20. “Have you met your monster, Zenya?”

Chapter 20

"Have you met your monster, Zenya?"

ZENYA

"Clarity" by Zedd - Nightcore cover

"Far From Home" by Five Finger Death Punch

"Monster" by Skillet

"…I have often laughed at the weaklings who thought themselves good because they had no claws." ~ Nietzsche

T he quote rockets through my brain as Nyxion sends me over the edge again, his mouth sealed to mine as he pours his darkness into me, his vessel, his conduit.

I feel like I'm slipping away, blurring at the edges even as I kiss him back with everything as the liquid lightning surges through my body, lighting up the reward center of my brain. My dark dopamine. My anti-depressant.

I unravel. My rib cage tattoo protrudes through my skin. The inked pills tumble off my left arm. The blood gushes from my snapped stitches.

He heals. All the flesh I clawed fuses, restoring him to his god self. So unlawfully beautiful with those dark waves falling down the sides of my face, his full lips on mine. He's an unholy beauty, a dark, sculpted god.

In one moment, he deadpans, gazing down at me like I'm the center of his universe—of all the universes. Like I'm playing some twisted rehab role with the medication of sex magic.

I should be in an asylum. Knowing how helpful it is for countless others, I should be in therapy. But so many times, this rage would come out during my occasional therapy sessions. I stopped taking the meds. They silence the voices. And I like my demons too much.

Nyxion's black diamond eyes liquefy into depthless dark pools that suck me into their undertow. Oh, god…he is funereal emotion—as somber as a graveyard. Some deep, tortured place inside him he shows no one, probably doesn't acknowledge it himself.

It's like looking through a black mirror—where I find the faintest silhouette of my darker self. I tilt my head. The silhouette tilts theirs.

In one second, Nyxion is ripped away from me. The sound of growls and broken bones fills my ears as Phantasos takes my hand and helps me to a stand. The ends of my silk gown fall to the floor behind me, but they are otherwise unscathed from my happy little incident with the God of Nightmares.

"Come now, Zenya darling." Phantasos strokes the center of my back, comforting me as Morpheus and Nyxion trade blows, fracturing parts of the throne room. "They'll be at it for a while. Welcome to our fucked up family."

I glance back at the gods as they take out a whole chunk of wall and fall through grit and stone into the adjacent hall. "Um, should I…?"

Phantasos shakes his head and directs me back to the table. "Best to let them get it out of their system. And I think you like them fighting over you, don't you?" He winks and nudges my arm with his elbow. I take a moment to admire his pinstriped suit with a rather dapper newsies-style cap.

I shrug. "Guilty." I shake my head with an airy laugh as I hear their bodies thunder through Morpheus's castle. The magical walls are already piecing themselves back together.

Hecate has remained at the table, her claws steepled as she dons a feline smile. Clearly, she's enjoyed the show.

"Do sit down, Zenya. Let the boys play while we enjoy dessert." Her eyes roam along my figure, a hint of how I'm synonymous with the last word.

A small sigh eases from my throat as I consider how Nyxion's cum is still dripping down my legs. I could use a little break.

Hecate senses it and nods graciously. She respects. Morpheus seduces. Nyxion steals. And I'm not certain what I believe about the three—only what I feel. And every iota of my spirit wants all three. I can't appreciate Morpheus's light-hearted nature without Nyxion's demented darkness.

Phantasos is the little slice of heaven in this world. Like the touchstone who pops in to my dynamic with each of the three.

"After all…" Hecate curls her clawed fingers in the air. "Who needs men when we have perfectly good company here?"

"Ouch," Phantasos mutters while pulling my chair out for me to sit before scooting it in. "Way to make a guy feel special."

"Pish, Phantasos, you are always welcome as the exception."

"Consolation prize." He shrugs and sits next to me.

Another crash, and I flinch but manage to take a deep breath in an odd mix of invigorated and worn from the previous encounter. I focus on dream weaving dessert. The most decadent because I deserve it after all that.

Dark chocolate lava cakes, crème br?lée, tiramisu, red velvet cupcakes. I weave gold platters of Black Forest gateau, passion fruit panna cotta, and a colorful macaron tower in the center of the table. Gold-dusted truffles speckle the table like luxurious stars. I help myself to a lemon curd and raspberry compote soufflé on my plate.

"Gods, I am so adopting you," Phantasos gushes, bringing a smile to my lips as he stuffs truffles in his mouth.

Hecate raises a goblet and leans back on her throne, tapping the side with her other hand. "To dramatic reveals and deadly truths. And the theatrics of gods and men where women will always rise higher. Cheers, my dear."

Phantasos shrugs. "I'll drink to that."

I take a sip of wine before returning to my soufflé. But my thoughts drift back to that moment with Nyxion, the silhouette in his eyes. And the spine-chilling sensation of something inside me.

"Penny for your thoughts, my dream weaver?"

I look up at Hecate, purse my lips, then part my lips to wonder, "Do you believe everyone has something inside them?"

"Hmm…" She sets her goblet down and drums her claws on the table. "Like an inner goddess?"

"Or a monster."

She deadpans. Phantasos shifts his weight, tugging his cap down over his eyes.

"Have you met your monster, Zenya?" wonders Hecate.

"My father called it an amygdala hijack," I clarify, wincing at the first time I've truly mentioned him in this world. Everything has been moving too fast, and I've been swept up in the storm and loving every second. "It's this moment when your rational brain fades away to unleash the beast within you."

"Not all beasts are evil," Hecate proposes, tilting her head while flashing her sharpened wolf teeth.

"Of course not. But they're not safe."

"You're not safe, Zenya."

I nod my agreement. "Maybe we're all just a million shades of gray."

"Some live in a black-and-white denial," Phantasos adds, popping a macaron in his mouth and saying between bites, "But to do so is to deny the complexities of the soul."

Hecate arches a brow in surprise. I smirk to one side and scrunch my brows in pleasant surprise.

"What?" he shrugs, darting his eyes between us. "I'm the God of Imagination. I live in the surreal and fantastical, darling." He leans over to kiss my cheek.

"You're safe, Phantasos." I tap his newsies hat.

"You're making me blush." He winks.

"Naturally, I love the dark feminine wedded with firelight and moonlight." She cuts into a lava cake, gushing with the warm, melted chocolate. "What about you, Zenya? Tell me your aesthetics."

"Um…" I press my lips together to contain my giggle as I circle a finger to my tattoos.

She scoops a drippy bite of molten cake and lifts it to her mouth. "I want to hear it from your pretty lips and that violently beautiful mind."

My nerve endings feel like a live wire as I hunt through my mind, searching for the best in-the-moment description. "The ones like me…I am bursts of blood and darkness on one side and light and color on the other. Constantly craving more gray…but afraid to lose my angels and demons, my highs and lows."

"I'm a rainbow!"

The three of us turn to the entrance of the throne room as Ivy strolls in, scrambling right for Phantasos. "Hmm…" I tap my lips, tilt my head, and weave her a ruffly rainbow dress with extra flair and glitter.

"Eeep!" She spins a few times, clapping her hands as the ruffles twirl like a kaleidoscope. "I love it. Thank you, Z. Can I call you Z?"

She throws her little arms around me from behind, and I squeeze her hand as warmth spreads through me. But it's tinged with wistfulness. How can a little girl full of so much life and color be in these dark places? No wonder she's so drawn to Phantasos.

She turns to him and points to his lap in a silent command. I hold back the burning emotion in my throat and hide it behind a smile as Phantasos snorts but rolls his eyes and scoots out so Ivy can sit on his right knee. She grabs a handful of macarons but stops when she spies Hecate.

"Oh, who's that? She's so beautiful. In a scary way, I love it!"

Hecate shows her wolf teeth. "Goddess Hecate of Witchcraft, Magic, Crossroads, and a few other things." She waves her chocolate-coated fork in the air.

"Wow…What kind of magic?"

Hecate's eyes turn somber. "Not the kind you are seeking, my child. That is for the Sisterhood of the Fates. And Thanatos and Hades."

Ivy looks down at her macarons, staring right through them, and a wave of remorse crushes my chest. "Hades sounds really scary."

The Goddess shakes her head. "Far from it, little one. Oh, he's such an OCD zoning bore, but if you should ever meet him, he will have a special place in Elysium for you. That much, I do know. It is the realm for the heroes. And you have been quite a heroine to Phantasos." She gestures to him.

He pauses midway through his red velvet cupcake, the icing a smear on his lips. Ivy turns to beam at him. I don't bother to ponder where Death would take me. I already know. At best, I'd be locked in Purgatory for all time.

Ivy leans closer to me, diverting my attention. "What does it feel like?" she asks with that childlike wonder twinkling in her eyes. "Dream weaving?"

I lift my brows in surprise. Out of the corner of my eye, Hecate swirls her wine in her glass while Phantasos fixes his gaze on me. No one has asked me yet.

"Hmm…it begins with this warm, tingling sensation, like threads of static lightning leaving my fingertips…" I explain.

Ivy's eyes turn wide as saucers as I extend my palm to weave a small, circular cake into being. "The more I focus, the more the warmth spreads along my arms and into my chest like this cocoon of energy." I imagine a coating of white fondant as the pulsing heat follows my description.

"The world kind of fades away," I say while creating icing roses. "The energy feels soft and silky. I feel alive and angelic. Like I'm painting with light and emotion. They all dance, coming together, and it's like I become a part of something beautiful." Or someone, I don't add the last part. Not when I haven't acknowledged it till now.

I present the special cake just for Ivy—one covered in rainbow-colored roses, sprinkled with glitter, and topped with a gold unicorn horn.

"Oooh, thank you, Zenya! It's so pretty."

"Just like you." I tuck a blonde ringlet behind her ear, that wistful warmth tightening my chest again.

When Phantasos dips his finger in the icing, the little girl smacks his hand, and I've never seen him guffaw so much.

She pinches her lips and narrows her eyes. "Manners."

Removing his hat and pressing it to his chest, Phantasos flutters his hand in a bow to say, "My sincerest apologies, Your Majesty."

Just after I weave flawless slices of cake for us all to enjoy, shadows engulf the entire throne room. A chill rushes up my spine, triggering my breath to heave and cleave from the eerie tension. My heart pounds in my chest, but it can't drown out the malevolent whispers echoing all around us.

Every candle and torch in the room is snuffed out.

Hecate rises, stiffer than a ramrod while she whistles, summoning her hounds.

None of us can react before a storm of shadows burst into the room. No, not shadows. Shadows don't have forms like wraiths. They don't have eel-like teeth and long, needle-like claws. Shadows don't scream so loud, they shatter the glasses on the table and bleed my ears.

"Reavers!" Hecate snarls before unleashing her dogs.

Phantasos grabs Ivy close to him, transforms into a mystical cloak that flies right out of the throne room. I don't blame him one little bit. Ivy is the priority.

Dark waves of panic swallow any relief. Hecate is tangling with a reaver, hissing and surging black fire to consume the creature.

Cold claws sink into my flesh and rip me from the throne room, tearing me into the night. Icy electricity strikes all my nerves. Terror strangles my throat. Not the thrilling terror that comes with adrenaline and endorphins like with Nyxion.

This is sheer, soul-bleeding fear. I struggle, but their grip is unyielding as they fly me into the swirling night and toward a dark vortex. A new temporal storm. And everything in me knows it's fiercer and blacker.

"You must train the monster, Zenya," my father's voice rings in my ear. "Someday, the corpses will rise through the soil and rip through all the flowers you've planted."

The irony. He was far more of a monster than any demons whispering in my mind. If my monster ever ripped through my flowers, I imagine she'd shower me with the petals.

The wind is cruel and cold, lashing at my exposed skin and through my hair. The reavers sink their teeth and claws into my body, cutting me, bleeding me.

"Grow your claws and teeth and kiss the horror within you," his dark voice echoes. "Train to fight, my flower. Be as strong as the kind that can grow through cement."

He did train me to fight. To shed blood and break bones. Except…I was more interested in playing and running and climbing—beating the mountain into submission just as Nyxion told me.

"Break the stone before the weaklings throw stones at you."

He didn't know until much later how I am one part weakling.

The reavers throw me.

I fall. I fall into the black storm.

And something—no, some one —rises.

More powerful than ever, the first time I've ever felt her, my inner monster rises.

She roars.