He's A Monster

Simple Questions

Danielle's perspective (POV)

"Marshal... mmm, don't stop."

Heat curled through me as his fingers trailed up the inside of my thigh, his mouth grazing down my sweaty neck. My back arched, desperate, as his long fingers brushed over the thin fabric of my bottoms, pulling a small whimper from my throat.

"Tell me you want it," he whispered, his breath hot against my ear, his touch sending shivers that made me squeeze my eyes shut.

"Mmhm..."

"Say you want it." His voice was suddenly deeper, sharper, echoing through the room like a command. My hands gripped the sheets.

"Marshal... yes—"

"Danielle? Hey, sleepyhead."

My eyes snapped open.

The dream shattered.

I blinked against the dim glow of the room and found him—Marshal—actually there, lying on his side, smirking at me. His chest bare, the sheets tangled loosely around his waist. My breath caught, and heat rushed to my cheeks.

"You alright, love?" His smirk widened, amused at my startled expression.

"I, uh, school?" The words tumbled clumsily out of me.

"It's three in the morning," he chuckled.

I rubbed my eyes, trying to ground myself, only to feel the cool air brush against bare skin. My gaze darted downward, my bottoms were gone.

"What—?"

"Not what it looks like," he said quickly, sitting up a little.

"So I'm just... magically missing my clothes?" I pulled the sheet tight against me, horrified.

"They were wet, alright? I took them off before you got sick."

My blush deepened, my fingers clutching the sheets. "And you've just been... staring at me?"

"Would it creep you out if I said yes?"

"Maybe..." I muttered, my voice small, my eyes narrowing.

"Well. I watched you anyway." He grinned.

The dream still clung to me, sticky and raw, and my thoughts slipped before I could stop them. Now let me see you naked. Take off those jeans...

I shook my head hard. "What day is it?" I blurted, desperate to drown out the memory of my own moans.

"Friday," he said slowly, brow furrowing. "You seem jittery."

Maybe because I just had a wet dream about you while you were right here, shirtless, watching me.

"Uh, sorry."

He sighed, then stood, tall and graceful. "Your clothes should be dry. I'll grab them."

I watched him leave, the click of the door sealing me in silence. My head fell back onto the pillow, groaning into the soft fabric. Oh my god. I had a dream like that... with him right there. What the hell is wrong with me?

Heat surged again, not from embarrassment but from shame. He saw me naked. He's the first guy to see me like that. And he probably thinks I'm ugly. Just plain, pale, pathetic.

I huffed and rolled onto my side, staring out the window. Raindrops tapped against the glass, sliding down in crooked lines. The sound was calming, pulling the edges of my thoughts back into place.

But when I glanced around the room—his room—I couldn't ignore the strangeness of it. Black-and-white art framed along the walls, shadows clinging in the corners. Except for one piece—a painting above the dresser, vivid red strokes across white, like spilled blood.

My chest tightened. Laying here naked, in a vampire's bed. Shouldn't I be terrified? Waiting for him to sink his teeth into me? And yet... I'm not afraid. I'm fascinated. He's not a monster. He's misunderstood.

"Danielle?"

I turned my head. He stood in the doorway, my folded clothes in hand, his hazel eyes catching the dim light. Gold flecks shimmered in them like sparks.

"I got your clothes," he said, stepping closer. His presence filled the room, heavy and magnetic.

I swallowed, my teeth catching on my lower lip. "Thanks..."

His gaze lingered, soft but intense. "Would you like me to leave, so you can dress?"

Well, duh. Rapist, who am I kidding, i'd let you rape me whenever, you sexy mo- I shake my head quickly. 

"Well, Yes," I uttered though part of me whispered the opposite. I nodded anyway.

He placed the clothes at the edge of the bed, close enough that I could feel the cool brush of his breath. Mint. Sharp and sweet. My body betrayed me: wanting him near, wanting him closer.

"I'll knock when you're done," he murmured before leaving, his long strides graceful, the door clicking shut behind him.

I exhaled shakily, hugging the sheet around myself before slipping into my clothes. My eyes strayed to the red painting again, the abstract lines unsettling yet hypnotic.

When his knock came, I jumped. The door cracked open, his face peeking through, smiling.

"You know," he said softly, "you're really beautiful."

I froze, my throat tight. My eyes darted anywhere but his, my tongue fumbling. "Uh... where'd you get that painting?"

He tilted his head, a faint smirk. "Alex. Brings me pieces now and then. Says they're meant for someone worthy."

The word worthy lingered in my head. I studied him openly now, drawn deeper into the mystery that surrounded him. The less I knew, the more I wanted to know.

"Danielle," he said, stepping closer. His hand brushed my arm, cold fingers curling around my wrist. His eyes bore into mine. "Are you alive?"

The question pierced deeper than it should have. I opened my mouth, but no sound came.

He didn't mean breathing. He meant something else, something that made my veins run cold.

"I..." My voice trembled. I'm human, yes. But am I really alive? I let everyone else control me. I do nothing for myself. I'm just a body moving through life. A toy. A shadow.

He leaned closer, voice low. "We must do something about that, then."

"What... what do you mean?" I whispered.

He smiled faintly, eyes dark but tender. "What do you want, love?"

For a moment, my mind went blank. There was only him. Standing right in front of me. The one thing I wanted most.

I opened my mouth to answer, but his finger brushed against my lips, silencing me. "Me?" he asked softly.

"Yes," I breathed, certain this time. "You."