He's A Monster

Slow Dancing

Danielle's Perspective POV

It had been a little over two weeks since everything changed. Since I changed.
Three feedings a day—that was my new normal. Rabbits. Squirrels. Sometimes, Marshal, though I hated myself for taking from him. My veins hummed with life, but the taste never felt right. I wasn't hungry for food anymore, not really; I was hungry for something else. And that terrified me.

Tonight, though, wasn't about hunger. Tonight was about prom.

"Is this one okay, Marshal?" I asked softly, smoothing the red fabric clinging to my frame. The dress used to belong to my mom, hidden away in the back of her closet. The fabric shimmered faintly in the lamplight, flowers embroidered across the bodice, the kind of detail no one made anymore.

Marshal's eyes flicked over me, glimmering in a way that made my stomach twist. For a heartbeat, I thought he looked at me the way he used to, like I was his whole world, but then the glimmer dimmed into something unreadable.

I turned my head, letting my freshly slicked hair slide over my shoulder. The faint smell of apple pie drifted in from the kitchen, and I knew Marshal could sense it too. I wanted to smell like that... warm, sweet, human. Not the cold thing I'd become.

"You look..." He trailed off, lips twitching into a crooked smile. "In the movies, when someone gets 'turned,' they pile on the eyeliner, make her pale and mysterious, put her in leather."

His chuckle was warm, but my chest squeezed with self-consciousness.
"What?" I asked, tugging at the dress.

His hands slipped around my waist, his lips brushing the curve of my neck. My breath caught.
"You've got the pale skin down," he teased, pinching my side.

I stared into the mirror. My reflection blinked back at me, my eyes too bright, my skin almost glowing under the dim light. The dress painted itself across my body, falling to the floor in effortless waves. It should have felt magical. Instead, my throat tightened.

"Have you fed today, love?" Marshal murmured.

I shook my head. My wrist still bore faint marks from Vincent, and shame prickled my skin. I wished the scars would fade faster. I wished all of it would fade faster.

If only my mother knew. She'd lose her mind. I still looked like her daughter... except for the times my eyes burned green in the mirror, especially when Marshal was near.

And then there were the other changes, the urges I pretended not to have, the way my chest ached when I caught the scent of blood. Marshal said I'd feel hunger, real hunger, but I never admitted just how much it scared me.

School had only seen me for three days since I came back from missing in action. Now I was about to step into a gym decorated with streamers and balloons, pretending I was just another teenage girl. Pretending I wasn't broken. Pretending I wasn't afraid.

The worst part? I thought this would bring Marshal closer. That maybe being like him would make him want me more. But if anything, he'd grown distant. He hadn't kissed me since that night. He hadn't touched me the same. He hadn't wanted me.

What if he didn't love me anymore?

"Love? Are you okay?" Marshal's voice cut through my spiraling thoughts.

Before I could answer, my mom poked her head in. "Oh my gosh! You two, look at you. You're beautiful, Danielle. That dress--" her eyes glossed over, smiling so wide I thought her face might break. She grabbed her camera, the flash exploding as Marshal tightened his hand around mine.

I forced a smile. "Thanks, Mom."

"Hope you two have a good time," she said, waving us off like we were normal teenagers. Normal. If only.

An hour later, at prom...

The gym was glowing with string lights and glittering decorations, the air thick with perfume, sweat, and cheap punch. Pop music pounded through the speakers, kids laughing, screaming, living. And then there was me, pressed against Marshal's chest, trying to feel like I belonged.

His arms held me steady as we swayed, my dress fanning out when he twirled me, the world blurring around us. For one blissful moment, I let my head rest against his chest, breathing in his familiar warmth. He rubbed my hand with his thumb, silent as ever.

Silent. Always silent.

He hadn't said much since I woke up after the turning. I remembered his face buried in his hands, his body at the edge of my bed like he was mourning me. Since then, his eyes on me carried something I couldn't name: fear? Regret? Pity?

What was wrong with me?

"Love?" His voice was low, careful.

I blinked up at him, my chest tight. "I... I--"

A giggle cut through my words.

I froze.

Across the gym, Karen: my ex-friend, was tangled up with some guy I didn't recognize. His mouth attacked her neck while his hands gripped her waist, and Karen looked... happy. Radiant, even. Not her fake cheerleader grin, but a real smile. Jealousy twisted inside me, sharp and bitter. She had what I wanted: someone who wanted her. Someone who couldn't keep his hands off her. Someone who didn't flinch away.

My throat burned, my chest aching, and before I could stop myself, the words spilled out, raw and broken:

"I miss you, Marshal."