Blood Will Tell

IX

Eight weeks flew past them like an airplane. Though Edin and Rowan had been working together for the past two months, they still felt like they had not known each other that well. Rowan had not pestered him with queries since the incident in Norman's car. Meanwhile, Edin had not initiated any sort of conversation. Their relationship had been largely professional. While Edin was content with mere professionalism, Rowan was hoping that it would evolve into friendship.

Whatever their relationship was, Edin was grateful that Rowan was eager to slay whatever monster that neared them, even if he was on a break. It was not because Edin was scared of being mauled to death—the beasts that neared the village were lesser threats compared to the glæsseling he had slain. What frightened him more was the prospect of losing control of his own bloodlust. The mere sight of the red liquid would awaken his own inner monster, thirsting for the forbidden drink, and had he not been inside the post he would have charged towards the beast and butchered it himself. And so, instead of watching his partner and making sure that he could hold his own on the battlefield, he would look away until he had returned. He wondered if Rowan was tired of doing all the killing.

On the contrary, Rowan was quite happy with the unofficial arrangement. As Norman had told them, each guardian was paid for every beast they slew in addition to their monthly wage. Each brute that dared to prowl near the post brought a smile to his face instead of fear. Ordinaries would see death; Rowan would see a paycheck. When he was not out on the field, stabbing and beheading the poor beasts, he would be lounging inside the post, calculating what his income would be and thinking of all the ways he could spend it. Before the first month had even ended, he had procured enough funds to buy an affordable yet reliable car. By the end of the second month, he had two homes: a modest house in his hometown, where he would reside during the weekends; and a compact apartment he rented in the village, where he would stay during weekdays and workdays.

In addition to the enviable pay, the act of killing the beast itself was rewarding to him. Each battle brought him an adrenaline rush that coursed through his veins. He would deal with the larger monsters rather quickly, but toy around with the smaller ones. He would tease them for minutes by mindlessly waving his metal whip around, pretending that he was a tamer at a circus, before delivering a deathly blow that would end them in split seconds. He was, however, disgusted by brutal torture and excessive gore, even if the subject of agony was a beast. Though the beasts' fearsome figures and disfigured carcasses did scar his mind, he had grown accustomed to them.

This was why Rowan thought of Edin as a peculiar person, seemingly averse to murder though it was the main part of the job. Sure, the monthly salary was already handsome on its own, but he could not fathom why anyone would not seize the opportunity to earn even more, especially if it was not that hard. Then again, Edin was living with Arden Mægenstern. Even a year's worth of their salary, combined with the pay they would get by slaying a thousand beasts, would not even be a penny to the vast amount of wealth that Arden possessed. No, Edin did not need the extra money. He had extra money—assuming Arden had given him a separate income.

And so these two very different men ended up getting along with no difficulty despite their drastic differences. On one hand, Edin was averse to slaughter and anything related to it; on the other hand, Rowan was always looking forward to the battlefield, both in the literal and figurative sense.

Then the third month came.

It was another regular day at work. Edin reclined in his rolling chair as he watched the monitors, Rowan sitting not far from him. In the latter's hand was an ice-cold cup of water. He sipped as they watched the screens for any threats.

A dark mark formed in the corner.

"What d'you think that is?" Rowan asked.

"Might be a car," Edin said, folding his arms across his chest. He knew it was unlikely to be a car from the shape of the mark. He was stating his wish.