Page 88 of Monsters Carve Thrones

Olesya finally returned today. Her eyes were wary, her hands twitchy as she set the tray down. My gaze shot to hers immediately while Waylon was out of the bedroom. I didn’t waste time. “Have you thought about what I said?” I asked, my voice hoarse from disuse.

She hesitated, eyes darting to the door before nodding the smallest amount. “Yes… but I’m scared, girl.”

“I get it,” I said softly. “But we’re already dying here. At least out there, we’d have a chance. Please, Olesya. He’s going to kill me. Just like…her.” I sighed, reminding her of the woman who was his prisoner before me.

She didn’t answer. Just swallowed hard and left the tray behind. I held back the urge to cry. Waylon had been worse this week. The stress was getting to him. He didn’t even bother pretending anymore. I could have been perfectly obedient, and it wouldn’t have mattered. He still fucked me like a punishment. Like hurting me might soothe something inside him.

It never did. I was strong. I’d be okay. But the cracks were starting to show.

I could feel them deep inside me. The madness creeping in at the edges. I was aggravated. Angry.Caged.And more than anything, I wanted to fucking kill him.

Rip his throat out with my teeth. Feel the warmth of his blood drench my body. But I couldn’t do it alone. Not yet.

I jolted when I heard Waylon screaming from the other room. The sound was rough, enraged. Like something had slipped beyond his control. The venom in his voice bled through the walls. He was on the phone with someone–words slurred and sharp, breaking apart with anger. I couldn’t catch much. Just enough to know he was losing his ever-loving shit.

I rolled over, facing his side of the bed, trying to pretend it wasn’t happening. Trying to pretend I was home. That I was curled against Rafe’s warm chest, my hand draped over his ribs, my fingers feeling the rise and fall of his steady breath.That I was safe.

And then I heard another scream. It was a woman’s voice, sharp and high and filled with rage.

Riley.

A crash followed. Something heavy slamming into something breakable. I heard heeled boots stomping away angrily. I smirked in spite of myself. Good. Annoying bitch probably deserved whatever the hell just happened.

But the moment flickered out like a candle in the wind. Because he stormed in. I barely had time to sit up. His eyes locked on me–burning, hollow, filled with rage.

My blood turned to ice.

I started to speak, to ask what was wrong, but it didn’t matter. He was already on me. His hand curled into my shirt and yanked me to the edge of the bed like a ragdoll. “Waylon, stop!” I shouted, kicking out, struggling against him with everything I had. My nails scraped across his skin. I fought. But it wasn’t enough. He was stronger. Bigger. His rage made him unstoppable.

He slammed me against the bed, his face inches from mine, breath hot and rancid with whiskey and wrath.

“He’snevercoming for you!” he roared. “You think Rafe fucking Vaughan is going to rescue you?! He doesn’t give a shit about you. But I do! And you don’t fucking care!”

The words hit like a slap. My eyes widened.That was it.

This wasn’t just a monster. This was a broken, desperate, and damaged man–angry, yes, but starving for something he would never have. Not from me. Not from anyone.

He would kill me trying to get it.

“I don’t understand you,” he growled. My adrenaline spiked. He was wilder than usual.

Today could be the day I died.

I couldn’t even find words to say as his hands wrapped around my windpipe.

Tight.

“You’d rather die than lose him, is that it?” He lifted and slammed me back down. “I’m going to have her film his death. I’m going toforce you to watch.”

Tighter.

Everything vanished. I couldn’t breathe. The world flickered. Darkness crept in from the edges as I clawed at his wrists, legs kicking out weakly. But nothing I did could stop him. He was so angry. Panic surged through me like wildfire. I saw spots. My ears rang.

And then…

Nothing.

A sharp sting brought me back. Slap. Again.