Gods And Monsters

Chapter Thirty-eight:

The chapel interior was painted in a severe contrast of light and dark, pale moonlight and inky blackness. The shadows within the chapel were waning. Night had transitioned into the early hours of the morning, although the sun had yet to rise.

Through heavy-lidded eyes, Hel studied the particles of dust as they drifted about the musty air, dancing in moonbeams and vanishing in shadow.

Spike was fast asleep, but she was restless. She sat on the cold floor, her back propped up against the wall and face buried in the crook of his neck. His cheek rested against the top of her head, both of his arms loosely encircling her waist.

She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. The scent of Spike was of unparalleled comfort to her. His embrace was her one and only safe haven.

After the revelation of Spike's newly redeemed soul last night, the time that followed had been spent comforting him. It had taken at least an hour of tireless negotiation to convince him that he ought to rest.

Exhaling a drawn-out sigh, Hel opened her eyes and wet her dry lips with the tip of her tongue.

The sight of Spike standing before her was entirely unexpected. She threw a hasty sidelong glance at the man sleeping next to her, confirming that he had not moved.

Returning her gaze to the duplicate and narrowing her eyes, she folded her arms across her chest. The singular difference between them was the fact that the imposter was fully dressed, his black t-shirt tucked into black jeans. Otherwise, they were identical.

He wore his signature smirk and black leather duster. "Hello, pet." Even his East London accent was flawlessly convincing.

"Who are you?" She demanded.

"You know who I am." He replied cryptically.

"Do you know who I am?" Hel asked menacingly, glaring up at him from beneath long, thick black lashes and raising an eyebrow.

The doppelgänger pursed his lips ever-so-slightly, tilting his head to one side, and dropped to a low crouch directly in front of her. His penetrating gaze studied her meticulously. "You are the fearsome Hela, queen of Helheim and daughter of the Trickster God, Loki."

"Then you ought to know that it is unwise to toy with me."

His sly eyes glinted, a slippery smile curling his lips. "Who said I was wise?"

"I have neither the time nor patience to play games." She stated curtly. "What do you want?"

"You are consort to death itself. You are a creature of the shadows, you were born in darkness. It's where you belong." He leaned in, until his breath fanned her face. "We could use a fiery minx such as yourself. Join us, embrace your true self."

"Tempting." She paused, feigning contemplation. "But no."

His sinister smirk disintegrated, transforming into something much darker. His eyes darted to Spike and the smirk returned. "The people you love are just weapons that will be used against you."

"Go to hell, before I send you there myself." Chilling venom laced her merciful warning.

"Suit yourself." He rose to full height, towering above her, and vanished into thin air.

Hel drew in a deep, steadying breath to calm her nerves.

In hindsight, there was something about him that should have set off flashing, fluorescent red alarms in her head. His aura had been anything but ordinary. The power had been palpable, rolling off of him in waves. It had been laced by a lethal dosage of pure hatred, in its rawest and most toxic form. 

Her head was spinning with countless questions, none of which she possessed the answer to. There was but one thing she could be certain of: whoever or whatever it was, it intended on causing trouble.

Reaching up, she brushed back a flyaway blond curl from Spike's forehead. Although not for the first time, Hel took notice of the white, criss-crossed scar on the point of arch on his left eyebrow.

Her smooth fingertips grazed his temple, and she felt the chaos that consumed his mind. He should have been screaming in agony from the harsh volume of the thoughts running rampant in his head. He was locked into a battle of wills, and it was tearing him apart.

Her hand dropped to her side as her gaze lost focus, allowing crisp outlines to become blurry. Her eyes prickled and her nostrils stung. She stared ahead vacantly at the blotches of black and white, and the murky shades of grey in between. The varying degrees of light and dark seemed to blend together and become indistinguishable from one another.

"The sun should be up soon." Spike mumbled groggily. His East-London accent was husky and low, rough from sleep. Gradually becoming more alert, he straightened his stiff spine. His arms left her waist.

"Indeed it should." Hel answered matter-of-factly, scooting away slightly to put a more adequate amount of space between them.

"You're crying." His steel blue eyes studied her worriedly.

"Oh." Hastily, she wiped away the dampness below her eyes. "Sorry."

"Why are you apologising?" He asked softly.

"I'm fine." She snapped.

"You don't look fine."

"Then stop looking."

Sighing, he got to his feet and rose to full height.

Her gaze lingered on his bare torso, momentarily distracted by his naked, pale skin and the flexing of tight, lean abdominal muscles.

Spike bent to retrieve his long-sleeved shirt from the floor, then straightened to tug it on over his head. When the deep blue fabric of his shirt was pulled down over the angular cut of his hip bones, she tore her eyes away.

"I'm sorry, about last night. The way I acted—"

"Please, don't apologise." She interrupted gently. "I understand."

A subdued, sad smile graced his mouth.

Her brow furrowed. "You're smiling, but you're sad? How can a smile be sad? It's like you're malfunctioning."

The cryptic smile remained firmly in place. "It's complicated."

"Wrong. Things are simple. It is human beings that make it difficult." She corrected. Reluctantly, Hel stood, ignoring the outrage of her stiff muscles. "We should be going, unless you fancy burning to a crisp."

He nodded in agreement, and together they began the return journey.