With a Vengeance

by Freydís Moon

But funerals were for the living and Kye wasn’t sure they counted as alive anymore.

You shall blush for the gardens that you have chosen.

Their deadname had been an accidental weapon. A final blow from the grave, stirring memories they’d drowned or buried.

Rough laughter—like snapping twigs and popping flames—crackled in their ear. “I am your unbecoming.”

Is this how a haunting started? With a voice and a presence and a corpse?

“From what I’ve seen—and I’ve seen a lot—people who’re ready to die don’t typically free themselves.”

Right then, they were new and old: the person they’d been for twelve months and who they were after. Someone with the will to survive, to keep going, to stay.

“You prayed for deliverance. Begged God to send a message. Please, Lord, hear me.” Their voice overlayed atop his, tumbling unnaturally from his lips like a warped recording. He wrapped the bandage around their arm, over the curve of their thumb, and lifted his eyes to meet theirs. “But I heard you first.”

Kye swallowed. “And you are?” “Not God.”

The devil prowls like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour.

They gripped their bandaged arm. Pain meant this was real, meant they were awake, and—yes, there it was—that blunt sting, that almost-bruise, that fresh ouch.

You die when I say you die.

Ah, they thought bitterly, you must be the replacement daughter.

The house was a corpse, but everything that’d once called it home still lived, somehow, wandering through its skeleton like mice in a castle.

“I’m in your head, sweetheart. You’re fickle. Irrational. Dangerous, even. And you might’ve planned it out, drove all the way here, got your pretty little ass out of the car, and thought, yeah, today’s the day I off myself in this creepy swamp-house, but that doesn’t mean you’re going to, and it doesn’t mean you should.”

“This. . .” he said, and shifted in a blink, appearing at their back again. He gripped their hips, shaking them slightly. “Is yours. This. . .” He tapped his claw against their temple. “Is yours. This. . .” Dragged his fingertip down their sternum. “Is yours. You belong to no one until you decide otherwise. You wanted someone else to take the wheel, so I did. But control is just as much yours as it is mine.”

Kye Lovato hated him, and they loved him. Hated needing him, hated wanting him. Loved having him, loved being wanted by him.

“Power is everything,”

They felt like a snake shedding its skin—their smooth flesh the same as new scales; their vision sharp, unveiled after a lifetime spent walking through fog. Be shrewd as serpents and innocent as doves.

Pray, little one.

They’d kill who they’d been—die, finally—keep their promise to themself, fulfill the destiny their family had designed for them, and begin again.

“Or—hear me out—you’re a perfectly fuckin’ sane person trying to handle a perfectly fuckin’ insane ordeal.”

Because you’re resilient despite what the world tried to make of you.

“No, not always.” He nudged their chin with his nose, grinning sheepishly. “You asked what it’s like to fall from grace, but you already know the feeling. My father abandoned me—our father. But I could’ve stayed, could’ve been obedient. I chose to fall; you chose to leave. You asked me how that works, and it’s really fuckin’ simple. I saw the fault in something infallible—a lot of us did—and I thought I’d be better suited with the sinners. That’s all.”

“Then I found you, and you were a damn storm. All wreckage and rage.” His

“You stop,” he growled, pitching his face closer to theirs. “You think self-deprecation gives you thick skin, huh? It’s pathetic, Kye. You know what you are, you know what you look like, stop acting—”

“Worship isn’t universal, you know. Sacrifice is prayer.”

“Giving yourself to another, making an offering, becoming an altar. It’s all devotion.”

They had never been devout, but when Eli took their chin between his fingers and forced their gaze, they knew religion.

Nostalgia struck them like a fist. That smell—incense and orange oil—and that sound—bells and piano keys—filled them with melancholy.

“I can’t change your past, but I can take the memory. Say the word and it’ll be done.”

“You are. Whatever you were about to say, it’s bullshit. You’re mine, period. Full-fucking-stop.”

“Because he hurt something that belongs to me, and he deserved to pay for the damages with his worthless fucking life. I don’t know how to break it to you, but you’re owned, you get that? And our deal doesn’t come with boundaries, Kye. I do as I please.”

“And the only one who hurts you is me. I’m in charge of your pain. Understood?”

“I’m your monster,”

“Don’t you fucking get that yet? You decided on me; I decided on you. If someone betrays you, they betray me. If someone hurts you, I hurt them. The end.”

A concoction of contradicting emotions. When they were alone, they’d been prey. Hunted like an animal. But with Eli— You’re the predator.

Christina Lovato looked back at them. A ghost trapped in stained-glass.

Then you pictured a lie, they thought. And she sold it well.

“I know it’s not worth much, but I loved you. I tried to stop for a long time. Told myself to let it go—let you go. But I don’t think you can get rid of that kind of devotion, the love you’re born with, generational shit. Familia nunca muere.”

Surely the darkness will hide me and the light become night around me.

Their mother was dead—well and truly gone—but her intent still haunted them. And what had they done to prevent it? Played dress-up in their hometown to honor a woman who couldn’t give them enough autonomy to. . .

“You’re combative and emotional,” he said, speaking softly. “Volatile and explosive. I found myself drawn to you when everything you’d been and everything you were meant to become was suffocating underneath sickness and defeat. I thought about taking you.”

“You’re the prize.” He pressed a kiss to their pulse. “You move through the world like you own it. And now, I own you.”

Rabbits know hawks; deer recognize wolves.

“You were a miracle,” they murmured, smiling against his mouth. Eli flashed a wicked, handsome grin. “And you were my revival.”