My Boyfriend is a Monster (4 page)

“I’m sorry.”

Raising his hand to his mouth to catch his cough Yaroslav watched as blood sprayed all over his fingers. Closing his eyes to steady his awareness he opened them and spit the blood that had filled his mouth to the floor. He coughed again. This time it was harsh and wet. “Fucking Marcus,” he blamed.

Nathan suspicions were confirmed. “So it was Marcus.”

Coughing into his hands again Yaroslav nodded.

“So does Marcus know where I am?”

He shook his head still coughing and waited for the fit to pass then took a deep breath. “No,” he said. Exhaling he continued. “They had leads on you in three different countries. I was contracted to find if you were . . .” he coughed. Settling he continued. “If you were here, but I did not report back.”

Walking outside through the hole in the wall Nathan asked, “Why not?”

Raising his voice Yaroslav answered. “I was to track you down, find you and report back. Then I was to wait for his children to get here. Then I go away and they kill you, or trap. Not fucking sure what they were going to do.”

“Children,” Nathan inquired from outside.

“Is what he calls his inner circle,” Yaroslav said then spit on the floor. “I think he live too long, gone crazy.”

Returning through the newly renovated door way Nathan carried a piece of metal he formed into a bowl that was filled with rain water. Seeing an old crate on his way back to the old Warrior he grabbed it and planted it beside him. He could see it gave him a bit of comfort. Handing him the water Yaroslav took the bowl and began to drink.

“Slowly,” Nathan suggested.

He gulped the rain water with gratitude and could feel every ounce flow inside him. It offered a little relief and he was grateful.

“So why didn’t you contact him?”

“I am a Warrior, not a tracker,” he chuckled. “Marcus should of came himself if he wanted to catch you.”

“For that I guess I should be grateful,” he said taking the jagged metal bowl to the hole in the wall and holding it outside to collect more rain.

Yaroslav began to laugh. “Truth be told, was hoping for much different outcome.”

Returning with more water in the bowl he knelt down and gave it to Yaroslav then examined his stomach and saw it was no longer babbling. It was barely trickling.

He looked up. “But when Marcus does not hear from me. . .” going into another coughing fit he could not finish.

Nathan nodded knowing what he was trying to say.

Finally stopping he glanced around the old warehouse then peered at the bowl of rain water. Raising his head he smiled, “I am Yaroslav, Grand Prince of Rus, the Wise,
and Chakan Warrior. I would go to the After a Warrior,” he said staring into his eyes. “And not like wounded animal about to die on floor.”

Nodding Nathan stood up.

Taking a deep labored breath Yaroslav pushed himself away from the crate and with all his will he rose to his feet.

“A Warrior to the After,” Nathan said morphing. They stood in front of each other as the rain outside started to subside and hints of light started to make its way through the night.

“We met in the Now as Warriors, In the After, maybe we find each other as friends” Yaroslav said quietly as he prepared. “May my eyes look east when I burn . . . so I may say goodbye.”

“Your head will be lifted and your eyes will look east,” Nathan said putting his hand on his shoulder. Nodding he whispered, “In the After.” 

Raising his head Yaroslav howled a deafening scream into the heavens.

Driving his other hand into the defeated Warriors chest the flesh parted way as bones snapped and Nathan snarled. Wrapping his claws around the slow beating
heart he wrenched it out of the body, causing a suction of flesh to back up then rush forward exploding into the air. Suddenly Yaroslav became silent as his body fell to the dust almost lifeless. His eyes went from a shiny brown glow to a dull milky white. They call it the Bridge between the Now and the After, leaving one world and entering the next. Nathan roared in triumph and sunk his razor sharp teeth into the still beating heart as flesh and muscles burst in his mouth and the milky dullness in Yaroslav’s eyes faded to a dull and faded brown. He had left this world. This was the Chakan way.

THIRTEEN: Goodbye Stranger

Sitting in her window holding a second cup of tea she stared out into the morning. Her body had stopped aching on its own and began to tighten, hurting only if she moved. Watching from a distance as people all over the city were beginning their day she wished she was one of them. Lily would be calling her best friends and telling them she could not come in today. They would know why no matter what excuse she gave them.
Why give them one
? she thought and took another sip.

She was so sure that if she just left him he would eventually find her and kill her. She could not go home, she had none. She could move far away, another state, hell another country. “With what money?” she asked herself. Besides, she made a lot of friends here lately with Todd and Martin and she felt like she shouldn’t have to start over. She was getting older and didn’t want to start over. Rick controls all the money and he controls her. She didn’t even have a bank account. Every week her check would automatically be deposited into his account, every night she would hand over her tips. She hid some, couple bucks here couple bucks there. At that rate she’d be ready to run off in eight years or so.

“I could kill him.”

Gasping Lily suddenly spun around ignoring the pain to see if someone had heard her. She was alone. She was a lot of things, a gutter mouth, witty, tea infuser, silly, a couple of gay’s best friend, abused, but not a killer. Ignoring the thought she stared out the window at the day again. Sipping her tea and deciding to day dream of better things she began to dream about love somewhere out there in that city. A love that would find her and make her feel wanted, make her feel safe. A love that did not beat on her but would protect her. It was a dream, but she was in the mood for dreams.
No
, she thought.
I don’t need an excuse or a dream, I just need to go
.

FOURTEEN: Once You Murder, It’s Time to Go

Nathan stood at his window letting the wind blanket his body. The drapes fluttered as the sun shone high above the coastal town. Taking a deep breath he smiled smelling the salty sea air. Reaching down he grabbed his porcelain cup and brought it to his nose. Inhaling the aroma he smiled again and thought he enjoyed this smell more than the salty sea. He was a patient tea drinker and it allowed him to drink his tea without fear of burning his lips or tongue. Taking a sip he closed his eyes and savored it. “Ahhhh,” he exhaled enjoying the second part almost as much as the savoring.

Looking out the window he shuffled slightly to his right allowing him to see his little picture of the sea. It sat in the middle of the old apartment on the left and the newly built grocery market on the right. He would miss his little picture of the sea. He would miss the salty sea air, the little markets that were personable with their family staffed stores. He would miss the food, the wine and the nights that sparkled with strung lights in bistros and moon reflections that danced on top of the dark
Mediterranean. Beautiful music from live guitars with passion in their voice and conversations that sounded just as passionate, even though they usually did not mean anything.

Suddenly the phone rang and he spun around expecting to see a face where the phone sat. Chuckling to himself he walked across the living room letting the soot fall off of him and picked up the phone knowing already who it was. “Hello Mother, yes, yes, I know mother . . . have you heard of a Ukrainian called Yaroslav?” He listened and nodded as if his mother was in the room. “Yes it was Marcus, I know mother, yes – but . . . I know I can’t stay here, no . . . yes I am coming home.”

Suddenly the phone screamed and he moved it away from his ear. He waited until the hysterical woman on the other end stopped screaming and announcing his return over and over to whoever was in the room with her. “Hello. . . yes, well I’m going to the city, yes, two hours away I know, yes mother, please stop crying.” Again the voice on the other end of the phone screamed but this time with a hint of anger. “I know you’re crying because your happy mother, I know. . . I love you too, ok, tonight, tonight mother,” he assured her and stood patiently listening and nodding wishing he brought his tea with him to the phone. Or that he joined the current century and just got a cell phone or smart phone or whatever they were called. “I will mother, as soon as I get settled, yes. Give everyone my love, I do too . . . love you lots too, bye, bye,” Nathan said taking a deep breath and exhaling. He was amazed at how exhausted he was. Walking back to the window he picked up his tea and continued staring out at the sea. Tonight he would leave this place and return home, but for the rest of the day he would look at his little picture of the sea and drink his tea in this moment . . . one last time.

CHAPTER 2

ONE: A BLOODHOUND IN ITALY

I
n a back alley behind some markets and warehouses in the town of Amalfi, a man walks observantly in the beginning stages of the afternoon. His eyes and nose search for clandestine clues as he slowly follows in the footsteps the battle forged a couple of nights before. Sniffing the air and going past the present that is full of thick sea salt he finds it. Gazing up the wall he looks around to make sure no one is in the vicinity and raises his hands. All of a sudden a large gust of wind rushes into the alley and lifts him to the top of the building like an invisible elevator.

Stepping off the wind as if it was solid he steps on to the old clay tiles with silence. His eyes still glimmering red and yellow while his nose twitches leading him along the roof. Walking he passes an old bent weather vane and upon closer investigation he smells blood on it. Bending down he holds out his hand and a long claw slides out
of his index finger. Gently scraping the old rusted pole he scrapes what seems to be blood and places it on his tongue. “Chakan blood . . . Gotcha,” he declared and smiled as he stood back up. The blood was still fresh to his taste but very old. Knowing it had to be Yaroslav’s he looked around hoping to see or smell Nathan’s but all he could smell was the same scent that was on his tongue. “Stupid Ukrainian,” he said quietly.

Suddenly a voice came from the other side of the building. “Agent Merrick?” it called out.

Merrick’s ears twitched and he decided to drop down off the roof on the opposite side. Returning his eyes to an emerald green he retracted his claw as he circled around the building where he found an older man in a long beige trench coat and a cheap suit. “Ispettore Bianchi,” Merrick said offering his hand.

“Agent Merrick,” the detective said accepting the hand shake. He tried not to wince when Merrick’s grip squeezed as they shook but noticing the hulking size of the man detective Bianchi was not surprised by its power. 

Running up the old walkway a younger gentleman in the same style of trench coat and even cheaper suit came waving papers. “Ispettore Bianchi, Ispettore Bianchi,” the younger man called out in distress not even noticing Merrick.

Inspector Bianchi excused himself from the agent and walked towards the younger man. “Ciò che è esso?” he asked a little agitated for being disrupted.

“L'uomo che ha lasciato la città,” the younger officer exclaimed. Holding up papers and claiming to have information on some young men who had just left the area the officer races towards them.

Understanding them completely Merrick’s eyes widened at the news and he decided to join the two officers. Taking the papers from the young officer Bianchi started looking them over.

“What men left the city?” Merrick asked.

The old Inspector looked up from the papers a little embarrassed, “Agent Merrick this is
Vice Ispettore Rossi, Vice Ispettore Rossi this is Agent Merrick.”

Looking at Merrick the Vice Ispettore was in awe of the imp
osing man towering over him. Then wondered how he could have missed him. “Guarda quanto grande egli è,” he said referring to how big he was. 

“I’m sure agent Merrick knows how big he is.” the Ispettore said. “He is from Interpol.”

Vice Ispettore replied like a child meeting a real life superhero, “Interpol.”

Merrick extended his hand and Rossi accepted it excited to meet a real life Interpol agent and his own findings that might assist the agent’s investigation.

“Qual è l'interpol facendo qui?” Rossi asked his superior getting excited.

Trying to read the papers Bianchi lifted his head again and looked
at Agent Merrick then at Rossi. “In English, don’t be rude,” Bianchi instructed.

“That’s ok,” Merrick offered.

Bianchi shook his head and looked at Rossi again spurring him to go on in English.