9. Alina

I…I must be dead.

It's the only explanation.

This man—this hauntingly beautiful man—is drenched in blood and offering me weapons.

No. That's not quite right.

I thought it was blood. But it's… it's… too dark to be blood.

Is that smoke?Black ribbons? Wisps? I can't define them. But they're clearly attached to this man, yet my mind can't seem to comprehend how. Nor can I understand how those ethereal appendages magically created the knife and the sword.

Both items glint in the low light as the beautiful man waits for my reply.

Actually, all three of them are waiting.

And all three of them are ridiculously good-looking, I think, swallowing. Why does that suddenly matter? Since when do I notice looks? Also, why am I in this big guy's lap? And is he… vibrating?

So many questions.

Too many thoughts.

I touch my throat, wincing at the soreness, and try to swallow. I somehow managed to force out my questions before, but now… now I'm just tired. Confused. Yet oddly not scared.

Actually, I feel safe.

It's ridiculous. But something about the guy holding me makes me feel protected in a way I can't explain. Maybe it's his size? He's huge. Like, six and a half feet tall. And I'm pretty sure he has wings. At least, he had them before. But not now. They disappeared.

Is he like an angel of death? I wonder. Do I feel safe because I'm dead and he's my escort to the afterlife?

If that's true, then why am I still in this weird building?

And why would the figments of death pin my killer up against a wall?

I blink at Timothy. He looks terrified.

The guy holding Timothy, however, seems bored. He's simply watching me and waiting for a verdict.

On how I want Timothy to die.

Do I want Timothy to die?

I glance at the other dead men, their eyes forever frozen in horror.

Horror at what the hauntingly beautiful man with the smoky wisps did to them.

I swallow. Why do I feel so calm? I wonder. Shouldn't I be scared? Screaming? Alarmed by what these men—specifically the one with the weapons—can do?

Maybe I hit my head a little too hard when Timothy shoved me up against the wall before.

That would explain my lack of a reaction to these three obviously intimidating men, the fact that one of them apparently knows my name, and also the strange sensations I'm feeling in response to the big guy's vibrating.

The haunting one tilts his head to the side, his silver-blue eyes assessing. "I can demonstrate a few other options, if you like?" he offers, his words making my brow furrow.

Then I realize what he means—weapon options.

Because he's offered to give me something to kill Timothy.

And I'm back to wondering how I feel about his death. My fingers absently stroke my throat as I consider the man who threatened me.

His words about the Viscount tumble through my mind, his intentions pretty clear.

But he hadn't tried to kill me.

Just wanted to take me to the Viscount.

Although, he did mention how my physical condition wouldn't matter, that the Viscount just wanted my…

I shudder, unable to think of the term. Because that isn't something I want to give to him or anyone else.

Well…I glance at the beautiful men around me. Well, maybe not anyone else. But…

I shake my head, trying to clear the inane thought from it, and immediately regret the action. A groan escapes my lips, my sense of balance instantly distorted.

Definitely hit my head too hard… Ugh.

I cover my eyes with my palms, my stomach suddenly churning with the need to purge whatever it can.

Only, I haven't eaten in… I don't know how long. And after all the preparations and walking and everything else, I'm just done.

I'm tired.

I'm lost.

I'm confused.

And all I want to do is curl into a ball against the vibrating warmth beside me and forget everything.

Forget the Viscount.

Forget the train.

Forget the Choosing.

Forget Monsters Night.

Forget—

My eyes fly open. Monsters Night.

Apparently, I'd already forgotten about it, too wrapped up in this situation to think it through, but now… now I understand.

"Monsters," I breathe, my gaze swinging from the haunting one to the vibrating one to the bored one. "You're monsters."

I blink.

Oh, crap.

What the hell is wrong with me? I knew they weren't human. The one has tattoos that basically melt off his body into smoky ribbons. The other has feathers and vibrates. And the third, well, actually he looks pretty normal. But he's holding Timothy like he weighs nothing at all.

"You know, I take offense to that," the haunting one informs me as the weapons vanish. "If anyone is a monster here, it's that dark soul over there." He points at Timothy. "I can practically taste all his sins, and trust me, he's the definition of monstrous."

"Monsters are what the humans call otherworldly beings in this realm, Reaper. I'm sure she's not trying to insult you," the vibrating one says softly. "Right, Alina?"

I snap my gaze to him, his black eyes rimmed with a reddish hue that's distinctly inhuman.

"How do you know my name?" I ask, very aware that the question is pretty inconsequential compared to the many others I could ask. But it's the second time he's said my name, and I'd really like to understand how he knows it.

Those red-black eyes study me for a long moment before he says, "I saw you through a portal window and overheard someone else say your name."

"A portal window?" I repeat, blinking at him.

"It's exactly what it sounds like," the haunting one—Reaper—tells me. "Orcus was using it to check out this reality before we ventured into it. However, it seems that's not all he was checking out." He gives the man holding me a knowing look.

Orcus, I think, committing the name to memory along with Reaper.

"She's an Omega," Orcus says, causing my frown to return.

A what?

"Yes, I've gathered that from your purring," Reaper drawls, his inky strands whirling around him as though dancing with his words. Except, the smoke slowly starts to disappear into his skin, etching dark swirls into his arms.

Wow,I think, temporarily mystified by the phenomenon. That's… so pretty. I have the strangest urge to reach out and touch the tattoos. Are they smooth? Warm? Will they move beneath my fingertips?

But the source of my admiration steps away from me and back toward the two dead men, firmly returning me to the present.

He killed them.

He's a monster.

They're all monsters.

"Let's see," Reaper muses, squatting by the bodies. "You planned to zip-tie her wrists and shove a ball gag into her mouth. How unoriginal."

"What were they planning to do with her after that?" Orcus asks, his vibrations morphing into a growl that elicits a shiver from deep within.

And it's not a shiver born of fear, but of something else entirely.

What is happening to me?I wonder, dizzy all over again. Why do I like that sound? It should be terrifying, not enticing.

"Take her on the train and give her to someone…" Reaper trails off as he fishes something out from the pile of death, his head cocking to the side. "The Viscount?"

Orcus releases another deep rumble, causing me to squirm. He instantly stills, his purring reigniting as he says, "Sorry, little one. I'm not trying to excite you, just comfort you."

Excite me?I gape at him. What the hell does that mean?

And what does he mean by little one? I'm short, yes. And, well, a lot smaller than him. But I am not little.

I'm about to say as much when Reaper throws something over my head.

"Catch," he says with the motion, causing the one by the wall to instantly reach for whatever it is that's heading his way. "Might as well do to him what they planned to do to her."

"I've always enjoyed your brand of punishment," the dark-haired one says, amusement coloring his tone. His accent is similar to Reaper's, making them both easy to understand.

However, Orcus… his lilt reminds me of the Duke. Although, that's the only similarity between them. Orcus is much taller and wider, and he's dressed in jeans and a leather jacket rather than an embroidered vest and slacks.

Because he's a monster, not a man,I remind myself once more.

He certainly looks like a man, though, another part of me argues. He smells nice, too. Like clean, fresh air. I inhale deeply, feeling like I can really breathe for the first time in my life.

It's… strange. Alarming. Oddly soothing. And just so confusing.

I want to nuzzle into his broad chest and beg him to deepen that rumble of his, all while breathing him in and losing myself to his embrace.

He must be hypnotizing me,I realize. Seducing me with his monster… something. Prowess?

I try to pull away from him, but my body literally refuses. For the first time in my life, I feel safe, and I appear to be clinging to that sensation.

It's a lie, I tell myself as Reaper moves across the room, his sleeveless black shirt allowing me to see all the beautiful tattoos swirling along his muscular arms. It's… it's a trick. I need to run. I need to?—

"Don't forget the zip ties," he says, interrupting my thoughts as he hands some string-like plastic things to his friend. "And make them tight. Because that was their plan for Alina."

The dark-haired guy snorts as he yanks Timothy's arms behind his back and secures his wrists. A full-body wince goes through Timothy, his yelp muffled by the gag.

"Ankles, too," Reaper says, eyes narrowed.

"Is that all they planned?" his friend asks. "To tie her up and take her to the Viscount?"

"No, they intended to play with her once the Viscount finished with her." Reaper utters the words with a growl, his gaze returning to the dead men. "I should have made them suffer, but their black souls were too tempting to draw out the meal." He looks back at Timothy. "I won't be making that mistake again. Once Alina decides how to kill you, I'll show her how to make it last."

I startle at his words, the reminder that these men want me to kill Timothy anchoring me in the present once more. "I don't…" I swallow. "I don't…"

I don't want to kill him, I say in my mind. But for some reason, I can't utter the words out loud. Maybe because my throat is sore.

Or maybe because part of me—a very small, very dark part of me—wants to hurt him like he hurt me. Maybe not kill him, but scare him a little.

Which is depraved and wrong.

And so very unlike me.

Maybe all the rebelling over the last year has addled my brain.

Or, more likely, these monsters have altered my perception of reality.

Why am I still sitting here?I push upright, only belatedly realizing I pressed my palm against a solid slab of muscular man to do so. Wow, he's hard. And hot. Sooooo hot.

Stop it,I tell myself. Get up. Run.

The commands cause my spine to stiffen, but my legs don't budge. Meanwhile, my hand… it stays against the masculine wall behind me.

Closing my eyes, I steal a deep breath.

And immediately regret it because it's full of that fresh-air scent, making my limbs automatically relax. Couple that with his soothing rumble, and I feel lightheaded, like I need to curl up and sleep.

Safe.

Warm.

Claimed.

My eyes widen with that last thought. I need to go. These monsters are…

Well.

They're…

I don't know what they're doing, but whatever it is, it's dangerous.

"I have to go," I blurt out, finally voicing a proper thought aloud.

My hands and legs finally get the memo as I push away from the vibrating wall of muscular flesh and crawl several feet away.

Except I'm stopped by a pair of vibrant eyes that flash purple in the light. I swallow as the man tilts his head to the side, sending all his dark hair falling over one side of his forehead.

I hadn't seen much of this one's features before, his back having been presented to me as he'd held Timothy up against the wall.

But he's no longer holding the other man.

No, now the dark-haired one is crouched on the floor before me, granting me a perfect view of his stunning face.

He's as gorgeous as the other two, yet something about him is even more intimidating. More… untamed.

He's too perfect. Too handsome. Too symmetrical.

His cheekbones are sharp, his jawline intense, yet his eyes are dusted with thick black eyelashes. They remind me of how mine looked with all the paint on them in the mirror earlier. Only, his appear to be natural.

I thought Reaper was beautiful, but this man… this man is beauty incarnate. Meanwhile, Orcus is the masculine one, with all the hard lines and brute strength. And Reaper… Reaper is still haunting in an undeniably attractive way.

Snap out of it, Lina, I tell myself. You need to go.

"Where do you want to go?" the beautiful man before me asks, either hearing my thought or maybe responding to something I said. Did I speak out loud? Or did I…? Did I already say I want to go?

I can't remember.

I can't seem to function at all.

Yet I hear myself whispering, "Chicago." It's such a strange response, one I don't fully understand until the city name slaps me across the face. "Chicago." To find Sera. "I need a map."

That'swhat I'm supposed to be doing. Not ogling these monsters. Not fighting off Timothy. But hiding until Monsters Night is over and searching for a map.

Well, I didn't hide very well,I realize, wincing.

"Chicago?" Reaper repeats. "Are you craving some pizza, pet? Because I'd be down for a quick stop in Chicago for some deep dish."

I blink and glance up at where he's standing behind his dark-haired friend. "What?" Nothing he just said makes any sense.

He stares back at me, his lips curling down before he groans and looks at Orcus behind me. "Fuck, tell me there's pizza in this realm. I may prefer this version of New York City, but without pizza, it'll be a complete bust."

"You literally just ate," the dark-haired one says, glancing over his shoulder. "There's no way you're hungry."

Reaper gives him an affronted look. "I am always hungry for pizza."

"You know where Chicago is?" I interject, focusing on the fact that he'd repeated it back to me with some familiarity and ignoring all the talk about… pizza.

"Of course I know where Chicago is," he replies to me, his head cocking to the side in a way that he seems to favor. "But if you don't want pizza, then why are you interested in Chicago?"

My lips part, the truth almost leaving my mouth. Only it comes out on a yelp as the world abruptly shifts around me.

I suddenly find myself in the air, clutched in the arms of the dark-haired one, with Reaper and Orcus standing in front of me, giving me their backs.

"Chicago is the Elite City," a cultured tone says from somewhere I can't see. "I imagine your human is looking for it, or perhaps someone within it."

Orcus and Reaper stiffen as someone materializes from the shadows. Their bodies are blocking the figure from my line of sight, making it impossible to discern any prominent features. But the voice was masculine, not feminine.

"Which is interesting," the newcomer goes on. "Villagers don't typically know about the Elite City, let alone the former name for it."

Orcus folds his arms, causing his leather jacket to stretch across his broad shoulders. Whatever vibrations he'd been emitting before are gone, but the one holding me seems to have taken over in the rumbling department. Except his is… different. Softer somehow. Quieter.

I glance at him, curious. However, his eyes are on his friends, or maybe even the other guy. I can't see anything more than muscular backs and the beautiful face of the man holding me.

How did I even end up here?

"Who are you?" Orcus demands, his tone making me shiver. There's something very powerful in that voice. Something deadly. Yet, inside, all I do is tremble in response.

Some twisted part of me likes that voice.

"A Monster City Emissary," the cultured one replies. "You may call me Jones."

"I don't feel much like calling you anything," Reaper drawls.

"And that's your prerogative, sir," Jones murmurs. "Regardless, I am here with a message from our Queen."

"Queen?" Orcus repeats. "Queen of what?"

"The Queen of Monster City, sir." There's a pause before Jones adds, "She sent me here to personally welcome you all to Monster City."