Chapter 111
Judging by the sheer amount of blood pouring out of him, the wound was anything but minor. And yet… his lukewarm reaction felt almost like someone quietly savoring a trivial pain while chewing on a much larger fury.
That has to be a mistake.
Still pinned under the monster’s unwavering gaze, Sylvia trembled violently. His eyes slowly shifted to her shoulder—the place that happened to be shaking the most.
Blood dripped and dripped and dripped. It slicked down her chest, her stomach, her thighs. She looked more like she was the one dying as the predator’s wrathful stare dissected her inch by inch.
Then he grabbed her shoulder.
Sylvia let out a reflexive whimper.
She had never once seen him without an expression. Ever since the day they met, he had always had that mischievous smile as naturally as breathing. Even when he was annoyed, he only pouted a little and sulked—never had he stared at anyone with eyes like this.
“…Haah, Sylvia.”
He surprisingly pronounced her name cleanly… and even stroked her shoulder. The gesture seemed meant to reassure her, but Sylvia couldn’t relax—not after what she had just done. That hand could turn cruel at any moment. Whether she died in one second or sixty, that was the only difference.
“When did you reapply the poison? Thought I was actually gonna die…”
The blood trickling from his wound was darkening, thickening. So the poison did have some effect. He lifted his hand from the gash he’d been pressing, and the once-split-open flesh had begun to knit itself back together. The steady dripping of blood gradually slowed.
Her plan had failed. Or rather… stabbing him in the neck—intending to kill—had never been a plan in the first place.
She was relieved he was alive, relieved—but now her life hung by a thread.
As she stared at him, something caught her eye. Lower than the wound, close to his collarbone, something was opening and closing. Like… breathing.
‘Gills…?’
The perfect human form was crumbling. The skin split with a faint crack, revealing small, thin slits—water-dweller gills—opening and closing like a row of tiny combs. Horrifying. Repulsive. It was the first time she truly saw with her own eyes that he was not human.
“You…”
“—Hh!”
A large hand slipped lightly around her throat, and even that subtle grip made Sylvia tremble as if she would die right there. He should be in agony—any human would be—but he wasn’t. He was merely angry.
“Why… do you hate me… this much?”
The diluted poison in his bloodstream made his voice slur. Had Sylvia managed to buy pure monster venom from the black market, even he wouldn’t have survived. Unfortunately, what she’d bought was tainted—cut with animal’s blood.
Sylvia sucked in thin, ragged breaths, her lips stubbornly sealed. That was the problem. She didn’t hate him nearly as much as she told herself she did.
“…”
“Because I’m a monster?”
“…Hhh…”
“Because I’m cruel to you? I only act that way ’cause I like you… You know, for a monster, I’ve been… pretty damn gentle about courting you…”
He said it openly now—that all along, he had been courting her. Sylvia wasn’t shocked. His grim, fevered eyes made it too easy to read the mix of rage and something filthy-soft under it.
He was in love with her.
“My mate.”
“…”
“It’s frustrating, you know. I treat you this well… and you dare… If I die, you die too. You don’t even get that.”
What would happen if her body—already undergoing monstrous transformation—suddenly stopped receiving the fresh blood he’d been feeding her? The backlash would be catastrophic. She’d die painfully, as something that was neither human nor monster.
As his pain increased, his words grew scattered, rambling, unhinged. Then suddenly, his wild eyes flicked to the side.
He scanned the room quickly, then staggered upright. Finally stepping off her, he lurched toward something. Sylvia recognized an opening—her one, slim chance. If she didn’t run now, if she didn’t escape this moment, she would die.
“Stay.”
His voice froze her in place.
He had grown enormous. His head nearly brushed the ceiling. His once-deep blue eyes, pure demonic energy, now burned with streaks of red, the edges pooling into a sinister violet. He looked truly a monster.
Just hearing his voice and meeting his gaze was enough to paralyze her like a spell.
Her body refused to move.
Sylvia, unable to continue her escape, collapsed back onto the bed in a stiff, awkward posture. She barely blinked as he vanished somewhere out of sight, then returned moments later.
He was holding the long strip of fabric he always used as a blindfold.
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