Page 76 of The Beast

Chapter Twenty-Three

Three days later, I’m having coffee with Harper and Anissa at the small cafe on the east side of the Obsidian’s lobby. It’s quiet and lovely with the feel of a European cafe. It’s not quite four, so Anissa’s still technically working, but it’s a slow time, and she’s letting a trainee run the front desk while she keeps an eye on him from afar.

“I still can’t believe how lucky Gabe is that your dad found him,” Harper says. “It’s like a miracle.”

Anissa nods. “I guess it kind of was. He wanted to do some hunting over behind Gabe’s cabin, so he was heading that way to ask if Gabe minded. Turns out Gabe had managed to drag himself a good ways, so Dad found him in the woods near the cabin. Nick of time, too,” she says, with an apologetic look to me. “He was seriously fucked up. I mean, you’ve seen the scars, right?”

I nod.

“Well, I haven’t,” Harper says. “But I’ll take your word for it until I’m sure that showing them to me won’t throw him into a funk.”

I reach over and take Anissa’s hand. “I owe you big-time,” I tell her.

“You don’t. Neither does Gabe. He’s family now. Besides, you’re really good for him.”

“Yeah?” I feel my cheeks go pink with pleasure.

“At first—well, you know. I really thought he was going to kill you. After I met you, though, I was sure it wasn’t you. The bitch who was with those murderous pricks, I mean.”

“He told you? About how she must have faked my eyes?”

She nods. “That was the deepest wound. You, I mean. Now that he knows it wasn’t actually you—well, now that he believes it—It’s like he’s getting back to how I imagine he was before all of that happened. When he was with us…

She trails off with a shudder, then takes another sip of coffee.

“Will you tell me?” I ask.

She frowns, then looks between Harper and me. “I probably shouldn’t, but he loves you both. And you should probably know. In case—well, honestly, in case he goes off the rails.”

I meet Harper’s eyes. “Yeah,” she says. “We probably should.”

Anissa nods but doesn’t speak right away. Instead, she just traces her finger around the rim of her mug. “Broken,” she finally says. “I mean, you both know that, but I’m talking shattered into tiny shards, broken. Psychically and physically. I mean, he was more wound than man for those first few months. That was his body. As for the rest, it was like the part of him that knew how to be human had just switched off.”

Harper and I exchange a glance, and I can see the horror and heartbreak in her eyes, and I’m sure she sees the same in mine.

“He didn’t talk for the first three weeks,” Anissa continues. “Not a word. Just stared out at nothing. Dad thought maybe the fever had damaged his brain. But then one night I heard him screaming—nightmares—and when I ran in, he grabbed my arm so hard he left bruises.” She shrugs. “That’s when I knew he was still in there. Just...buried under a lot of pain.”

“Gabe,” Harper’s voice catches. “Oh, god.”

“The rage came later. He made a promise to catch and kill whoever did that to him. And as soon as he made that promise, he started training. Like obsessively. Like if he stopped moving, the darkness would swallow him whole.”

She finishes off her latte, then shrugs. “That’s how he coped,” she says with a shrug. “Still does, when it gets bad. The fighting, the training—it’s not about violence for him. It’s about...I guess you’d say he’s trying to burn it out.

“He never talked to anyone?” Harper asks. “A therapist?

Anissa laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “Gabriel Grimm, talk about his feelings? Please. Dad tried. I tried. But he just shut down every time. I think painting was his only therapy. “We’ve got a shit ton of his canvases in storage in Aspen. For a while, he barely ate. Just painted. And he’d go days without even speaking. And when he finally finished a canvas, he’d be a little more human. Like he was there.”

She pauses, then looks at me. “He painted you the most, even though he said he hated you.”

I sip my coffee, trying to swallow the lump in my throat.

“The thing is,” Anissa continues, “I’ve never seen him like he’s been lately.” She tilts her head, studying me. “He’s still fucked up. But he’s lighter, too. Like he’s remembered what hope looks like, you know? And his cards have been lighter lately, too. Less swords, more cups. And his energy isn’t so jagged anymore. Still a mess, but a healing mess.”

“I’ll take whatever I can get,” I tell her. I down the final sip of my coffee. “Speaking of, I’m going to go see him.” I look at both of them. “Coming?”

Harper shakes her head. “Give him a hug for me, but I have to go hop on a video call with Elliott and—honestly, I don’t even know what it’s about. He’s probably just sick of London and wants company.”

“I can’t either,” Anissa says when I glance her way. “Front desk duty. I can’t leave the ducklings alone yet.”