Page 25 of Monsters Carve Thrones (Crowned Monsters Duet #2)

The pills had kicked in hard by the time we were finally going to bed.

Warmth flooded my veins like honey laced with gasoline.

It was slow and heavy, sweet and dangerous.

My head felt too light for my neck, and my limbs felt like they were underwater.

The room around me tilted every so often, but I didn’t mind.

I was floating. High enough to forget. High enough not to scream into the fucking void.

There was a soft knock just before the hotel door opened. Laura stepped in quietly, the hallway light catching the anxiety on her face. Her blonde hair was tied back in a messy braid, her skin pale under the yellow cast of the lamp. She looked exhausted. Worn down by grief and fear.

“Rafe?” she asked, voice like an echo underwater. “You okay?”

“Peachy.” I offered her a crooked smile from where I was sprawled across the hotel bed, one arm flung over my face, the other resting on my chest.

“Never better.” She didn’t smile back. She hovered by the doorway for a moment, biting her bottom lip. “I was knocking for a while.”

“Didn’t hear it,” I muttered. “Music’s loud in here.”

There was no music.

She stepped closer, her boots quiet against the cheap carpet. “You’re high.”

I shrugged. “Little bit.”

She sighed, unsure whether to scold me or sit with me. She looked like she wanted to do both. Then, cautiously, she sat on the edge of the bed. “I thought you’d be asleep,” she murmured.

“Can’t.” I blinked at the ceiling, where the paint was cracked like veins. “Too loud in my head. The pills help.”

“I don’t think they’re helping, Rafe.”

“They are,” I said softly. “They’re keeping me from losing my fucking mind.”

She was silent again, then slowly, hesitantly, slid beside me until her back hit the headboard. I didn’t stop her.

“I didn’t like you when I first met you,” she said quietly, her voice like a confession in the dark.

I turned my head toward her. “No shit.”

“You were...intense. Cold. Too dangerous. I didn’t think you were good for her.

” She looked over at me, eyes shimmering with the kind of tired honesty that only showed up in moments like this–when both people were frayed down to the bone.

“But I was wrong,” she said. “She’s never looked at anyone the way she looks at you.

And I’ve never seen you look at anyone the way you look at her. ”

My throat ached.

It was the oxy making me this soft, probably. That, or the goddamn way Laura’s words echoed with everything I didn’t want to feel. But I felt it anyway. That ugly, raw twist in my chest. The fear. The fury. The guilt.

She curled onto her side beside me, resting her head near my shoulder but not quite touching. “I keep thinking about what’s happening to her,” she whispered.

“Don’t.” My voice cracked. “Don’t do that to yourself.”

“How do you not think about it?”

“I’m high, remember?”

She didn’t laugh, but her lips curled like she almost wanted to.

Her breathing slowed, and her hand found the edge of the blanket.

She scooted beneath it, nestling against one of the large pillows.

I didn’t move. Just laid there, letting the warmth of her presence chase away some of the shadows.

Eventually, her breath evened out. Sleep finally took her.

I turned my head, watching her for a moment. The braid had started to fall apart. There was a faint scar across her left cheekbone–probably from years ago, barely noticeable unless you were this close.

She was brave. Brave and afraid and doing it all anyway.

If I could give her peace, even for a night, I would.

So I peeled back the blankets and slid in beside her.

I reached out slowly, brushing a few strands of hair away from her face.

My fingers slid through the braid. She didn’t stir.

I adjusted the blanket over her shoulders, then settled back, wrapping my arm gently around her.

It wasn’t Adela… but it was someone who loved her, too.

And maybe that made this okay. I stared at the ceiling again, the tears burning hot in the corners of my eyes.

As much as I wanted to be entirely numb, I couldn’t stop thinking about what was happening to my wife. The pills helped…but just barely.

***

I woke to warmth. A rare thing these days. Laura was curled against my side, her breath soft against my chest, one hand tucked beneath her cheek. For a second, I didn’t move. Just listened to the quiet hum of the hotel room, the distant city beyond the windows, and her even, steady breathing.

I’d actually slept. Thank fuck.

Slowly, I shifted, careful not to wake her. I sat up, rubbing the heel of my palm into my eye socket, glancing down at her one more time before swinging my legs over the side of the bed. The door creaked open.

Nico stepped inside, his sharp features still groggy with sleep, a black t-shirt clinging to his chest like he’d just rolled out of bed himself. His dark eyes landed on Laura immediately.

I followed his gaze, then glanced back at him. There was something there. It was subtle and unspoken, but I caught it anyway. A flicker of something unguarded flashed in his expression. Interest. Worry. Maybe both.

I stood, cracking my neck and stretching as I moved toward him. “Nothing happened.”

Nico didn’t look at me. Just gave a slight nod.

“She came in last night,” I said, voice rough. “Wanted comfort. I gave it. That’s all.”

He finally looked at me then, and there was no judgment in his eyes. “Sometimes… horrific things bring people together.”

I paused, narrowing my eyes a little. His tone was quiet. I pulled a cigarette from the crumpled pack on the counter and strode toward the balcony door. “Not me,” I muttered. “Adela has my heart. My fucking soul. There won’t be another woman for me. Not in this life.”

He didn’t argue. Just nodded again, but his eyes drifted back toward the bedroom.

“Go wake her,” I said, opening the balcony door with a soft click. “We need to move soon. We’re visiting Stepan today–one of Waylon’s former suppliers. Might know where he’s keeping her.”

“Got it,” he said, and turned.

I stepped outside. The morning air was cool, the sun barely above the skyline. The city smelled like car exhaust and burnt coffee. I lit my cigarette, dragging the smoke deep into my lungs. It burned in that comforting way–sharp enough to make me feel alive again.

Beside me, through the cracked bedroom window, I could hear Nico’s low and calm voice as he woke her. “Laura. Time to get up.”

A beat of silence.

Then her voice, soft and raspy, laced with sleep. “Okay… I’m up.”

I let out a breath through my nose, a quiet smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. There was something in the way he spoke to her. And something in the way she answered. Like a thread had formed between them in the middle of all this chaos.

I ground the cigarette out against the railing and turned back toward the room.