Where Monsters Lie (The Monster Within 2)

Last year, my biggest concern was getting dropped at the end of the year.

This year, my biggest concern is surviving.

It feels good to be back in the village outside Saint M.

There’s nothing quite like it. Already it feels nostalgic for me; the smell of the air takes me back to last year, when I hunted down a taxi to take me up to the school. The road I’m walking on is the same I stormed down last year after Sawyer drugged me and interrogated me like the jealous asshole he is. The pub I’m heading into is where I had an intense—let’s call it a wordless conversation—with Piers, Owen, and Bennett. For one, brief second, my eyes linger on the wall of the pub where Piers pressed my back up against it and … no. I stop myself.

I’ve ignored those boys all summer. I shouldn’t start letting them creep into my thoughts now.

Not after what they did.

They did more than torture, bully, and betray me. They made me look weak. They threatened to take my birthright from me.

Never again.

Cleaver, my axehandle hound, wags his tail happily as I push open the door to the pub. I found him in the woods outside my aunt’s house last Christmas, and he’s been my best friend ever since. He’s grown from a small pup that I could easily put in my backpack to a knee-high dog with a menacing growl. He might be a monster, but he’s a good boy.

The inside of the pub is just how I remember. It’s the afternoon, so it’s just beginning to get busy. A few tables are full, but there are plenty open seats at the bar, which is where I planned on sitting anyway. I pat my leg for Cleaver to follow as I head there.

“Avery!”

I turn, despite knowing who the voice belongs to. I spot Sawyer Alman sitting in a booth by the door. I don’t know how I missed him earlier. After all my practice over the summer, I’m still as oblivious as ever.

I wish I could say he looks the worse for wear, but that would be lying. He doesn’t look like a man who’s spent the summer regretting the terrible things he’s done. Specifically, of course, to me.

Instead, he’s recently shaved so that his strong jaw is smooth. His golden eyes are exactly the same, but his light brown hair is a little longer now, brushing past his ears. He starts sliding out of the booth toward me.

“Avery, hey! I tried to get up with you all summer!”

“I know,” I reply curtly. Beside me, Cleaver growls. Last year, Sawyer and I were very close. So close, he was something like a boyfriend. That is, until he got my kelpie, Aurora, murdered. I was vulnerable with him, and it was all a goddamn lie.

He pauses, taking in the tone of my voice. “Avery, please,” he says. “I want to apologize.”

“You could never apologize enough,” I say coldly, and I turn away from him, heading to the bar. If there was literally anywhere else in this godforsaken village that sold alcohol, I’d already be gone.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Sawyer considering coming after me. He doesn’t. The door slams shut behind him, and his shadow darkens the window a moment as he storms off.

Good. I’d hate to have to break that pretty face before classes even start. Fuck Sawyer and his perfect jawline. Fuck his boy-next-door attitude. Though, mostly, fuck me for the way my stomach still turns somersaults at the sight of him.

As I approach the bar, I spot Professor Helsing. He’s the tough, grizzled professor that knew my parents—and also happens to be the father of my friend and roommate, Erin. He glances over his shoulder at me and nods, patting the empty seat beside him.

“Black,” Helsing says with a nod as I slide onto the stool. Cleaver sits by my feet, tongue lolling out of his axe blade-shaped head. He motions to the bartender and orders a beer for me in Romanian.

I’m glad to still remember it since last year. It’s still a little tricky to speak it, but I can understand most of the conversations around me now, at least a little.

“You’re a bad influence, you know,” I say as the bartender slides the bottle to me.

“Drinking age is eighteen, and you’re nineteen now,” he replies gruffly. He takes a gulp of his own beer as I look him over out of the corner of my eye. He’s obviously been somewhere with a lot of sun over the summer, as his skin is tanned to a deep brown. The pink of the scar on his face stands out even more now than before. He sets down his beer and motions towards the door. “Saw you over there with Alman.”

I glance over my shoulder. “Yeah,” I say. “Maybe I’m being hard on him, but—”

“Those boys gave you hell last year,” Helsing interrupts in a growl. “Maybe it’s time you gave them a little hell in return.”

There’s a reason I like Professor Helsing.

A cold calm washes over me. He’s right. Ever since the end of last year, I’ve been thinking how to get back at them, how to make them as miserable as they made me last year. All year they tried to drag me down, to get me kicked out of Saint M. My failure would mean their success.

None of us failed, but do they expect me to just forget about everything they did? All the pain, physical and emotional, they inflicted on me?