Witnessing Monsters

Rory

I wake screaming after witnessing the death of a man with jet-black hair and violet eyes. I was in early 18th-century Japan. He was beheaded right in front of me. For a moment, I swear I saw a flash of fangs, red eyes, and snow-white hair just before I woke up at the swing of the sword.

I've had similar dreams all my life as though I'm reliving the past. Since I hit puberty, it's been of men all dying in front of me.

"Shut up babe. You'll wake the dead." He hits me in the face with a pillow.

Why do I put up with this asshole? Oh yeah, I'm lonely and he was convenient on top of being pretty. Honestly, I'm not sure what I was thinking, shacking up with the definition of a fuqboi.

He is posting a selfie about just waking up due to his girlfriend screaming with the #goingtobanishthosenightmares.

Eyeroll. So long as he doesn't get me in the background, I won't break his phone. He won't be doing anything to banish these nightmares.

I get out of bed to get ready for the day. While I'm drinking my coffee and eating toast, my phone rings. "Good morning, Rory."

"Hey, Dad. What's up?"

"I called to tell you I'm going to be out of town for a while," he says with a sigh.

"Another work thing, huh?" It's always work that takes him out of town. Being a traveling doctor for a group of assassins keeps him busy.

"Yes, exactly."

"How long this time?" I'm not impressed. He promised me last year he was retiring.

"Just a few months."

"Okay. Just be sure to call me at least once a week. Don't make me call someone to come hunt you down again."

I will too. I have before. My friend Natalie's husbands are good at that sort of stuff.

"I promise—no radio silence. Don't worry kiddo, I'll be home soon. I love you, Sunflower."

We will see about that. He gets so caught up with his work and research that he often forgets even to bathe or eat. I hope I don't fall in love with a man who focuses on one thing, completely forgetting everything around him.

"Love you too, Dad. Don't make me call Ali's husband." My father is laughing when we hang up.

He thinks I'm joking, but I'm dead serious. This time I'll go hunt him down myself.

Mick is still in bed, but that's fine since it's five in the morning. Being a registered nurse, my shift varies. This week I'm working twelve-hour shifts from six to six, which is fine by me. I don't say goodbye to Mick; I don't care to.

My apartment is within walking distance of the private hospital where I work. It makes me feel a tad sad as I walk past my rebuilt 1989 Dodge Ram with dual tones painted in mint and black. It has a black interior with mint accents.

Le sigh. I want to drive my truck.

I dive into my job, enjoying my work, and caring for people, even if most of them are wealthy snobs. My paycheck makes it easier to be sugary sweet no matter what rude remarks people hurl at me. They're in pain or sick and I would be cranky in their shoes, too.

Of course, some remarks are about my tattoos, facial piercing, pink hair, and anime scrubs. I only wear scrubs with my favorite anime characters on them.

My boss doesn't mind though. It's probably because I became friends with his wife and one of her other husbands. She has five of them.

🧛‍♂️🧛‍♂️🧛‍♂️🧛‍♂️🧛‍♂️It was a nice normal day at work until an hour before my shift ended.

Multiple men are rushed in, but one appears different from the rest. He has unnaturally snow-white hair, pale skin, red eyes whose pupils have turned into reptilian slits, and… Are those… fangs protruding out of his mouth? He is strapped down to the gurney with a gaping chest wound, snarling, and snapping at all who come near him.

The doctor, who loves me the most, snaps at me to help him with the crazed creepy man.

I don't want to.

"Come on Rory, you're the only one who is capable enough to help me."Capable? Has he seen the bags under my eyes yet?

I help him, anyway, hooking up the IVs. Thankfully, even this guy's head is strapped down. I'm not sure how he hasn't gone into shock or passed out from blood loss. It's almost inhuman, supernatural, even.

If only I had Sam and Dean Winchester busting in here to save my ass. I'm a total Dean girl.

"Why isn't sedation working?"

I shrug at him. I'm not the doctor here.

Sure enough, he isn't responding at all. The moment I get closer, he becomes even more frenzied, tugging on his restraints.

When he gets his head undone, snapping inches from my face, I gasp, falling away from the patient into the surgical cart and cutting my hand through my gloves. The doctor is nowhere to be seen, which means he is busy scrubbing in to do surgery. Shit, shit, shit! I must have hit the scalpel.

The patient rips free of all his restraints. I ran, and I ran fast, skating down the hall. It's practically empty with most patients in surgery. The guy tackles me to the floor, and I scream in fear and panic. He is on top of me, trying to get to the hand I have hidden behind my back.

I can only make out one word, leaving his lips, "Blood." He repeats like a mantra.

He finally wrenches my wrist free and begins licking the blood from my skin. The wound has already healed. The white-haired man is hauled off me by three men in navy and black tactical gear.

"Look what we have here. A witness." A man with light brown hair and piercing green eyes picks me up, then twists my arms behind my back so that my back is to his front.

He leans in close, his breath hot against my skin and a knife to my throat. "Scream and I'll kill you."

"Leave her alone, Claymore. If you were nicer, women would flock to you like they do me," jokes the man with auburn hair and olive eyes. He is taller than this man and the one helping him hold the other guy back.

"She's a nurse," states the quiet one holding the snarling man. "Let's see what the commander says."

Commander? As in the military? Oh fuck! Is this a mercenary group?

"Why do you have to ruin my fun, Gladius?" It sounds like he is whining, but I can't tell since his tone is so deadpan.

Suddenly, the man they are holding becomes still. His white hair turns to a deep brown and his eyes change into a brown so dark, they almost look black.

He groans. "What happened?"

The men all exchange concerned looks, especially when I gasp at his transformation. I know this man. He has been helping my father. "Doctor Shaw?"

His eyes go wide. The men holding him relax their grip.

"Are you Rory? Doctor Beadu's only daughter," the man who transformed before my eyes asks me.

Is this truly Doctor Shaw?

I try to swallow around the lump in my throat. "That's me. What happened?"

"I'm not entirely sure, but I believe…"

"What's going on? You three should have been out by now with Epee. We can't lose him," a husky baritone voice thunders.

Why are these guys sinfully handsome? Is it something in the water they drink or what?

I'm immediately drawn to the dark god of war who just entered the OR room. Jet black hair and rare violet eyes. He is tall, but not as tall as the redhead. It's hard to tell just how fit or muscular he is underneath all that tactical gear.

It's like déjà vu to see him not in my dream. I swear jumped right out of my dream.

"Bring the woman. We'll find out what she knows or has seen," the dream man orders.

"I'm not going anywhere!" I shout, now thoroughly livid.

"You'll go quietly, or I'll kill you, little one," the man called Claymore assures me with a knife to my throat.

Oh, you will? Fuck this shit! I'm done.