction.