2. Camazotz

2

Camazotz

S he trembled in my arms, her fear scent so delicious, I kept no restraint, dipping my nose to her neck and inhaling. Her squirms only brought my chuckles to the surface, a yelp falling from her throat as I flew higher toward my castle, her eyes still unable to open.

She was a little thing, my brother's bride. Small, with big, curious brown eyes and long, dark hair. Her kind was famous—the Morales, witches with too much power.

To me, she was nothing but a game.

Since the beginning of my existence, I found amusement only in taking my brother's toys. He was a dream, what people wanted when they closed their eyes. I was what kept them up at night. Nothing belonged to me; that was a lesson I learned early on.

I no longer cared to wait to be given anything.

I took what I desired.

The first time I told my brother I wanted the witch, I meant it as a joke. He took the bait, though, his eyes flaring with something more than that annoying Nephilim blue, so I kept pushing.

At the time, Florencia didn't even have powers yet. She was nothing, just a stupid mortal, and yet, my brother was ready to drop everything to protect her.

But as happens to most things in this realm, what was once just a thought quickly became reality.

The joke ended. Her name lived between my lips. Her story, I knew by heart. Whether my intentions were good or bad, it didn't matter anymore.

I was just as obsessed as he was. He wanted Florencia for love; I needed her in the name of hate.

She would be mine.

My fingers gripped tighter around her, and a rush of cold air announced my home. The witch trembled, pressing into me for just a split second, only to remember who cradled her. The beacon flame above the north tower shone over us, her eyes going wild with shock as she peered upon me.

I was no stranger to that look. It was how every single person had gazed upon me since my creation.

I descended to the stone, letting her go as gently as I could, but she ripped away from me in a desperate panic, falling to the ground. Her knees tore open, but her reaction was not pain—it was anger.

With a hand on her heart, she sobbed out a plea, "Don't ever do that again!"

I breathed out a laugh, "I'll do it again."

Without waiting for her, I stepped toward the gate, nodding to my faceless protectors as I passed. Each guard stood nearly twelve feet tall, no armor to shield them, as their stone flesh prevented any injury. Me, they could sense, but her? Her, they did not know yet.

The Stonecrux lifted an arm with such swiftness, the gust nearly took her down. Its fist opened to show a singular eye inside its palm, the stony fingers long, gray, with pointed claws aimed in her direction.

Another gasp came from her mouth, and she was on my heels, urgency in her steps.

"What the fuck was that?"

"The Stonecrux." I shrugged. "My guards."

She was silent for a second, and I could bet she was still watching my Stonecrux in awe, but before I could enjoy the moment, she was tugging my shirt and following me around.

"You don't understand. I always get carsick," she hissed.

"Good thing I'm not a car." I hummed with annoyance at the comparison.

"I mean, it was worse. Up and down." Her words cracked as she glanced once more at the guards before crossing the threshold of the castle grounds. "Listen." She placed her hand on my arm, forcing me to stop.

Not because she was strong enough to keep me. Not because I was letting her have her way.

But because no one touched me.

No one.

Her hand was warm, fingers soft. Her skin against mine felt sinful and yet a type of divine that wasn't granted to monsters.

My nostrils flared with every inhale of her flowery scent. No fear this time, nothing but fucking flowers in the country of nightmares. How improbable was that?

"I think you got the wrong girl." She gave a sarcastic smile, taking in her surroundings. The fear was palpable, sure, but it wasn't the standard, wasn't the same stench other humans gave off when trapped in my abyss. She knew where she was; she'd dreamt it many times before. This one could tell fantasy from reality, consciousness from the subworld, and though I sensed something like fear in her, I knew she wasn't afraid to be here .

My eyes narrowed at the bold statement. Only a Morales would come to a god and claim he was wrong. I straightened my spine, taking my arm out of her grip as I slowly shook my head.

"I'm the king of nightmares, girl. I am never wrong."