Page 75 of Her Creation

He adjusted his posture as he sat at the table, then immediately doubted it, rising and moving instead to the cold stone slab near Victoria’s desk, the chill seeping into him as though punishment might make him more tolerable, more worthy of her return. A soft sound caused him to stop mid-step, frozen, his head snapping toward the stairs with sharp, panicked hope that she was coming—that this painful, patient waiting had finally earned him her presence. Fear chased the hope just as quickly. He was not in position. He was not ready. The sound crackled again, and his shoulders dropped a fraction, the tension retreating only slightly. Something out of place tugged at his peripherals. It was only an errant shaving of wood. He snatched it up quickly and tucked it into his pocket, unwilling to leave behind even the smallest trace of disorder, for fear it would displease her, then Innominatus took long, urgent strides to make up for the seconds he had lost. It took every ounce of willpower not to climb the stairs and greet her sooner, not to beg for her attention, not to place himself where she could not ignore him, not to remind her—silently, desperately—that he still existed. He felt like a castoff, an unwanted mutt.

He lifted himself onto the cold, dusty table and crossed his legs. He uncrossed them and slid a few inches to the right, searching for relief that did not come, searching for a posture that might quiet the restless need coiling like a viper inside his chest. His heart thundered in his ears, loud enough to feel like a betrayal, while the silence pressed in on him from all sides, heavy and watchful. Again, he readjusted his shoulders, angling himself away from the stairs with deliberate care so he would not look too eager, too desperate, too much. That always made her leave faster—when his need for her sneaked out from behind its prison. He could feel her shying away from his intensity even when she was not present. He knew, with a sickening certainty, that if he let the wanting show—if he failed to contain it—she would leave sooner, and for longer, until eventually she would not come back at all. Then he would be left alone…again. He could escape the laboratory, the castle, but he could never escape her. He didn’t want to go farther away from her, he wanted her in his arms, loving him. The thought settled deep in his body, an old ache reopened, whispering. What if she already knew she would never love him the way he loved her, that his devotion was something she endured rather than returned?

He crossed his legs again, ignoring the sharp pull in his muscles, and waited for Victoria to bring his dinner.

And waited.

And waited…and waited.

At last, Innominatus stood, his aching body snapping and cracking as he stretched, the sound harsh and too loud in the emptiness. Pain flared briefly and he welcomed it; at least pain meant sensation. That he hadn’t died in this pit of hell waiting for something he began to fear he would never get.

His gaze never left the empty space at the bottom of the stairs. His jaw clenched until it ached and he had to rub it.

She should have already been down here. Even if she forgot his other meals, she always brought his evening meal at the same set time—a time he had memorized without meaning to, carved into him by repetition and hope—except for today. Today stretched thin and cruel, and with every passing moment, the fear grew heavier that this was not a delay but a decision. Nerves fired in his body, sending adrenaline into his arms and legs. What if she left the castle? Left him?

He relaxed slightly.

He would track her. He remembered how. There was not a place she could go where he would not find her. Even if she did not return his love, she had done this to him—she had made this creature that needed love.

He moved to her desk and lifted the jar of maggots into the candlelight, watching them writhe and knot together, restless and uncontained. It was a mirror of the agitation that crawled and squirmed beneath his skin. He flinched instinctively at the nearness of the small flame and took a step back, his breath catching despite his effort to control it. It was only a small flame. Nothing to focus on. Nothing to fear. His shoulders flexed, and the scraped-together flesh sewn across them tightened as he forced himself to look around the laboratory and recount the lit oil lamps, grounding himself in repetition before his thoughts could spiral too far.

One…two…only two. Only ever two, unless Victoria needed more light for her procedures.

One…two, he counted again, slower, more carefully. Small. One. Two. Lamp one. Lamp two. His eyes flicked between them, back and forth, measuring their size, their distance, their obedience. They were small and contained, unlike the flames that had engulfed Lyudka, unlike the fear that threatened to consume him now.

The hours slipped further and further from his grasp, time thinning until it felt unreal, like something he could no longer hold on to. Had it been hours or days? One by one, the oil lamps burned out, their light surrendering quietly. He did not refill them. With great care to keep the flame away, he lit a single spermaceti candle instead, placing it a safe distance away on the desk, its small flame barely pushing back the dark. He waited there, unmoving, watching the black corner at the bottom of the stairs where the wall was shared with her desk area next to it.

When the candle burned down and the room filled with the sour, choking smell of smoke, the truth finally settled into him. She was not coming.

The realization did not strike all at once. Hope like he held wouldn’t allow it. It seeped in slowly, filling the spaces she had left behind. Innominatus’s shoulders sagged. He had made her uncomfortable the other day, pushed her too far by moving her tools.

He stood abruptly and swiped the candlestick from the desk, the motion sharp and uncontrolled, sending it skidding across the floor. The small metal cup clanged once, then again, before settling with a dull, metallic hum that lingered too long in the dark. Something skittered out of sight. His head tilted instinctively, every sense snapping painfully alert, his body bracing for the sound of a trap being triggered, for proof that something—anything—had been disturbed because of him. Instead, he heard it: the faintest creak overhead, followed by the soft, measured footsteps moving through the castle.

Victoria.

The sound struck him like a blow. His breath left him all at once, knocked loose from his chest, and he froze where he stood, afraid that even breathing might break whatever fragile thread still connected him to her presence. He listened harder than he ever had before, straining to catch every detail, every shift, every pause. She was pacing the first floor. Alive. Awake. Moving. The knowledge hollowed him out. Relief and torment braided together so tightly inside his chest that he could not separate them, could not tell which one was stronger.

The forbidden door called to him. He could open it. Check on her. She would never know. A cold shiver crept slowly down his spine. What if she forgot about him completely?

The thought landed like a fracture. No. Gods did not forget their servants. Not the faithful ones. Not the good ones.

He should find her. Go up right now. Press his lips to hers until she could no longer pretend she didn’t feel their savage, indisputable bond. Gentle and restrained so she knew that he was not a beast but a gentleman. If that didn’t work, he would pick off and kill every gentleman in her vicinity, so she was left with no other choice but the beast she had created.

Innominatus’s head bowed forward, his chin sinking to his chest as his eyes squeezed shut. The darkness pressed in, heavy and intimate. He was not a monster. Not in this life, and not with her. She deserved every drop of his faith, his obedience, his devotion. He would prove to her that he was worthy of the same things humans were—worthy of kindness, of friendship, of love. He was not merely a sewn-together corpse meant to be hidden in a dark basement, a lab rat confined to a cage. He would prove how deserving he was.

She would see.

Already, he was so divinely focused on her that he could read her body language better than any man he had ever targeted. That knowledge, now, felt less like power and more like a curse, because it told him the truth before he was ready to accept it.

He listened to her footsteps and clung to the sound of another person as though it were a lifeline, a fragile tether to the world outside the walls pressing in around him. Each step she took above him anchored him, each scrape of her shoe a heartbeat he could hold on to, proof that he was not yet forgotten, proof that someone—anyone—still existed beyond the stone and shadow. The sound grew fainter, and panic stirred in his chest. He could not bear to lose it. Not yet. Not yet.

He made a path. Moving the desks and tables with precision, he carved a narrow corridor through the laboratory, his body bending and stretching to fit beneath, around, through. The sharp snap of wood sounded near the back door of the laboratory, jarring in the quiet. Innominatus smiled, a small, fleeting thing, cruelly soft against the hollow ache inside him. Once Victoria’s footsteps finally faded, once the last trace of her presence left the floorboards and walls, he would check on his trap.

Chapter 22

March 1803 Log entry

Recounting events 1773–1795 Location: Unknown