Chapter 2

ChapterTwo

Gluttony wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, wincing at the acidic bite of gypsum that he’d somehow smeared on his lips. He’d thought he had washed his hands enough, but his senses had always been a little too strong to use the substance.

The alchemical book in his hands suggested that gunpowder happened to have a reaction to copper, but so far, he’d seen no such reaction. He could leave them both in the beaker until the morning... What if they exploded, though? He’d already had enough mishaps in his laboratory to last a lifetime.

And his lifetimes were rather long. Infinite, really.

Sighing, he leaned back in his chair and stared down at the book. This was supposed to be written by one of the best alchemists of their time. The man had quite literally created an elixir of life, or so the legends told.

He had a hard time believing it if the man couldn’t even turn copper blue.

Hissing out a frustrated breath, he tore the page out of the rather priceless book and threw it into the fire. Let the flames consume this fool’s work because clearly it wasn’t as impressive as the man thought it was.

Gluttony stared around his workroom and wondered when it had degraded into such chaos. Used beakers were littered everywhere and on every surface. The room was massive, large enough to be an entertaining area if he’d ever had anyone come to his kingdom. Instead, he had filled it with tables and vials and giant, looping tubes that twisted around each other and into other beakers. Burners covered every corner, along with dust and all manner of objects that were supposed to help him in his quest.

He had to figure out what the substance was that had somehow knocked his brother unconscious. He had to know what weapon the mortals had created that was so dangerous to him and his brothers.

This was his job. His reason for existence.

His apology for disappointing so many of them.

Already he could hear Wrath’s voice in his head. “You’ve fucked up one too many times, Gluttony. You’re eating your own subjects now? What kind of monster have you become?”

And there it was again. The rage. The anger that burned in his chest because he knew they were judging him for it. He almost wanted them to judge him for his desires, because he knew they were wrong. Wrath was correct in saying that he was a monster or that he’d become one. He certainly had. Gluttony was everything that people in this kingdom feared. He was the monster waiting at the foot of their bed, slavering over the scent of their blood.

Maybe he liked it a bit. The judgment. The disgust. The hatred for everything that he wanted, and so he continued to be a monster because it tasted so fucking good on his tongue.

Already it burned again. The need to devour, consume, and to feel their very life force trickling down his throat. His brothers didn’t understand this need, but how could they? They couldn’t put it in perspective that they all had their faults.

Lust fucked himself into oblivion. Greed stole every priceless object that he could. Envy took from others just because he had to, and Sloth lingered in his castle without ever leaving it.

They were all flawed monsters. He had just accepted it about himself long before his brothers.

Running a hand down his face again, he felt the prickles of his beard and the general unkempt nature of his form. When was the last time he’d bathed? He smelled like a lab. Like chemicals and sulfur had sunk so deep into his skin that he’d never be able to get them out.

This wasn’t him. Gluttony had always at least kept himself clean, and he’d been presentable. But right now, he’d been so engrossed in punishing himself for all that he was that he’d forgotten to even eat.

Or had he?

He felt the crust of dried blood on his mouth and licked at it. Too savory. He winced at the faint, smokey flavor that now covered his tongue again. Gluttony had forgotten about the woman who had come to his keep, begging for coins, and offering her neck like it was a prize to be bought.

He’d been weak. Tired. Hating himself so much that it only felt right to throw a bag of coins at her and sink his teeth into that neck offered so freely. But the blood had tasted wrong, tainted with a thick layer of alcohol that streamed through her body and years of misuse. Too much like pork and red meat and not enough of a healthy diet.

She’d tasted like poison. He’d wrenched himself away from her, gagging, and trying so hard not to vomit on what he knew was an open wound. And without another word, she’d fled.

He couldn’t remember much else, only his self loathing that always threatened to swallow him up.

Sighing, he stood from his desk and staggered toward his bedroom. He needed to change. Scrub himself from top to bottom to get the flavor of her out of his mouth.

He gagged again, the memories suddenly blooming up from his stomach until every exhalation tasted like her. He barely made it to his bathing room before he fell to his knees in front of the toilet and threw up what only felt like a mouthful of blood. But it was still the same taste, and he spent hours gagging, trying to get the taste of her out of his mouth.

Exhaustion settled in a half hour later, but he still needed to get clean. Now he was coated in her blood and vomit and a mixture of what he guessed was probably red wine, but couldn’t be certain at this point. So he dragged himself to the tub and filled it.

He sank deep, ducking his head underneath the water and watching the ripples warp the candlelight. Nothing would happen if he just stayed under here. He couldn’t die, and he’d tried every creative way to make that happen. So he could just stay here for hundreds of years, until someone eventually found him and tried to reanimate his body.

Maybe they’d succeed. And all he would have done is left his entire kingdom to deal with six other demons who would absolutely go to war over a kingdom none of them wanted.

He came back out of the water, shaking his head like a dog. Water droplets sprayed from his long, dark hair, soaking into the peeling wallpaper that covered the bathroom. He’d forgotten about it, honestly. So much of this castle had been decorated by other people, and it had all just turned to dust in his mind. He rarely even noticed the finer details of his home. But this wallpaper was shredding. It used to be a scene of the sunny moors, only rarely seen a few times a year. And now there were pieces torn and faded.

Perhaps he should fix the castle up. He could hire some of the townsfolk from the area nearby, and could even hire people from the outer reaches to come to his castle. It would get more money for them. Money that apparently they were now willing to get through offering their blood.

Gagging again, he pulled himself out of the tub and got dressed.

When was the last time he’d slept? He couldn’t remember. Sleep wasn’t really all that necessary these days. All he did was have nightmares, anyway. It seemed like a waste.

By the time he’d staggered back through his dark bedroom, he realized there was a shadow at the base of his door. An open door, so he should have been able to see what cast that shadow. But it was… nothing. A dark mass stood in front of him, about knee high, and it waited. As though it wanted him to see it.

And then, strangely enough, it rolled into the hall.

Was he hallucinating? Had that woman taken drugs before she’d gotten to his house and was that why he was feeling like this? Surely not. Surely she wasn’t so foolish as to poison him by poisoning herself? It wouldn’t be the first time someone had tried to do so.

But no, that made little sense.

Trailing along behind the mass, he saw it roll through his candlelit hall and down the massive spiral stairwell. Frowning, he continued to follow it all the way to his door. Was it a spirit?

He couldn’t remember what a black spirit was. They all had some sort of color or shade to them. He knew there weren’t any white ones, so why was there a black one?

Maybe he shouldn’t be following it, but he’d long ago lost any sense of self preservation. So he followed the mass out of his castle, down through the ancient gardens that used to be filled with countless plants that grew with no light at all. Now, they were all dead. He hadn’t taken care of them in years, or centuries was it? His castle looked rather like a mausoleum surrounded by a graveyard these days. The mass continued down the boardwalk, though, so he kept going.

It was long into the night. Nothing would bother him, anyway, although many of the creatures grumbled as he strode past them. A rather lovely blonde rusalka even touched her hand to his boot. He didn’t pause to see what she wanted, nor did he really care to know. His kingdom was full of more magical creatures than any other. They flocked here, knowing that he saw them as his people, as equal to the humans. And yet, he still didn’t know how to help them.

Not really.

Gluttony was a rather lousy king. Always had been. But his kingdom wasn’t exactly set up for success.

Finally, the mass reached the village, and he thought it must be some kind of spirit. Few humans could see them, most didn’t even try, and there were plenty of emotions for spirits to exist off of in his kingdom. But what was this emotion, and why had it come to his castle at all?

Disgruntled, he trailed it through the empty streets until it floated up to the boarding house. Of course. The cesspit for all emotions. Gluttony tried to stay far away from it. But when the little spirit slipped through an open window, he couldn’t stop himself from striding up to the window and peering into the room.

Perhaps he feared the spirit would try to possess someone, not that it was all that easy to do. But then a scent drifted through the opening and he found his entire body locking in place.

Blood in the air, savory, thick, and smoky. It made bile rise in his throat again, but then there was another scent underneath it. He inhaled deeply, ignoring the sudden rush of vomit in his throat.

Because there was something more. Something underneath it all that captivated him.

Honey.

That’s what it was. Sweet honey mixed with ginger and spice, like the tea he’d drink on a cold winter’s day. Soothing, like a balm, it poured down the aching muscles of his throat and filled his lungs with a sense of peace that he hadn’t felt in years.

What was this scent? How did it smell like a warm crackling fire and a cozy blanket tossed over his shoulders?

He stepped closer, knowing this wasn’t his place or his right. That anyone could walk by and see him looming as he peered through an open window. They would scream if they saw him. They would try to throw him out of the town, and he would have to fight back. Blood would spill and flow into the moors until creatures came and attacked with him.

But he would take this risk if only to fill his lungs with that scent until he could taste it on his tongue.

The spirit was nowhere to be found. But the room was a bedroom. Filled with so many trinkets, he could hardly tell where to cast his eyes first. Countless books were strewn about the room, some open, some with folded edges, others that were laying on the pages themselves as if to keep track of where the owner had left off. Vases full of dead flowers and clothing tossed everywhere covered every surface he could see.

But his eyes found a small mound on the bed, rising and falling with her breath in sleep. And he had to look twice, because at first glance it appeared as though blood had spilled across her pillow.

It was her hair, he realized. Long, curly red hair that was the center of that scent he could smell. He was certain of it. Honey and sweet things, and it made his mouth water while that hunger rose from the bottom of his being. He wanted to slip into her room. He wanted to crawl through the shadows and bury his face in those curls.

There was no need to bite her. Not yet. He would soon have her blood. Whenever he wanted, really, he was the demon king. He could order her to give him whatever he desired and yet... Right now, all he wanted to do was curl up on that bed with her and draw whatever comfort he could from her scent.

Leaning against her windowsill, he watched as she rolled over in her sleep. She was strange, he would admit. Her features were slightly broad. Her eyes were spaced too far apart. A faint discoloration marred the right side of her face as well, hardly noticeable, but he’d spent centuries looking at her kind. Freckles dusted her nose. Where she’d gotten them, he had no idea. There was no sun here to give her the little marks that he found he might actually like.

Freckles always reminded him of Lust, and he didn’t particularly like that brother of his. But he could forgive the marks if she continued to smell like that.

Gluttony knew this was foolish. The longer he stayed, the more likely he was to form an attachment to the little creature. He’d already promised himself that he would no longer feed from people who did not first offer themselves. Lingering in the shadows, violating her privacy, wouldn’t lead to her giving herself over to him.

And yet, he couldn’t pull himself away. He wanted to look at her. Just look. He wanted to watch as the dreams moved behind her eyelids and her breathing kicked up a notch. She shifted underneath the covers, and they drew down her lovely neck. Swan-like, he thought. So pale and already throbbing with her pulse.

Perhaps she was having a nightmare, because he was living in one. His claws slowly extended, pushing out through the tips of his fingers like giant needles and he needed to get control over himself or he would bust into her room like an animal enraged.

He wanted...

No.

Needed to taste her.

And when he felt saliva pooling in his mouth, he forced himself to turn away. He had to go. The monster was coming out, and he refused to let it prey upon her.

But something deep in his core knew he’d be back.