Page 55 of Monsters Carve Thrones

Laura exhaled sharply. “Rafe…”

I turned to her. “He has my wife. I’m not interested in goddamn diplomacy.” Silence fell again. The Eiffel Tower blinked in the distance through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

“Tomorrow,” I said finally. “We fly to Warsaw. That’s where Kazimir’s last account pinged. After that… we go to Moscow.”

Kieran raised his glass. “To following the blood.”

Laura clinked her wine glass against his.

The suite was dark when I stepped out onto the balcony again. The beauty and grace of the Eiffel Tower in the distance mocked me. It had no idea what it was overlooking–just another monster on the hunt.

Behind me, the others were asleep. Laura had curled up on the couch with a blanket. Nico and Kieran had taken opposite ends of the bed in the guest room. Silence filled every corner like smoke. I reached into the inner pocket of my jacket and pulled out a small glass vial.

Oxy.

Not something I made a habit of. Not anymore. But sleep… I hadn’t touched it in days. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her face. That last smile, her mouth against mine, her scent on my skin. And then I saw blood. Heard the slam of her body against the floor. Saw the front door swing open and that bloodied knife.

I poured two crushed pills into my palm and dry-swallowed them, the bitter powder sticking to my tongue. I lit a cigarette next, holding the smoke deep in my lungs as I leaned forward over the railing, elbows braced on the cold wrought iron.

Paris blinked beneath me. Beautiful. Indifferent.

My head started to float. My limbs slackened. The ache in my chest dulled–just slightly. Like the grief was still there, just muffled under a blanket of static.

I let my eyes fall shut.

In the silence, I imagined her voice. The lilt in it when she teased me. The edge in it when she was angry. I imagined her hand on my chest, her laugh when I kissed her neck. I imagined holding her again. I’d grip her so tightly, she’d never be taken from me again.

But when I opened my eyes… there was only Paris.

And smoke.

And pain.

Eventually, I went back inside, stumbling slightly. The world was blurry at the edges, soft and seemingly unreal. I stripped my hoodie off, tossed it on the floor, and collapsed face-first on top of the bed.

Didn’t bother with the blankets. Didn’t need them. The drugs were already pulling me under. It wasn’t peace. It wasn’t sleep.

It wasnothing.

And right now, that was the closest I could get to surviving.

***

ADELA

I woke to the scent of leather and perfume. The cuffs still bit into my wrists–thick, black leather, fastened too goddamn tight. My arms ached. Mybodyached. But I kept my chin high as the door creaked open and Riley strutted in with a shit-eating grin.

Her brown hair was perfectly curled, a smug little smirk already tugging at her glossy mouth. “Well, well,” she purred,heels clicking across the stone floor. “You’re awake. How was your first night in your new suite? How did Waylon treat you?”

I didn’t answer. I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.

Riley’s eyes flicked to the bruises painting my thighs. She tsked softly, pretending to be sympathetic. “Rough, huh? He’s not exactly gentle when he’s excited.”

Still, I said nothing. I sat upright on the bed, back straight, wrists resting calmly in my lap despite the pain.

She leaned in slightly, inspecting me like she was admiring Waylon’s work. “You should be flattered, you know. He doesn’t give this much attention to the others.”

I looked up, meeting her gaze with ice. “The others?”