The Infamous Beast

by T Shadow

  “I don’t know,” I reply sarcastically. “Maybe it’s because of my good looks, eh?”

  They both snigger. I can tell. Finn hides his true nature behind his soft exterior, but if you ever wanted to see Finn’s true nature, you’d be better off speaking to the beast instead. He doesn’t sugar coat shit.

  “Maybe,” he wheezes out, “but we better go and see our little Jewel before she forgets we exist. Though that's probably already happened, because of her drinking last night.”

  I snort at the memory. First, Remi was a mysterious woman we longed to have between the sheets, then wild and unpredictable when she threatened Landon with a tiger in her bookshop. Calculating yet crazy when she tied us all to chairs with rope and cable ties just so she could explain without us interjecting. Last night though, she was the epitome of white girl wasted, not giving two shits about anyone around her, until she pulled me closer in a bruising kiss. My lips still felt sore today, but it helped me remember how forceful she is. Relentless, unyielding.

  I never wanted a harlequin, but I have no problem being one.

  •°•

  Finding her was like finding a needle in a haystack. Finn suggested we start at all the places we'd seen her before: the pub, supermarket and even her bookstore. But we found her in none of those. She probably hadn't been to the supermarket since we last saw her there, and her bookshop was closed. I highly doubted an extremely hungover individual would inflict more pain on themselves by visiting the same place that ruined their life the night before, so we ruled that one out quite quickly.

  The only other place we'd seen her was the Hotel, but considering Finn didn't pick up any of her scent, we knew she wouldn't have been there either.

  "This is hopeless," Finn huffed, "we don't know this town well enough to trawl all over it looking for a woman who, up until yesterday, avoided us like we were the second coming of small-pox."

  I smiled to myself as the ginger giant continued to ramble about a mate that we couldn't find. But he was right. I didn't expect Remi's attitude to change off the bat. I fully expected her to warm up to us, little by little, because she had been alone for so long without a companion, but the idea of suddenly acquiring two mates would knock anyone off kilter.

  But maybe it was time to take a break in our search and rest our legs. And I knew the perfect place to do that. Looking over at the grumbling mass that’s Finn, I punch his arm slightly. That's what bros do right? Punch each other?

  It catches his attention though, which is enough for me. Turning towards me, he looks from me to his arm and back with his eyebrow raised. Almost as if he's questioning my motive for hitting him.

  Well, my motive is simple. I haven't eaten since yesterday and my body thinks that now is the perfect time to announce its impending doom. With the loudest rumble which rivals a whale mating call, I turn to Finn and shrug my shoulder whilst peacefully walking towards the Café.

  It's quiet this morning. There was no hustle and bustle like we're used to at home, the only people out at this time of the morning are those who are opening up the shops. It gives some sort of serenity in our current situation, that of ravenous dragons and a missing mate. If the lack of volume in the surrounding area couldn't calm Finn and his hot-headed temper, then nothing could.

  Except possibly cake.

  Which is why the Café was our parlor of choice this morning. I don't know how much Hotel food I could stand, considering I know that sex-demons run it. What if they poisoned it with their sex juice and we had a massive, sausage-fest orgy? No, I'm good, thanks.

  An unwanted shiver runs down my spine like cold fingers aching to caress my hot, red-blooded skin; close enough for me to feel it, but far enough away that the essence of touch is lost.

  It makes me feel as though I'm walking into the unknown, which concerns me. I only get ominous feelings when I'm unfamiliar with a place, but I've been to the Café before. Although it has those garish, lemon curd yellow walls, it still feels homely enough to be considered 'safe'.

  Safe is anywhere far enough from my biological family. And here? It's far enough from everything, really.

  I push the front door open, alerting any individuals on the other side to my presence by ringing the blasted bell that they have at the top of the doorframe. I let my eyes adjust, I turn to Finn and see him cringe at the tinkling of the old metal contraption. Outside, it's quite dingy, but in here, the lights are so bright that I'm unsure on how the rest of the town has power. Just as I'm about to ask Finn where he wants to sit, considering there's the usual ample amount of choice, his eyes widen enough to tell me— without words— that there's a distinct and priceless treasure sitting behind us.

  Turning cautiously, because you should approach a hungover person like a fat cat with a treat obsession, I spot her at the back of the room. Furthest away from the front door and the counter, she hides, badly, behind a propped up menu. Wait. Where did she get a menu from? They don't do menus here. Brushing off my very obvious confusion, I school my features into being relaxed and calm, rather than an eight week old puppy with a funny-five-seconds streak.

  I'd probably have succeeded too, in appearing like a duck on water, but Finn, in his treasure-seeking mindset only has one objective. To find his Jewel, and now he's found her? Well. I'm pushed from the entryway and into the closest table and chairs before I can even conjure up the idea of telling him to calm the fuck down. I go down with the chairs like a sack of potatoes, and it's only when I attempt to stop myself from falling by grabbing onto the table that I grab the tablecloth instead and pull it, the mismatched kitchenware flying off and over myself. It makes the whole endeavour much more embarrassing than if I had simply stumbled.

  Which, I wouldn't have, if Finn wasn't so blinded by his mate that she consumed all rational thought. As I'm pulling myself out of a mad hatter's nightmare, I see him ease himself into the chair across from her. Stealthily and quiet like the predator he is.

  Apologising awkwardly to the customers around me, I put the table and chairs back together— like a somewhat decent human being— before making my way over to them. Finn sits patiently and waits, but I can see his leg fidget quietly, which means he won't be quiet for long. Remi hasn't acknowledged either of us, with her head on the table, hiding behind the menu and I'm seriously considering if she might be unconscious.

  Leaning my head closer to hers, I smell the scent of her shampoo on her hair. It's strawberries and vanilla again, and there's little I can do to stop the dramatic breath of air I inhale. As if I'm taking in one of those human-made drugs, I inhale with all my might, pushing my lungs to the brink of explosion whilst figuratively basking myself in her scent.

  It sounds odd, but considering she was the one to claim me first, I can't help but smother myself in the smell of her. When, not if, she spends more time with us, her natural scent will emerge, and I can only hope that it smells somewhat of me.

  I move my thoughts from smells to breathing patterns and heartbeats as I listen closely to the steady rhythm of Remi's old, sarcastic heart. It beats loudly like a steady drum, and I'm relieved to know that she's alive, just asleep. Not wanting to disturb her, because you don't wake a sleeping dragon if you want to live, I look around for anyone who could provide us with refreshments until sleeping beauty wakes from her nap.

  After this morning, it's a nap well deserved, even if it is getting late in the day. Hearing the back door swing on its old hinges, I go to turn but before I get there, Finn raises his hand and waves as if he's Lord Muck signalling his servants. I hit him in the arm for good measure, but he narrows his eyes at me like I'm the person in the wrong.

  I sit on the chair next to Finn, closest to the end, which unfortunately means I have to do the most talking. I don't know why I put myself in shitty situations, but here I am. I hear the click of high heels coming from behind me, and I turn around with the idea of meeting the challenge of public speaking head on when I notice it's Winter. The nice waitress who served Remington and I th
e other day with a smile and a compassion that I didn't know waitresses could possess.

  As she sees me, she gives a little smile and a wave before frowning ever-so-slightly at the back of Finnegan's ginger head for the rude 'come hither' gesture. But before she makes it to our table, her light-hearted smile is back in its usual place.

  Seeing a menu on the table, she lifts her eyebrow quizzically before peeking around it to find Remi, passed out and possibly drooling. Instead of smacking the table to wake her up, she just moves the menu until it's balancing gently on the top of her head like a seesaw. It makes her chuckle quietly to herself as she gets her notepad out.

  "Mika bought her in then," she whispers to us. "She normally does after a hard night out. Our chameleon breakfast is Remi's hangover cure." Looking back towards our sleeping mate, she smiles again before adding, "did you go to her shop the other day to get your book?"

  I nod as I jerk my thumb back, pointing towards Finn, "H-he picked it up for m-me. Remi loaned m-me the good one, from the back."

  The light in her eyes flares, happiness dancing across her features, similar to when a smug person realises they were right. But Winter is anything but smug. She's always happy, it seems. "Told you she would," smiling before tapping her pen on her pad, she gets down to business, "I'll get Remi her usual… it normally wakes her up, but what can I get you guys?"

  Looking at Finn, I see him staring at the menu before he acknowledges Winter. "Do you have any menus?"

  Her answer is swift and unforgiving, "Nope." She pops the 'P' like a piece of chewing gum.

  "But there's a menu right there…"

  Looking over at it, Winter shakes her head before replying, "Not ours. Looks like it's for Bob's Burger Bar, and there isn't a shop here by that name." Shrugging her shoulders, she seems nonchalant, "I wouldn't know where the hell she got that from."

  Finn looks more confused than a technophobe staring at a piece of technology. I can hear him thinking, 'what café doesn't have a menu?'. Well this one, that's quite obvious. Using his confusion and hesitation to my advantage, I order the smallest breakfast they have with toast and an orange juice, as well as a slice of Victoria sponge for afterwards. Finnegan finally decides on having the same as Remi but with a black coffee. I think he uses the notion that if it's good enough for her, then it's good enough for him.

  Winter scribbles down on her pad and leaves us with a whispered "I'll be right back," before speed walking to the kitchens where the door shuts soundlessly behind her.

  The tittering of other customers surrounds us, but we don't pay attention to the idle chatter. The only person that could hold our undivided attention for more than a minute is sitting in front of us… snoring.

  I can hear the long, drawn out breaths that Remi takes as she sleeps, but it's the soft sound of a snore that captures my heartstrings and tugs. Out of the corner of my eye, I know that Finn feels the same way. With the idea of mates seemingly impossible, combined with his age, it was almost certain that he would spend a life alone, surrounded by books and tomes. But he triggered the mate connection with her, a woman who, in his eyes, was the perfect person for him to spend the rest of his days with. She just has to warm up to him, well, us, first.

  We sit in silence for so long, just staring at her like a pair of creeps until Winter comes back with our meals in tow. Thank God this place serves breakfast all day, because the smell of fried mushrooms, crispy bacon and sausages assault my senses in all the best ways. Who doesn't like a fried breakfast?

  Setting my meal down in front of me, she gives a gesture that she'll be right back, again. She's not even made it two steps before Remi's breathing pattern changes from a deep sleep to someone who's starting to rouse. It's the small things that make it easier to notice. Her breathing, her heart rate, but also the way her shoulders twitch slightly like she's itching to take flight, or how her snores have turned into little breathless moans as she readies herself to stretch out her weary bones.

  We both know better than to make any sudden movements, so we wait until Winter has made it back with Finn's monstrosity of a breakfast. The aroma of fried meats and hash browns, along with the smell of freshly cooked black pudding finally pulls Remi from her hangover-induced slumber. As she raises her head, we watch her nose twitch and her eyes move behind her closed lids, like a basilisk seeking out prey.

  Winter quickly slides the large oval plate of food onto the table where Remi's head just lay, and she holds a knife and fork, unwrapped, in her outstretched, clasped hand. She seems to not notice, Remi, that is, because she's seconds away from using her hands when Winter shakes her wrist from side to side, causing the metal cutlery to clink and tink together. Remi reaches a hand out and grabs them before turning to her meal again, and it's only then, that she opens those pretty jade-green eyes.

  Except they're not green right now. They're milky white. Which means that the crazy-ass Dragon is firmly in the driving seat. Nonetheless, she looks somewhat happy to see us. Although I do hope that the cheek-splitting smile is directed towards the mammoth amount of food in front of her and not us. You can't hurt your claimed mate, so I'm in the clear, but Finnegan however, is not.

  It's the silky purr of her voice that undoes me. A little crazy never hurt anybody, but the thought of unpredictable Remi sends a spark that I feel in all the right places.

  "Boys…" she draws the world out, "what a pleasure." Daintily lifting her utensils, she begins to methodically cut up her food piece by piece, and I follow suit. Though I don't spend ages cutting up every item into toddler sized bites, I do start eating.

  Finn stabs his fork viciously into one of his pork sausages and lifts it towards his mouth, muttering, "Remi… what are you doing?" Thankfully, it comes out curious and not confused. We wouldn't want to push her crazy nature towards murdery-sadistic whilst she's armed with blunt instruments.

  She halts her progress, blinking as though she's confused before continuing, "smaller pieces are bite-size chunks. It makes it quicker to eat the meal if I've prepared myself." Without hesitation, she stabs her fork through multiple chunks and slips them into her mouth as swiftly as a CD player taking a disc. It’s weirdly erotic whilst being slightly awkward at the same time.

  It’s safe to say that we don’t disturb Remi for the rest of her meal, especially not whilst she’s scoffing down food like it’s the last one she’ll see for a while. At least we found her, crazy or not, we found her and she remembers us. It’s a win-win in my book.

  After escaping the awkward breakfast encounter with Finn and Leland, I find myself back in my bookshop with a few questions and too many feelings. I woke up to my favourite breakfast being placed under my nose, but no explanation as to why my mates were sitting across from me at the table.

  Nonetheless, as soon as I’d scoffed down my meal, I’d thrown some money down on the table and high tailed it out of there with the excuse that I was late for the shop. It was a lie, of course. After I’d gained the meat sweats from the food, I’d purged the remaining alcohol from my system and the public claiming slammed back into me like a force of nature.

  I've chosen to hide away in my office, the familiar setting a comfort to me. Although the walls are a green damask outside on the shop floor, inside my safe space, the walls are a light grey and the floor is a light herringbone colour. There’s my desk, a couple of filing cabinets— mostly unused, considering all of my paperwork covers the top of my desk like a modern art piece. One wall is lined from top to bottom in bookshelves that only have my favourite books on, all in immaculate edition, and a whiteboard sits on the wall behind the desk with my target figures, sales and… a really creepy, slightly disproportionate smiley face. Mika obviously found the dry-erase markers again, so I won’t be surprised if I find more faces dotted around the place.

  But any thoughts, regrets or memories are halted by the dynamic duo walking in through my shop door. Why can’t I just be embarrassed in peace? What did I do to deserve every waking moment of my life, for t
he last few weeks, be tainted and plagued with this merry band of pompous twits?

  I’d like to say I had more time to continue my tirade of colourful swear words, but I hear the sound of footsteps loom closer to the office. They must assume that if they can’t see me that I’d be hidden, and they would’ve assumed right. Seems like those two know me better than I thought they could’ve in the small time they’ve spent with me. Nonetheless, I try to hide from them no matter what. Why? Cause I am a big, fat, stinking coward.

  Crawling under my desk, I curl myself into the cramped, dark space. It wasn’t the smartest of hiding places that I could have thought of, but it was the first thought that entered through my mind when I considered, ‘where can I hide from two of my mates that really like a relationship with me?’ I don’t think I’m scared of love, I’m just scared of uncertainty. Delving into the unknown is not something I like to experience.

  My plan probably would have worked, if I had decided to lock the office door before I hid myself. But nooo, my tired, worn out brain didn’t think that far ahead into my great, master plan.

  The footsteps— two pairs— stop suddenly yet quietly outside of the office door. Locking it would’ve been useless anyway, considering Leland could probably find me anywhere if he listened to the bond hard enough. His best buddy Finn probably clued him up on my drunken present as soon as he was given it. That thing is like a new, sparkly, shiny toy. Or weapon. Whatever tickles your fancy.

  The door handle twists slowly and I hear the springs pull slowly enough that they make a tinkling noise as they're stretched to their limit. The lock clicks open, and the wooden door creaks on the decade old hinges that it hangs on. I see the tip of Finn’s Chelsea boots with Leland’s black trainers following close behind from under the desk. They walk cautiously into my office, like flies flying too close to a spiders web. Both of them must not be too scared to dance with danger, because only an idiot would walk into what a Drakaina considers hers. It used to be just caves, you know, but with the modern times, homes and offices can be considered nests. I don’t dabble in the old, outdated lingo, I just call it mine, because that's what it fucking is. Mine.