average human’s Reviews > One Small Echo > Status Update

Her dress, once plain black, had been torn and stained with gravel rash and dirt. She appeared much the same as every other survivor, except for her cane and the film of unseeing white over her eyes. She was also slight and scrappy. Blind and weak. And yet there she was, stumbling free of a place that would have consumed men and women twice her size, with years of training beneath their belts.
The Quiet didn’t discriminate when it came to physical strength or appearance. Bodies were just bodies. There was only one thing that would help someone survive a monster, and that was mental fortitude.
Chasin’s eyes narrowed.
Even half-ruined and filthy, the woman was striking. The Quiet had tried to bury her, but her beauty still shone through the grime. Her hair spilled around her in heavy, tangled curls, the ends, damp with sweat, falling low against her spine. The mass was so wild, the curls so riotous, it made his hand itch to thread and grasp. It had that stubborn, thick sheen that refused to be dulled.
Strands clung to her cheek and throat, catching the edges of a torn collar. Every shift of her head had the strands sliding against her skin like ink across bronzed parchment. Her skin was a warm brown threaded through with gold. Dirt smeared her forearms, her jaw, her neck, her calves. The tops of her knuckles bore bright scrapes, along with one of her elbows, and a fresh bruise was beginning to bloom beneath the curve of her jaw. He had no doubt many other bruises were forming, and he ignored the sharp pinch low in his gut, the instinctive reaction that told him he didn’t want to see this stunning woman marked with pain.
Her mouth was full and soft-looking, but there was a split at one corner, a fine line of dried blood traced to her chin. It did absolutely nothing to detract from the fact that the shape was beautiful—the kind of mouth men ruined themselves over.
Her bone structure was clean and decisive: high cheekbones smeared by grit, a straight nose with a faint nick of redness at the bridge, a jaw that looked delicate, though he had a feeling it was more often set with determination, as it was in that moment. Her face was heart-shaped, but it wasn’t quite sweet. There was something sharp in her. Her lashes were dark and thick, a heavy fan against that strange, luminous blindness, making the contrast appear brutal.
Dread’s attention had locked onto her like a hook through flesh.
There, Dread breathed, the word sliding through Chasin’s skull with a hunger so intimate, it made his teeth ache. Her. I sense it.
The woman’s hand was tight around her cane—and just as tight around the man she clung to. Blind and weak, at first glance, but the Quiet hadn’t spat her out by accident.
And Dreadwail—ancient, picky, and bored by ordinary prey—was practically vibrating behind Chasin’s ribs, a beast scenting blood.
Mine, Dread hissed, low and pleased. Let me⁠—
No.
Chasin’s jaw clenched hard enough to ache. He kept his expression flat, his posture loose, the way it always had to be when Dread started pressing at the edges of his restraint. He didn’t lunge, as Dread wanted him to. He didn’t give the monster an inch of the satisfaction he was begging for … but he also didn’t take his eyes off the woman. Even when two more people joined her and her companion. Groups surviving the Quiet together were an anomaly, something that would usually capture his attention, but Dread fixating on one of them was even rarer.
If Dreadwail had chosen her, then whatever was inside that fragile-looking body wasn’t fragile at all. As he examined the dark-haired woman, the anomaly multiplied. There had been a third body following the two newcomers, tucking behind the larger male. And another survivor, further down—he was making a beeline for them. Six. Curious.
Dread surged in a violent swell of interest that made Chasin’s vision tighten.
A cluster, he salivated, I can have her, and all her little friends.
No, Chasin told him again.
Dread’s attention sharpened until it hurt. Closer, the monster urged him forward, restless now, irritated by distance. I feel it growing. It’s inside her.
Chasin didn’t answer, but he was already moving. His bond was strong, but keeping a Rustling contained was a delicate battle. He had to give, just a little. He had to let Dread taste the thrill of the hunt.
The section leaders were distracted, watching the spill of bodies, counting out the survivors. No one questioned his sudden stalk towards the group of six. The first thing he noticed up close was how small she really was.
Not exactly delicate, but compact. She would make an excellent spy. An even better assassin. Quick and light on her feet. Cairn would be an excellent instructor for her—for anyone, but especially for her.
Not that he was considering taking her into Eclipse so soon. She would have to prove herself for that, just like everyone else. If she survived what was coming. Eclipse wasn’t for everyone. It required an iron will and an unbreakable mind, and a certain amount of bloodlust.
The woman’s breath hitched when Chasin stopped in front of her.
Her head tilted, just a fraction, her brows drawing inward with confusion. She was listening.
Dread roared inside him. Now, he seethed, salivating and gnashing to be freed. Tear her open. I want it. I want what she’s hiding.
Absolutely not.
Chasin moved before the monster could force him, reminding Dread who was in control, while still sating some of his violent need. Chasin’s hand closed around the woman’s slender throat.
The contact was instant and electric, the heat of her searing his glove, her pulse fluttering wildly against his palm. Her skin was warm. Alive. Too alive. Dread howled at the sensation, lunging forward with murderous delight.
There! Do you feel it? DO YOU FEEL IT?
Chasin tightened his grip slightly.
Behave, he ordered calmly.
The woman froze. It was an interesting response: no screaming, flailing, or even a stuttered question. She simply froze, waiting and listening, shock pinning her in place, her eyes wide and unseeing, breath shallow and startled beneath his grip.
Good.
The worst thing she could have done was panic. He leaned in slightly, just enough that his breath brushed her temple, just enough for Dread to taste her. Her scent hit him in a wave of sweat, fear and salt. Dread went feral.
Power. I smell it. Not hers. Not yet. Let me take it.
“Chasin?” Light, hurried footsteps rushed over—Alessandra, alarmed by his sudden urge to grip a new recruit by the neck.
Ignoring his oldest friend, Chasin raised one finger. She was so still. So … beautiful.
So powerful, Dread growled.
He raised a second finger. The survivors around them were statues now, terror thick in the air, but Chasin didn’t spare them a glance. All his attention was locked on the woman in his grip—and on the little thing inside her chest that had withdrawn the moment he touched her.
Interesting.
He raised a third finger. Then, deliberately, he released her and stepped back.
Her knees buckled slightly. One of the men of her group swore under his breath. Chasin ignored him. He could feel Dread pacing now, circling inside him like a predator denied its kill.
He also ignored his monster.
He signed at the group that they were expected to walk back to the barracks, not expecting them to understand a gesture of it.
“Uh, Eiko,” one of the men spoke up, “Prince Chasin is … signalling something to you.”
“Commander,” Alessandra interrupted sharply. “All recruits will refer to Prince Chasin as Commander, as that is what he is to you, now. You may go.” She directed that last bit to the woman standing slightly off to the side. Dreadwail turned away from her in complete disinterest. She had no monster. “Join the other non-recruits on the train.”
The woman scampered off, and Dread returned his attention to the blind woman before him.
Eiko, the man had called her.
She had the name of a monster.
Mine, Dread hissed again, possessive and furious. You can’t keep her from me forever.
Watch me. Chasin’s stride didn’t falter as he stalked away. Alessandra gave one last warning to the recruits before falling into step beside him. When they were far enough from any of the other section leaders or new recruits, she grabbed his arm, halting him. “What in the dark was that?”
A test of my fucking restraint, Chasin signed to her. Dreadwail has taken a liking.
Alessandra regarded him with alarm, her fingers tightening on his arm. “A liking,” she repeated flatly, before signing, Interesting word for an imminent catastrophe.
Chasin rolled his eyes at her. Dread was still pacing, coiled tight and furious, but contained—for now. His monster was a murderous psychopath, but Chasin had never once lost control of him.
She’s not ordinary, he signed. Whatever’s inside her isn’t either.
Alessandra’s mouth thinned. I don’t see it. I didn’t feel it either. I think Dreadwail just wanted you to choke someone.
I didn’t choke her, he signed with a snap.
Alessandra gave him a look that would have sent lesser men cowering back to their mothers. You put your hand around her throat, Chasin.
I let go, didn’t I?
That earned him a sharp exhale. Alessandra glanced back towards the recruits, eyes narrowing as she reassessed the cluster around the woman with the cane.
She swore, vicious and low, signing, This is going to be a problem.
He didn’t disagree. Ancient monsters didn’t develop patience with age—they developed discernment. They got bored and picky. They developed dangerous obsessions.
I’ve got it under control, he told her.
This is dangerous, Alessandra snapped back with a flurry of her fingers. If your monster overpowers you⁠—
Chasin waved her statement away and signed, simply, He won’t.
She searched his face, clearly weighing how much she trusted him with how much she feared what lived beneath his skin. She studied him until she finally broke on a sigh, and then she turned on her heel and strode back towards the others, her voice already rising as she barked orders.
Chasin’s attention drifted back to the recruits. To her.
Eiko.
The name slid through him again, unwanted and persistent.
She was clinging to that same man again, her free hand clenched around her cane. Her knuckles were white, but her breathing had evened. There were no hysterics in general with this group. No tears or outward panic. A resilient bunch, then. He looked forward to testing them.
Dread stirred.
Mine, the monster whispered again, sulky and possessive. You felt it. You can’t deny it.
Consider yourself fucking denied, Chasin replied coldly.
But Dread only laughed, a low, scraping sound inside his skull.
The recruits began to move at Alessandra’s command, a disordered shuffle towards the tracks. Chasin turned away, already preparing to disappear into the periphery where he belonged, but his gaze was drawn back to her, and her head turned like she could feel him staring. Chasin’s jaw tightened.
Trouble, Dread murmured, almost gleeful.
Yes, Chasin thought grimly.
She was going to be nothing but trouble.