Invisible Monsters

by H L Macfarlane

  Well, fifteen, he thought, but that only makes things worse.

  For thirty people mysteriously spirited away with no witnesses to the disappearance was a mystery to be solved; only half of them coming back left a damning trail of evidence Dorian could do without. The remaining club members knew something was deeply wrong by now – their fear was hanging in the air, dark and heavy.

  But for everything that had gone wrong, Dorian still couldn’t find it in him to regret any decision that had been made. He’d met Poppy, after all, and since Nick’s family was growing old and unable to bear any offspring, all Dorian had to do was wait them out until they died, and then he could rebuild his life.

  Not that Poppy would ever allow him to be a trafficker again, though he couldn’t help but wonder if he could convince her to see why such a system was truly beneficial to both humans and monsters. Dorian had always enjoyed his career. He’d taken pride in being good at it. But after having spent so much time in the company of the same group of humans he had to consider that he’d quite possibly lost the stomach to give people up for slaughter ever again.

  It’s not like I can go ‘vegetarian’, he mused, laughing humourlessly as he paced back and forth in front of the glass wall of his bedroom, staring blindly out at the grove of trees where he was born. And Poppy’s blood is a poor substitute for actual food. I know I need to eat soon.

  He didn’t want to think of how he’d manage to do that with Poppy around.

  But then he heard a knock on his door, and all his worries were easily pushed to the side.

  “Come in, Poppy,” he called out, knowing it could only be her. When he looked up he saw that her hair hung long and loose and wavy around her shoulders, and that she had on the button-down, strappy little dress that she’d worn the night everyone got drunk, and little else. Poppy’s cheeks were beginning to flush self-consciously.

  “…hey,” she said, closing the door gently behind her in the process. Dorian wasted no time in eliminating the distance between them, slamming poppy against the door and kissing her like it was the last time he might ever get to do so.

  If Nick got his way, it would be.

  Fred

  I can’t believe Dorian had a room like this all along, Fred thought as his eyes darted from screen to screen. Most every part of the facility was documented through the camera feeds he was watching. The door had been locked, of course, but Poppy had shown him how to get through by swinging up into the ceiling and climbing along the tiles.

  “Only King could have worked that out,” he muttered, impressed despite himself that it had actually worked. But then it occurred to him that creeping up in the ceiling to spy on Dorian was what likely got Poppy into all the trouble she was currently in, and he sobered.

  We’d all be dead already if she hadn’t, though, he reasoned. When they all got out of this mess – if they got out of this mess – he wanted to learn every minute detail of what happened to Poppy King over the summer from beginning to end, even if she insisted on never seeing him again. Fred wanted to know exactly what she’d done every second of every day to save their club, and commit every detail to memory.

  It was the least he could do for the woman who was saving his life, despite everything he’d done to her.

  He glanced at the screen showing Dorian’s bedroom. Poppy had just shown up, meaning Fred had to be careful. As soon as Dorian was out for the count and Poppy crept back out it was time to put their plan into motion. But when he saw Dorian slam Poppy against the door and begin to kiss her like his life depended on it, Fred stilled.

  I’m going to see them fucking.

  He knew he should look away. He had to look away.

  He didn’t.

  Dorian

  “No monster form this time, Poppy,” Dorian announced as he carried her over to the bed, dropping her down before proceeding to straddle her, pinning her in place.

  She sighed dramatically. “And why not?”

  “Because hooves weren’t made for being in bed, and I’d rather like to get a chance to have sex with you like a –”

  “Like a normal person?” she cut in, smiling wryly. “Because I’m afraid to tell you, Dorian, but you’re not a normal person. You’re not even a person.”

  Dorian pulled off his top and looked down at Poppy, who watched him do so with heavy-lidded eyes. Even though she liked his real form better, it was clear there was no denying how attracted she was to human Dorian, either.

  “I might not be human, no,” he said, bending down to begin unbuttoning Poppy’s dress. He was gratified – and greatly turned on – to see that she had nothing on beneath it. “But my human form is still a part of me, nonetheless. It’s not like I can change it.”

  Her eyes grew wide in surprise, though her hands were busy careening down his stomach to slide off his trousers. “You can’t?”

  “No; I’m stuck like this just as much as you’re stuck looking like you.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “That’s because you’ve never asked before.”

  “Then how do –”

  “Shh,” he murmured, silencing Poppy’s question with his mouth upon hers. “You have your whole life to bother me about such things. I don’t want to talk right now.”

  The air hung heavy between them as Dorian finished unbuttoning Poppy’s dress; it was completely unlike the atmosphere the last time they’d been together like this, in the forest. Every time he kissed her Dorian grew more desperate for – something. He didn’t know what, but his fingers were trembling as they glided across Poppy’s skin because of it.

  Poppy seemed afraid by the way he was acting. She reached up a hand to touch his face. “Dorian, what’s –”

  “No talking,” he insisted, harsher this time, before unceremoniously rolling Poppy onto her front in order to trail kisses down her back. Her breathing accelerated when Dorian’s mouth reached the base of her spine, and when he slid a hand between her thighs it wasn’t long before she was trembling even worse than he was.

  Dorian’s kisses morphed into bites as he moved back up to Poppy’s neck, pressing the length of his body against hers until she gasped. Her hands twisted the pillow beneath her head as if to stop her from speaking out, so Dorian grabbed both of them with one of his own and pinned them above her.

  Poppy turned her head to the side, looking at him with wild, uncertain eyes. “What are you doing?” she asked between laboured breaths.

  “I don’t know,” Dorian replied, before crushing his mouth back against hers. And then he shifted Poppy’s hips, and it was the easiest thing in the world to slide inside her and connect the two of them together. He was satisfied when she cried out in shock; clearly he didn’t need to be a monster to elicit such a reaction.

  But it wasn’t enough. Releasing Poppy’s hands he hauled her up onto her knees, pulling her head back by her hair until it was resting on his shoulder and he had full access to her neck. Dorian’s teeth grazed the skin there as he began to move inside her; Poppy stared at him out of the corner of her eye.

  “Why are you hesitating, Dorian? Just do it.”

  “Stop talking,” he growled, putting two fingers inside Poppy’s mouth to keep her quiet. He was satisfied when she bit down on them, embracing the pain even more when he, in turn, bit down into her neck hard enough to break through to the addictive blood that lay beneath her skin.

  Poppy’s voice was muffled against Dorian’s fingers as he viciously drank from her, increasing the pace at which he was fucking her in the process. One of Poppy’s hands was on his hip, urging him on, even as the other curled into his hair as if she might have to pull Dorian away from her neck if he took too much blood.

  And he wanted to. He wanted to leave Poppy so drained she’d remain passed out for the next two days, and wouldn’t wake up until everything was over.

  He didn’t. Eventually Dorian broke away from Poppy’s neck and fell onto his back, pulling out of her just long enough to roughly turn her arou
nd to face him. Dorian revelled in the sight of Poppy straddling him, pale and flushed and bloodied all at the same time, rocking on top of him with a frenzy he only too eagerly reciprocated.

  It wasn’t long before Dorian wrenched Poppy lips back down to his own, keeping them there until, with a desperate cry, he completely and utterly spent himself inside her.

  “Don’t leave me,” he mumbled against her ear, exhausted and barely conscious. “Don’t leave me, Poppy. Don’t leave me.”

  There was far too long a pause before she quietly replied, “…I won’t.”

  Fred

  He wished he hadn’t watched. What had been seen could not be unseen, and Fred had seen a lot. Watching Dorian rip into Poppy scared him senseless; watching Poppy enjoy it terrified him even more.

  But the worst part was that seeing Poppy reckless and naked and completely and utterly herself was making Fred’s heart beat madly, and it confused him to no end.

  It had to be the adrenaline. It had to be.

  Numbly he watched as Dorian well and truly passed out. Poppy sat by him for a while, a sad, sad look on her face that Fred didn’t like at all. Then, instead of picking up her dress, she padded over to a chest of drawers – stumbling dangerously in the process – and pulled out a pair of denim shorts, a t-shirt and an over-sized jumper. She hauled them on as quickly as possible.

  Then she stared dead-eyed at the camera and gave Fred the finger.

  I guess it’s go-time, he thought, deftly swinging back up into the ceiling and crawling through it until he silently landed back in the corridor.

  It was time to prove to Poppy King that she’d been right to spare his life.

  INTERLUDE X

  There was confusion everywhere.

  “You’ve all got to stay silent,” Fred urged in hushed tones, immediately after opening the door and coming face-to-face with the ashen, broken people being held behind it. “Silent, got it? We’ve only got this one shot.”

  The people in the room stared blankly at each other.

  What the hell was going on?

  AN ORGANISED ESCAPE

  Andrew

  Poppy, Fred and Patrick were in charge of getting the people who had been ‘scouted’ out of the facility. Those that were still alive, anyway. Andrew and Casey were in charge of herding up the rest of the club, though in truth they’d got the message out that they were leaving in secret that night hours ago.

  And so it was that Andrew and Casey were already on Patrick’s boat with everyone when Patrick showed up carrying two people nobody had seen for weeks: Thomas Pope and Nicolas Frey. The two who had tortured the mountain goat, and confirmed to Andrew that Poppy was well and truly choosing who was staying and who was leaving the facility.

  Nick had lost both his legs. Tom had lost one, and a scar on his lower back suggested one of his kidneys had been taken, too. Behind Patrick came Ciaran Radin-Kirkwood, who was missing an arm, and Craig Hunt, who at first glance seemed completely fine. But it became quickly apparent that he’d lost his teeth and his tongue – which even now Andrew struggled to sympathise with, given the way the man had always spoken to him. But then he saw that Ciaran had lost his tongue, too, and any sick satisfaction Andrew felt quickly dissipated.

  Nobody deserved the fate that had befallen them. Andrew could never have suggested names to Poppy had he truly known what was going on. But then – what had he thought was going on? It had been so easy to believe that the people he didn’t like had simply disappeared forever, like magic.

  But this wasn’t magic. This was a nightmare.

  When Fred appeared carrying Megan Lo, who had lost both of her legs just like Nick, followed by Francis Greene and Mateusz Kowalski – who both looked outwardly unhurt – and Max Marshall, whose eyes and left arm had been removed and was thus clutching onto Mateusz’ sleeve for dear life, Andrew began to grow concerned.

  Just where was Poppy?

  “She wasn’t in any state to carry anyone, Forbes,” Fred whispered as soon as Andrew locked eyes with him, his question obvious on his face. “She’s just behind us. Patrick, start the engine and get us the hell out of here!”

  For a moment it appeared as if Patrick was going to complain about being ordered around. But then he gently laid down the two men he was carrying onto seats in the cabin, wordlessly leaving to start the ferry up. Casey nervously followed him.

  Andrew hardly dared to breathe. It didn’t help that nobody was speaking; clearly everyone had well and truly grasped the gravity of the situation. In the corner Rachelle was crying against Robin’s shoulder, and Rich looked so pale Andrew thought he might pass out.

  Only Nate seemed to be okay out of everyone who was still in the dark about what was going on, but Andrew knew it had to be an act in order for him to help the limbless, tortured people Fred and Patrick had carried through.

  When Poppy finally showed up the dull roar of the boat’s engine had already started. Andrew leapt towards her, flinging her arms around her even as Fred held out a hand to stop him.

  “Andrew, don’t, she won’t be able to –”

  When Poppy fell to the floor it was Fred who caught her. Andrew was horrified; her neck was covered in blood.

  “P-Poppy, what did Dorian do to –”

  “It’s okay, Andrew,” she said shakily. “It’s fine. I’m okay. You know I’m okay.”

  “Dorian did that?” Nate cut in, corralling Poppy out of Fred’s arms and onto a seat. “Poppy, what’s going on? What’s –”

  “Let’s get across the loch and on the bus before we explain anything,” Fred said, quietly but firmly. “Everyone who’s able, look after those who are not. I need you all to keep your wits together and stay calm, okay?”

  It was clear everyone was looking to him as their de facto leader, hanging on his every word. Andrew hated that this was exactly what Poppy had wanted, and that Fred was great at it.

  I wish he hadn’t tried to kill Poppy, he thought sadly. I wish none of this had happened at all.

  When someone started passing around bottles of vodka, rum, gin and whiskey from Patrick’s bar even Andrew took a few swigs of the stuff.

  “Not for you, King,” Fred reprimanded when she took hold of a bottle of vodka and attempted to put it to her lips.

  She glared. “Fuck off, Sampson. I need it.”

  “You don’t have enough blood in your –”

  “Then it’ll do its job faster. I need it to wipe the fact that you were totally watching out of my brain forever.”

  “I wasn’t…how do you know that?”

  “You keep avoiding my eyes. Ugh. I can’t believe you watched.”

  Andrew’s eyes darted between the pair of them. “Watched what?”

  “Nothing,” they said in unison, so quickly that even Nate was suspicious.

  He narrowed his eyes. “Tell us what you were watching Poppy do, Fred,” he insisted.

  “Seriously, Nate, you don’t want to –”

  “Did you watch as whatever Dorian did to her neck happened? Did you not think to fucking stop him doing it?”

  Fred glanced uncomfortably at Poppy. “…I couldn’t.”

  “But why?!”

  “Nate, please don’t push this further,” Poppy said. She was looking at her hands, hunched shoulders a clear sign she wanted everyone to stop talking about what happened to her.

  Andrew was relieved when Patrick began to dock the ferry a short while later, though he still desperately wanted to know what Fred had seen, even though he was beginning to grasp what that was and knew he didn’t like it one bit.

  It was a struggle getting everyone onto the waiting bus. Casey had hired it a few days ago, when Patrick had taken her on a boat trip to the closest town. People were stumbling over their feet to reach it. All around him Andrew could hear people sobbing, and barely containing screams, and the onset of garbled chatter, as the alcohol in their systems began to loosen their tongues.

  He wanted to hold his hands against his ears and bloc
k it all out. But then he felt someone’s arms wrap around his back and shoulders, and he knew it could only be Poppy.

  “You’re okay, Andrew. You did so well. I’m so proud of you. You just have to hold on a little bit longer, then everything will be fine. You’ll be back home.”

  “Poppy.”

  “Yes?”

  “Can we still go to New Zealand?” Andrew asked, as everyone but the two of them filtered onto the bus. He could see Fred and Nate and Casey and a sobbing, hysterical Rachelle watching them.

  Poppy chuckled against his back. “I can’t believe you still remember that, Andrew. God, it feels like a thousand years ago I said that.”

  “That sounds like a no.”

  “Let’s call it a maybe. Get on the bus, Andrew.”

  He froze.

  “What does that mean, Poppy? Aren’t you coming with us?”

  Poppy said nothing, which spoke volumes.

  Andrew broke away from her arms, blinking back furious tears as he turned to face her. “Don’t you dare go back there!” he screamed, which sounded horrible because Andrew hated shouting. Behind him he could hear Rachelle cry out in shock, and the scrabbling of people coming off the bus.

  Poppy’s face was blank. “I have to, Andrew. I made a deal with him.”

  “But he was blackmailing you! You have to come back with us.”

  “Poppy, what’s going on?” Rachelle asked, voice trembling and dripping with tears as she embraced her best friend. “What does Andrew mean? Of course you’re coming with us. Don’t be stupid.”

  Andrew watched as Poppy’s expression broke for a moment, but after hugging Rachelle back for a few seconds she extricated herself from her arms. “I’ll explain everything soon. I swear it. But for now I have to go.”

  “Morph, please,” Nate said. Andrew had never heard him sound so vulnerable. He held out a hand to touch Poppy’s shoulder, but she moved away.