Page 25 of Below the Shadow of the City

He bites at my lower lip, carefully with his blunt front teeth. A thought flashes in my mind of how it would feel for those fangs to sink into my flesh, I suddenly crave the sharp pain of it. His tongue juts through my lips and I taste him, he’s hot and sweet and I savor all of it. As I drink him in, he migrates his hand from the small of my back across the front of my leggings.

“This alright?” He speaks so softly, my heart twists.

“Yes,” I peep, he stops for a split second and looks at me, “one thousand percent yes.” I answer more confidently. A devilish grin crosses his face.

His hand spreads my legs and grips between them. I let out a soft whimpering moan, I can’t stop myself as the pad of his finger runs along the seam. It places a slight bit of pressure that makes my thighs tremble.

A stifled laugh escapes his mouth as he feels the heat radiating from between my legs and the layers of fabric I’ve now soaked through at his very touch. I’m barely able to stay upright, his palm keeping me steady. “Must not be that weird for you,” he breathes into my ear. I tremble a bit, I’m on the verge of collapsing onto him. I’m starving for him, I didn’t even know I was hungry until now, and this is only the appetizer.

“Where did you come from?” I shake the lusting thoughts away for now, at the very least I should know something real about him.

“New Jersey, obviously,” he chuckles, a little nervously, his clawed fingertips rubbing his brow. “I’m kidding, uh, how do I explain this. There’s another city, underground.” I stare blankly.

He continues, “so, this is your basement, right?” I nod. “But where I’m from this is the top floor, actually above the top floor.”

The information is so baffling I can’t process it as fact. What does he mean there’s another city, how is that possible? I’ve been underground, everyone in the city has. There’s a network of subway stations and tunnels stories below ground. What he’s proposing would be something straight out of a fantasy, right?

“Let me get this straight, there’s another city, below this one, filled with a bunch of⁠—”

“Monsters?” He cuts me off with a snarky grin.

I stutter a bit, saying what he is to his face feels wrong. “That isn’t the word I’d use.” What would the correct word be for him? When I saw him in the alleyway he was a monster, but whoever is before me is something else entirely.

“What, people of monstrous traits? Something more politically correct? We’re monsters. Orcs, ogres, minotaurs, centaurs, shifters, run of the mill fae beasts like myself, and many, many others.”

“Fae beasts,” I repeat quietly. Only one of him existing was something I’d barely wrapped my head around. I could write it off as folklore or a fairy tale come to life, I’d seen the movies and read the books. Stories were based in truth, right? But the thought of an entire society of these beings? “I’m sorry, what the fuck?” My thought slipped out before I could stop it, my eyes dart to his, looking for any bit of anger.

“It is New York after all,” he smiles with a wink, then pauses for a moment, thinking. “Do you trust me?”

I release any apprehension I’ve felt. I think I trust him, I’ve poured my heart out to him over the phone for weeks now. And for the first time, I don’t have a shred of doubt about what I’m about to do. I’ve been curious for a while, I need answers, and this is the best way to get them.

If I believed in fate, it would appear that every failed date and lonely night in the apartment has led me to this precise moment. I nod nervously and he extends his hand. I get a close look at the soft leathery pads of his palms and the thick onyx claws jutting out at the tips.

Briefly, he curls his fingers back and lowers it to his side, but I reach for him. My hand rests in his palm and disappears entirely when he closes his into a fist.

“Wait,” I say. “The cookies. As an apology.” I turn and pick up the cast aside plastic container with my free hand.

He opens the door to his side of the room and leads me down a dark hallway. There are corridors extending what seems like infinitely from the main hall we’re walking down. It’s a grid system that appears to be a replica of the streets above, each leading off into darkness.

“Now that you’re kidnapping me, can I get your real name?” I say as I trail behind him. Every stride of his is three of mine and he’s practically dragging me by the arm.

“Maddox,” he laughs. “Maddox Canavar.” I repeat it a few times under my breath to sense how it feels escaping my lips. It fits him far better than the fake nickname I’d given him.

As we walk he explains the mechanics of how this city works. How over a century ago the U.S. government quietly exiled large populations of supposed monsters to rudimentary underground cities or hidden rural communities. In the decades since, these places have flourished, most families built generational wealth from the ground up. Or down, in this particular case. Aside from simplistic trade deals to ensure that there’s continued access to food and goods, the government has meddled little since. Which given what I know of American history, is perhaps the most surprising piece of all of it.

“So you have social security numbers, the postal service, and can vote?” He nods, and I am trying to understand how one of the biggest government secrets in existence has been successfully kept for decades.

We reach an elevator and he presses the button. “An elevator is all that separates your world from mine?” I wait for flashes of magic or something otherworldly to happen, but it’s a basic, if not slightly outdated, elevator.

“Oddly simple, right?” He replies as I watch the numbers tick up, each flashes with an amber glow. “There are a handful of folks who have managed to establish lives and careers up above. Usually those with appearances that are easier to hide than mine. My sister doesn't have the same traits I do and is a lawyer. I know a vampire who’s a high ranking tech executive, and a wolf shifter who was on New York’s city council for a bit.” The elevator reaches our floor and the doors slide open to reveal a fluorescent-lit box. He enters and I pause. It’s unbelievable. Almost.

He and I stand on opposite sides, each thrumming with a nervous energy. I watch him interlace his fingers and nervously pick at his claws. I’m similarly twitching, I hear a thumping sound and look down and notice my foot tapping without any conscious input on my end. I forcefully stop it and proceed to drum my fingers against my side. It’s silent, but not awkward. He seems like he’s about to speak a handful of times, but each word stops itself before escaping his mouth.

The elevator slows to a stop and dings on a floor in the upper teens. I realize I don't have a single clue what to expect from this society below. It could be dark, dank, and haunted. It could be a veritable prison cell. The elevator opens to a vast brick hallway with warm reclaimed wood floors. It…is the nicest hallway I’ve seen in an apartment building. Across from the elevator is a high end side table with a glowing lamp and a goddamned linen-scented candle burning on it. The place feels expensive, I’m suddenly concerned I’m underdressed in my leggings and thrifted flannel.

“This is me,” Maddox says carefully, he steps out of the elevator and takes a right. I quickly follow, mouth agape at how much more luxurious this is than my own building. Shortly down the hallway he fishes around in his pocket for a set of keys, then unlocks the heavy steel door to his unit.

Stylistically it’s incredibly similar to the hallway, the walls are made of warm brown brick and the floors are a dark rustic wood. The ceilings easily stretch over twelve feet tall, he looked cramped in the laundry we’ve been in, here he’s proportionate. It’s a loft style, completely open with a massive kitchen (oh my god those marble countertops) and a spacious living room. There’s slight clutter, a pile of mail on the kitchen island, a hoodie tossed over the side of the couch, and a few chairs askew. It’s disheveled enough to make the space look lived in. The heart of the apartment is a very large flat screen TV and surround sound system. It looks like any other apartment a wealthy NYC bachelor would have, except the windows look to be made of light panels. They’re currently dimmed to appear as though it’s early evening.