Beautiful Monsters.
1274 Words
And I’m not even his actual sister. He calls me that because it turns him on. His fetishes always came wrapped in cruelty and blood.
“Still stubborn, are we?” He chuckled darkly, the sound echoing like a monster’s lullaby.
“I missed you, Mira. Bedtime was always boring without your screams.” He stepped closer, dragging his fingers along the wall like a child playing with their prey. “I thought about killing you so many times... for all those nights you made me toss and turn, dreaming of how you’d bleed.”
He hasn't changed a bit.
“Awn, you guys started the fun without me?” an unfamiliar voice chimed in. “That’s so unfair.”
I recognized that voice. I knew Dante wasn’t the only one who arrived.
“It’s just starting,” Dante grinned, spreading his claws, black as shadow. “Necesito sangre.” He spoke in Spanish.
“You always need blood,” said Luther, joining him with a dark smile. He stepped to Dante’s side. “Hi, Tabitha.”
I forced myself to stand and took a step back. These alphas were insane. I needed to get out. Now. I don’t care about myself. I’m just worried about my child upstairs. Looking at the two of them, I don’t think only Luther and Dante came to fetch me. The others must be around here somewhere.
“Or should I call you Mirajane?” Luther gently asked.
Luther Noctariel, my second mate from the realms, was every bit the seductive nightmare he promised to be.
He stood at 6’2”, all polished power and quiet hunger. The fitted black suit clung to his lean body as if stitched to his skin.
Expensive, unforgiving, and designed to tease. His shoes gleamed, his fingers gloved in rings that had tasted blood and skin alike.
The black tattoo of the Moon Goddess stretched across his pale back, winding up his neck like a lover’s touch. It pulsed with magic, old and dangerous. A reminder of what he was: a vampire bound by no mercy.
His hair slicked back in a perfect wave, neat and cruel. Thick brows framed his eyes — crimson, blood-bright, always watching, always undressing me with a gaze that felt like possession. His skin? Cold silk. Kind of cold that makes your thighs ache. His lips? Firm and slow-moving, curved into a permanent smirk like he knew exactly how to ruin me.
And he did.
Luther never begged for my body. He promised it would be his. One night. A bite. One climax, and I’d be bound to him forever.
He called it destiny. I called it damnation.
But even now, standing in front of him, my knees weak from the weight of his stare and the sweet venom in his voice, I can feel it.
That heat. Ache. That filthy part of me that wanted to surrender just to see what he’d do.
Because Luther wasn’t just a lover.
He was a beautiful psychopath. Kind of man who’d f**k you like a storm, choke you with silk, and whisper your name as he destroyed your soul.
And gods help me...
Part of me still wanted him to.
Dante and Luther’s pheromones are fogging my senses.
Dante’s eyes lit up in twisted amusement. Before I could react, he kicked me hard, right in the stomach again.
This time, it was harder than it was.
“Haah!” I screamed as blood spilled from my mouth. “Ahhh... haah... aaaah.” I panted, gasping for air.
It hurt.
It hurt so badly. I couldn’t breathe.
“Mom?”
My eyes widened at the sound of that voice. I pushed myself upright and saw Zephiryn standing at the top of the staircase.
No. No, no… I shook my head in disbelief as I spotted Silas beside Zephyrin, holding my child’s shoulder.
When did he get there?
“That wasn’t supposed to hurt,” Silas said smoothly. “Don’t you think, my lovely Mirajane?”
Silas Noctariel, my fourth mate from the realms, was a fantasy carved from moonlight and shadows. A creature so dangerously exquisite, even the stars would tremble in his presence.
He stood at 6’3”, all silent strength and raw temptation.
His body was a work of art.
Hard muscle beneath flawless, porcelain-pale skin. Each line of his sculpted abs and broad chest hinted at restrained power, the kind that could shatter bone or hold you with reverent care.
A black three-piece suit clung to his body like it had stitched by shadows themselves, tailored to perfection, hugging his lean frame, tapering at his slim waist, and stretching just enough across his broad shoulders.
The fabric shimmered subtly under the light. A high-collared shirt peeked from beneath, the top buttons undone, revealing a sinful line of his chest, just enough to tempt, never enough to satisfy.
His shoes were polished obsidian, silent on the ground like a panther’s paws.
And then… his eyes.
A haunting mix of green and gold — the eyes of a tiger ready to pounce.
Silas didn’t speak often, but when he did, his voice slid into your bloodstream, smooth as silk, deep as an abyss, laced with the promise that made your thighs press together before you even realized.
His features were sharp, elegant, and heartbreakingly beautiful.
A pointed nose, full lips, and cheekbones sculpted like marble. His black hair was soft and slightly disheveled at the front, with strands that defied control falling just above his fierce gaze.
He moved like a whisper, gentle, composed, hypnotic. Silas didn’t beg, demand, or chase.
He waited… with that devastating smile.
Until you offered yourself willingly, trembling, gasping, and unable to say no.
Because once you gave yourself to Silas Noctariel…You wouldn’t belong to yourself anymore..
“Are you okay, Mom?” my child asked softly.
“Get away from HIM.” I panicked.
“Hah! This is getting interesting,” Dante laughed, grinning widely.
I stood again, barely. Dante struck me with a vicious uppercut. I cried out, but before I could fall, he grabbed my wrist, slammed me to the floor, and drove a large nail through the center of my hand.
I screamed until my throat tore. My vision swam with red. The pain seared straight into my bones.
Dante leaned in, breathing me in like a beast, savoring its kill. “Didn’t I tell you that the next time we meet, I’d shove a nail through this hand?” His voice was silk soaked in venom. “Who is this little wolf, hmm? Kai’s?”
I gasped for air, choking on blood and disbelief. My fingers twitched against the cold floor, pinned like some cursed relic. My whole body trembled.
“He’s mine,” I croaked. “He’s my son.”
Dante tilted his head with a sick grin. “Oh? Yours? So that makes him... ours?”
“Don’t touch him,” I snarled.
Ronan froze on the stairs, his body stiff and eyes wide. He didn’t deserve to see this. Not after losing his father.
Ronan was the fake name we gave our child. His real name was Zephyrin.
Years ago, Kai suggested the fake name to protect her, especially from rogues and alphas hunting us. I didn’t fully understand how changing names would help. But I trusted Kai.
“She’s lying,” Luther said, stepping forward. “Mirajane ran like a coward. She hid from us. Took what wasn’t hers.”
“She was ours,” Dante spat, “and she ran off to screw a rogue like Kai. A healer. A traitor.”
- Writer
