Page 80 of Monsters Carve Thrones

Laura placed her head against my shoulder quietly. “Then we’ll get her back. No matter what. We can do this, Rafe. Please don’t give up on us.”

My body seized again, waves of nausea and shaking hitting hard. I didn’t try to fight it anymore. So I let it break me. Because if it broke me, I could rebuild. And when I did, none of these fuckers would survive it.

***

I was on the floor again. Every joint ached. My shirt stuck to my skin, damp with sweat that had long gone cold. The muscle spasms had eased, but the ghosts of the withdrawals still clung to my bones. I hadn’t eaten in three days. Had barely sipped the rancid water they let us have–enough to keep us breathing, not enough to fight.

My head throbbed in dull, steady pulses. Laura had stopped talking. Nico hadn’t moved in hours. Kieran sat with his back against the wall, staring at nothing like he could chew through steel if he had the strength.

I didn’t even look up when the door opened. Didn’t have the energy.

Until I heard the click of her heels.

Smug bitch.

She stepped into the room like she was walking into a gallery. Like we were works of art she owned, pieces of her private collection slowly decaying by her design.

“Well,” she purred, her voice like smoke. “Don’t you all look wonderful. Starvation suits you, Vaughan.”

I managed to lift my head, just barely. My vision swam, but I saw her crouch in front of me. Her nails were painted the color of dried blood, and her perfume hit like poison.

She grabbed my chin with her sharp little fingers, forcing my face up. “Still breathing?” she asked sweetly. “How disappointing.”

I didn’t answer.

Her eyes glittered with amusement as she reached into the coat slung over her arm and pulled something out. It was a photograph, held up between two fingers like a trophy. It took me a moment to focus. Then my heart stopped.

Adela.

Lying on a bed, asleep or unconscious, I couldn’t tell. Her wrists were cuffed to the headboard. Her cheek rested against a pillow, lips parted slightly, her hair tangled over her shoulder.

Waylon’s bed.

I saw red.

Something inside me ignited like gasoline doused over raw fire. I surged forward, yanking against the chains so hard the steel bit into my skin. I didn’t feel it.“You fucking bitch!”I roared. “Where is she?”

Waleria just laughed. Loud. Amused. Cruel. “She’s alive,” she said casually, tucking the photo back into her coat. “For now. But I thought you’d appreciate a little keepsake. Proof that your whore still exists.”

I lunged again, teeth bared, throat raw from screaming.

She stepped back, unbothered. “Aw, poor Rafe. You can’t help her. You can’t even help yourself. You’re nothing now. Useless.”

She turned to Laura, glanced at her like she might kick her next, and then swept out of the room without another word.

The door slammed.

Silence.

My arms trembled from the strain. My head dropped against the wall. But my chest heaved.

Adela was alive.

She wasalive.

Kieran spoke first, voice hoarse. “We need to get the fuck out of here.”

Nico nodded, slow. “We’ll die here if we don’t.”