Nameless Ghoul

Alone

Itzal sat on the edge of a bed in what looked like an old-fashioned infirmary. Shelves lined the walls, crammed with jars and boxes of medical supplies. He stared down at his lap, silent, shirtless, acutely aware of the eyes on him. Their gazes burned over his scarred skin.

A human Sister was tending to the wounds on his back, her touch careful but impersonal. He was thankful for that, at least. Across from him stood Alpha and one of the other ghouls; Omega, someone had called him. Terzo lounged in a chair beside the bed, one leg crossed, foot tapping with thinly veiled impatience.

The door opened.

Secondo entered and the atmosphere shifted. He was taller than Terzo, with a heavier presence. His skull paint was harsher, more severe. Alpha and Omega gave small nods of respect. Secondo didn’t return them. His eyes were fixed on Itzal, scanning him from head to toe with clinical distaste. Itzal squirmed under the scrutiny, wishing he had something to cover himself. The scars didn’t usually bother him. They were just part of him now. He didn’t care about being pretty anymore. But under that stare, they itched. Like they were suddenly too visible. Too raw. Too exposed.

Secondo crossed the room without a word and gripped Itzal’s chin, tilting his head up until their eyes locked. Itzal flinched, tried to pull away, but the human clicked his tongue in disapproval and reached instead for the collar. His fingers traced the engraved sigils like they were braille. Slowly. Reverently.

“This is interesting, is it not?” he murmured. “The Ghoul Council outlawed these nearly five centuries ago. I’ve never seen one in the flesh. Thought they were all destroyed.”

Itzal’s breath caught. He remembered waking up with it welded around his throat. The collar dulled his powers, enforced obedience. A constant reminder that he belonged to someone else. He’d tried everything to remove it, at first. But the punishment had been worse than the pain. Eventually, he stopped trying. Eventually, he accepted it as part of him.

“I’ll consult with the others,” Secondo said, stepping back. “The Council will want to see it. They’ll want to launch an investigation.”

Itzal suppressed a whine. Shit. He hadn’t thought this far ahead.

Secondo studied the open wounds on Itzal’s back, walked around to the Sister, rummaged briefly through the supplies, and handed her a small jar.

“Rub this on the worst ones. It should help. Ghouls tend to respond well to it.” He gave Itzal one last sharp look, then nodded and left. Terzo rose and followed his brother out, muttering a quiet excuse.

Before the door shut, a small figure slipped inside. Itzal looked up, eyes widening. Sunshine. Her pink curls bounced as she approached, a shy smile lighting her violet eyes.

“Hey,” she whispered. “I’m glad you came. How badly hurt are you?”

If Secondo’s gaze had been a trial, Sunshine’s was something else entirely. Her eyes roamed his bare torso, and shame crushed him beneath the pity in her gaze. He had to look away, the sting of tears threatening to spill. She must’ve noticed, because she stepped closer, hand reaching out to touch his shoulder. His body flinched instinctively, muscle memory bracing him for pain. She pulled back immediately, covering her mouth.

“Sorry,” he whispered, voice barely steady. “I don’t like to be touched.”

She closed her eyes and sighed.

“I just wanted to see if you needed anything. I heard you were asking for me. If you want to talk—or need anything at all—just ask. I’ll be here.”

Itzal nodded, returning his gaze to his lap.

Fucking hell. What a mess he was. Confused as hell. They were looking after him, but he was their enemy. Surely they knew that?

When the Sister finished, she covered his wounds with a large dressing and packed away her things. Alpha and Omega helped him to his feet.

“Papa wants to speak with you, but not until morning. You’ll be in the cells tonight. Your master will notice you’re gone soon enough and come looking. He won’t get past the Abbey wards, though,” Omega said as they led him through a maze of corridors and locked doors, stopping before a row of cells.

They made Itzal think of Silence of the Lambs. The cells where Hannibal Lecter was kept. If he weren’t so shell-shocked right then, he might have found that funny.

Omega opened a glass door. Alpha pushed him inside. The door clicked shut behind him, and a spike of panic surged. Then he composed himself. Barely.

He’d chosen this. What had he expected? For them to welcome him with open arms and just send him home, no questions asked?

“Just call out if you need anything. Someone will come,” Omega said over his shoulder as they walked away.

Itzal sat on the bed, elbows on his knees, head hanging low. Fuck. He prayed this was the right move. He rubbed the centre of his chest and suddenly realised... He couldn’t feel Santos. For the first time since the bond had been forced on him, he was truly alone. The Abbey’s wards were working, just like he’d hoped. The black ache that lived inside him was gone. It felt...nice. And wrong.

Itzal thought of Sunshine. Of the unguarded pity in her eyes. The tears that had almost fallen earlier now came crashing down. He slumped back, wrapped his arms tight around his chest, and let himself sob like he hadn’t for twenty years.