Page 8 of Their Blood Queen
But I discovered prayers do the trick, enabling me to survive a lot longer than I probably should have.
Playing the role of a God has served me well, but it’s a tactic that only works if I’m feared and worshiped.
As another brief wave of prayers feeds my dark beast, I flutter my eyelids closed for a moment to give him a snack.
He needs to stay in the shadows.
Stay in the realm of prayers and dreams.
I don’t allow my monster form to peek through outside of carefully controlled stipulations.
He can’t have free rein. Not ever.
Because it’s not just a matter of appearance for me. When I allow my dark side to play, I lose control.
The Dream Eater takes over.
That can never happen. Not in a city full of fragile humans.
I only let him out in a controlled fashion, sacrificing an Elite family every now and then who hasn’t met the unreasonable point quota I’m forced to raise every year.
The last time I released him, though, my beast consumed an entire village. Not everyone in that village deserved their fate.
Most villages fear the monsters when they shouldn’t.
Me? I should definitely be feared. I don’t want an innocent to die, but when my true nature escapes, I’m dangerous.
No one is safe.
I can’t let him out again if the delicate ecosystem we’ve developed here is going to survive.
I’m not the only powerful monster suffering.
That is why qualified mates are more valuable than fodder. Genetic manipulation and generations of selection have created unique humans that are much needed by our kind. A mate can stabilize a powerful monster, as can other monsters in tandem with the right anchor if their types complement one another.
I’ve never met a monster who suited mine, not in this world, at least.
And any human I’ve tried to mate hasn’t survived. Whatever genetics a Dream Eater requires, I’ve yet to discover it.
The growling in my head rumbles. My beast snaps inside my soul, hungry for more, but there aren’t any further prayers right now.
Prayers come during times of desperation.
Of suffering.
Perhaps, it’s time to bring them out again.
“That depends,” I tell Helia’s reflection in my two-story window that overlooks the Elite City. She always asks me if I’m going to take a mate, and I always respond the same way. “Are you?”
I take a sip of my whisky that rolls around like caramel on forever ice—a fabulous product created by the Magic Sector just five years ago.
Her plump lips stretch into a grin, revealing deadly teeth and a long tongue that flicks out to taste the air. “You know I prefer my playthings,” she says, still petting the male bowing his head in submission. Her smile dims as she evaluates me. “You seem tired, Cain. Do you need me to send some gifts? I have a few pets to spare.”
The male at her feet shivers but doesn’t protest.
Any gifts for my beast won’t survive a true feed.
“No gifts,” I tell her, earning a scowl from the Queen of Monster City. She doesn’t wear a crown, but her horns and glimmering hair that seems to float on an invisible wind are crown enough.