Page 78 of Monsters Carve Thrones
I let my breath catch, as if flattered. “And that drew you in?”
“No. That made me want to own you.”
He didn’t even hate me. He wanted control. Something that sparkled so brightly he felt dim beside it.
“I never belonged to Moreau,” I whispered.
“I know,” he said. “You belonged to Vaughan.That’swhy I took you.” He was quiet for a moment, then said something that surprised me. “I was never supposed to be like him, you know. Moreau.” A scoff. “I worked under him, but I was smarter. I did everything right, but he still had everything. The men. The power. The women. An obsession with you.”
I leaned into the silence, choosing not to speak yet. Letting him fill the void.
He continued, voice lower now. “So I took it all back. Piece by piece, after Rafe put a bullet in him.”
“And does it feel better?” I asked, so softly he almost didn’t hear me. “Taking and owning instead of earning?”
He looked at me sharply. But there was something else there. Curiosity or uncertainty, maybe.
I trailed a hand across his stomach. “You don’t have to answer. You already did.”
I felt his breath catch. A seed. That’s all I needed to plant. Doubt. Vulnerability. The illusion of connection.
I turned in his arms and kissed his jaw gently, even if my heart clenched. “Goodnight, Waylon.”
He didn’t reply, but he didn’t let me go either. As much as I loathed showing this demon affection, I knew I’d have a better chance at surviving.
And seeing my husband again.
***
RAFE
I came to with blood in my mouth. The taste was copper and rust, thick on my tongue, and my jaw ached like someone had taken a bat to it.
My head was splitting.Pounding.
I spat red on the cold stone floor beneath me. I tried to move and found my wrists bound behind me, the sharp burn of zip-tie plastic cutting into skin already rubbed raw. My vision swam before focusing on grim concrete walls, a single flickering bulb, and chains bolted to the floor.
A basement.
I knew the smell. Damp. Mildew. Sweat. I’d spent so much time on the other end of this sort of torture. Laura was slumped to my left, blood trickling from her temple. Nico sat against the wall with his lip split and breathing shallow. Kieran knelt nearby, his shoulder clearly dislocated, lips moving in a silent prayer or curse. I couldn’t tell.
Waleria’s fucking trap had snapped clean. I growled low in my throat.
That bitch.
“Rise and shine, Vaughan.”
Her voice slithered in before she stepped into view–immaculate as ever in a silk coat and gloves, as if she hadn’t just orchestrated the ambush of four people and dragged us underground like animals.
“I expected more from you,” she said, crouching beside me. “You used to be smarter.”
“Used to be,” I spat. “You were always a goddamn snake.”
She smiled, running a hand through my hair mockingly before gripping it tight and yanking my head back. “You think you’re still in control here?”
“I think you talk a lot for someone who doesn’t have a gun in their hand.”
Her expression darkened. “You don’t need a bullet, Rafe. You need to be bled out. Slowly. I’d do it myself, but Waylon has... plans for you.”
