Page 32 of Bianca and the Monsters

Nico nods, but his wariness engulfs us in a fear-filled cloud.

I pat him and then turn and walk toward the vile, stone building where loneliness, self-loathing, and shame live.

Chapter24

Bianca

Walking away from Nico’s protection is easier than I thought it would be. In that, I see just how much faith I have in fate to guide me through this. Every one of Archie’s wails tugs me closer, inspiring my feet to step more swiftly on the soft, mossy ground.

When I reach the old wooden door, I don’t even hesitate, pushing it open and entering the dark, dank space. I see nothing for a few seconds as my eyes adjust to the lack of light. When my vision clears, I realize I’m standing in an entryway that is entirely bland. Barren stone walls. A nondescript bench. A dull wardrobe.

I move toward the wardrobe and gently open the door, finding Archie’s fine clothing—all in shades of lustrous grey—hanging inside, his fine leather boots perfectly situated on the bottom. He cries out again, but my focus remains locked on his clothes, struck by the story they tell. Even when consumed with desperate need and unfathomable grief, Archie treated his beautiful clothing with great care. The same care that inspired his concerns about making hiscastlepresentable forme.

My house could have been declared a disaster area when Nico arrived. My place was always in a state I calledlived-in chic. I’ve certainly never taken care of anything the way Archie clearly does, and it’s suddenly unthinkable that this sensitive purple monster would ever harm me.

But he’s not himself during the rut—that’s what Nico was saying. So who is Archie when he’s lost to passion and the pursuit of a randy connection?

That’s the question.

But it’s not the only question.

Because if his clothing ishere, does that mean he’s naked somewhere beyond the next door?

Am I ready for that?

Apparently, I am because it only takes a moment for me to shove the door open and enter… Archie’sjail.

My heart freaking breaks in half. He’s locked himself in a cage that has no comforts at all, just a thin mattress on the hard stone floor. He’s standing with his back to me, his head leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his broad chest as he seeks to hold himself. To contain himself. To smother all that he doesn’t like about himself.

The sounds of his misery hit me in waves of anguish at just how unfair this is. For anyone anywhere to feel this way.

At first, he doesn’t react to my presence, but a second later, his body stiffens, his muscular butt and massive legs tensing.

Through gritted teeth, without turning toward me, he growls, “Please, just go…notsafe… for you.”

“Archie, we need to talk.” My words sound solid and sure, but Archie groans his pain.

“Please…” He’s begging now. “… I don’t want you to see me likethis.” Archie bangs his forehead into the stone wall. “All my dreams of meeting you and being the civilized gentleman you deserve… it’s over—everything is over.” He swallows roughly. “I’ll pull myself together as soon as I can and I’ll leave.Pleasedon’t judge them for this. Bastien needs you… he won’t survive without you.”

“What?!” I demand, suddenly breathless, and yet, somehow, I already knew that, didn’t I? Something happened between Bastien and me, something they don’t want to burden me with, but that irreparably changed my life and Bastien’s.

“Sorry,” Archie mutters. “Not supposed to say that. Go, my Lady—just go. You never have to see me again.”

In a flash of annoyance, my hands land on my hips and I snort. “Excuse me, Lord Clumberton, but I was invited toyourcastle to meetfourmonsters. I don’t accept three, when I was promised an introduction to four gentlemen monsters.”

He snarls, “I’mnota gentleman.”

I roll my eyes, regardless of the fact that he can’t see my face right now. “Archie, that would be a lot more convincing if you weren’t holding a doily.”

Archie flinches and seems shocked to discover he’s still holding the same doily that was in his hand in that lovely room in the castle. He stares at it, dumbfounded by its presence. But he doesn’t say anything.

I keep my voice soft. “Please talk to me, Lord Archie.”

“Talkinghurts,” he says in a tone miles beyond devastated. “Everythinghurts. All I am is pain and the only cure is unconscionable.”

“The only cure is to stop trying to hold back your rut—is that right?”

“Yes… your scent is making everything impossible. It’s never been this hard. I was able to come here and fight my urges, always able to suppress them enough to be manageable. But not with you… your scent… it’s desire alive in the air.”

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