Gods And Monsters

Chapter Forty-two:

The ceiling was a white blur. A dense, impenetrable gathering of fog. The window blinds were open, and moonlight streamed in through the slats. Hazy shadows painted a variety of distorted shapes across the vast plane of porcelain.

Hel blinked, and her vision came into focus.

Sighing, she arose from her seat on the beige, L-shaped couch. Many attempts had been made in the pursuit of alleviating her boredom, but to her dismay, not one of them had been successful.

Her stomach growled and she covered it with her hand. The rumbling in her belly was immediately followed by a stabbing pang of hunger. She tried to recall the last time she had eaten, and realised that it must have been more than a day since her last proper meal. Glancing at the small, circular clock on the wall, Hel frowned. They were five minutes late.

There was the loud rapping of knuckles against wood, right on cue, as the delivery boy knocked impatiently at the door.

She strode around the dining table and to the door, quickly unlocking it.

A young man, she would estimate early twenties, stood in the hall. To be kind, he was downright average. Unremarkable facial features, plain brown hair, dull brown eyes. Someone seen but scarcely remembered. Forgettable, in every sense of the word.

This was just a job to him, a temporary source of money. His smile was forced. "Large pepperoni pizza with anchovies?"

"Yes. Thank you." She outstretched her hands, and he transferred care of the cardboard pizza box.

Her fingers grazed his; a catalyst for the spark that shot up his arm. Their gazes locked, his captive to her own. His eyes grew wide as his hands fell to his side. He blinked. His mind had been scrambled and his thought processes muddled. A tingling sensation resided in his temples, the telltale symptom of mental manipulation.

"Keep the change." Hel turned on her heel and stepped back inside, shutting the door behind her with a sly smirk. Oh, how she adored mortal minds. They were putty in her skillful hands; so placid, barely used, easily molded.

Hoisting herself up onto the kitchen counter, she perched there and set the large square box beside her. She opened the lid and tucked in without hesitation.

One hour and seven slices of pizza later, Spike wandered out of his room.

His short, bleached curls were mussed and all he had on was a pair of black jeans. His upper half was bare. Yawning, he ran a hand through his bedhead.

"Evening." He greeted sleepily, sauntering over to where she sat on the couch. His eyebrows rose at the sight of a nearly empty pizza box. Spike exhaled a soft chuckle, shaking his head, and sat down.

"Sleep well?" Hel inquired politely.

"Well enough."

He pointed his index finger at the very last slice of pepperoni pizza. "May I?"

"Be my guest."

"Thanks, luv." Lifting it out of the box, he brought it to his mouth and took a bite.

"I thought vampires only needed blood."