6. Alina

Monsters Night

My eyelashes haveblack paint on them.

My lips are bright red.

And my hair… I… I don't even know…

Nope. There are no words to describe the feathered monstrosity on my head. I hate it almost as much as the garment suffocating my rib cage.

A corset, the lady called it. It's the current fashion.

Like I give a racoon's behind about fashion.

But apparently the monsters are into this. They want all their potential brides and grooms to be dolled up for a night out, as though we're being courted, not hunted.

I run my palms along my smooth skirt, the sleek blue fabric unlike anything I've ever touched before.

"What is this?" I asked one of the ladies helping to dress me.

"Silk," she said with a frown, her expression suggesting it should have been obvious to me.

But given that my village clothes were always made of cotton, how was I to know such a fabric existed?

It's much smoother than the gauzy bridal gowns for the Day of the Choosing. Although, I now know the name of that texture, too—muslin.

Useless information, really,I think, glancing at the lady behind me. She's adding some final touches to the bird's nest she's created with my hair. The ribbon she's weaving through all the feathers matches my skirt. But the whole thing is… atrocious.

I would literally die back in the village if I had to wear this. The heat alone would kill me.

Hopefully, Monster City is cooler.

Wherever Monster City actually is.

All I know is, we've been on this train for at least a week. It routinely stops for hours, then continues on for a while during the night—something I've been able to see via the windows in my quarters. It's my only glimpse of the outside. The scenery has drastically changed from the greenery of the mountains.

We've seen flatter lands.

Industrial-looking villages covered in soot and strange brick buildings.

A seaside village, which I particularly enjoyed until the infamous lab coats came to get me for another round of testing.

Fortunately, that seems to have been my final medical session because I slept for an unknown time after that, thanks to whatever Mr. Threat in a Lab Coat—Threat for short—had given me.

Not exactly the most creative nickname, but it suited the ominous male who mentioned the Viscount to me. Threat prickled my nerves the first time he entered the room, his eyes a little too lascivious for my taste. However, he stayed to himself at first, simply observing and commenting on me as though I were some sort of experiment, like everyone else did.

Until the last session.

When he finally had me alone.

And he told me the Viscount would see me soon.

There was something incredibly ominous about that statement. Maybe it was his tone or the way the Viscount left last week. But it sounded very much like a threat.

One that unfortunately did follow me into my dreams.

When I woke up back in this room, I was so disoriented that I threw up. Then breakfast arrived with a team of women, and the lady holding the tray told me to hydrate because, "It's going to be a long day."

She wasn't lying.

Three of the women bathed me.

Trimmed and painted my nails.

Put some weird products in my hair. Cut my hair. Dried it.

Literally wrapped me up in this dress.

Painted my face—which was a bizarre experience all around.

And now, thankfully, they appear to be almost done.

Which is good because all four women seem to be getting jumpy.

The train stopped an hour or so ago, the windows showcasing a wall and nothing more. It was a wall similar to the one I woke up to see earlier today, making it impossible for me to know the actual time.

I wince as one of the feather ends scrapes the delicate skin beneath my hair. I had no idea just how sensitive my scalp actually was until today. Until these women started treating me like a damn doll.

The lady doesn't apologize. She just digs a little more until the feather is right where she wants it.

My jaw ticks.

I'm very done playing dress-up.

I look ridiculous. Nothing about this outfit is logical. I'll be lucky if I can even walk.

At least they paired this hideous gown with flat shoes, I think, grateful for that part of my wardrobe.

The door opening has the woman poking me so hard I can't stop the hiss from escaping my lips.

"Why isn't Offering Nine ready?" a deep voice demands, the familiarity of it making me swallow.

Duke Nightingale.

I've seen him several times since boarding this train, but he never talks to me, just about me. However, this time, he meets my gaze in the mirror and freezes like he's as startled by my appearance as I am.

"I'm sorry, Your Grace," the woman behind me says demurely. "Her hair is… unkempt."

I nearly snort. It's not unkempt. It's just not supposed to do whatever it is you're trying to do with it.

The Duke blinks, his unsettled expression immediately dissolving into a bored mask. "We're out of time," he informs her. "And the monsters are not going to care if she's missing a few feathers."

"Of course, Your Grace," she says, instantly stepping away from me with a low curtsy toward him. But his focus is no longer on her, as he's returned his gaze to mine.

She takes the hint and leaves, the other ladies following behind her in a hurry.

Their nervous energy leaves a lingering chill in the air, causing the hairs along my arms to rise in response. It's Monsters Night.

I've known this was coming, but somehow the realization feels all the more real now. Because it's time.

Swallowing, I move to stand, only to be met with the Duke's hand as he holds his palm out for me. "Here," he says, his voice much softer than before. "Allow me to escort you."

I blink at his hand, confused by the gesture. But it's not like I can say no to him. And he doesn't give me the same vibes as Threat. If anything, the Duke seems more fatherly than anything else. Which is a crazy description, yet strangely accurate.

His palm feels weird against mine. Not creepy weird, just different weird. However, his sturdy grip lends me the strength and steadiness I need to stand and keeps me standing when I nearly trip over the voluminous skirts tangling with my legs.

"This dress is…" I trail off, realizing that he's really not the right one to complain to.

Yet he must know what I intended to say because he chuckles in response, the sound almost rusty in nature. "Suffocating?" he guesses. "Impractical? Difficult to breathe in?"

I gape at him, shocked that he pulled all those descriptions from my mind. But if he's going to be truthful, then so am I. "It's terrible."

He laughs outright then, his head tipping back a little and lighting up his features to reveal a much younger man underneath. "You sound like my daughter."

That has me staring at him in a whole new light. "Your… daughter?"

His amusement seems to die in an instant, his expression sobering as he stares down at me with his nearly black eyes. "Yes. I think she would like you, if she could meet you. Alas…"

He clears his throat and starts toward the door, only to pause midstep and look at me once more.

"I realize this all feels… intense to you. Scary, even. But trust me when I say your fate with the monsters will be a lot kinder than your fate in that village. They'll worship you, Ms. Everheart. They'll make you their queen."

My eyebrows rise. "Is that why I'm dressed in this hideous gown?"

Some of that amusement returns, his eyes crinkling a little at the corners. "You're wearing some of the finest materials money can buy, Ms. Everheart. The fashion might seem strange to you, but the monsters love it. And if I'm right about you, then you're going to impress them all."

I clear my throat. "What if I don't want to impress them?"

He simply smiles, but it's not the same smile as before. This one seems almost pitying. "You've already impressed them, Ms. Everheart. Just by being you."

I frown, not following. "That can't be true. I haven't met any of them."

"You don't have to meet them to impress them," he says, threading his arm with mine and starting toward the door again. "But you're tonight's prize. So thank you, Ms. Everheart. You have no idea what your sacrifice means to me. I hope, in turn, your future mate or mates give you everything you've ever wanted and more."

With that bizarre statement, he opens the door and we're met by two Protectors dressed in their trademark hoods.

The smiles and amusement no longer exist in the Duke's expression, his hard features set in a way that tells me any further comments will be met with a sharp reply.

It's almost like he's two people.

A father and a Duke,I think, still frowning at him. And what did he mean by mates? Like more than one monster?

While he described them as, uh, sort of enticing, I guess, I… I don't want a single mate, let alone multiple mates.

"Your Grace," one of the Protectors says, the voice sending an immediate chill down my spine. "Would you like us to take her to the landing platform?"

That's Threat. After hearing his statements repeat in my dreams for hours, I know his tones all too well.

Except he was one of the lab coat men, not a Protector.

So why is he a Protector now?

Were all the men in lab coats actually Protectors?

It was hard to know for sure since they always cover their features when in uniform. But this Protector is definitely Threat.

"No, I'll walk her there, Timothy," the Duke replies. "Then you and Protector Edvard can take over."

Timothy,I think, not bothering to listen to his placating response. At least I was close with the T nickname.

Duke Nightingale is quiet as he escorts me down the long train hallway, past numerous doors and seating areas, until we finally enter the room I first met him in.

But he doesn't stop there.

Instead, he continues past it to the door I entered a week ago. It's open to reveal a marble-floored platform and another train across from ours.

Everything is white. Too white. Too pristine. Too clean. Including the walls and ceiling.

It's like we've been teleported to another dimension, one painted in a solitary color.

The other two Offerings from my village stand waiting for me, their attires rivaling my own. Well, Bartholomew's outfit is similar to the Duke's vest and slacks combo, only Bartholomew also has on a jacket.

Miranda—the name of Offering Three, which I learned during our first day on board—has on a dress like mine. Except hers is maroon.

This is my first time seeing both of them since that fateful Day of the Choosing. I imagine they've shared experiences similar to mine over this last week.

Bartholomew's light blue eyes find mine as I join them on the marbled platform just off the train. Everything about his gaze and expression says he's bored, but I notice the slight clench of his jaw as he looks at where my arm is threaded through the Duke's.

I'm not sure what that's about. Maybe he thinks I'm receiving some sort of preferential treatment?

"The three of you represent the Nightingale family now," the Duke says, his strange accent seeming a bit thicker. "It's up to you to fulfill the Offering requirements to the best of your abilities."

He slides his arm away from mine and slightly inclines his head in our direction.

"Thank you for your sacrifice," he continues before straightening his spine. "May you take mates of the highest caliber and make our family proud."

Turning, he faces a team of Protectors who have gathered just off the train.

"Lead them to their starting positions," he instructs them before glancing at his pocket watch. "The portals will open in six-and-thirty minutes." He meets my gaze once more. "Or, as the monsters prefer to say it, thirty-six minutes. Good luck."

With that, he returns to the train door and leaves us without a backward glance.

This is it.

Monsters Night.

Time to run.