Pure Destiny (PureDark Ones #12) - Aja James Page 0,102
a moment, she seemed nonplussed at his response. She blinked rapidly at him in some confusion, at a loss for words.
“You…aren’t afraid?” she ventured tentatively, as if he was a strange, woodland creature that might disappear at any moment.
He shrugged.
“It’s just a name. Kind of a mouthful, even if you use the modern version of Lilith. Works a person’s tongue more than other names.”
He stuck his tongue to his teeth as he pronounced her name a few times.
“I’d much rather call you Lily. May I?”
At this, she pulled back from him a little to regard him with more distance between them, as if the previous close proximity had distorted her vision.
He could see that he perplexed her. This was not unusual, for Benji often had that effect on people.
“You may not,” she finally answered, even though her statement wasn’t delivered with the fullest conviction, as if she was still debating within herself.
He nodded, to give her the sense of agreement, but what he said was, “I think I will, anyway.”
She arched a brow at that to show her displeasure at his presumption.
He didn’t feel like he presumed. He felt like he knew her somehow. And he could sense that she felt the same. But neither of them knew precisely why.
“Maybe if you hear it enough, Lily will grow on you,” he argued reasonably. “Much better than Lilith, don’t you think? One means Night Monster and the other one is a pretty, white, sweet-smelling flower.”
She blinked owlishly at him, finally uttering, “You confound me.”
Benji took that in stride, not taking offense.
“I do that to a lot of people.”
He looked around him then, taking in the sparsely furnished but richly appointed surroundings.
Though they seemed to be in some kind of basement, maybe even a cave, the large chamber was outfitted with all kinds of luxuries—the gigantic bed, an intricately carved table and several chairs, fur rugs on the ground, and torches that burned with a silvery-blue fire. Similarly, lanterns hung from invisible strings from the rocky ceiling, also filled with the same pale light, though the colored patterns of the lampshades gave them different colors.
It was quite chilly in the cavernous space, but Benji was warm. It was then that he noticed the strange vest he was wearing over his clothes.
He smoothed his fingers down the front of it, marveling at the texture. It retained warmth, like a person’s skin, but seemed to be made out of scales.
“Where am I?” he queried, getting off the bed and starting to wander the room.
She didn’t stop him, and she didn’t move, simply sitting still on the bed and observing him.
“In my lair, angel,” she replied.
He slid an exasperated look her way.
“Why do you keep calling me that?”
“Isn’t that your name? D’Angelo?”
“But that’s not why you call me angel,” he argued.
He didn’t know how he knew, he just did.
She tilted her head and gazed at him unblinkingly.
From any other person, Benji might have found the stare unnerving, but from her… somehow, he didn’t. There was something so very familiar and even comforting about her. He had the strangest notion that she would never harm him.
Perhaps because she’d already inflicted the most grievous hurt she possibly could.
He frowned at that errant thought. Where had that come from?
“You look like an angel,” she said in that melodious, oddly resonating voice.
“Those golden curls would put Cupid’s to shame. And there’s a halo of light that surrounds you, protecting you from evil things that lurk in the dark. Surely, you must be more than a mere mortal if you venture into a monster’s den and do not feel afraid.”
“Are you a monster, then, like your name connotes?” Benji asked.
He was on the far side of the chamber now, next to a large sarcophagus-like object that sat heavily on the stone ground. It was completely sealed, so that he could not see whatever was inside, just the various colors of fluids that traveled through thick and thin tubes plugged into the object, connected to machines that surrounded it.
“What do you think, angel? Am I a monster?”
A long, forked tongue unfurled from her mouth as she said this, her black eyes narrowing into vertical slits, her pale, slender hands growing sharp, dagger-like claws where her fingertips used to be.
Benji observed her transformation with mild curiosity, and then he shrugged. He’d seen a lot worse than that. And his imagination was far more grotesque and fantastical.
“Monsters aren’t determined by what they look like but what they do,” he said.