Page 24 of Kael (Monsters & Mates #2)

More murmurs from the gathered group. Some smirk behind their hands, others shift slightly—torn between amusement and the growing likelihood that this is about to get physical.

Zeyv’s claws flex at his sides.

And there it is.

The truth of it all.

It’s not just that Varek has always had a soft spot for me—it’s that he didn’t have one for Zeyv. The jealousy oozes off him like oil.

“You think you’re special?” he hisses. “You think because you can swing a blade and piss off the right people, you matter?”

I let out an exaggerated gasp. “Me? Piss people off? That can’t be right.”

A couple of chuckles ripple through the crowd, which only seems to fuel Zeyv’s frustration. He steps into my space, the heat of his breath hitting my face, his scaled fingers curling into fists. I don’t back up. I just tilt my head up to look him dead in the eye, my stance loose but ready.

“Careful,” I say, voice low, my blade still warm in my grip. “If you want to dance, I don’t lead, Zeyv. I finish.”

His eyes flick to the dagger in my hand, then back to my face.

Oh, he wants to. Every instinct in his oversized, overcompensating body is screaming at him to take a swing.

But here’s the thing. Zeyv’s strong. He’s fast. But he’s predictable.

And he knows it.

He also knows that if he starts a fight with me here and loses? It’ll never go away.

He hesitates, nostrils flaring, the tension crackling between us like a live wire. And then, just as I see the decision form in his narrowed eyes?—

“Zeyv.”

The voice that cuts through the thick air is frigid. Commanding. I don’t need to turn to know who it is.

Varek.

And judging by the silence that falls over the training grounds, I’m not the only one who just got a chill down my spine.

Varek stands like an immovable wall, arms crossed, gaze sharp as it sweeps over the gathered Riftborn. But it’s not him who steals my breath—it’s Kael. He’s right beside Varek, silent and brooding, his dark eyes locked on me.

Goddamn .

I eat him up with my eyes, noting the tension in his jaw, the way his shoulders are stiff, the slight crease on his forehead. He looks tired—and hella pissed off. My stomach swoops, heat licking at my skin because I can feel it, that barely contained rage simmering beneath his composed surface.

I straighten slightly, rolling my shoulders. What the hell is his problem? Is he pissed at me?

Varek speaks, but Kael stays silent, a sentinel of barely leashed fury. “Zeyv.” His voice is like the crack of a whip, sharp and cold.

Zeyv doesn’t flinch, doesn’t cower like some would in the face of that tone. Instead, he lifts his chin and says, “Just trying to help. Wanted to spar with Sonny.” His forked tongue flicks briefly, but his eyes remain on me.

I smile, slow and sharp. “Is that what we’re calling it?”

Varek shifts his attention to me, assessing, no doubt weighing whether this is a terrible idea. Eventually, his lips press into a flat line, and he gives a single nod. “Fine. But if you get yourself killed”—he looks at Zeyv—“don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Kael looks ready to explode.

His fingers twitch at his sides, his entire body rigid. He doesn’t speak, but his emotions roll through me like a wave—frustration, worry, anger. I send him a thread of calm, something quiet and steady.

I feel the way it hits him. The way he sucks in a breath like he wasn’t expecting it. Then I grin, stepping back and gesturing to Zeyv. “Go ahead, lizard dick. Let’s see what you got.”

Zeyv smirks, rolling his shoulders as he steps forwards. “Hope you can keep up, human.”

“Oh, I’ll do more than that.”

The moment Varek gives the go-ahead, Zeyv lunges.

I barely twist out of the way, my boots skidding against the worn ground. He’s fast, I’ll give him that, but I knew he’d go for brute strength first—probably hoping to end this quickly. Too bad for him, I don’t play like that.

I move swiftly, ducking and weaving, using my size to my advantage. He’s got reach, sure, but I’m small, and more importantly, I’m smart. I anticipate the next strike before it happens, shifting my weight just enough to let him miss, feeling the rush of air as his fist cuts through empty space.

The gathered crowd watches in silence, the intensity in the air thick enough to choke on.

I land the first solid hit, a sharp elbow to his ribs that earns a grunt. But Zeyv doesn’t back down—he drives forwards, forcing me to dodge and pivot.

I feel Kael’s gaze on me, burning. The weight of it distracts me for a second too long—and Zeyv takes advantage.

Pain bursts across my side as he slams a heavy hit into my ribs.

“Fuck,” I gasp, stumbling back a step, even as another hit comes.

I jerk my head back as his fist grazes my jaw and lip, enough to have it splitting, but thank Christ not enough to break my jaw.

A snarl cuts through the air—Kael’s. Varek moves fast, a hand snapping out to grip Kael’s arm, stopping him from charging forwards.

“He’s fine,” Varek says, but his voice is low, almost a warning.

I don’t look at Kael—I can’t afford to—but I feel his frustration, feel the heat of it even from a few metres away. Instead, I wipe my mouth, dragging my forearm across my lips, and exhale sharply. “Not bad.”

Zeyv grins. “Not done.”

Good.

Neither am I.

I launch forwards before he can fully reset, going low this time. He expects me to meet him head-on, but instead, I slide beneath his reach, twisting at the last second and bringing my blade around in a controlled arc—just enough to press the cool metal against the underside of his chin.

Zeyv freezes. The crowd goes utterly silent. His throat bobs, jaw clenched tight.

I shift just enough to meet his wide, stunned gaze, panting. “Yield.”

For a moment, he doesn’t move. His pride is screaming at him to keep going, to win, but the cold bite of my dagger is enough of a reminder that if this had been real, he’d be bleeding out already.

He exhales sharply. Then, finally—reluctantly—he nods. “Yield.”

I pull back and step away, dragging in a breath. The moment my blade is no longer at his throat, Zeyv hesitates, then flicks a glance to Varek—and maybe Kael—before shifting his attention back to me.

I offer him my hand. His gaze moves between it and my face, something unreadable in his expression. For a second, I think he’s going to refuse. Then, with a stiff nod, he clasps my hand, his grip firm but brief as I help pull him to his feet.

But even as he stands, something lingers in his eyes—something I don’t trust. And when he turns, walking towards the small group of his friends that hover at the edge of the training grounds, I feel it. That prickle down my spine.

I roll my shoulders, shoving the feeling down as I turn?—

Varek is right there.

But Kael?

Kael is not.

Disappointment slams into me.

Varek’s presence beside me is solid, grounding as I grab my shirt and we make our way across the training grounds. The early haze of adrenaline is gone now, leaving only the sting in my ribs and a weird hollow ache I can’t shake. Probably because the one person I want nearby isn’t.

“Any word on Dawson?” I ask, breath still a little ragged.

Varek sighs. “Still unconscious. Iris has been running tests and keeping him stable. It doesn’t look great, but he hasn’t got worse.”

I slow slightly. “So… we’re in limbo.”

He nods grimly. “Exactly that.”

I chew my cheek, trying not to let the disappointment sink too deep. “He’s strong,” I offer, even though I barely know him. “He’s got that whole golden retriever optimism thing going for him.”

“Let’s hope it’s enough,” Varek mutters, voice low as he steers me towards the path leading around the main square. “I told Kael to take a walk.”

My head snaps towards him. “Why?”

He gives me a sideways glance, one brow raised. “Because he was about to follow Zeyv out the gates.”

Oh.

“Ah,” I say, wiping my face with my shirt and feeling the stickiness of blood and sweat. A quick glance down tells me exactly what Kael saw before he left—my split lip, the smear on my jaw, a developing bruise at my ribs. No wonder he nearly combusted.

“I thought you’d want to avoid any extra explosions in the middle of training,” Varek adds drily.

“Good call,” I mutter, finally pulling the shirt all the way over my head with a grimace. “I must look like shit.”

“You look like someone who fought and won.” His tone is even, but he slows his pace. “Still, next time, maybe don’t antagonize a guy who outweighs you by a hundred kilos and hates authority.”

“I didn’t antagonize him,” I say, but Varek just lifts a brow. “Okay, I may have poked the bear. Lightly. With sarcasm.”

He snorts. “You and your sarcasm are going to get us all killed.”

We walk in silence for a few moments. The distant clang of metal on metal rings out again behind us, other Riftborn continuing their drills. The air smells of sweat, scorched rock, and the earthy scent of something unidentifiable cooking from the main cave system.

“You knew there’d be unrest when Kael and the prince came,” I say quietly. “No shit people are twitchy.”

Varek hums, not denying it.

“But you want them here,” I continue. “You want to see if there’s any way to… change things. The system. The repression of Riftborn, the control the queen has over everyone.”

His lack of response is all the confirmation I need.

I shrug. “Can’t say I blame you. If there’s a chance to end this shit, even if it’s a long shot, it’s worth exploring.”

Varek finally sighs. “It is. But if Dawson doesn’t make it….” He trails off, tension creeping into his shoulders. “If the prince loses him before the bond fully forms, there’ll be no incentive for him to stay. No connection. No reason for Kael to stay either.”

I stop, my stomach twisting. “And without them….”

He nods once. “We’ll lose more than an ally. We’ll lose hope.”

The word hits hard. Hope feels in short supply these days.

We round the edge of a building, the wind picking up slightly, fluttering the hem of my sweat-damp shirt. Varek stops.