Page 102 of Monsters Carve Thrones

I spat at their feet. “I’d rather fucking die.”

“Could be arranged,” the tall one said with a grin. And then they lunged.

I screamed as they tackled me, shoving me to the cold floor. One pinned my wrists, and the other straddled my legs. I kicked, bucked,bit, trying to get free.

“You little–” he cursed as I nailed his nose with my forehead.

I twisted, writhing beneath them, panic and rage giving me strength I didn’t know I had. My hand found the knife at my waist. I didn’t hesitate. Islammedit into his side.

He howled. I twisted again, grabbing his gun. The second guard shouted, trying to stop me. But I fired. Once. Twice.

Blood sprayed the cold walls, and the weight on me suddenly went slack. With a heavy sob, I shoved him off and scrambled to my feet, heaving for breath, blood drenching my body.

I staggered into the hall, shouting,“Olesya! Get out! Now!”

She stumbled from the library, eyes wide in horror. She took one look at me and at the bodies and nodded, falling in beside me as we ran. Gunfire rattled from somewhere near the back of the house. I glanced toward Waylon’s office and, to my horror, realized that it was empty.

Shit. He was alive.And I had no idea where he was now. My breath sawed in and out of my chest. The walls were closing in. The front door loomed ahead. Light was bleeding through the bullets around the frame. Almost there.

“Come on, Olesya!” I yanked her hand as she tripped over a broken floor tile, her breath ragged beside mine. My own legs burned, my lungs clawing for air, blood soaking my clothes and dripping down my arm from God-knows-where.

Almost–

I threw the door open and slammed straight into a wall of blood and muscle. I stumbled back, a scream dying in my throat. My fingers twitched on the trigger, my body still locked in survival.

But I didn’t shoot.

My heart knew before my mind caught up. Those eyes. Thoseeyes.

Wild, furious. Glacial blue. Fixed onme.

“...Rafe?” I choked out his name, my voice cracked and brittle, like broken glass.

He didn’t speak. His chest was rising and falling in brutal, ragged bursts. His shirt was soaked with blood, spattered down his jaw and throat. His knuckles were red and split. His grip on the gun never loosened.

But his eyes, his fucking eyes, they scanned every inch of me like he couldn’t believe I was real. When he saw the bruises, the cuts, the way my body trembled just standing… somethingbrokebehind them.

His mouth opened. Closed. His jaw clenched so hard I could see the muscle twitch. He looked like a man who had come through hell on his hands and knees, and now he was staring at the reason he did.

“Rafe?” I asked again, pleading this time. My voice was breaking.

My knees buckled beneath me.

He moved faster than gravity, closing the space between us in a heartbeat, and caught me in his arms before I could fall. His gun was still gripped in one hand, but his other arm locked around me like steel, pulling me into him, his face burying into the crook of my neck like he’d never let me go again.

I collapsed against his chest, sobbing. Shaking. My hands clutched his shirt, clutchinghim. The only thing holding me together.

“Hey, little doe,” he rasped against my ear, his voice a gravel whisper. “Hey, baby.”

I could hear screaming behind us. Gunfire. Chaos. But it was muffled now, drowned beneath the sound of his heartbeat against mine. This glorious fucking heartbeat…

“Get her out of here!” someone yelled behind him.

“Laura?” I gasped and turned, my eyes finding her. She was rushing forward, covered in dust and blood, but alive.Alive.My best friend.

Another sob tore out of me.

Then everything snapped into focus.