The questions tumbled out of me. The relief I’d felt when seeing him — a monster that wanted to fuck me, not a monster that wanted to kill me — had brought all my energy back.
“Did you kill all of them?” he mocked, and I folded my arms in irritation at how high-pitched he made my voice. “No, I didn’t kill all of them. I led them away, Raelynn, and killed what I could. You expect me to kill every bloody Eld in Abelaum?” He snorted again. “Kill this for me, Leon — kill that for me, Leon — do you have any idea how goddamn tired I am of you humans expecting me to just kill everything for you?”
He was in a far worse mood than the last time I’d seen him. Probably something to do with that limp, if I had to guess. I shrunk at his irritation, but gave a little shrug. “You snap bones with your bare hands. You’re the strongest person, er, strongest…” He gave me a slow, exasperated look. “You’re the strongest being I’ve ever met, okay? I figured you could kill anything.”
“Almost,” he said softly. With a sudden violent jolt, he jammed the wood into the ground with his bare hands, the narrower end sinking into the damp earth and standing upright. He picked up one of the severed heads and speared it down on top of the wood. I stared at it in horror as black goop oozed down the stake.
“Leon, what…what are you doing?”
“Warning off the other Eld,” he muttered. He collected the other two heads and stalked off again, moving along the trees until he found the next spot he approved of and lined up another stake. I followed tenderly, my feet bare since I hadn’t had the sense to put on shoes before I went outside to fight monsters. I lingered beside him, trying not to stare at the heads.
“Their skulls are the only part of them that don’t rapidly decay,” he said, spearing the ground again. “Keeping them around can make the others a little less eager to come into yard.”
I winced in disgust as he mounted the next skull on the stake. The once-white eyes in the skeletal sockets had shriveled and blackened like old grapes. Absolutely disgusting.
“I can’t just keep severed heads around my yard,” I said.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Leon turned to face me. “Do they not fit your aesthetic? Would death suit your aesthetic better?” He paused, giving me a long look up and down. His eyes lingered on my neck, on the numerous hickeys he’d left there, and he grinned sadistically. “Red and purple suits you well.”
My cheeks heated as I rubbed my neck. Every day since our tryst in the graveyard, I’d felt giddy pleasure at the sight of those marks. They represented the ecstasy of the pain I’d endured. They were a scarlet letter, branding me as wicked, lustful girl.
“I should turn your ass the same colors for all the trouble you’ve caused me,” Leon grumbled, and I sputtered in protest. “Losing the goddamn grimoire…you should have given it back to me to begin with, in St. Thaddeus. Now I have to run all over the Pacific Northwest to track the thing down.”
“God, you’re an even bigger asshole than usual today.” I folded my arms. Like clockwork, my raging horniness at his threats flared up again. If spanking me would make him feel better, damn, he could go for it.
As I’ve said: self-preservation, I have none.
As I kept following him, I began to realize just how tired he looked. His hands were filthy, there was a tear in the back of his shirt, dirt smudged along his neck and in his disheveled blood-stained hair, and there was a faint, dirty, red gash peeking over the top of his t-shirt from his shoulder. I gulped, remembering the oozing blood from a couple nights past. “Are you hungry? Do you need a snack or something? Will that calm you down?”
He only grunted as he chose the next spot to display my morbid protection charm.
“Why did you come back here, Leon?” I said, as he mounted the last head and ran his filthy hand through his hair. “I don’t have the grimoire — and I’m not giving you my soul.” His eyes flashed as he glared at me. “So why did you bother to come?”
“…wasting time,” he muttered. He shoved his hands in his pockets, looking at me as if he wanted to say more, his lips pressed into a thin, hard line.
I stepped closer, closing the gap between us. He didn’t smell sweaty, like I would expect from a man who’d been running through the forest all night. Instead, he still smelled faintly of wood smoke and lemon, the kind of comforting smells that made me want to get close and close my eyes.