Page 44 of Below the Shadow of the City

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” a smile upturns the corners of his lips. “It’s kind of cute how you beat around the bush like that. You’ve been very careful not to outright call me a beast or monster.” He winks. I melt a little bit. This was much easier when we were just having sex in his fancy apartment, not stiff, emotional conversations in the cold dark basement. I would say I don’t know why I let it progress past the one night stand, but I’d be lying.

Maybe, I like the complications and the drama. Maybe the emotional turmoil feels good because for the first time in months I am actually feeling something. Acting on feeling alone is what has gotten me hurt before, and truly, is it worth it to break what’s left of my heart?

There haven’t been rules for etiquette here. We haven’t talked much about it. And maybe ignoring his species was actually offensive. I’m afraid of the inevitability of heartbreak, not mythical creatures or guys with fur and claws. “It feels wrong to say,” I manage. “Like it’s, I don’t know, a slur or something.”

“Say it,” he nods his head as he teases. “Say I’m a monster.”

“Maddox—”

He bites his lips agonizingly slow and his eyes flash over me, “just say it. I want you to say it.” Something deep rumbles in his chest, a purr of discontentment.

I inhale and my chest rattles with unease, I’m fully clothed but somehow feel more exposed right now than I ever did when I was naked in front of him. He’s teasing me, and he’s honestly awful for it.

“Say it,” he says low this time, practically a growl that explodes in my chest.

“You are,” I start, “a terrible, horrible, borderline evil, beastly monster. And I hate that I want you as badly as I do.” I trail off in almost a whisper.

It does feel good to admit it aloud. I had been evading that fact for some time, focused on other complications between us beyond the incredibly obvious one. He’s a monster, and despite that fact, or maybe because of it, I am so incredibly attracted to him.

“Attagirl,” he quips in a growl, and my entire core melts into a puddle of molten lava. “You’re really giving Jane Austen a run for her money there.”

“Can you please just kiss me you asshole,” I snicker. I’m aching for him. My lips purse into an impish smile. God, I’m practically begging him to grip his claws into my flesh and tear me wide open.

“That I can manage,” his lips flick into a devilish grin and he pushes me against the wall. Momentarily I forget about any dust or cobwebs sticking to me as his lips press into me.

He pulls away from me slowly, “so, if you want me, despite me being a quote-unquote ‘evil beastly monster,’ what is it you’re so afraid of?”

“I’m cursed,” I say sheepishly, of course it sounds utterly ridiculous to say aloud. No normal person would be so entirely convinced they have some sort of spell cast on them to make them kill every relationship they’ve ever been in.

“You’re…cursed?” There are cogs whirring in his head as he tilts it to one side. He’s doing an incredible job of not bursting out laughing at the prospect. It is ridiculous, I’m well aware of that fact.

“Every single time I’ve let someone in I’ve steadily killed the relationship. Every last one of them. They wake up one day, realize I’ve wrung them dry of any affection, and leave me. I’m clearly not meant to be in a relationship long term. And I’m terrified that if I let myself fall for you in the way I want to I would be absolutely destroyed if you ever left.”

“I won’t,” he grasps for my hands and they disappear in his massive leathery palms. “Even if my feelings for you ever change, I promise, I won’t ever drop you out of the blue. But for now, as far as I’m concerned, you’re mine, Sigrid.”

Being his is a fucking terrifying premise. And my mouth involuntarily drops open at the statement. I feel my head shake back and forth and my lips form the word ‘no.’

I don’t mean to subconsciously reject him, my body is acting on its own volition. There’s nothing I can do to stop the motions, I watch him wither at my response. I can’t apologize now, I can’t undo what my body automatically did. It operated on an instantaneous reaction. It operated on fear.

He slumps against the wall and rubs his fingers across his brow. His tail rhythmically whips back and forth like a metronome.

There’s a distance between us now, and I’m doing my best to not walk through the door back into my building. It would be so incredibly easy to run. I really think he’d chase after me this time.

He clears his throat a few times, like he’s willing the right words to come out. “I’m not some main character in a romance novel, okay? I don’t know how to eloquently say all of these things I feel about you, Sigrid. And I know you’re confused about whether or not this so-called risk is worth the reward. I’m practically begging you to please, please live in the moment with me a bit without being so afraid. I can’t keep living like I have a damn doomsday clock ticking above my head. Either you want this, and me, and all the weirdness, and intricacies, and unknown that comes with that, or you don’t. But you need to choose.”

I watch his fist clench and unclench as he speaks. His chest heaves as he settles himself after speaking. Of course he doesn't want to play this game.

“It’s too much,” I barely choke it out. He’s giving me everything I could have ever asked for and more, and I’m terrified of accepting it.

It’s like each time I metaphorically reach for him there’s an invisible force around me that pins my arms to the side.

He takes a few steps closer and I tense. He doesn’t deserve this, Hurricane Sigrid can’t suck him into her horrible vortex. I’m sparing him if I let him go. I lower my head and squeeze my eyes shut to keep the tears from dripping onto the floor.

“I’m only asking you to let this happen without fear, not sign your life away into an eternal contract. Look at me.” My chin rests between his thumb and forefinger and he tilts my head to meet his azure glassy eyes. “I’ve been steadily falling for you since the night we first spoke. Every single day I fall for you harder. It’s going to take a hell of a lot to change that.”

“But—” I protest. It’s been hardly any time at all. He’ll change his mind. Maybe not today, the uncertainty lives in the someday. I know he will, everyone else has. I don’t think I could bear hearing the gentle words of rejection escaping his lips. The idea of becoming nothing more than a nuisance he needs to shake off makes me sick to my stomach.

“No buts,” he says sternly. “In your heart of hearts, do you feel the same way or am I a complete fool? Was I too optimistic to think I could convince you to fall for me?”