Sadistic Mates

Evelyn I’ve just come off shift, after my sleazebag boss swiped my tips. The cold air bites through my clothes as I walk the streets. Something feels off. Too quiet. Unease prickles down my spine, I push the feeling aside and keep moving. Snow seeps into my flats, numbing my toes. I’ve worked at the same café for two years now. It doesn’t pay much, but with the economy tanked and half the city in ruins, I’m lucky to have a job at all. It never used to be like this. When I was a kid, the city flourished. Back then, no one had heard of him. Now everyone whispers about the Dark Ones. The monsters. Destroyers. And no one dares say his name. The human government tried for years to stop him—banding together, forming coalitions—it never worked. He doesn’t just burn towns. He annihilates entire countries, cities swallowed whole in flames. Always searching for something. No one knows what. Not even him, they say. I cut between two abandoned buildings, eyes locked on the alley leading to the caravan park. One more block and I’ll be back in my trusty tin can house. It’s not much, but it’s mine. I’ve never had a real home, so this rusted metal shell feels like a palace compared to the places I’ve been. My parents dumped me at a church days after I was born. The nuns took me in, and I bounced through the system until I was nearly eighteen. Ended up on park benches. It was better than some of the homes I’d been in. I don’t regret what I did to survive, still the scars haven’t faded. I found the café while wandering, cold and hungry. A sign in the window read: Help Wanted. I walked in and asked for the job. The owner didn’t even ask my name. Just tossed me an apron and told me to start. The lunch rush was hell that day. I’ve worked there ever since. As I near the corner of the building, I spot a man leaning against the wall. The bitter stench of smoke clings to the air around him. He pushes off the bricks as I approach, and my gut twists. I turn into the alleyway quickly, hoping to lose him when I hear his footsteps directly behind me. A hand grabs me and yanks me backward. I scream, and a gloved hand clamps over my mouth. “No, be a good girl and stay quiet.” His voice is low, almost gentle, and it makes my skin crawl. I nod, thinking maybe he just wants my bag. Reaching into it, I find my wallet and offer it to him, waving it in front of his face. He knocks it away. “I don’t want your money. I want something else,” he whispers, and his whiskey-soaked breath hits me like a slap. Panic surges. He throws me to the ground. I scream again, louder this time, praying someone hears me. His hand strikes my face, and pain blooms as my head snaps to the side. Vision blurs. He rips at my slacks. I fight—kicking, clawing, anything to get him off. My nails dig into his eyes, and he yanks my hair, slamming my skull into the pavement. The impact rattles my teeth, but I don’t stop thrashing. Cold seeps into my skin through the snow, freezing my limbs. The next second… he’s gone. One moment his weight crushes me, the next I’m staring at empty space. I scramble to pull up my pants, heart hammering. Grunting echoes from deeper in the alley, and I turn my head. Someone or perhaps something is there. Tearing into the man like he’s made of paper. I flinch as an arm flies through the air and lands in the snow with a sickening thud. Blood coats the ground. The attacker’s face is calm, a calmness I haven't witnessed before—inhuman. The man’s skull caves under each blow. I gag, choking back bile. This isn’t just violence, it’s slaughter. Eyes shut tight, I curl in on myself, praying I’m not next. Every nerve screams run. My body paralyzes me, so I can’t move. I’ve never been this terrified. I wait for death. The noise stops. When I dare to peek, two men are standing over me. One reaches out, and I slap his hand away, bracing for another blow. “Please, I won’t tell. Just let me go. I saw nothing, I promise,” I beg through sobs, body shaking. The taller one kneels beside me. He gently brushes my hair from my face, tucking it over my shoulder. I look up and freeze. Pitch-black eyes. Not dark and Bottomless. I can see myself reflected in them, tiny and terrified. He holds out his hand again, and I recoil, flinching before he can touch me. “Ours,” he breathes. For a second, I think I misheard. Ours? Were they going to finish what the other man started? “We’re scaring her,” says the blood-soaked man—the one who tore the attacker apart like tissue. His voice is calm, almost apologetic. My eyes flick to him. He’s drenched in gore, skin stained crimson, the smell of blood and death so thick I can taste it. “Go,” the dark-eyed one says, turning to his companion. The second man nods. I don’t wait for them to change their minds. Bolting, I run down the alleyway, across the snow, through the caravan park, and straight to my van. I’ve never been so grateful to see that rusted, graffiti-tagged tin box in my life. The second I reach the door, my body finally gives out. I double over and puke into the snow, heaving until my stomach is empty. My face burns. My throat feels like it’s been scraped raw. The noise must be loud because the van next to mine flicks on a light. I fumble with my keys, heart slamming in my chest, and dart inside before anyone sees me. The door slams behind me. Safe. Sort of. Sliding to the floor, I let my legs stretch out, back pressed against the wall. What the f**k just happened? How am I even alive? They weren’t human. That much is clear. And yet… They let me go. The image of those black eyes won’t leave me. They were voids, swallowing everything. I could’ve reported them. But to whom? There’s no one left to protect this city. Cops either quit or died long ago. Justice here is street-level—either vigilante or criminal. And that man, whoever he was, didn’t even breathe hard as he pulled that monster apart. I get up, closing all the curtains and locking every door and window twice. Paranoia claws at me. I’ve lived in this city my whole life. I know which blocks to avoid, which shadows to ignore. My area? It’s usually quiet. Not safe, exactly, though usually not this violent. No one’s ever attacked me here before. Not until tonight. Most people don’t live on this side anymore. It’s a dead zone. The homeless don’t even bother—nothing to scavenge, no one to beg from. After checking the locks again, I slip into the bathroom. The shower screeches to life. I strip off my damp clothes and step under the water. It hits my skin like fire. The cold has sunk so deep, the heat feels like it’s burning me. I ease in slowly, shivering as I inhale the scent of my cheap strawberry shampoo. After, I wrap up in my fluffy towel, shuffle into the bedroom, and pull on some clothes. The clock ticks closer to 5 a.m.—I’ve got to be up in less than an hour for the breakfast shift. Climbing into bed, I wrap myself tight in the duvet like a human burrito. As I close my eyes, the image of those black eyes lingers in the dark behind my eyelids.