Page 25 of Kael (Monsters & Mates #2)

Kael stands at the edge of the clearing, his massive form half in shadow, half lit by the afternoon light filtering through the canopy.

His shoulders are squared, but there’s tension in the slope of them.

His arms are crossed tight over his chest, and he stares off towards the outer boundary wall like he’s considering sprinting right through it.

Varek nods towards him. “Go to him.”

He doesn’t need to tell me twice.

Kael doesn’t touch me at first, but his emotions brush against mine—thick, concerned, coiled tight like a cord stretched to breaking. I feel him in my chest, not just in my thoughts, and I instinctively reach out, sending him the pulse of reassurance I’ve come to understand how to give.

“I’m okay,” I say softly, watching the way his jaw clenches before relaxing a fraction.

Without a word, I take the lead, guiding him through the winding corridors of the settlement towards my quarters. We attract attention. I feel it—eyes tracking us, whispers beginning before we’ve even passed. It’s gonna spread faster than a bushfire tearing through dry outback scrub.

Still, I walk a little taller. With Kael’s presence behind me, somehow I don’t feel ashamed or embarrassed. The gossip doesn’t sting. I’ve never had time for bullshit, and damn straight I have a backbone of steel.

My door creaks open, and Kael pauses just inside the entryway, his luminous eyes taking in the room. His gaze lingers on the copper-like pipework webbing the walls, a remnant from the original structure this space once belonged to. Warmth hums through the pipes, one of the few luxuries in Dathanor.

Without a word, he eases me back, step by step, onto the bed.

I sit, watching him scan the room like he’s assessing for threats.

His expression softens when he finds the smoothed-out stone that I use for a washbasin, and I remain silent as he takes a cloth, wets it, and wrings it out before returning to kneel in front of me.

The cloth is cool against my skin as he dabs gently at the cut on my cheek. I flinch. He stills instantly.

“Sorry,” he murmurs.

“S’okay,” I mumble. “Just a little prick.”

He huffs. “Zeyv is more than a prick.”

I grin through the sting. “So you know that word.”

His eyes narrow, but his lips twitch. “We have a word that means the same.” He says something I can’t begin to pronounce. It rolls off his tongue like a curse wrapped in velvet. “It translates to… ‘vile-born waste of a clutch.’”

I bark out a laugh. “Bit dramatic, but I’ll take it.”

He finishes wiping my face, then runs his thumb gently under my eye where I feel a bruise forming. His touch lingers, featherlight, before he leans in and presses a kiss to my cheek.

The tenderness in it sucker punches me. It’s soft, careful. A wordless apology. A balm to the aching space between us. He kisses me again—this time on my mouth. A warm, firm press. Nothing demanding. Just confirmation that he still wants this. Still wants me.

But does he want me enough?

He pulls back and frowns slightly. “What’s wrong?”

I sigh, letting my eyes flutter shut. “Varek gave me an update on Dawson.”

Kael straightens, just a little. “He’s still not well.”

I nod. “What about Aelith? He looked….” I trail off, unsure of how much to say.

His silence stretches. “He’s not good,” he finally says. “He’s… not fully himself.”

There’s something off in his tone, a hesitation that makes my stomach clench. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Kael hesitates. “He’s been pushing his energy into Dawson.”

My head jerks up. “Wait—what?”

He settles beside me on the bed. “I didn’t realise at first, but now it’s clear. He’s transferring his own energy… his life force. It’s keeping Dawson alive.”

“That’s… that’s insane.” I stare at him. “Is that a Glowranth thing?”

He nods despite his frown. “Apparently. It can only be possible between fated mates. I don’t know much, but I don’t think it’s a conscious act. It’s… instinct. Compulsion. Aelith’s body is doing it because Dawson is slipping away.”

I feel sick. “Does Aelith know?”

Kael shakes his head. “He wasn’t aware at first, not fully. He was just… willing Dawson to live.”

“Does anyone else know this can happen?” I run a shaky hand through my hair.

“No. Not even the old texts speak of it clearly.”

“So, Dawson might be alive right now because Aelith’s body is… sacrificing itself?” I whisper.

Kael reaches for me, takes my hand. “It’s not like that.”

“It sounds like that,” I snap, panic spiralling. “What if… what if I steal your energy? Your life force? What if bonding with me kills you?”

He squeezes my hand tightly. “You won’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I don’t,” he admits. “But I don’t think that’s how it works. What’s happening between Aelith and Dawson—it’s because Dawson hasn’t completed the bond. More stages would help anchor him.”

I shake my head. “But Dawson can’t agree to that. He’s unconscious.”

Kael’s voice lowers. “Sometimes stages complete unintentionally. You and I are proof of that.”

“So, he’s better off alive with stages in place,” I whisper, “than dead.”

“Yes.”

“And Aelith?”

“He’s ignoring Iris. And Aeroth. Won’t listen to anyone.” He leans back, frustration and sorrow written all over his face. “He just wants Dawson to live.”

“That… surprises me,” I admit. “Didn’t think he had it in him.”

Kael smiles faintly. “Aelith is not as he always seems.”

I rub my chest and simply nod at his words. My thoughts are spinning, my emotions ricocheting off every corner of my mind, and Kael must feel it all. “It’s a lot.”

He nods. “Too much.”

“I thought maybe we’d have time,” I say softly. “Time to figure things out. But you’re being pulled away again.”

“I have to go,” he says, pain flickering in his eyes. “He’s still my prince, my charge. That hasn’t changed.”

The words slice into me. But I knew it. I always knew it. “You can’t stand guard twenty-four-seven.”

“Varek’s posted two guards for extra protection,” he admits. “But still….”

“I get it,” I say. “He’s not safe here.”

“No.”

“I hate this,” I mutter. “But… will you come to me? Tonight?”

He looks at me, long and hard, and I know he feels the ache inside me. “Yes,” he whispers. “I will.”

Relief loosens something within me, even if it’s temporary.

He stands, ready to go. I rise with him, and he leans in and kisses me—quick and soft. But it’s not enough. Not even close. So I grab his shoulders, and before he can stop me, I climb him like the Glowranth-shaped tree he is.

His arms instinctively go around me as I wrap my legs around his waist, pressing my mouth to his. He sinks into the kiss, and so do I, mouth fierce and possessive and filled with everything I haven’t been able to say. My heart, my breath, my whole damn soul is in this kiss.

When he finally pulls away, we’re both wrecked, breathing heavily and wishing he could stay. He lowers me gently to the floor and whispers goodbye, and I watch him walk away, feeling the hollow ache inside me expand with every step he takes.

“Fuck,” I murmur to the empty room.

I’m so screwed.